#and the family element of the earlier chapters i think

[focusonkayjay]

Wildly Wealthy Koreans (5); inspired by Crazy Rich Asians

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: photographer/ filmmaker! jungkook, rich girl/ fashion designer! reader, established relationship, angst, fluff, smut

Series summary: When you invite your boyfriend, Jungkook, to accompany you to your brother's wedding in your hometown, Daegu, he’s overjoyed, eager to meet your family and experience a side of your life you’ve never shared with him. However, once he uncovers the truth about who you really are, he’s unable to grasp the full extent of your reality. The situation becomes even more complicated when a certain someone makes him feel profoundly unwelcome, leaving him to question not only your world, but also his place in it.

Disclaimer: This series is heavily inspired by the movie Crazy Rich Asians, with the storyline closely following the original film's plot. However, I wanted to reimagine it as a fanfiction, where Jungkook and OC take center stage as the main protagonists. While I’ve kept the core elements and themes from the movie, I’ve added my own touches here and there, such as altering certain character dynamics and incorporating a few original settings. Some scenes are directly inspired by the movie, and I’ve worked to recreate them in a way that it hopefully resonates with the fans of the movie. Hope you enjoy!!

Word Count: 8k+

Chapter Warnings: vandalization, wooyoung, your mom.

A/N: i’m so sorry for the super late update omg. since it’s the holiday season, my friends dragged me on an impromptu trip to the mountains, and I didn’t have proper wifi for like three days, so I couldn’t really proof read and post updates. anyways, i was thinking it might be a good idea to set fixed days of the week for updates, so I don’t leave you all hanging for too long. how about we make it every tuesday for this one? and if I’m feeling extra motivated, you might even get impromptu updates in between !! let me know what you think <3 also what do you guys think about this part? i really tried to mirror eleanor's character here hehehehe

part 5

Jungkook gulps, the uneasiness in his chest growing heavier with each passing second. His thoughts spiral... how could he not know something so significant about you? The weight of Wooyoung’s words lingers like a dark cloud, and Jungkook feels a pang of frustration at his own cluelessness.

Meanwhile, Wooyoung sits there, exuding smug satisfaction, his tone dripping with judgment and condescension. Before Jungkook can even think of a response, a familiar voice cuts through the tension.

"Hey, Jungkook! There you are. I’ve been looking for you everywhere."

It’s Namjoon, one of your and Taehyung’s cousins. Jungkook immediately recognizes him from the tea ceremony and their brief interactions earlier on the cruise.

Without hesitation, Namjoon strides over, his easy grin never faltering as he helps Jungkook up from the bar, casually slinging an arm over his shoulder in a protective, almost brotherly gesture.

Jungkook blinks, startled but compliant, his gaze lingering on Wooyoung for a moment longer before he lets Namjoon steer him away.

As they weave through the pulsating crowd on the dance floor, Namjoon leans in slightly, his voice pitched low enough to be heard over the booming bass of the DJ’s set. "Looks like you needed some saving." he murmurs, a soft knowing smile tugging at his lips.

Jungkook casts one last glance at the chaotic swirl of neon lights and bodies moving in sync with the music. The atmosphere feels oppressive, the conversation with Wooyoung still swirling in his head, but Namjoon’s steady presence offers a much-needed sense of calm.

"You okay?" Namjoon asks once they’re out of earshot, his concern evident as he peers at Jungkook.

Jungkook exhales deeply, his hand running through his hair. "Who... was that?" he asks, his voice strained, laced with lingering frustration and confusion. Namjoon chuckles softly, his grip on Jungkook’s shoulder steady as they put more distance between themselves and the chaotic energy of the party.

"That?" he repeats, shaking his head slightly. "That was Wooyoung. A bit of a wildcard, but mostly harmless... as long as you don’t let him get into your head."

Jungkook frowns, his mind still caught in the web of the earlier conversation. "He said some... things." he murmurs, his voice laced with tension. "About Y/n, about their past... and how her mom wanted them to—" He stops abruptly, the words sticking in his throat, as if saying them aloud might solidify them into something undeniable.

Namjoon sighs, his expression softening as he glances at Jungkook. "Yeah, Wooyoung does have a knack for stirring the pot." he admits. "And... well, he’s not entirely wrong about some of it."

Jungkook’s head snaps towards Namjoon, his brows furrowed in confusion and frustration. "But you’ve got to understand something, Jungkook." Namjoon begins, his tone measured.

"Y/n’s life before you? It’s complicated. Her mom? Even more so. She’s... traditional. She wanted Y/n to settle down here, to live the life she envisioned for her. Going to New York? Pursuing fashion? That wasn’t part of the plan. Her mom thought..." He trails off as they reach a quieter corner, settling near a small table where the thumping bass of the music fades to a faint hum.

"She thought Y/n would drift away... from her culture, her roots, everything she was raised with." Namjoon continues, his voice lower now. "So, she brought Wooyoung into the picture."

Jungkook leans forward slightly, absorbing every word, trying to piece together this part of your life he hadn’t known.

"They didn’t date." Namjoon clarifies quickly, sensing Jungkook’s unease. "Hell, Y/n couldn’t even stand the guy. He’s off-putting, doesn’t know how to respect boundaries, and, honestly, just a jerk. I don’t even know why Seokjin invited him tonight. Even Taehyung can’t stand him." He pauses, shaking his head in exasperation before continuing.

"Anyway, Y/n’s mom had this whole idea that Wooyoung was the perfect match... stable, from a good family, all that nonsense. She thought marrying him would keep Y/n grounded, keep her here. But Y/n? She wasn’t having any of it." he pauses, looking at Jungkook.

"She rebelled, stood her ground, and thank god for Taehyung and her dad. They backed her up, and eventually, her mom had no choice but to let her go and do what she wanted."

Namjoon leans back, his gaze steady as he studies Jungkook. "Look, Y/n’s family dynamic is... complex. But she’s here now, and she chose her path. And she chose you." His words linger, grounding Jungkook in the present as the weight of the past begins to feel just a little less overwhelming.

Jungkook stays silent, sitting stiffly as the reality of everything sinks in. His hooded eyes stay fixed on the table, his mind churning with thoughts he’s struggling to process. Namjoon notices, his concern deepening at the tension in Jungkook’s shoulders and his distant expression.

"Hey..." Namjoon says gently a few second later, leaning forward. "Why don’t we head back to your room? I’ll call a few friends, and we can just hang out, play some cards, or something chill." He’s clearly trying to distract Jungkook, offering him an escape from the storm brewing inside.

Jungkook finally looks up, his lips curving into a tight, appreciative smile. The gesture speaks volumes, and Namjoon doesn’t push further, understanding the gratitude in his silence. A distraction sounds good, better than sitting here, drowning in the spiral of his own thoughts.

"Yeah, sure." Jungkook agrees, his voice subdued. He rises from his seat, and Namjoon drapes a casual arm over his shoulders again as they make their way out.

"You’re a good guy, you know that?" Namjoon says, his tone light but sincere. "I’ve heard so much about you from Y/n and Tae. Don’t let stuff like this get to you. It’s not worth it."

Jungkook nods, his expression unreadable. He’s heard words like that more than once lately, but they leave him unsure... comforted, yes, but also questioning what kind of person he truly is. Still, he doesn’t dwell on it, choosing instead to follow Namjoon’s lead.

As Namjoon pulls out his phone to text a few friends, Jungkook exhales slowly. The familiar comfort of his cabin feels like a welcome retreat. But the moment he unlocks the door and steps inside, the comfort vanishes.

"What the fuck?" Namjoon blurts out beside him, his voice sharp with shock. Jungkook freezes, his eyes widening as he takes in the chaos. His room is unrecognizable... furniture overturned, belongings scattered everywhere. But it’s the wall that grabs his attention, a chill running down his spine.

GO BACK TO NEW YORK, YOU BROKE MOTHERFUCKER.

The words are scrawled in bold red spray paint, glaringly hostile against the pale wall. Jungkook’s lips part in disbelief as he struggles to process what he’s seeing.

His gaze darts around the wreckage, landing on his camera lying on the floor. The sight makes his stomach drop... the lens is shattered, pieces of glass glinting in the light. His fists clench at his sides, and his jaw tightens as anger bubbles beneath the surface, threatening to spill over.

Namjoon steps forward cautiously, his brows furrowed as he surveys the destruction. "Who the hell would do this?" he mutters, his tone a mix of anger and disbelief.

Jungkook doesn’t respond immediately, his chest heaving as he stares at the damage. Whoever did this wasn’t just trying to vandalize... they were sending a message. A clear, personal message meant to hurt, to unsettle.

Namjoon places a firm hand on Jungkook’s shoulder. “Jungkook...” he says, his tone steady but urgent. “We need to report this. Now.”

Jungkook shakes his head, his jaw tightening. “No, it’s okay.” he breathes out. “I don’t want to make a scene.” He doesn’t elaborate, but deep down, a suspicion simmers. He has a hunch who’s behind this.

Namjoon’s lips press into a thin line, clearly unconvinced. His gaze flickers over Jungkook’s tense expression before he nods reluctantly. “Alright...” he concedes, though the hesitation in his voice is evident. “But at least... let’s get someone to clean this up.”

As they step out of the cabin in search of help, Jungkook’s eyes catch a flicker of movement down the hallway. A group of men stand at the far end, partially hidden behind the corner of a wall. They’re watching him.

The moment Jungkook’s gaze locks on them, they smirk, their expressions dripping with smugness, almost as if they’re proud of what they’ve done.

Jungkook’s stomach churns as the group casually turns and saunters away, their laughter echoing faintly. It’s obvious... they’re Wooyoung’s friends. The realization cements his earlier suspicion, and anger flares in his chest.

Childish. Immature. Petty. That’s all he can think. What kind of people stoop so low, targeting someone just because of who they’re dating? He feels the bitterness rise in his throat but forces himself to swallow it. Dwelling on it would give them more power than they deserve.

Namjoon notices the shift in Jungkook’s demeanor and follows his line of sight. “Them?” he asks, his voice low. Jungkook exhales sharply through his nose and nods, though he says nothing.

Instead, he straightens his posture, his resolve hardening. “Let’s just focus on fixing this.” he says finally, his voice steady. He’s unsettled, undeniably, but he refuses to let them win by giving the reaction they clearly want.

As the staff arrive to clean up the mess, Jungkook quietly requests Namjoon to let the incident go. “Please... don’t tell anyone about this.” he murmurs, his tone firm. “Not Taehyung... not Y/n. No one.” He says and Namjoon nods understandingly though he feels Wooyoung's actions need to be informed, especially to you.

The cruise crew, apologetic and accommodating, offers him a new cabin for the night while all the repairs are arranged. Jungkook accepts with a quiet nod, and Namjoon insists on helping him move his luggage.

Once everything is settled, Namjoon lingers at the doorway of the new cabin. His brows knit together in concern as he looks at Jungkook.

“You sure you’ll be okay, buddy?” he asks gently. Jungkook stands in the middle of the room, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He offers a tight-lipped smile, nodding. “Yeah, don’t worry about me.” he says, his voice quieter now.

Namjoon observes him for a beat longer, noticing the tension in his shoulders, the flicker of something unresolved in his eyes. “Thanks for tonight, Namjoon.” Jungkook says after a moment, breaking the silence.

“No need to thank me, man. Just... if you need anything, call me, okay?” Namjoon’s voice is soft but reassuring. He gives Jungkook a small, supportive smile before stepping out and closing the door behind him.

Now alone, Jungkook lets out a heavy sigh as he sinks onto the edge of the bed. The events of the night replay in his mind, but they’re overshadowed by the larger storm brewing within him.

The spray-painted words and broken camera are bothersome, sure, but they pale in comparison to the weight of the new information he’s learned about you.

Why hadn’t you told him?

The question gnaws at him. His thoughts spiral, each one sharper than the last. He wonders about the secrets you kept... your family’s reality, their influence, their power, their reach. Part of him understands, he really does.

But another part wonders if you didn’t trust him enough or if you were testing him somehow. The doubt curls in his chest, tightening with each passing second.

Before he can sink further into his thoughts, his phone buzzes. The screen lights up, and your name flashes on it. He stares at it for a moment, his thumb hovering over the answer button as he draws a calming breath. He doesn’t want you to know what happened tonight. Not yet.

And even amidst the chaos, he’s missed you, and the thought of hearing your voice is a welcome relief. He finally picks up, holding the phone to his ear.

“Hi, Kook!!” Your voice is bright and warm, cutting through his clouded thoughts. Despite himself, Jungkook smiles, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. “Hi, baby.” he murmurs softly, his voice carrying a warmth that matches yours. For a moment, everything else fades, and it’s just the two of you again.

“Oh my god, I missed you so much.” you whine, your voice filled with a playful pout. Jungkook exhales a soft laugh, leaning back onto the mattress and clutching his phone tighter against his ear. A smile tugs at his lips, one he doesn’t bother to suppress as he stares at the unfamiliar ceiling of his new cabin.

“Why? Is Jeju that boring?” he teases, the humor in his voice masking the heaviness still lingering from earlier. “Without you? Everything’s boring.” you retort, the response so quick and earnest it pulls a chuckle from him. The sound carries a warmth that he didn’t realize he desperately needed until now.

“How’s the cruise going? Having fun?” you ask, your words bubbling with genuine curiosity. Jungkook’s eyes flit to the corner of the room, where his suitcase sits haphazardly unpacked.

Fun. The word feels almost foreign after the day he’s had. But for you, he keeps his voice steady.

“Yeah, it’s been fun.” he lies smoothly, weaving the words together like armor. “Oh my god, I’m so glad to hear that!” Your excitement is so pure, so untainted, it makes him momentarily forget the day he's had. “I went to the Snoopy Garden today and it was so freaking adorable! You’d love it. We have to come here together.” you beam.

He can’t help but smile at your words. “That sounds nice, baby.” he chuckles. “Make sure to send me pictures. I wanna see.”

“Of course! I’ll send them right after we hang up.” you promise, your enthusiasm so contagious that Jungkook feels the tightness in his chest ease ever so slightly.

As you continue to talk, filling him in on the small joys and whimsical adventures of your day at the island, he feels the tension seeping out of him.

Wooyoung, the spray-painted words, the shattered camera, the mocking laughter from the hallway, all of it fades into the periphery. Your voice, your laughter, the ease with which you share your world with him... it all anchors him in a way he can’t quite explain.

A few minutes later, there’s a sudden muffled noise on your end, and Jungkook recognizes the sounds of your friends calling you. He doesn’t need to ask, he already knows what’s coming.

“Okay, baby, I think I have to go.” you say reluctantly, your voice tinged with guilt. “Miyeon and the girls are dragging me to dinner.”

He hums softly, a small, understanding smile curving his lips. “Of course, baby. Go have fun. Call me when you’re back, okay?” There’s a pause before he adds, with a quiet sincerity. “I love you.”

“Yes, I'll call you and I love you too.” you reply, your voice warm and unwavering. “Bye!”

The line goes dead, and for a moment, Jungkook stays there, staring at the phone in his hand. The cabin is silent again, but it doesn’t feel as suffocating as before. You’ve always had a way of making the world feel a little lighter, and tonight is no exception.

//

The next day flies by in a haze of chatter, laughter, and shared moments as Jungkook spends most of his time with Namjoon and Namjoon's friends.

Despite the tension simmering beneath the surface, he doesn’t let Wooyoung or his friends’ antics claw their way under his skin. He’s determined not to give them the satisfaction of a reaction.

By the next afternoon, he’s in Taehyung's car along with your cousins, Namjoon and Seokjin, driving home back from the port. The ride is filled with easy conversation and the occasional bout of laughter, a welcome distraction from the remnants of unease still lingering in his mind.

“Thanks for coming, Jungkook. I’m sorry I couldn’t spend much time with you.” Taehyung says, glancing over at Jungkook from the driver's seat, his expression apologetic. “You know how it is... my friends were dragging me everywhere.”

“It’s all good, man.” Jungkook replies with a grin. “And I totally get it. It was your bachelor party, after all.” he adds. Taehyung laughs, the sound light and carefree. “Still, I wish I could've spent more time with my sister's boyfriend.”

The familiar sight of your house comes into view not long after as Taehyung zooms past the long driveway, and Jungkook feels a wave of relief wash over him. Exhaustion tugs at his limbs, but more than anything, a quiet longing stirs in his chest. All he wants right now is to see you.

After bidding the others goodbye and hauling his luggage inside, he heads straight to your room. Your flight should be landing any time now. He checks his phone absentmindedly, hoping for a message or a call to signal your return and for now, all he can do is wait.

//

Miyeon giggles as she stretches her arms, stepping out of the car. “Most healing bachelorette party ever.” she declares, a dreamy expression on her face.

“I can still feel my masseuse’s hands on me. I don’t know what magic she used, but it feels like my back and shoulders have been reborn.” she exhales. You laugh as the guards step forward to collect your luggage. “Honestly, same. I want to go back just to get that massage again.”

As the guards carry your bags towards the house, you follow Miyeon inside, the faint chatter of voices growing louder the deeper you go. Your heels click softly against the marble floor as you both approach the lounge, as familiar voices draw your attention.

You peek inside and instantly smile. Seokjin is hunched over the billiards table, holding his cue stick with a dramatic level of precision. Namjoon stands to the side, visibly exasperated, one hand holding his cue stick against the floor while his other hand rests on his hip as he watches Seokjin line up a shot.

“Look Namjoon...” Seokjin drawls, his tone a mix of amusement and condescension. “You're supposed to stand like this. Your posture is a disgrace to billiards.”

Namjoon groans, running a hand through his hair. “Hyung, my posture isn’t the problem. The problem is you’re cheating.”

“Cheating?!” Seokjin straightens, feigning deep offense. “Excuse me, I play with honor and integrity. You, on the other hand, couldn’t aim if your life depended on it.” he shrugs.

“You’re just salty because your aim’s been off the entire game." Namjoon fires back. “Watch. I’m about to sink three balls in one shot.”

“Sure.” Taehyung interjects from his spot by the bar, swirling a glass of whiskey casually. “And when you miss, Jin hyung will find a way to roast you for the next hour.”

You and Miyeon exchange amused glances, both of you shaking your heads as the banter continues. Namjoon leans over the table dramatically, his cue stick angled as though he’s about to make the shot of the century.

Seokjin watches him like a hawk, ready to pounce on any mistake. Taehyung simply sips his drink, muttering something under his breath about “hopeless competitors.”

As you approach them, your thoughts wander. Despite the comfort of home and the familiarity of these voices, a part of you feels incomplete. Your eyes sweep the room once more, subtly searching for your boyfriend.

You’re desperate to see him, to feel his arms around you, to close the unbearable distance that’s stretched between you these past two days.

Somehow, two days have felt like an eternity. You’ve replayed every text and call in your mind, but nothing compares to having him here, tangible, in front of you.

“Oh my god, baby...” Taehyung is the first to notice the two of you approaching. Without missing a beat, he sets his glass of whiskey down on the bar and strides forward, pulling Miyeon into a warm hug. “You guys are back!” he exclaims, his smile wide and genuine as he steps back to take a good look at both of you.

You can’t help but grin at him, waving at Namjoon and Seokjin, who have momentarily paused their game of billiards to acknowledge your arrival.

After a few exchanges of pleasantries and brief chatter about the island trip, you finally ask the question that’s been burning on your mind. “Where’s Jungkook?”

“Oh, he’s up in your room. He seemed a bit tired.” Namjoon answers. Your lips part slightly as you nod. “Okay then. I’ll go to him. You guys enjoy yourselves.” you say, offering a warm smile before hugging everyone. Turning on your heels, you exit the lounge and begin making your way towards the staircase.

Just when you're in the middle of ascending the stairs, a voice interrupts you. “Y/N!”

You glance over your shoulder at the sound of your name, only to see Namjoon trailing behind you, his steps hesitant. His expression holds something you can’t quite decipher, like he’s battling with his own thoughts.

“Joonie?” you say, your voice laced with curiosity and just a hint of concern as you watch him climb the stairs to meet you.

“Hey...” he breathes out, stopping a step below yours, his gaze briefly dropping to the floor before he looks at you. His hesitation sends a ripple of unease through you.

“What’s up, Joonie??” you ask gently, studying his face for clues. The slight tension in his shoulders, the way he exhales like he’s carrying a weight he’s unsure he should share, it all sets your nerves alight.

“Y/N…” he begins, pausing as if choosing his next words carefully. “I’ve been debating whether to tell you this, but…” He trails off, his hand raking through his hair in frustration. You take a step closer, your heart beginning to pound. “Joonie?? Is everything okay??"

He sighs deeply, the sound heavy and conflicted. “Well.. It’s about Jungkook...”

The mention of your boyfriend immediately tightens something in your chest. “What happened to Jungkook?” you ask quickly, your voice rising with worry.

Namjoon hesitates, his gaze searching yours. “He didn’t want me to tell you this... but…” He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “It doesn’t feel right to keep this from you. You should know.”

Your stomach churns, dread blooming in your chest. “Know what? What happened?” you ask again.

Namjoon looks away for a moment, as though gathering the courage to speak, before his eyes meet yours again. “It started at the bar… Wooyoung approached him. He said some things... about your past... about how your mom wanted... you and Wooyoung to get married.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you can’t breathe.

Namjoon presses on, his voice tinged with anger. “But it didn’t stop there. Wooyoung’s friends... well.. they went after Jungkook. They trashed his cabin... broke his camera... spray-painted some cruel things on the wall.” He pauses, his jaw tightening.

“They did what?” you ask, disbelief dripping from your voice. This was the last thing you ever expected to hear. Your chest tightens painfully as the weight of Namjoon’s words settles in. Jungkook had endured all of this alone and you hadn’t had the slightest clue.

And of course, knowing him you understand why he didn't want this to reach you. And somehow that breaks your heart and fills you with guilt, especially because he found out about something you’d been carefully waiting for the right moment to tell him. The layers of emotions overwhelm you, each more suffocating than the last.

“Why... why was Wooyoung even on that cruise?” you ask, your voice rising with frustration now, the disbelief giving way to simmering anger. Namjoon raises his hands quickly in defense. “Hey, That's on Jin Hyung.” he says.

"But anyways, I really thought you should know this." His voice softens as he continues. “Jungkook seemed pretty shaken up by it, even though he tried not to show it. So… please, just take care of him.”

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. The gratitude you feel for Namjoon is momentary, overshadowed by the urgency now coursing through your veins. Without wasting another second, you turn on your heel and dash up the stairs, heading towards your room.

//

Jungkook smiles to himself as he rests on the pillow, scrolling through the videos you'd sent him over the past two days. His chest warms as he watches a clip of you playing with two cats on the island, your laughter echoing softly through the speaker.

The way your nose scrunches in delight makes his heart flutter, and he giggles quietly, his thumb hovering over the replay button. "Where are you?" he mutters under his breath with a wistful sigh, the corners of his lips still tugged into a smile.

And just like magic, the door to your room suddenly bursts open with a loud bang. He jumps slightly, his phone nearly slipping from his hand. Before he can even process your sudden arrival, you’re bolting towards him.

Jungkook barely has time to sit up straight before you fling yourself onto him, wrapping your arms around him with a ferocity that nearly knocks the breath out of his lungs.

“Baby—” he starts, his voice laced with confusion and concern, but you cut him off before he can finish. “I’m sorry.” The words tumble out of your mouth in a shaky breath, muffled as you bury your face into the crook of his neck.

Your hold on him tightens. “I’m sorry. Namjoon told me everything. I’m sorry about Wooyoung, I’m sorry about his friends, I’m sorry about your cabin, I’m sorry about your camera…” Your voice breaks slightly as you ramble, the guilt pouring out of you in waves.

Jungkook exhales deeply, and you feel the tension in his body ease as his arms come around you, his hands resting gently on your back. He holds you close, rubbing soothing circles against your spine.

“Is this how you’re going to greet me after spending two whole days in Jeju?” he teases, his voice light with humor, though you can hear the warmth beneath it. “What happened to ���hi, hello, I missed you?’”

Despite the joking tone, the tender way Jungkook rubs your back anchors you. You pull back slightly, just enough to meet his gaze. There’s a softness in his eyes, a quiet warmth that seems to steady your unraveling thoughts.

“I’m really sorry, Kook.” you repeat, your voice trembling as you try to convey the depth of your regret.

He shakes his head gently, his hand leaving your back to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Baby, why are you apologizing for something you had no control over?” he asks, his tone light but earnest. “You’re not responsible for what Wooyoung or his friends did.”

“I should’ve told you about him...” you admit, your voice low, almost wavering. “About us, our past… everything. I should've been honest.”

Jungkook doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he leans forward, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. The simple gesture makes your chest tighten with emotion, grounding you in a way that words can’t.

When he pulls back, his gaze is steady but contemplative. “Baby...” he starts carefully, his voice softer now. “Can I ask you something?”

You nod instantly, your heart thudding. “Of course. Anything.” you say. He hesitates, the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes making your stomach churn. “Why didn’t you... why didn't ever you tell me about your family?” he asks at last, the question laced with a vulnerability that makes your chest ache.

Your breath hitches at the question, and for a moment, you feel exposed. But a part of you knew this was coming. You knew that hiding your life from Jungkook and then unveiling it all on a random Thursday would inevitably lead to this moment.

“It's just…” You pause, your voice wavering as you try to find the right words, your eyes searching his face for reassurance. “Kook, when we first met... you had no idea who I was or who my family was and... you were just so... so different from all the men I grew up with.”

Jungkook doesn’t say anything, his gaze steady, waiting for you to continue. Instead, you feel his grip tighten ever so slightly, his silent way of encouraging you to speak your truth.

“You were this bright, passionate man with these beautiful, expressive eyes and that gorgeous, dreamy smile...” you begin, your voice trembling as a fond smile tugs at your lips.

“And for the first time in forever, I felt like I could just… breathe around someone. With you, I didn’t have to be this polished or poised woman who had to fit into some high-class society mold. I didn’t have to pretend to be someone else... because being myself around you... was just... so easy, without having to worry about where I came from and who my family was.”

Your thumb gently traces over the faint scar on his cheek, a gesture so intimate it makes his heart jump. His gaze softens, melting into yours as if you're the only person in the world. “You just... liked me for me. Not because of my family, my connections, or my status, but because of who I was with you. You saw me... the real me... when I didn’t even know how to see myself.”

Your voice falters slightly, but you don’t look away, letting him see the emotion in your eyes. “I know it was selfish of me... but I... so badly wanted to hold on to that feeling... the feeling of being loved in a way that felt so… pure." you pause, a shallow breath escaping your lips.

" I just… I just I didn’t know how to tell you about that part of me...”

Jungkook listens intently, his expression softening even more as your words sink in. Slowly, he tugs you closer, pulling you into his warm embrace. You feel his heartbeat steady against your own, his presence grounding you in a way only he can.

“Baby...” he whispers, his voice low as his fingertips trail soothing patterns along your back. “For me, it’s always been you. It always will be you. None of that other stuff matters... your family, your status, your class... they’re just parts of you that I’ll embrace because they make up the woman I love. But beyond all that, I love you for you.”

His voice dips into something deeper, more vulnerable. “And I’m glad I could bring out the real you. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted, and it’s an honor to be able to experience that side of you." he hugs you tighter, before continuing.

"You have no idea how my world has changed ever since you entered it. You make everything... brighter and just... more bearable. You make it all make sense. So thank you for coming into my life. Thank you for trusting me with your heart.”

Your eyes well up as you close them, leaning into his embrace. The warmth of his words, paired with the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, feels like the safest place you’ve ever known. “Thank you for coming into my life too.” you breathe out, voice thick with emotion.

After a beat of silence, you pull back slightly. “But I’m still sorry about Wooyoung. I'm going to give him a piece of my mind, I swear—”

“Hey.” He cuts you off, a small chuckle escaping his lips as he shakes his head. “There’s no need for that. Let’s just forget it happened, okay?”

You pout, reluctant to let it go, but his soft, reassuring expression makes you falter. “Fine...” you huff, a sigh escaping your lips. “Still...” you murmur, your fingers absentmindedly playing with the hem of his collar. “I’m sorry, Kook. Thank you... for always being so understanding. I truly don’t deserve you.”

He shakes his head, the faintest hint of exasperation softened by the smile tugging at his lips. "You deserve the world, baby. And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”

A soft giggle escapes you, the light in his eyes mirrored by the smile that refuses to leave your lips. “I love you.” you whisper, the words filled with every ounce of emotion you’ve been holding in.

His toothy smile, the one that always makes your heart flutter, breaks across his face. “I love you too.” he replies.

And just like that, as if drawn by an unspoken force, he leans in, capturing your lips with his. The warmth of his kiss washes over you, soothing every ache, every worry, and filling you with a certainty that everything is exactly as it’s meant to be.

//

"Do we get to eat them ??" Jungkook asks, leaning against the doorframe, his eyes following your reflection in the mirror as you brush your hair. A giggle escapes your lips at his eager tone. “Of course, baby. You can eat all of them if you want to.” you reply, shooting him a playful grin.

With the wedding just around the corner, the house is bustling with preparations, but today feels different. Your grandma insisted on gathering everyone to make dumplings for the rehearsal dinner that's coming up.

You and Jungkook make your way to the dining room, the air filled with the warm aroma of freshly prepared ingredients. The large table is the centerpiece of the room, and as soon as you step inside, the sight of your family fills you with comfort and joy.

Taehyung and Seokjin are already deep in their dumpling-making attempts, though it's clear they’ve caused more chaos than progress.

Both of them have flour smeared across their faces like war paint, a result of what must’ve been an enthusiastic but poorly thought-out experiment.

“Hyung, that dumpling looks like a deflated balloon.” Taehyung teases Seokjin, holding up his creation for comparison. Seokjin huffs, rolling his eyes. “At least mine isn’t oozing out stuffing like yours, Tae. What are you making? A dumpling that's throwing up?”

“Call it modern art, Hyung.” Taehyung retorts, grinning mischievously as he tosses a bit of flour at Seokjin, who gasps dramatically. “Yah! Taehyung, do you want me to dump this entire bowl of stuffing on your head?” Seokjin warns, clearly frustrated.

Across the table, Namjoon and Miyeon work with quiet precision, their movements synchronized like a well-rehearsed dance. Namjoon occasionally sneaks a glance at the chaos brewing between Taehyung and Seokjin, shaking his head with a fond smile.

“You two are worse than toddlers.” he quips, not looking up from his perfectly shaped dumpling. “At this rate, we're all gonna finish a hundred dumplings before you guys finish ten.”

Miyeon chuckles, her hands deftly sealing another dumpling. “Joon's right. How are you both so bad at this? It’s not rocket science.”

Taehyung gasps in mock offense. “Excuse me, babe, I don't know if you've noticed but Jin hyung is literally sabotaging me!” he exclaims. “I’m the one sabotaging you?” Seokjin laughs incredulously. “Look at my face, Tae. I look like a ghost, thanks to you!”

Namjoon’s mom, your favorite aunt, sits at the far end of the table as she rolls the dough into perfect circles, her laughter ringing like a bell.

“Boys, boys...” she interjects, her voice gentle but firm. “Stop fighting and focus on your dumplings. Otherwise, your future kids will hear stories about how their dads couldn’t make dumplings to save their lives.”

Everyone bursts out laughing at her comment, even Taehyung and Seokjin, who share a sheepish grin before returning to their task.

As you and Jungkook approach the group, everyone greets the two of you with warm smiles. Jungkook pulls out a chair for you to sit, earning a scrunch of your nose in fondness at the sweet gesture. After you’re settled, he takes the seat beside you, his hand instinctively finding yours under the table.

"So, I see Tae and Jin are already setting records... for failure...” you quip, your eyes gleaming with mischief as you glance at the disfigured dumplings piled in front of them. “Hey, those are Tae’s!” Seokjin protests, pushing forward another plate of equally disastrous dumplings. “Mine look way better, see?”

“Ah, yes.” you reply with mock solemnity, inspecting the plate. “Such fine craftsmanship. Truly an expert.” you giggle.

Everyone bursts into laughter and so does Jungkook, his eyes crinkling as he takes in the scene. He looks around, marveling at the tender warmth that surrounds your family.

“Okay, watch closely everyone...” you suddenly announce, picking up a perfect circle of dough. “The secret to making a good dumpling is love. And also, not being like Taehyung.” you grin.

“Hey!” Taehyung protests, earning another round of laughter. You press on, your tone turning exaggeratedly instructive.

“First, you scoop just the right amount of stuffing... not too much, or it’ll explode like Tae’s modern art pieces.” You hold up a small spoonful of filling, placing it precisely in the center of the dough. Jungkook observes your actions, a fond smile tugging at his lips.

“Next, you fold it in half, like you’re tucking it in for a nap. Be gentle, it’s delicate.”

Jungkook leans in closer, watching intently as your fingers press the edges together. “Then, you join the edges, like this... pinch... pinch... pinch.” you continue, your fingers deftly creating a neat, ruffled pattern. “Think of it as accessorizing your dumpling... it needs to be cute, you know?”

“Wow...” Jungkook murmurs, his voice full of awe. “You’re like the Michelangelo of dumplings.” he giggles. “Please.” you reply with a dramatic shrug. “I’m just a humble dumpling artist.”

Emboldened, Jungkook picks up his own piece of dough, determination written all over his face. “Alright, let me try. Scoop... fold.... pinch, pinch, pinch… done!” He holds up his quick creation triumphantly. You glance at it and press your lips together to stifle a laugh.

“Hmm....” you say, tilting your head. “Looks like your dumpling had a very long night.” you tease as the rest of the table laughs. “It’s rustic.” Jungkook counters, grinning despite himself. “Rustic indeed.” you tease, your laugh mingling with his.

As Jungkook continues fumbling with the dough, his brow furrowed in concentration, he glances around the lively table and decides to engage. “So, did you guys do this even as kids?” he asks, his voice light and curious as eyes dart between you, Taehyung and your cousins.

Before anyone can respond, the mood shifts. Your mother strides into the room, carrying a fresh tray of stuffing. Jungkook’s posture stiffens instinctively as her gaze briefly locks with his.

Her expression is impassive... polite on the surface but brimming with subtle tension. She sets the tray down and takes a seat directly across from the two of you, her movements precise and deliberate.

“Hi, Mama.” you greet warmly, your voice bright as you flash her a quick smile. She returns it with practiced ease but doesn’t linger, her attention quickly shifting to the task at hand. Her eyes flick to Jungkook, assessing him with a glance that’s colder than he’d prefer. He swallows hard, the discomfort settling in his chest like a heavy stone.

“It was more like we didn’t have a choice.” Namjoon pipes up, steering the conversation back to Jungkook’s question. His teasing tone earns chuckles from Seokjin and Taehyung, who nod in agreement.

“Exactly.” your aunt chimes in, shooting Namjoon an exaggerated glare. "We taught you, so you'd know the blood, sweat and tears it took to raise and feed you monkeys." she says as everyone laughs. Jungkook smiles faintly, grateful for the distraction, though the unease lingers.

The past few days at your family’s home had been a mix of warmth and tension for him. While the rest of your family had embraced him easily, your mother’s guarded demeanor made him feel like he was walking on eggshells. He’s done his best to stay out of her way, but now, sitting face-to-face, her disapproval is palpable.

“If we don’t pass down traditions like this, they’ll disappear.” your mother says suddenly, her voice cutting through the chatter. She folds the dough around a perfect mound of stuffing, her movements sharp and efficient. Without lifting her eyes from her work, she continues. “I’m sure you find all of this unusual.”

Her words hang heavy in the air, and Jungkook feels the weight of her unspoken judgment. “They don’t teach things like this in the West, do they?” she continues, finally meeting his gaze. Her eyes are cool, her tone sharp enough to draw blood.

The room falls silent, the cheerful chatter replaced by thick tension. Jungkook swallows, unsure how to respond while you shift in your seat, your breath hitching at the unwanted confrontation. Before you can step in, Seokjin's voice breaks the silence.

“Grandma!” he exclaims, leaping to his feet as your grandmother enters the room. He strides towards her with exaggerated enthusiasm, offering his arm. “You’re finally here!”

Grateful for the distraction, everyone rises to greet her respectfully. Her presence is like a balm, soothing the room’s strained energy. She smiles warmly, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she takes in the bustling scene.

“Y/N-ah...” she says, her gaze landing on you before shifting to Jungkook. “You brought Jungkook too.” Her smile widens as she inches closer to him, her hand lifting to cup his cheek gently. “Hello, sweetheart.” she says, her voice warm and affectionate.

Jungkook bows slightly, his lips curving into a polite smile. “Hello, Grandma.” he replies softly, the tension in his chest easing under her kind gaze.

As everyone settles back into their seats, your grandmother sits at the head of the table, near your mother, her sharp eyes scanning the dumplings in front of her. “Did you make those?” she asks lightly, a playful smile tugging at her lips.

Your mother forces out a stiff smile. “Yes, Ma.” she replies. “Hmm.” your grandmother hums thoughtfully, inspecting the dumplings more closely. “It seems you’ve lost your touch.” she adds.

Jungkook notices the way your mother’s jaw tightens, her forced smile barely hiding the undercurrent of irritation. “I’ll do better.” she replies, her voice taut, the words clipped as if forcing themselves out.

It’s a subtle moment, so fleeting it slips past everyone else in the room, including you. But Jungkook catches it. The way her fingers pause ever so slightly over the dumpling she’s shaping, the sharp edge in her tone... it all lingers in the air, faint yet telling.

Just as he processes what he’s seen, your mother’s gaze suddenly snaps up, meeting his. Jungkook’s eyes widen instinctively, caught off guard by her piercing stare. Her expression shifts in an instant, the forced warmth melting away to reveal a sour look that seems to pin him in place.

In that split second, Jungkook realizes... she knows he saw it.

Not wanting to overstep or make things worse he quickly averts his eyes, pretending to focus on the dumpling in his hands. He swallows hard, willing himself to appear unaffected, as though he hadn’t just witnessed the moment.

But the unease remains. He can feel her gaze lingering on him for a second longer before she looks away, her mask of politeness slipping back into place.

Jungkook exhales softly, his shoulders tight as he resumes his task. He glances at you, wondering if you’ve noticed anything, but you’re too engrossed in folding the dumplings to sense the silent exchange.

Still, the weight of your mother's reaction stays with him. For the first time, he wonders if your mother’s reservations aren’t just about him but about something deeper, something unresolved within her.

//

As Jungkook steps out of the dining room, the faint smell of flour and spices still clinging to his hands, he glances around, searching for the washroom. Despite having spent days at your house, he still finds the maze-like layout disorienting. The grand size of the place only adds to his sense of displacement.

He sighs in mild frustration, realizing he’s turned down the wrong hallway yet again. Just as he’s about to retrace his steps, he notices someone approaching from the other end. His stomach sinks slightly as he recognizes your mother.

She seems preoccupied as she carefully dusts her dress. Jungkook freezes instinctively, his smile faltering as she nears. Though he musters up a polite smile when she looks up, she doesn’t return it.

As the silence stretches and her gaze lingers on him, Jungkook decides to break the tension. “I’m…” he begins, clearing his throat nervously. “I’m a little lost.” he admits with an awkward laugh, gesturing vaguely towards the hallway behind him.

Your mother stops a few feet away, her arms crossed loosely. Her expression is unreadable, though Jungkook can feel the weight of her scrutiny. “This house can be... confusing.” she replies, her tone neutral but edged with something unspoken.

Jungkook nods quickly, eager to agree. “Yeah, definitely. I thought I had it figured out, but I keep ending up in the wrong place.” He chuckles softly, rubbing the back of his neck.

She studies him for a moment longer before sighing quietly. “The washroom is down that way.” she curtly says, pointing towards the opposite hall.

“Oh, okay. Thank you.” Jungkook says, his tone earnest. He hesitates for a moment, feeling the urge to say something more... something to break the wall between them. “Also... I… I just really wanted to thank you..." he starts and your mother's brows furrow, trying to understand where this is coming from.

Jungkook notices her confusion and decides to press on, his voice tentative yet earnest. “For, um… for letting me stay here. I know it can’t be easy, having someone new around. But I just… I really appreciate it.” he says, his words measured yet sincere.

She studies him for a moment, her gaze unreadable. Then, a faint, almost imperceptible smile curls one corner of her lips. “It isn’t easy.” she admits, her tone steady, though there’s an edge to it that makes him slightly uneasy.

“But, surprisingly…” she begins, stepping a little closer, her expression unreadable. “I see myself in you.” she says. Jungkook blinks, unsure how to respond. He waits, the weight of her words hanging in the air like a storm cloud.

“Y/N’s grandmother...” she continues, her voice calm. “She was never accepting of me. When Y/N’s father told her he wanted to marry me… well, let’s just say it was far from a warm approval.”

Her gaze locks onto Jungkook’s, her eyes sharp and unwavering. “I wasn’t her first choice. And, honestly...” she chuckles dryly, though the sound lacks humor. “I wasn’t her second either.”

Jungkook’s expression softens as understanding starts to dawn, the earlier interaction between her and your grandmother now making more sense. “Gosh… I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” he says quickly, his voice laced with genuine remorse.

She acknowledges his apology with a small smile, though her gaze remains cold, unyielding. “I didn’t come from the right family, didn’t have the right connections. To her, I wasn’t an adequate match for her son.” she explains.

“But… she eventually came around, right?” Jungkook asks cautiously, his tone tinged with hope. She exhales, the sound heavy with years of pent-up emotion.

“It took many years.” she admits, nodding faintly. “She had her reasons... valid ones, even. But I worked hard, sacrificed more than I ever thought I could. Eventually, she saw how much traditions and family mattered to me, and maybe that earned her respect. But...” she pauses, her faint smile turning somber. “There were many days when I wondered if I’d ever truly measure up.”

Jungkook listens intently, his chest tightening with a newfound appreciation for the struggles your mother seemed to have endured.

“And having lived through all of that...” she begins again, her voice lower now, each word carrying weight. “I know one thing for certain...”

She takes another step closer, her presence suddenly oppressive. Her smile twists into something darker, a faint smirk with a sharp edge that sends a shiver down Jungkook’s spine.

“You will never be enough.”

<- part 4 // part 6 ->

series masterlist

taglist: @mirinaeii @taetaecatboy @tsukiesimp @lovingkoalaface @taekrve @jaytheatiny @loverofannabeth @jaerisdiction @whoa-jo @parkinglot-nights @reneeblack6230 @rrosiitas

[cieloclercs]

𝐢𝐟 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 — oscar piastri

ch.1 — 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐬 & 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. oscar piastri x fem!oc

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭. 5.9k

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. angst, fluff, sexual themes, bad language, daddy issues AND mommy issues, alcohol abuse, depictions of mental health issues, messy family relationships, MEN (except oscar of course), natasha’s friends suck, a lot of people suck in this actually (rich people core 🤩)

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. angst, fluff (mixed with a bit of angst ofc), probably wayyy too much description (sorry i’m a yapper), sad natasha core, alcohol abuse probably, allusions to suicidal thoughts, fainting, mentions of oxbr*dge (this warning is more for me tbh)

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞. for the tolstoy fans (if you guys exist lol) — spot the war & peace reference! p.s, please like & reblog! <3

masterpost

chapter i , chapter ii (coming soon)

read below the cut

𝟏𝟔 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 𝐕𝐚𝐥 𝐝𝐢 𝐅𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐬, 𝐈𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐲 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐀 𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐂𝐀𝐍’𝐓 help but worry what Signora Moretti will think when she finds her wine cellar half emptied. She’s only been staying at the quaint little lodge high up in the Italian Dolomites for a few days, but already, if someone asked her how many bottles she’d gone through, she wouldn’t be entirely confident in her answer. Of course, the signora did say she could help herself to whatever she liked, with it being the holiday season and all, but there’s a fine line between festive drinking and straight-up alcoholism. Natasha fears she may be treading that particular tightrope.

In her defence, she has a lot to try and forget about. A part of her wonders if everything seems like it has fallen apart now because her life was so perfect before – it is all about perspective, after all. But, as Natasha’s gaze burns holes into the bottom of her wine glass, she thinks that things weren’t perfect; just easier. Pretending everything was perfect was the simple part, the one constant in her life she became so good at she even tricked herself into believing it. Now the illusion has crashed down all around her. She supposes she should have been more prepared for it. 

The storm outside seems to be shaking the very foundations of the lodge; of the earth itself, even. Oddly enough, Natasha finds her brooding is a welcome distraction from it. She’s seen the news – the worst snowstorm in a decade, or so everyone keeps saying. Well of course it’s just her luck that she’s stuck somewhere high up in the mountains, exposed to the elements as if on an open plain with no shelter for miles around. Perhaps it would have been smart to actually check the weather forecast before she booked this impromptu trip; but, in her defence again, she wasn’t exactly in the right frame of mind for such technicalities. Natasha Lowell just needed to escape. 

Still, the screeching sound of the wind and the groaning of timber does frighten her a little. She may not speak Italian, but the weather reporters sounded fairly concerned when she flipped over to the news channel earlier. The thought of it is enough to make her stomach drop. Natasha flips open her laptop, against her better judgement, in an attempt to quell the pit of fear in her gut. Rejection stares back at her – the email she received two weeks ago from Magdalen College Oxford telling her she would not be considered for the 2024 Classics PhD program. When she first saw it, she thought it was a joke. She’s an alumnus of Magdalen after all, with First-Class Honours and a perfect academic record; one she’s worked tirelessly her entire life to achieve. Natasha simply can’t understand what more they want from her – what is it that she’s missing?

Suddenly, contemplating her imminent death by snowstorm doesn’t seem so terrible anymore. She snaps her laptop shut with an even larger pit in her stomach, one now occupied by fear and disappointment; that terrible, gnawing feeling she hasn’t been able to shake for weeks – the feeling that somehow, even after years and years of hard work, she’s still not good enough. 

The wind rages on.

Time passes, and boredom begins to eat away at her. Absentmindedly, she switches the tiny square television on, frustration bubbling up in her stomach when the picture flashes onto the screen, grainy and flickering. It’s a wonder the signal is still working, really. She waits a few minutes, hoping the picture will miraculously sharpen, but unsurprisingly, it never does. Normally that wouldn’t be a problem – Natasha is far more accustomed to reading on rainy days than watching TV. In her childhood, she would pile up all her blankets on the cosy window seat in her father’s study, one of his old copies of Wuthering Heights or White Nights open in front of her and a mug of hot chocolate balanced precariously on her knee. But now, she doesn’t feel like reading. She doesn’t feel like doing anything. It’s a pit she hasn’t managed to bring herself to climb out of yet. 

The sound of the wind shrieking through the tree branches outside breaks her out her thoughts – but that’s not what catches her attention. Over the deafening noise, Natasha swears she hears something thudding against the timber walls of the lodge. Her whole body freezes in anticipation, ears trained: and sure enough, there it is again.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

She springs up, heart racing. It’s just a tree branch, she tries to tell herself. No one is crazy enough to be outside in this weather. All the same, she edges backwards towards the kitchen, and takes a frying pan from the stove, just in case. It would be just her luck if she ends up the victim of a murder in a remote lodge deep in the Italian wilderness – just like every murder mystery cliché ever. Natasha waits with bated breath for a few moments, braced for the sound to resume. Just as she begins to think that she must be going crazy, it comes again:

Thud. Thud. Thud.

It’s more frantic this time. Startled, Natasha jumps to attention, brandishing the frying pan above her head with shaking hands. There’s no possibility of it being a tree branch hitting the wall – that she’s sure of. The thudding is too deliberate, too full of intent; like someone is trying to break down the door. Please don’t be a murderer, she thinks, her pleas now dangerously close to a prayer. Despite herself, she inches forwards, frying pan held in front of her in what she hopes looks like a warning. Even the sound of the shrieking wind and heavy snowfall is drowned out by the blood pumping in her ears, the anticipation coursing through her veins. If it is a murderer trying to break the door down, she’ll be the first to strike. 

Suddenly, the door handle is rattling, and Natasha almost screams. Whoever stands behind it is trying desperately to pry their way in, that much she’s sure of. Suddenly, the chance of these moments being her last seems far too much like reality – especially when the lock begins to turn. 

Before she even has the chance to cry out, the door flies open. Ice cold wind and a flurry of snowflakes swirl into the room, meeting her skin like a slap to the face. Natasha stumbles back, tripping over the edge of the rug. Somehow, she manages to stay on her feet as a dark figure steps out of the cold. She can just about make out a pair of broad shoulders, and, once the figure has straightened up, a frame that towers over her by a good six inches. Oh, fantastic, Natasha thinks; It’s a man. As if her chances weren’t slim enough already. Her sweaty palms tighten around the handle of the frying pan in preparation. 

That’s when the figure looks up. He has soft brown hair stuck up in all sorts of odd angles from the wind, a sharp jawline, and an abnormally thick neck. His eyes lock with hers – a darker brown than his hair – dazed and unfocussed. He steps forward, stumbling on the wooden floorboard like he’s had a few too many glasses of wine to drink. Natasha raises the frying pan higher. 

The man raises his hands up in a sign of surrender, the action seeming to use up all of his remaining energy. He manages a small, exhausted smile, before opening his mouth to speak.

“You weren’t planning on fighting me off with that, were you?” He quips, voice hoarse and ragged. Then his soft brown eyes roll back into his head, and he falls forward face-first, landing in a heap at Natasha’s feet. 

For a moment, all she can do is stare. 

Five minutes ago, she was curled up on the sofa, drinking herself into a familiar oblivion. In the time since then, she’s gone from fearing her imminent death by snowstorm, to facing the possibility of being murdered in a remote winter lodge like she’s the victim in an episode of Columbo, and now to the reality of her potential killer passing out at her feet. Natasha wonders if maybe she has had too much wine – surely these things only happen in dreams, right?

But the man in front of her is very much real. 

She’s quick to discard the frying pan on the arm of the sofa, dropping to her knees beside his unconscious form. It takes all her strength to flip him over so he’s lying on his back, head lolled to the side and brown hair plastered to his forehead from a mixture of melted snow and cold sweat. Natasha curses, brushing the stray curls from his forehead in order to press the back of her palm against it. Sure enough, his skin is cold to the touch, and worryingly pale. Her heart flutters in panic as her hands dart to his neck, feeling for a pulse – it’s there, she thinks, but it's weak; almost so weak that she worries she might even have imagined it.

“Please don’t be dead.” She whispers, desperation washing over her in a cold wave. The last thing she wants is to wait out this storm with a dead body at the foot of the sofa. 

The stranger, of course, makes no reply. Natasha can see his chest rising and falling just the slightest amount beneath his puffer jacket; shallow and quick, but there – that’s a small comfort, at least. Unsurprisingly, he’s shivering. She’ll need to find a way to get him warm. His clothes are soaked through, clinging to his body like a second skin, and she knows the longer he stays in them the worse he’s going to get. Natasha curses again. How on earth is she meant to lift his dead weight off the floor and onto the sofa, let alone figure out a way to get him out of his wet clothes?

“Alright” she mutters, “Guess I’m doing this myself then.” She shuffles around until she’s kneeling by his head and loops her arms under his broad shoulders. Her muscles strain at the effort of it, but she manages to lift his upper body off the floor and begin dragging him towards the sofa. Unfortunately, that’s the easy part – the difficult thing is getting him on to the sofa. Though he’s not particularly tall, he’s got considerable muscle mass; like that of an athlete, she thinks. Natasha, on the other hand, certainly isn’t one. This is probably the most exercise she’s done in months, and it shows. 

Her first effort to haul him onto the sofa is a resounding failure, one that almost results in the both of them collapsing to the floor. Somehow, Natasha manages to maintain her grip under his shoulders, gritting her teeth at the exertion. “A little help would be appreciated.” She mutters, half to the unconscious stranger and half to herself. But still, she tries again. She manages to prop half of his upper body against the sofa arm this time, rejoicing inwardly at the small progress. Natasha moves to loop her arms around his legs, aiming to swing them around to have him lie straight, with his head propped up against the pillows. But, just when she thinks she’s succeeded, his left shoulder slips from its precarious position against the sofa arm. Her expression morphs into one of horror as he begins to fall, seemingly in slow motion. It’s an act of desperation that has her diving forward to catch him, sending them both tumbling to the floor. The stranger lands first with a harsh thud, Natasha following after him, sprawled out against his chest. It’s all she can do to press her face into the soaked front of his puffer jacket, groaning in frustration.

This is not what a relaxing winter retreat is supposed to look like. 

Suddenly, Natasha freezes. Beneath her the stranger is moving, a pained groan rumbling from within his chest which she feels through the thick layers of clothes separating them. Her head shoots up, gaze wide with panic as his eyes begin to flutter open, revealing soft, honey-brown irises. The stranger blinks – once, twice, a third time – in an attempt to take in his surroundings, though there’s still the same look of dazed confusion in his eyes that she noticed in the split second before he passed out. Natasha is frozen as his gaze eventually locks onto her, and his brows furrow in confusion. He opens his mouth as if to say something. No sound comes out. 

“Are you alright –?” Natasha begins, face still only inches away from his; but before she can finish her sentence, as if the sound of her voice has startled him, the stranger shoots forward. His nose collides with her forehead sharply, and they both cry out in pain. Natasha all but leaps away from him, falling on her backside in her haste to get away. The stranger lets out another groan, sitting up slowly and painfully. His movements are sluggish, unsteady – she needs to get him into some warm clothes, Natasha thinks again. 

“Where – where am I?” the stranger speaks, his words slightly slurred, “Who are you?”

She hesitates for a moment – giving her name to a stranger who could still be a murderer? Not a wise idea. Luckily for her, he lets out another pained groan, his questions suddenly forgotten, and she jumps back into action.

“You need to get out of those clothes.” Natasha murmurs, moving towards him slowly. He’s trying – and failing – to get to his feet, the confusion and disorientation in his eyes growing more and more by the moment with each attempt. “Do you need help standing?” she offers, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. Miraculously, that seems to calm him, and he nods softly.

Just like before, Natasha loops an arm underneath his shoulder. The stranger gets unsteadily to his feet, swaying a little before she guides him to sit on the edge of the sofa. She glances around briefly, trying to identify if he brought any clothes with him, or if she’ll have to go searching for anything spare Signora Moretti may have left lying around the lodge. To her relief, she spots a discarded suitcase just by the door. 

“Can you get out of your clothes alright by yourself?” Natasha speaks up again. The stranger looks down at his soaked puffer jacket and tracksuit bottoms like he’s only just noticed them. When he looks up again, he nods.

“Yeah, I – I can do it.” He croaks out, smiling weakly.

Natasha tries to return it, but falls short.

“Alright.” She breathes shakily, “I’ll get you some spare clothes and some blankets. If you need me, just call.”

She’s turning away towards his suitcase before he has a proper chance to respond – but she hears him mutter a quiet thank you all the same. Natasha’s hands tremor as she works open the zip, finding neatly folded piles of clothes and expertly organised toiletries inside. She takes out a plain white t-shirt, a navy-blue hoodie and joggers to match, a pair of warm looking socks, and a pair of black boxer briefs – she makes a point of ignoring the crimson tint that brings to her face, as she stacks it all neatly beside the suitcase. Behind her, Natasha can hear the stranger shuffling around. His groans of pain are infrequent now, and he seems less unsteady on her feet. But she can’t tell if he’s finished changing yet, not without turning around. Natasha’s skin flushes again, as she chews on the inside of her cheek in frustration.

She’ll just have to bite the bullet.

Natasha stands, the pile of clothes bundled in her arms, and turns around. She makes a point of fixing her gaze on the ground, but that does little to ease the embarrassment that crawls over her skin at the sheer absurdity of this situation. The stranger sits on the edge of the sofa, shirtless and looking just about as awkward as she feels. Natasha places the clothes next to him, then realises with a jolt that he’ll be wanting some privacy to change. She clears her throat awkwardly, shuffling around to the back of the sofa, yet again trying to keep her eyes firmly on the floor. Luckily, there are a couple of blankets discarded on the floor, so Natasha scoops them up quickly and all but flings them in the stranger’s direction, before retreating to the adjoined kitchen. 

He mutters a quiet thank you. The reply gets caught in her throat.

Natasha busies herself making him a hot water bottle and a cup of tea. A part of her itches to glance over at him again, curiosity gnawing away at her insides, but she resists the urge. What is he doing here? She can’t help but wonder. And why does he look so familiar? Perhaps he just has one of those familiar faces, or perhaps she does know him from somewhere – school maybe, or even university. Either way, she’s sure she’s seen him before.

It occurs to her then that she doesn’t yet know his name. 

The silence even seems to drown out the howling wind outside, which still hasn’t let up. Natasha waits until the sound of the stranger’s shuffling has stopped before approaching him, a mug of tea and a hot water bottle in either hand. He looks up at the soft padding of her footsteps, and smiles again, a little less weakly this time. For whatever reason, Natasha doesn’t think this is the smile of a murderer – quite the opposite actually; like this, with his chin tucked into his hoodie, he looks utterly harmless. So, she allows herself to return the gesture. 

“Thank you. For, uh – for helping me.” The stranger speaks up after a pause. His speech is more assured now, she notices – a positive sign, at least. For the first time, she recognises the hint of an Australian accent in his voice. That strange feeling of familiarity creeps up on her again.

“You don’t need to thank me.” Natasha replies softly. He opens his mouth again as if to retort, but before he can, a violent shiver wracks his body instead, almost sending the mug of tea flying out of his hands. She takes it from him quickly.

“You need to wrap up warm.” Natasha pushes. He’s changed into the warmer clothes, but the blankets she left him are still discarded over the back of the sofa. “Here.” She reaches behind his head and drapes the warmest looking of the two around his shoulders. The stranger tenses at first, startled by her sudden closeness, but as soon as he feels the warmth begin to cling to his body again, he relaxes into it, letting out a deep sigh.

“Thank you.” He breathes again, closing his eyes in what looks like pure relief. Outside, the wind goes on howling; but now, it doesn’t feel so daunting as it did before. At least, if she is going to die, she won’t be doing it alone.

“I’m Natasha, by the way.” She speaks up again after a moment. The stranger’s eyes snap open, coming to rest on her as if he’d forgotten she was there.

“Oscar.” He replies. 

Piastri, Natasha thinks to herself. She isn’t quite confident to say it aloud, but she’s sure that’s his last name – Oscar Piastri, McLaren Formula 1 driver. Memories flood back to her of earlier in the year, when she would spend what felt like hours sat with her little brother and sister, Petya and Vera, watching the Grand Prix. Natasha never paid a whole lot of attention to it, but she’s certainly been forced to watch enough over the year to remember McLaren’s rookie driver. It all makes sense to her now, why he’s so familiar: the Australian accent, the copious number of orange t-shirts folded up in his suitcase – it all clicks into place. Still, Natasha decides not to bring the matter up, opting for a simple hum and nod of acknowledgement instead. But it is odd – a few short weeks ago, Petya and Vera were cheering for him whenever his car appeared on the TV. Now he’s sat across from her on the sofa, huddled up in her blanket.

What a day, she thinks.

“Do you – uh – do you remember how you got here?” Natasha speaks up again eventually, growing a little restless in the silence that envelops them. Oscar’s brow furrows as he sits up a little straighter, pulling the blanket more firmly around him.

“Yeah.” He answers, “I booked this place out for a couple of days from, uh – Signora Moretti, I think her name was?” he shrugs, “Anyway, the storm hit as I was driving up. My car got stuck in a snowdrift, so I decided to walk the rest of the way.”

Natasha stares at him blankly. “You walked up a mountain in a blizzard?” she says, incredulous. Oscar at least has the decency to look sheepish, reaching around to scratch the back of his neck bashfully. 

“In my defence, it would have been further to walk back.” He protests. She merely shakes her head, fighting off the sudden urge to laugh. 

“You’re lucky you didn’t freeze to death.” She muses, arching an eyebrow in his direction. Oscar smiles again, a hint of playfulness tugging at his lips this time. 

Natasha’s brow furrows suddenly. “Wait, are you sure you got the right date for your booking?” she questions. It’s his turn to frown then, tilting his head at her quizzically. “Because I’m not due to leave for another three days.”

Oscar frowns again, and reaches into the pocket of his navy-blue hoodie to retrieve his phone. She watches him in silence as he taps the screen a few times, presumably searching for the booking confirmation email. Once he’s found it, he turns the screen around for her to glance at. Sure enough, the booking reads: 16 December until 20 December 2023. Natasha’s lifts her gaze to look at him again, a weary sigh slipping past her lips.

“She double booked us.” Oscar nods sheepishly. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter much now, anyway.” She shrugs, glancing around at her surroundings. Her gaze is drawn to the window, where the curtains are drawn tight, yet still the sound of the raging wind and a small, whistling draft pushes its way through into the room. Natasha turns back to Oscar, who is already watching her curiously. “We won’t be leaving anytime soon.” 

Right on cue, the wind gives an especially ear-splitting shriek. Natasha glances uneasily up at the timber beams lining the ceiling. Is the roof buckling under the strain of the storm, or is it just her imagination? She prays it is – she can’t imagine being crushed beneath it would be an especially pleasant way to die. But even then, she thinks, when the storm eventually does let up, will they even be safe to leave? Natasha remembers the mountain pass up to the lodge being precarious enough as it was, even before the snow began to come down – she definitely doesn’t fancy her chances now. 

As if Oscar can read her mind, he reaches forward to nudge her shoulder, breaking her out of her trance. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.” He murmurs. Natasha isn’t so sure – and neither is he, if the slight tremor in his voice is anything to go by. But at least she won’t have to face whatever comes next alone.

They lapse into silence for a moment. It’s not awkward, but it’s not comfortable either, and Natasha finds herself picking at the frayed sleeves of her jumper – a habit she picked up as a child and has carried through to adulthood, despite her father’s distaste for it. Oblivious, Oscar sips at his tea, grateful for its warmth. Natasha watches him, taking note of the colour beginning to return to his cheeks, and the way his hands seem to tremble less and less with each passing moment. That’s a good sign – at least she won’t have to deal with him dying of hypothermia on top of everything else. 

“Are you feeling any better?” Natasha breaks the silence after a few more moments. Oscar finishes his sip of tea before answering.

“Much better, thanks.” He nods, the corners of his mouth turning up a little into a grateful smile. “How long have you been up here for, then?” he goes on to ask, tilting his head to the side in a show of curiosity.

“A few days.” Natasha responds quickly, fighting off the urge to sigh. “Since the thirteenth I think.” She trails off, glancing over at Oscar warily. His eyes are narrowed ever-so-slightly, as if he’s trying to see past the wall she’s put up around her. A rueful smile makes its way onto her face. “Not my usual Christmas setup, but I kind of like it up here. It’s peaceful.” She admits, though her faint smile is soon replaced by a frown, “Or it was, before this storm hit.”

“Yeah.” Oscar agrees, nodding, “That’s why I’m here too. For a bit of peace.” His gaze locks onto hers, silent understanding passing between them. He sucks in a sharp breath, glancing quickly away, “I had no idea about this storm, though. Probably should have checked the forecast before I booked.”

Natasha can’t help but laugh at that – the first true laugh she’s let out in quite a while. It’s odd enough that she and Oscar have ended up in the same place at the same time by pure coincidence; but it’s even more odd that they both seem to be here for such similar reasons.

“I didn’t check it either.” Natasha admits. She ponders her next works for a moment, considering whether they’re too personal – or too cryptic, perhaps – to reveal to a total stranger. “I was, uh – in too much of a rush to get away.”

The confession is out in the open before she can stop herself. Natasha gaze drops to her hands instinctively, fingers picking at the frayed edges of her jumper once again. She can feel Oscar watching her, though; curiosity and confusion radiating from him like warmth from the sun. Perhaps there’s a little understanding in there too. When Natasha lifts her head, he’s already looking at her, eyes soft. He opens his mouth, to question her further, she thinks, but before the words can materialise on his tongue, everything goes black.

Natasha jumps like she’s been electrocuted, her entire body going rigid as a thunderous crash follows the sudden darkness. Her hand flies out to grasp at the closest thing to her like an anchor, her grip vice-like and harsh. It’s only when Oscar lets out a sharp hiss that she realises it’s his bicep she’s got hold of. Natasha blushes, oddly grateful for the sudden darkness now, and lets go of him with a murmured apology. Yet as soon as she does, Oscar is shuffling closer, close enough to brush against her shoulder, as if he too needs the assurance that he’s not alone.

“What happened?” he whispers into the darkness. Natasha shrugs her shoulders. Her first thought is the huge pine tree planted outside the lodge – the wind is certainly strong enough to uproot a tree, and this one is more than close enough to have collided with the roof if it fell. She lets out a low groan. She can only pray it hasn’t done too much damage. 

“Have you got your phone on you?” Natasha whispers back in Oscar’s direction. “I left mine in the kitchen.”

He catches her meaning instantly, fumbling around in the pocket of his joggers for his phone. A few beats pass in silence, and then the room is lit up again. Natasha squints as the harsh, white torch shines directly into her eyes. This time it’s Oscar’s turn to mutter an apology.

“Should I try the lights?” he asks after a moment. She shrugs in response, as if it say, it couldn’t hurt. A nauseous pit in her gut tells her this isn’t just a momentary power outage. She knows where Signora Moretti keeps the generator, and if anything happened to that – well, she doesn’t like to think what that could mean. 

Oscar stands from the sofa, leaving Natasha in darkness. She watches the harsh light of his phone torch travel across the room, flickering as he searches around for the light switch. Her breathing grows shallower by the second, her hands clammy – she’s never been afraid of the dark, per se, but there’s something about the stress of this whole situation that has her glancing fitfully over her shoulder, half-expecting another unexpected visitor to creep out from the shadows – one significantly more menacing than Oscar. 

“Lights are out.” A voice cuts through the darkness. Natasha whirls around, her heart a flurry of rapid pulses like she’s trapped a dozen butterflies in there, each as desperate as the other to get out. Sensing her uneasiness, Oscar puts his hands up in a calming gesture, moving slowly now as he lowers himself back onto the sofa, so as not to startle her again. He looks concerned. She makes a point of ignoring that.

“Signora Moretti keeps some candles in the back room for emergencies.” Natasha speaks up, tilting her head towards a door at the back of the kitchen. “We’ll have to make do with those for now.”

Oscar is quick to nod, and makes as if to get to his feet again. He pauses for a moment, hands planted on his knees, before glancing sideways at her. There’s a silent question in his eyes, as if he’s asking her permission – or asking himself perhaps. Then, he extends a hand towards her.

“We’ll go together.” He murmurs. Natasha stares down at his open palm for a moment, head spinning ever-so-slightly. “For safety.” Oscar adds hastily. That has her lips twitching upwards in amusement, especially when she notices the faint flush spread across his cheeks at his own forwardness. Nevertheless, Natasha takes his hand gratefully, clinging onto him as he pulls them both to their feet. She thinks she hears him murmur keep hold of me, but over the sound of the howling wind, she can’t be sure. 

Sure enough, they find a whole box of candles in the storeroom; more than enough to keep the how lodge almost as well-lit as it had been before. Once they’ve located a lighter to match, they make quick work of setting up the candles – first in the living room and adjoined kitchen, then in the bedroom and en suite. By the time they finish, Natasha’s heartbeat has slowed to a steady rhythm, and the urge to check back over her shoulder every few seconds has all but subsided.

It helps that Oscar doesn’t let go of her hand until the very last candle is lit. 

“There.” He breathes, stepping back to admire their handiwork. “Reckon that’s enough?” he turns to Natasha, tilting his head to the side – she’s noticed he tends to do that when waiting for an answer. 

“More than enough.” She returns, smiling faintly. They find their way back to the sofa before long, settling back into their seats on either end, a respectable distance between them. Natasha shivers a little, but hides it beneath the thick blanket she’s now wrapped around her shoulders. Oscar takes the other one – the warmer one, though she doesn’t tell him that – pulling it firmly around his shoulders with a sigh of relief. The colour is back in his cheeks for good now, Natasha notes: a healthy, flushed pink. Under the dim candlelight, he looks a little like he’s glowing – the faintest hint of a summer tan peeking through; eyes like pools of liquid honey-brown.

Natasha averts her gaze quickly, as soon as his head begins to turn. Her gaze is drawn back to the window in the corner of the room near the fireplace – the one covered by the maroon curtain, which barely manages to hold the draft in from outside. The candles they’ve placed around it flicker dangerously with each gust of wind. Natasha’s hand drops to pick at the frayed sleeve of her jumper yet again. While their emergency lighting has warded off most of her fears, she still feels uneasy. The storm doesn’t seem like it will be letting up any time soon – if anything, it’s only getting worse. 

“I don’t know how we’re supposed to sleep through this.” Oscar speaks up from beside her, and Natasha glances around. He too is watching the flickering candles, a look of apprehension clouding over the warmth of his irises. Natasha bites her lip, anxiety taking hold of her.

“I’m not sure we are.” She murmurs back.

As if in reply, the wind gives another fierce howl, and the entire lodge seems to groan with it. Suddenly, Natasha is tense again, every muscle in her body seeming to tense up as the sound of the storm outside and the blood pounding in her ears drowns out everything else. She doesn’t realise she’s unconsciously shuffled closer to Oscar, nor he to her, until she senses the faint warmth radiating from him and seeping into her own skin. Natasha turns to look at him, slowly, tentatively. His mouth is slightly parted, eyes fixed solely on her. He’s just as nervous about the raging storm as she is, Natasha can sense – he’s just managing to hide it better.

A few beats of silence pass before the tension finally snaps. Oscar inhales sharply, patting at the spot directly next to him in a silent instruction. Natasha doesn’t need to be told twice. She shuffles as close to him as she can without ending up seated on his lap, and tucks her knees up to her chest. Oscar’s side moulds into hers like the missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle – shoulders touching, thighs pressed together for both warmth and comfort. He doesn’t put his arm around her, doesn’t take her hand in his again; but the quiet reassurance is still there, steadfast and undeniably soothing. Natasha’s shallow breaths slow to the ordinary rhythm, soon syncing with his own. She focusses on the shared sound, and before long, the shrieking and howling of the wind is all but drowned out.

They exchange no words. The minutes pass by in comfortable silence, punctuated only by each other’s steady, deep breaths. Natasha soon feels her eyelids begin to flutter closed, as the familiar, velvet veil of sleep passes over her. She catches the faint scent of grapefruit and cinnamon, flooding her senses like warm rays of sunlight filtering through the trees in summer. Natasha lets sleep take her with a faint smile on her lips and the vague thought crossing her mind: Strange, she thinks, how in all her life she’s never felt safer than she does now, wrapped up in the warmth of a complete stranger.

[leiatalon]

The Eternal Library February Progress Report and Author Update

Author Update:

After pushing hard to wrap up chapter four earlier this month, I've been feeling a bit burnt out and needing a break. One of the things I promised myself when I started writing this project was that I would take breaks as needed, making health and family my priorities, so I'm doing my best to stay true to that. This is another reason I chose Hosted Games for this story, so I can write what I want to write when I want to write it, and not have the stress of deadlines.

I have not yet started in on chapter five, which is actually ch_5a and ch_5b because the split in the story means two different adventures the MC can take during that time period. One of the challenges with writing Interactive Fiction is the mind-boggling overwhelm that can feel like an insurmountable wall when you think about the labyrinthine branches that must be written.

Is it the anticipation of those many branches and two separate chapter fives that's making me want to take a break from writing? No doubt that's a contributing factor, but I've climbed that mountain before. The truth is, there's an ebb and flow to my creative process.

Sometimes time spent away from my computer is exactly what I need in order to figure out new twists or to recharge my energy so I can dive back in.

Sometimes I need to move my body and change my perspective in order for the pieces of the story to fall into place. Walks with my dog and puttering around the yard while my kids slide down a snowy embankment are just the thing to get my brain unstuck.

Cleaning the house and baking cookies are good for the soul.

Progress Report:

Since I released the first 40k demo of The Eternal Library on Dec. 23, 2024, I've written over 55,000 words for the game and many thousands more in POV scenes that aren't yet incorporated or might never be part of the main body of the IF novel. I've created the art, integrated feedback, playtested, edited, maintained Patreon and Tumblr accounts, and responded to comments on the CoG forum. That's a lot for two months!

I'm really liking the integration of POV scenes to fill in elements of intrigue that happen "off page" in the game. This is something I didn't do in my last two IF novels, and it's wonderfully revealing to get into other characters' heads.

I love the many layers coming into play and the massive amount of story that is chapter four, which is currently available in the Patreon demo and will be released publicly toward the middle of next month.

While I'm taking a short break this week to recharge, I'll start to chip away on one of the chapter fives soon. Perhaps I'll do a Patreon poll to see which one people want me to write first!

Thanks so much for following along as I write The Eternal Library! 🙌 I hope you have a wonderful week! 💞 👑

[divorcingjimmatthews]

[Spoilers] The Norman Masterpost

I'm collecting everything I remember surrounding the story Julie tells Ethan in the RV. Feel free to add to it if you find something I missed!

In the story, the character "Norman" dies in his friends' arms, which upsets Ethan. To fix this, Tabitha reasons that Norman can't be dead, because it was monsters that killed him, and there's no such thing as monsters. This is the scene that introduces us to the four characters in the Matthews family, but it also introduces us to some other elements that will keep coming up through the show.

THE LAKE OF TEARS

After his seizure during the night they spend in the RV in S1E2, Ethan claims to have "seen" the lake of tears as a drawing in Victor's room.

"I saw the lake of tears. It was a drawing on the wall. There were so many drawings on the wall. Like when I used to draw with crayons... and you would put it on the fridge? And we were all there in the drawings, you and me and Mom and Julie. But somebody screamed, because the spider came down from the ceiling."

I find it interesting that Ethan could see drawings of his family that Victor made, before they even met Victor. It seems that Julie can visit the past during her seizures, while Ethan can see into the future.

Many of Victor's drawings depict water droplets, large bodies of water and a large spider. We can see a few of them here.

"TELLING A DIFFERENT STORY"

The norman story is longer in an earlier version of the script. In this longer version, Ethan begs Julie to change the ending, but she tells him that she can't change the ending because the story's over. Tabitha suggest that they can tell a different story (one that brings Norman back to life), but Julie argues that it won't matter because "her story came first".

After the crash, we get this sweet scene of Julie writing a different ending for Ethan in S1E2, where Norman's friends are able to save him. However, it doesn't seem to land as Ethan's interest is grabbed by seeing the BIW outside the window.

Once Julie becomes a storywalker in season 3, she tells Ethan she might be able to save Tian-Chen, and maybe even Thomas. It's now Ethan who tells her that it doesn't work that way — she can visit chapters that have already been told, but she can't change them.

E: "You're a Storywalker." J: "So if I go back to those ruins, do you think I could do it again?" E: "Maybe, why?" J: "Well, if... if this is real, that means I can change things. I can save Tian-Chen. Maybe I could even save Thomas." (😭) E: "It doesn't work like that. You can visit the chapters, but you can't change them." J: "Why?" E: "No one can change a story once it's been told."

Still, that doesn't stop her from trying. We see future Julie trying to save her dad in the finale. It seems Ethan was right, as she's not able to make any meaningful changes to the narrative.

She does, however, throw Boyd the rope, so we will have to wait until S4 to learn more about storywalking and what Julie may or may not be able to do when she visits the past.

There is also the possibility that, just like with Norman's story, it will be Tabitha who changes the ending with a different approach of her own. When Victor recalls what the BIW told Christopher in S3E8, he mentions "someone who loved the children" telling them a story that gave them hope.

"The children were born in the dark, and they were murdered in the dark. But someone who loved them told them a story. The story gave them hope, and when the children laid on the stones, they poured their hopes into the roots to make the symbol, and those roots became the tree."

I'm guessing this "someone" is very likely to be the first incarnation of either Tabitha or Jade. The story they told created the gateway out of the town, so who knows what else is possible?

JIM AND NORMAN

In Tabitha's dream in S1E9, we get a closeup of some of Ethan's toys in the steps of the lighthouse. Moments later, we're shown Jim hanging upside down. This is the scene that popularized the theory that Jim would eventually die.

The dream is about Tabitha's memory of the RV crash, so both Jim hanging upside down and the focus on Norman make sense without implying Jim's death. However, Jim did eventually die, so the connection feels worthy of mention.

The show makes a point to remind us that Norman got buried alongside Jim when their house collapsed. It's interesting that he's present every time the possibility of Jim's death comes up.

Lastly, I find it interesting that Jim's death seems to mirror Norman's (death by monster claws, right after he cracked the code that unlocked the answers that might save them, complete with a loved one crying in despair.)

THE SECRET FAIRIES

The "secret fairies" are not brought up again to my knowledge, but I can't help but wonder if we've met them. Could they be the children that only Jade and Tabitha can see?

They are central to the story of the show, so it would make sense to me that they were introduced as early as possible alongside the rest of the elements I've mentioned.

CONCLUSION

Like Victor said, I also think "the answers to the end are at the beginning", so I think Tabitha might find a way to wish or reason the monsters away with Jade's help, and potentially save Jim.

[synergysilhouette]

Remaking "Hogwarts Mystery" (Years 1-7)

This is my first time doing a rewrite for a mobile game, but I thought I'd try my hand at it, particularly since I feel like the game didn't live up to it's potential. To clarify, this isn't going chapter by chapter, but an overview of the school years. That said, SPOILERS GALORE. Now that that's out of the way, let's start off with general stuff:

Friendship matters. A big issue I had was that starting around year 5 or 6, it no longer mattered how close you were with your friends; unlike previous years, you no longer had the choice to include them on adventures. I'd fix that so you have choices on who goes on adventures with you rather than it just being a default number of people. Along with this, you'd maintain consistent friends; Rowan mentioned in Year 6 that you've been distant lately, and that's true, especially with them; Rowan was kind of always a background character on your adventures despite being your best friend. And I'd reduce characters for a more intimate friend group: ie Rowan having Liz's traits (intelligent and rule-following), Penny with Chiara's traits, Barnaby with Diego's traits, Merula with Ismelda's traits, and Alanza with Corey's traits. This would leave Ben, Andre, Jae, Badea, Talbott, Tulip, and Victor unaffected (plus adding your quidditch friends, but more on that later). And possibly controversial option, but I'd make Merula and Barnaby twin siblings; I came up with the idea after removing Ismelda, and I think it'd explain why they stick together as a duo, and their similar background make for more synergy as twins. I'd probably also remove Beatrice as a friend due to her storyline being similar to Victor's and her not really being a big factor after Y6.

Further customization--I'm removing the familial elements of the storyline. While Jacob is still your brother, he's much closer in age to you (being about one or two years older, so you can go through school together), and you get to see your parents, go home, and establish what kind of background you come from, concerning your blood heritage. I feel like half-blood would be the most likely default in-universe (though muggle-born is also very possible), with pureblood being very unlikely here. I'd also show visual signs of aging; some characters such as Jae and Barnaby already look like adults when they're supposed to be 11, and everyone keeps the same appearance throughout the school years, making it easy to forget that 17 year-olds aren't 11. It'd also be cool if you could get an attribute boost based on your heritage, ie being part veela or merperson (though this may not be likely for a mobile game, since an aspect like this would probably not be changeable once set). Your dad wouldn't be leading "R"; that'd be Verucca instead, and their goal would essentially be Voldemort's goal of wizard dominance, but it's more global-scale now, recruiting purebloods from all over the world to help. If you're a pureblood yourself, dialogue with their members will be considerably nicer.

The story takes place AFTER Harry Potter's adventures, not before. Maybe even the year after his 7th year. I feel like it was very obvious that the OG HM game was riding off the coattails of the original, especially since "Beyond Hogwarts" coincides with Harry's school years. As such, this removes the Weasley brothers, Cedric, and Tonks from your friendship list, allowing more time for the other characters to shine and get attention. I do like the idea of some characters being in different school years, but it works out better if everyone is in the same year.

Side adventure characters have more involvement. Originally, Talbott and Chiara are people you just interact with in a couple side quests and become more involved in the main story in later years. In retrospect, they should've been included in the main story earlier on. I'd probably introduce Talbott in Year 3, based on when his Special Adventures pop up (Chiara isn't a factor here since I'm putting her characteristics into Penny). I'd also introduce Quidditch in Year 1 and allow for the Quidditich adventures to be weaved into the main story rather than seen as a side thing that all seems to happen in your 2nd year (according to the Special Adventures). While Murphy, Skye, and Orion wouldn't be involved in your fight against evil, they would serve a similar function of Alanza/Corey of taking your mind off of your adventures and reminding you of other parts of the magical world you can enjoy. Since Rowan and your quidditich team (plus Murphy) are in whatever house you're in, I like to think there's in a more intimate friend group, since you all hang out and study together, with whatever other allies that share your house weave in and out. Perhaps include the Wellnelly brothers as well, along with Rath.

Less Special adventures. I feel like some of them are unnecessary, like helping your friends prepare for the N.E.W.T.S. (the reward is that based on the subject, you can still miss a question and make a perfect score--but this means nothing if you follow an online guide), or repetitive like some romantic adventures, or something that could've been included in the main story rather than a separate thing, like helping Talbott find his special item. Then there's just some events like the Sorcerer's Olympiad that didn't seem to add anything to the story, nor was it interesting when compared to something like the Triwizard Tournament. And it SUCKS that some events are holiday-exclusives. Plus a lot of these wouldn't exist since they're focused on characters from Harry's time. And regular adventures don't exist since they don't offer rewards and most of them are related to your magical creature.

More involvement with other schools. There's a large appeal to that, I think; there are 8 known schools, but we've only had an event relating to Beauxbatons and Alanza not being a big enough character for us to learn more about Castelobruxo. Having more insight into Ilvermorny, Uagadou, Mahoutokoro, Durmstrang, Koldovstoretz, and any other wizarding schools would be cool.

NO VAULTS. It was pretty repetitive, especially since the better half of each school year was occupied with researching and finding it, with only two or three chapters having you actually there, and once there, it was pretty straightforward. I feel like this wasn't a very interesting storyline in contrast to the goblin uprising of "Hogwarts Legacy" (though THAT story could've also been better) and the Second Wizarding War during Harry's time. Another wizarding war/dangerous wizard is always an idea.

Attributes have a lower cap and most classes are optional--In my version of the game, you don't have to complete lessons, but it's recommended so that you learn spells that can help you on your adventures, as well as special interactions you could encounter from going to class. Since classes are optional, the attribute cap isn't ANYWHERE NEAR 120; I'd cap them at around 50 or 60, but the required points for them are lower since most people probably wouldn't grind if they didn't have to. (I know this is more suited for a video game though, since reducing the cap and making classes optional greatly reduces the need for and desire to have diamonds). And since your overall player level only seems to determine what accessories you can buy, I'd remove that altogether.

Glad to have that stuff out of the way! Now I'd like to get to how I'd change the story for each year at Hogwarts. I may tweak some of this later.

Year 1--I'd probably make it longer (not TOO long since it's the first year; maybe 20-30 chapters), and introduce Barnaby here since he's Merula's brother and thus probably more involved and attached at her hip, given how big he is on loyalty, though he wouldn't become an ally this year. Collaboration with Merula also doesn't happen here since she starts off as antagonistic; instead more focus is on Jacob, Rowan, Penny, and Ben, and Ben and Rowan become close friends over the school year (though not as close as you and Rowan). The year is mainly introducing you to magic and magic culture, and the vaults don't exist in this story. I'd also make DADA classes available this year, with the DADA instructor being a half-elf, and he ends up being murdered at the end of the school year. Your first Quidditch championship happens this year as well. There isn't a major "break the rules" situation where you're given a stern talking to this year, so you just get the 100 house points.

New Classes: DADA, Potions, Charms

New friends: Rowan, Ben, and Penny

Side quests (Some would need tweaking to adjust for current Hogwarts staff): Party Planner, Christmas at Hogwarts, Dueling Deathday Parties

Year 2--Again, more chapters here. Merula is more antagonistic to you this year, but Barnaby ends up becoming an ally towards you in the end due to your loyalty to your friends and personal discourse between him and Merula, and he will help you track down your previous DADA instructor's murderer. The current instructor is a by-the-book woman, who's more into visual instruction and textbooks rather than kinetic learning styles, to Ben and Rowan's delight. She's a temporary teacher who was homeschooled in her youth due to travel, but she is talented, and while she comes off as strict, she has a soft side for pretty much anyone but Gryffindors, who she sees as reckless based on what she's researched (Hufflepuffs are loyal, Slytherins are misunderstood, and Ravenclaws are studious). At this point, the discussion of forming a team (similar to the Circle of Khana and Order of the Phoenix/Dumbledore's Army) is brought up to train and track down the killer, bur nothing is seriously considered due to everyone being in their second year. Given that Bill isn't present, Andre is available for recruitment this year, and he makes disguises for you and your trio (which will automatically include Barnaby, but you can pick between Ben, Rowan, and Penny to join you guys). Merula taunts MC about her learning wandless magic here and there, due to your adventures and Barnaby being a skilled dueler, singer, and magical creature expert (all of which are canon in the game, anyway) making her very insecure and feel a need to be stronger. Rowan is still injured during the confrontation with the murderer, though this results in the murderer being killed himself by the organization he worked for because Rowan is a pureblood witch/wizard. It's revealed the previous DADA instructor was killed because he was considered impure, being a half-breed. The stress leads to you bonding with Skye (who feels like a "nice" version of Merula), who becomes an ally here and a reminder of the good parts of being at Hogwarts. Given Andre also is involved with quidditch, you interact with him more often there than during classes. And the reason Barnaby and Merula are having conflict is revealed: they sent word to her that they're planning to escape Azkaban and come for them. At the end of the year, it's revealed they (and several others) have escaped.

New Classes: Tranfigurations, Flying

New Friends: Andre, Barnaby, and Skye

Special Adventures (Some require tweaking based on Hogwarts Staff): Become an Honorary Rocker, Comet, The Quidditch Cup, A Special Celebration of Hogwarts Teachers

Year 3--Again, we need more chapters. Starting off, the DADA instructor has changed again, due to the previous instructor having been injured battling against "R," but the new instructor is of little help, being a part-time worker from the ministry and a last-minute substitute. On your first visit to Hogsmeade, you're offered the opportunity to work for Zonko's, Madame Puddingfoot, or the Three Broomsticks, which you accept to explore the magical world beyond Hogwarts and because several Hogwarts students years 4-7 have started to disappear. Talbott becomes an ally this year, with his "Birds of a Feather" quest being part of the main storyline around chapter 7 or 8 ("Become an Animagus" is still a special adventure), and he shows you more isolated parts of the wizarding world, as well as Tulip helping you come up with ways to plot against "R" thanks to her creative pranks. The focus on extracurriculars is continued in Quidditch, with Murphy becoming an ally and helping you plan strategies against "R." Rowan is still reeling from the events of last year, but they're also important for brainstorming plans, and Penny, Barnaby, and Ben mainly work on their proficiencies in dueling, potions, and charms to protect themselves and their friends, however Penny, Rowan, and Barnaby end up being kidnapped as well. Jacob and your prefect encourage your intuition, but essentially act as your protectors from doing anything too stupid. It's revealed during a failed attempt to kidnap Jacob that "R" is inducting wizards and witches whose ancestry is the purest--a Slytherin mentality, so half-bloods are permitted (if Jacob and MC are muggleborn, it'll be stated that they just wanted him because it's revealed that he's a seer, explaining his silver lime wand), explaining why many of your friends were kidnapped. Talbott managed to escape thanks to being an animagus, Skye managed to get to a broom and take to the sky to outmaneuver them, and Murphy was thought to be an "unattractive" option to join their ranks. Those who joined "R" willingly didn't return to Hogwarts, and while some of the kidnapped victims escaped, most of them were revealed to be trapped in the Forbidden Forest, some being subject to the cruciatus curse or imperius in order to be made to join. While Rowan and Penny are rescued, Barnaby and Ben are sadly not. Strangely, Merula is not one of the missing students, but she doesn't seem to be bothered by this.

New Classes: Herbology

New Friends: Tulip, Murphy, and Talbott

Special Adventures (Some will need tweaking based on Hogwarts staff): The Second Quidditch Cup, New Arrivals, Become an Anigamus, The Frog Choir, Wandering Sea Serpent, Slytherin Celebration, The Wisdom of Ravenclaw, Family Feast, Gryffindor Celebration, House Points, Hufflepuff Celebration, Pumpkin Johnny Rises, The Tale of Pumpkin Johnny, Secrets of Godric's Hollow

Year 4--Once again, more chapters. This year's DADA professor is Peregrine, who in this universe is a renowned wizard who loves to relive his glory days and wants to live vicariously through his talented students. He's not a bad guy, but very misguided; it's implied he's lost people he cares about against dark wizards and witches, and hasn't allowed himself to grieve and instead embraces toxic positivity. I like the idea that if you choose to be raised by a single father or by both your parents, Peregrine IS your dad in this game, resulting in more dialogue, including the fact that he took up the job to keep an eye on you and Jacob. Otherwise, he's just an unrelated teacher who's heavily dad-coded since he takes an interest in you. It's later revealed that the reason he takes interest in you (if you're not his child) isn't just because of a talent at regular school subjects, but your adventurous exploits and the fact that you're a Legimens (which you only just realized and are classified as of this year). Meanwhile, Jacob takes to the forest with his friends Olivia and Duncan in order to speak to the centaurs about divination after discovering he's a seer. You try to help him by speaking to the Divination professor, but she's less than helpful, and you instead focus on training your legilimency with the headmaster when you have time, though you tell no one about your skill except Jacob. You befriend Orion during your quest to understand destiny and the universe, as well as Badeea for her unique and artistic perspective. The Headmaster manages to rescue some of the missing students, and while Barnaby seems more or less the same, Ben is traumatized over being tortured by "R" due to being a muggle-born.

New Classes: Care of Magical Creatures and Divination

New Friends: Badeea and Orion

Special Adventures: Become a Prefect, First Date, The Third Quidditch Cup, Become a Prefect, Celestial Ball, Torvus and the Troubled Forest, The Valentine's Day Masquerade, A Dragon's Quest, A Bad Omen, Magical Creatures Everywhere, Making Mischief, Hosting the Beauxbatons

Year 5--After speaking with Peregrine, he decides to retire from the position in order to relax and work through his past trauma (if he's your dad, additional dialogue will say that you guys have been vacationing in various spots and he's more attentive to you, not just for your skills, but as a person). However, after taking Peregrine's advice about sacrificing yourself for your friends, you are given detention for your recklessness, even though Peregrine profusely assures the Headmaster that it is his fault. As such, you befriend Jae in the kitchens. The new DADA professor is a mute, bringing a unique perspective on spellcasting and manifesting your power through your wands via your feelings rather than your words. This causes a stir at the Ministry, as some officials think this is the gateway to practicing wandless magic. Whispers begin to circle that the Ministry is interfering with Hogwarts, putting all your friends on edge. Penny's identity as a werewolf is revealed, and your friends begin to become suspicious of each other, with Barnaby begging everyone not to fight, but to no avail, creating factions among the friends (such as a suspicious Rowan and a cynical Ben, your quidditch friends, etc.) Barnaby sticks to you in order to solve the situation, and Merula is surprisingly sympathetic to you, expressing vulnerability to you, and introducing you to a friend of hers, Kuzuhiro, who acts somewhat as a therapist to you. Rath notices your increased aggression in quidditch, and unofficially takes you under her wing since she harmed Skye back in the earlier years by accident and don't want you to do the same (though her attitude towards helping you depends on whether or not you believed her or not). To focus on the root of the "problem," you join Penny for the Wizarding Schools Potions Championship in order to bond with her and remind her of your friendship, and in a rare moment of vulnerability, Merula reveals she's helping hide her escaped parents and asks you not to tell, since they're all she has left (despite MANY consequences of harboring dangerous fugitives). You can promise not to tell or tell her that you've got to report them; regardless, they're found out, but how Merula interacts with you later is reflected in whether or not you promised to keep the secret. It is eventually revealed that a member of "R" had infiltrated the school, and your DADA professor is arrested as a result of a student reporting her practicing the dark arts. You attempt to use your legimens ability, but you find nothing to ensure her guilt. Before graduating, Duncan reveals (against Jacob's wishes) that Jacob had a prophecy of someone close to you betraying you, further stressing you out at the end of the year. You notice Talbott acting oddly at the end of the year, and contemplate whether or not he's a part of "R."

New Friends: Rath and Jae

New Classes: History of Magic

Special Adventures: OWL, CDAH, Ticket to Love, Valentine's Day Ball, An Enchanted Kiss, The Legendary Snitch of Hogsmeade, Out of Sorts

Year 6--This year, there is a great emphasis on exchange programs after the success of the Beauxbatons' visit, leading to Alanza to come to Hogwarts, and Kuzuhiro is the new professor, having been personally appointed by the Ministry. You don't share Jacob's prophecy with anyone but Rowan (against your better judgement), and as you suspect, they are weary of your other friends, but vow to stick by you better than last year. This year, you become friends with Alanza, who is unperturbed by the revelation and dark circumstances at Hogwarts, and you grow close as the two of you interact more so you can "get away" from everyone, and Merula is pushed in your direction by Kazuhiro, who wants more "unity" between his students and less conflict. Dementors begin to appear on the school grounds, despite no longer being used by the Ministry, leading many students and even some staff members to become suspicious of the Ministry and fearing that it's been corrupted once more, perhaps by "R." As such, you see even the teachers become more secretive as rumors swirl that the Ministry has planted spies at the school, and you wonder if Alanza is one of them. Your friendship with Merula comes to a head when she invites you to visit her and Barnaby's parents, and you agree to it, and you're joined by Alanza, Rowan, Barnaby, and your new friend Victor, a transfer from Beauxbatons (he was originally a Hogwarts student, but after being attacked by a vampire in his 3rd year, he had to regularly visit the a local magical hospital to help him overcome his bloodlust, only letting him go to Beauxbatons when he presses to continue his education). It's revealed Ben, Tulip, and Jae also followed you, and that Kazuhiro reveals he is the teacher working for "R." In the middle of the year, they kidnapped Talbott, who had discovered at the end of last year who Kazuhiro was, as he was the one who killed his parents. Kazuhiro reveals R's true goal; to reveal magic to the muggle world and establish supremacy (similar to Lord Voldemort's goals), and that they have achieved an international scale at this point, with several schools already having fallen--and the Ministry was covering the whole thing up. This sheds a negative light on Talbott, who had become a spy for the Ministry upon realizing who Kazuhiro was, as well as making the Ministry look bad for putting his life in danger and hiding sensitive information from most of the wizarding world. You are considered a significant member of the group, since you are a direct descendant of one of the four Hogwarts founders (which one it is is dependent on your house; they'll be the opposite house of the house you chose), which is used to dismiss your "inferior" blood heritage if you're not a pureblood--though other members of "R" will contest this. When Ben engages in a fight, Tulip and Jae sneak away to get your friends, which sends a chain reaction of students and staff discovering what's going on. With Ben defeated, you beg the present members of "R" not to hurt him, and they say he's damaged enough, and they will stop hurting him if you join them. Before you can answer, the staff members appear and chase off Merula and Barnaby's parents and arrest Kazuhiro. While things seem to be getting back to normal, Barnaby is revealed to be controlled by a legitimens, and kidnaps you while you're on the train leaving Hogwarts.

New Classes: Astronomy

New friends: Victor and Alanza

Special Adventures: Love Story, Hogsmeade Festival, Valentine's Day, Rivalry Respect and Rath, Head Boys and Girls, The Dragon's Treasure, Career Days at Hogwarts

Year 7--You wake up unsure of where you are. You're no longer in Hogwarts, and you're unsure if you're even in the UK. You discover that it is the first day of your seventh year, but you cannot recall the events of the summer, only that you have to keep ahead of individuals chasing you, those who brazenly wear clothing with "R" on their clothes. You make friends with a red-haired adult, a Weasley, who says they are the new DADA instructor following Kazuhiro's arrest. They explain that the professor from Year 5 is helping to hunt "R" down after being released of false charges, and while they bring you back to Hogwarts, you're horrified to find out that this year is the Triwizards championship, resulting in your headmaster and most of your friends gone, having gone to France (as Rowan suspected "R" may try to pull something during the championship and bring you there). Slowly, your memories resurface as you recall being imprisoned for months until escaping one day somehow, though how you did, you have no idea. Only Merula remains among your "friend" at Hogwarts, who makes your blood run cold at the thought of having less defenses than before, especially as several students give you strange glances. She's always following you, and you insist on focusing on your studies despite the frequent nightmares, and one day you find yourself in the mind of Jacob, seeing your friends die in France. Eventually you convince your eccentric Muggle Studies professor (who is also new this year) to bring you to France during your Christmas break, and you reunite with your friends, several of whom have stuck close to Victor, one of the few students who is educated in French thanks to his stay there. Throughout your stay in France, you do battle with several members of "R," including Kazuhiro, who somehow escaped imprisonment. You recall Barnaby kidnapping you due to being controlled by a legitimens, and you fight the urge to become suspicious of the friends you had fought to reunite with. Jacob is also present as he took time off of work (having become an Auror last year) to come and see you, and is happy to find you okay when he didn't originally see you with your classmates. However, his actions make his friends worried. In a battle, Duncan is killed, as is Rowan (though your actions beforehand can prevent one or both of these deaths), and the trauma undoes the false memory spell, revealing that you were tortured by "R" in many ways until you managed to come around to their ideals, and you even helped them with certain criminal acts, including rescuing Kazuhiro from Azkaban. You defeat your friends while they're distracted in battle, and you must decide who's side you're on: "R" or Hogwarts.

New Classes: Muggle Studies

New friends: Merula

Special Adventures: NEWT, Summer Nights, The Curse of Love, The Fourth Quidditch Cup

Hope you enjoyed my idea! To note: I kinda fell off of this game series not too long ago, so I didn't have all the special adventures that are currently available. Lemme know what you think or if you have any questions!

[flowerandblood]

The Man with the Pearly Hair

[ Amor • Aemond x Psyche • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, fingering, smut, angst, obsession, symptoms of the disease such as fever and convulsions ]

[ description: After she is attacked in a fair by a strange man and narrowly avoids death, her father the king decides that from now on she will be watched over by one of his ‘ghosts’, a assassin acting on his orders, wearing a black mask. The man follows her like a shadow, accompanied by their past, which keeps her awake at night. Gothic horror love story, angst, sexual tension, verydark Aemond. ]

This story is several requests combined into one: sworn protector x female; Amor x Psyche; Phantom of the Opera! Aemond x female. I took the liberty of creating a completely new story from this, having only elements of each of these requests.

Series & Characters Moodboard Lady Walford Moodboard Gothic & Horror Sensual Moodboard

Part 1 - The Man with the Black Mask | Part 2 - The Man with the Empty Heart | Part 3 - The Man with the Lost Soul | Part 4 - The Man with the Cold Lips | Part 5 - The Man with the Deep Scar | Part 6 - The Man with the One Eye | Part 7 - The Man with the Golden Gift | Part 8 - The Man in the Black Crown | Part 9 - The Man with the Bloody Sword | Part 10 - The Man in the Black Gloves | Part 11 - The Man in the Death Cloak | Part 13 - The Man with the Fiery Gaze

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

____

Her husband did not let her experience any peace or rest the night after the ball, informing her that he did not mind if she fell asleep while he was rooting into her sore core. They would fall into sudden, deep slumbers, his arms embracing her tightly.

As soon as he awoke she could hear his murmur of satisfaction caused by her presence and the closeness of her body – his length throbbed inside her, and with tentative, slow movements at first, he would begin all over again.

She felt stunned by the intensity of the sensations, feeling as if they had truly become one flesh, his scent filling her nostrils, her cheek nestled against his chest. After their intense rapture, they fell asleep again, and when she regained consciousness for a moment, she told herself that she couldn't open her eyes, as if Vhagar was lying next to her and not her husband, her King, the man who killed for her.

She would then open her eyes and lift her head, gazing with bliss and peace at his sleeping face. She stroked gently his cheek and hair, afraid that she would wake him. She was only answered by his hum of contentment, his arms clasping around her tighter, pressing her closer to him, his hand sinking into her hair, hugging her cheek to his heart.

She could hear his slow heartbeat, feel his warm breath, and thought she had never felt truly happy before him.

Truly peaceful.

Truly safe.

When, during one of the evenings they spent quietly in his chamber, each sunk in reading a book, sitting by the fireplace, Ser Criston walked in and announced that the bodies of the royal family had finally been found, decisions were made very quickly.

Her husband had ordered the tombs for his family to be made much earlier and they stood empty under the great temple next to the graves of his ancestors, waiting for their burial place to be discovered. She could see the pain mixed with anger on his face when he found out that the bodies of his parents and siblings were buried in a mass grave under the kitchen cellars.

She lowered her gaze with a clenched throat, thinking only of how humiliating it must have been for him, that her father had treated them worse than the murderers, who at least had the opportunity to be buried with prayers and any dignity.

Her husband ordered the work to be expedited and decreed that within the next two days everything was to be prepared for this grand royal funeral, unable to bear the thought that the bodies of his loved ones were lying and rotting, waiting for justice.

He did not speak, he did not eat and he did not sleep, immersed in his own thoughts, sitting for long hours in front of the fireplace and gazing into the flames, joining her only in the morning, seeking refuge in her embrace, tired and distraught.

Even though her father had done all this, she felt complicit.

"My Queen, the dressmakers have not managed to sew a suitably thick gown and cloak for you. It is freezing and snowing outside, why not wear a different gown, such as this one, a brown one?" Suggested one of her servants a few hours before the ceremony. She shook her head without even bestowing a single glance on her, looking in the mirror.

"No. I must wear black, wear mourning by the side of my King. Bring my gown and the cloak I wore at my mother's funeral." She said dispassionately, she heard the women look at each other with concern.

"But Your Grace, you will frown, the material is too thin. Let us at least put your furs on underneath your cloak." Mumbled one of them. She sighed and nodded.

As she rode behind her king-husband, past the row of coffins in front of them, the cold winter air pierced her body like daggers. She closed her eyes, trying to curl into herself, knowing that she faced hours of standing during the funeral ceremony in the cold temple and thought that this would be her punishment for what her father had done.

For the fact that his treacherous blood flowed in her.

Therefore, she hid the quivering of her body by standing behind her husband rather than at his side, wanting to bear it with dignity, thinking of lying down in a warm bed as soon as they returned to their stronghold.

Already on the journey back she felt an excruciating pain in her bones, her head heavy as if someone was squeezing her skull – it seemed to her that the world around her was humming and blurred, struggling to maintain a straight posture.

When they reached the courtyard of the fortress Ser Criston had to help her off her horse; he looked at her for a moment, apparently seeing her pallor, however he said nothing.

He did not trust her knowing who her father was.

She did not resent him for this.

The most important thing for her was to know that he was completely devoted to her husband.

Her King no longer commanded her to come to his chamber, simply disregarding the possibility that she should spend the evening and night anywhere other than with him.

For this reason, she followed him into his quarters feeling her whole body shaking – everything around her seemed blurred and painfully loud, she had the sensation as if someone was breaking her bones.

She swallowed with difficulty, stripping out of her cloak and gown with the help of her servants, one of whom seeing her pale face leaned over her and asked in a whisper.

"My Queen, shall I summon a medic?"

She shook her head, raising her hand in a gesture that informed them that they could leave – all she dreamed of was to lie down and sleep. Her husband only hummed under his breath when she told him she'd already gone to bed, sitting with his back to her by the fireplace, staring into the flames completely absorbed in his thoughts, memories and regrets.

When she lay down she finally felt some kind of relief – she didn't have the strength to turn or move so she just closed her eyes and after a moment there was silence and darkness all around her.

"My love?" She heard as if through a fog someone's voice, his voice, her King, her husband, her death, her beloved shadow. She felt his wonderfully cold hand on her inflamed body – even though she was drenched in sweat, she got the impression that she was freezing all over. "My love, wake up."

"I'm cold." She mumbled out with difficulty, unable to stop her body shivering, each breath made her struggle.

She felt that her lungs and nostrils were on fire.

She heard him swallow loudly and then he was gone, her mind drifting away again. She awoke with difficulty lifting her eyelids, suddenly noticing that the chamber she was in was filled with the light of candles. She could hear conversations all around her, as if there were several people inside, someone's hand washed her forehead and her chest with a cold cloth, bringing her relief.

"My King, we asked her, but she said she was choosing this gown and this cloak and that she would not bring shame to the king, that she must look proper on such an important day, we could not force her." She heard someone's terrified voice and recognised her maid, answered immediately by her husband's cold, mercyless hiss.

"You fucking fools! I'll hang each of you in turn as soon as…"

"− my King −" She muttered quietly, wishing he was by her side, terrified that she couldn't see anything clearly – her head was spinning and she had trouble keeping her eyelids open.

"− I'm so cold − yet at the same time my body seems to be on fire −"

She heard his quick movement, a moment later he was already beside her, his cold, familiar hand caressing her every night touched her cheek – she sighed in relief as she smelled his scent.

"− you have a fever, my love − brother Albert will prepare a decoction at once, which you will have to drink − rest now −"

She lurched as he forced her to drink the disgusting decoction she was nauseous from, the taste of ginger and garlic so intense that her stomach twisted all over.

"− drink − that's an order − you are to obey your King and husband −" He exhaled, holding her cheek painfully tight, tilting her head back so she wouldn't choke, forcing her sip after sip to drink it all to the bottom.

When he finally let her go she cried out loud, terrified and weak, not fully aware of what was really happening to her, forgetting where she was and who she was.

She felt her husband holding her in his arms throughout the night, his hand touching her forehead again and again, checking if her condition was improving. She had a feeling, half asleep, on the verge of consciousness and lack of it, that she heard him praying quietly, lying on his side behind her, his face pressed against her hair.

Gods, who watch over justice in heaven and on earth, have mercy on us.

Gods, who intercede for the poor and despised, have mercy on us.

Gods, who have brought this woman before me and bound me to her for eternity, have mercy on us.

What was empty is full.

What was broken is whole.

What was separated is one.

She tightened her hand on his arm which embraced her hearing his words, feeling a squeeze in her throat. He flinched at the gesture, lifting his head, she felt his anxious breath on her hot cheek.

"− my love? − how do you feel? −" He asked quietly and she swallowed loudly, feeling that she was still hot, her head was spinning and she was in pain all over, but she was no longer trembling.

"− tired, my King − tired and sore −" She whispered, and he sighed heavily, embracing her more tightly, putting his face where it had been a moment before.

"− sleep, my love − your husband is with you −" He whispered, rising after a moment, taking the cloth from her forehead – she heard him dip it in the water and squeeze it out, only to lay it again on her hot skin. She breathed a quiet sigh of relief at how pleasant it felt – he slipped his ice-cold hand under her nightgown and placed it over her heart.

The next day her husband had to attend a meeting and her mother replaced him at her side. She was forced to drink another dose of the medicine, but this time she was able to drink it alone, falling into a restless sleep again afterwards.

Brother Albert found to everyone's relief that her fever was slowly lowering and her body was beginning to fight back, that the worst was probably behind them.

Despite her mother's objections, when she felt a little better in the afternoon she asked to be allowed to take a bath and to change into a new chemise.

Washing her hair and body all drenched in sweat and then putting on a new undershirt made her feel fresh again, and although she felt like her head was going to burst and she had to go to bed again immediately, she regained her appetite and her mother personally went to see to it that everything she needed was brought to her.

She was surprised when one of the lords loyal to her husband since their conspiracy days, who was among his closest advisors, Lord Malet, entered her chamber. He had not announced himself beforehand and surprised her completely with his visit.

"My Queen, I know this is not the right time, however, there is an urgent matter I must discuss with you." He said standing away from her bed. She lifted her gaze to him and sighed heavily, having great difficulty concentrating, everything around her was spinning.

"Speak, my Lord. I am listening to you." She said in a hoarse voice and coughed quietly, sighing heavily. The lord shifted from foot to foot, swallowing loudly, clearly aware that he had to brew words.

"The King has decided today to marry my eldest daughter to an important dignitary of a neighbouring kingdom, to strengthen our alliances. However, I have already promised her hand to someone else. The King will not listen to me and I have come to beg you to intervene in this matter." He said lowly looking at his feet, embarrassed apparently by his request and by having to beg the traitor's daughter for help.

She let out a quiet breath, recognising that this matter required great delicacy and forethought – her husband was like a burning flame and all it took was a moment's inattention for him to set everything around them on fire in his rage.

"− I will try, my Lord −"

Her husband walked into their chamber as her mother was helping her eat the broth. Something about the sight pleased him; he hummed, coming closer to them with his hands clasped behind his back, his forehead lightened and smoothed.

"− my wife −" He said softly, and she nodded, not having the strength to do anything else.

"− I will take care of her now, my Lady −" He directed his words to her mother, and although the tone of his voice was calm, one could hear that he was not giving her any opportunity to object.

She nodded, handing him a half-empty plate of soup and stood up, stroking her head, telling her to rest.

As soon as the door closed behind her, her husband pulled the eye patch from his face, accustomed to not wearing it in her presence. He sat down next to her on the bed, putting on a spoonful of soup and placing it under her mouth. This time she did not stand up to him and ate slowly even though she was already full.

"− I'm glad you've got your appetite back −" He said lowly, relief and weariness in his voice at the same time – she knew he hadn't slept through the night, exhausted after the funeral and terrified of her condition. She swallowed quietly, gathering herself with difficulty to get out what she wanted to say.

"Lord Malet paid me a visit today." She began hesitantly, lifting her gaze to him. She saw that he looked at her surprised, vigilance in his healthy eye, his brow furrowed.

"What did he want from you? Why was he bothering you in such a state?" He asked with an air of annoyance and displeasure. She pressed her lips together, feeling her heart pounding fast.

"He came to ask me to help him in a matter concerning his daughter." She said slowly and saw him lick his lower lip furiously. He chuckled under his breath, however there was no laugh of amusement – he ran his hand over his mouth and chin impatiently.

"I see. Do not think about it." He said dryly, indicating to her that he intended to end the subject, putting another spoonful of soup on her.

"He is her father, Aemond." She made another attempt – he saw his jaw clench, his lips forming thin line, his nostrils moving restlessly.

He tried not to explode.

"And I am her King. She lives to fulfil her role for the kingdom." He said harshly, coldly, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

She could see in his gaze the threat that one more ill-considered word from her and he would lose his temper.

"If your father had told you to marry another woman instead of me, would you have done it?" She asked quietly, feeling her words hang in the ether; she saw the shock and fear in his gaze, his lips twitched – she could see he hesitated.

"…yes."

She looked at him with her lips slightly parted, feeling a tightening in her heart and in her stomach, some horrible, cold kind of disappointment flowed through her body, the realisation of who she was in his eyes.

A favourite, but still, just a pawn.

She answered nothing more, lowering her gaze, feeling only a terrible headache, only fatigue, only resignation.

"However, I fear she would soon meet with an unfortunate accident that would make me a widower." He added after a moment and she looked at him in disbelief, feeling her heart pounding rapidly.

He stared at her, his healthy eye wide open, focused only on her, a certain, cold, piercing gaze that would see every lie and hesitation, every weakness.

"The daughters of lords in the kingdom would die until you were the only candidate to become my wife. You know very well that I am very patient." He added in a half-whisper – she swallowed loudly as she saw him set the bowl of the soup down on the table next to their bed.

"You and I are like the sun and the moon. Like north and south. Like day and night." He hummed with delight, grinning uneasily to himself, his fingertips running over her warm cheek.

"Do you think I would let any other man take you as his wife? I'd let anyone else touch you? Hm?" He asked softly, but there was a sweet threat in his voice that sent a shiver through her. She shook her head, despite her fatigue and weakness feeling the throbbing between her thighs at his words, so dark, threatening, certain.

"And you? What would you have done if I had not come to you that night? If your treacherous father had married you off?" He asked lowly, quietly, looking at her vigilantly, more like an animal than a human being, searching for any signal of hesitation or falsehood.

"My husband would find me dead in his bed before he had time to touch me, to bruise me of the only thing left of my dignity." She whispered with a certainty from which he licked his lower lip quickly.

He began to breathe involuntarily through his mouth as he stared at her with wide-open eye, his sapphire gleaming mischievously in the moonlight streaming through the window into his chamber.

She sighed quietly as she felt his hand slide from her cheek down her neck to her breasts and lower abdomen, lifting her nightgown with an impatient motion, his fingers sinking into her hot, soft womanhood.

Her lips parted in a quiet, dreamy moan as he began to explore her condition, meeting her wetness between her slit – she saw a smirk appear on his face from which her walls pulsed hard around nothing.

"Destroy me. Leave me with nothing. Those were your words. Weren't they?" He gasped, his fingertips trailing between her folds, teasing her bud, her thighs involuntarily spread wider, the pleasure and tickle she felt in her lower abdomen making her feel even more stupefied.

"Yes." She mumbled quietly, innocently, with a sigh, as if the very memory of the intense, brutal act that was their first physical intimacy when he took her maidenhood brought her some kind of relief.

She shuddered as she felt his finger begin to slide tentatively inside her, teasing her opening with a click of her moisture, looking at her with some kind of intrigue.

"You didn't know who I was, and yet you let me take you. You longed to become my wife. Why?" He asked low, his voice deep and resonant, and she realised that this was the first time he had ever broached the subject of his or her feelings in any way, that he was allowing her into places of his mind that no one else had access to.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to focus, feeling weakened and at the same time distracted by the tickle she felt between her thighs, the tension that grew in her with each passing moment as his fingers dug harder into her throbbing heat, sliding out of her only to slide back in.

"− because you were like death − like a dark veil, a shroud, a coffin, and I felt dead − it seemed so right −" She whispered and she heard him draw in the air loudly, as if her words had startled him, his thumb beginning to run over her pearl and tease her as his fingers pressed the spot inside her hidden in her folds with sure, circular motions.

"− do you still feel dead? −" He exhaled in a trembling voice, as if there was something in the sight of her, in the way she moaned softly and wriggled helplessly, without the strength to resist him, from which he was losing his temper.

"− sometimes − but not with you − never with you −" She mumbled, glancing up at him wearily – his face looking different from usual, breathing loudly along with her, his full lips parted slightly, his eyebrows arched as if in worry, his eye misty, full of affection and longing.

"− if I will not be violent − will you let me? −" He asked in a quivering voice, and she nodded, knowing what he wanted, knowing what he needed.

He undressed, allowing her hand to untie the ribbon in his hair as he leaned over her, gently stroking her face with his fingers. He lay down between her thighs looking down at her, lifting the material of her nightgown only over her thighs, not wanting her to get cold.

She felt the head of his cock pushing against her slit and she sighed softly, spreading her thighs wider, wanting to make his task easier. He rooted into her surprisingly tentatively and slowly, sliding out several times, as if he wanted her insides to adjust to such intense filling.

It was such a surprisingly pleasurable and tender sensation that she began to moan quietly beneath him, stroking his cheeks and hair, their mouths meeting with each other in a sticky, hot, slow kiss, then another and another, their lips trailing over each other, their hot breaths surrounding their faces.

She ran her fingertips over the skin of his scarred cheek, feeling his thrusts begin to grow deeper and more confident, they both started to pant as a thrill of pleasure shuddered through them. She clasped her hands on his bare buttocks, rubbing against him so that he pressed the wonderful spot inside her each time he slided inside her.

"− yes − oh, yes −" She whispered, tilting her head back, his lips slid down to her neck, placing small, greedy kisses on her skin, leaving a wet trail on it, sucking and licking her naked flesh, rooting into her with the sure, deep thrusts of his hips, her walls clenching against him steadily.

"− am I causing you pain? − do you want to stop? −" He muttered between his pushes, with the remnants of his strong will trying to remember that she was still weakened and sick, that just a few hours ago she had a fever and should now be resting, not exerting herself.

However, he had never done this to her in such a gentle way before and she shook her head quickly, breathing loudly along with him.

"− n-no − please − please, husband, it feels so good −" She mewled, massaging his neck with her palm – she heard him groan low, his manhood throbbed hard inside her. He immediately sped up his pace, taking her hot hips in his hands, pounding confidently and deeply into her, slapping his thighs against her buttocks with a loud click of her moisture.

"− fuck − so good −" He exhaled looking down at her with his lips parted wide – she clamped her hands on the pillow on either side of her head, feeling her walls suck him inside, soaking his cock, his pace increasingly intense and fast.

All that came out of her mouth was a mumble as she came suddenly, pleasure shook her body and she just began to moan helplessly, trying to push him away, but to no avail – he pressed his hands against the bedding, slamming into her like mad, panting and groaning loudly, allowing himself to be more vocal than usual, his forehead pressed against hers.

"− just a little longer, my love − I'm so close − oh, gods, fuck, fuck, fuck! −" He gasped loudly, with a few final, desperate thrust filling her with his seed, his face expressing fulfilment and bliss. They panted for a moment with their eyes closed, still rocking their hips, trying to calm themselves.

She stroked his soft, long hair as his body fell gently on top of her, completely without strength, making sure he didn't crush her with his weight.

"You have possessed my body and soul." He whispered in her ear, his large hands still stroking her thighs and buttocks in a soothing, calm motion.

"You have broken into my mind. Into my heart. I feel that I'm losing my mind. That I have crossed the line leading into madness." He muttered in a trembling voice and, without knowing why, she felt herself smiling, her lips placing a tender, warm kiss on his bare, sweaty shoulder, her fingers running over his back.

"We both crossed it long time ago, my love."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @rwdkarla @echos-muses @ipostwhtifeel @letmeloveyouuuu

[arcane-vagabond]

Meet Me at the Sea: Chapter Eight

Meet Me at the Sea: Chapter Eight

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Your best friend, Bob Floyd, had insisted you join him for the summer at his family's home along the Carolina coasts. You had been hesitant at first, but ultimately agreed to his request. Now, here you were in a new town with strange locals who spoke in hushed whispers and cryptic retellings about glistening scales, glowing eyes, and haunting songs that echoed from the sea. You didn't believe them at first, but when you wake up on the beach one morning after having fallen overboard the night before, you can't help but think that maybe you hadn't imagine the strong arms and deep, green eyes of the man that had saved you.

Trigger warnings: Language, Fluff, A smidgen of angst, Truths revealed, Kind of smut (heavy petting and making out), Magic, Supernatural elements.

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: It's been a hot minute since we've heard from Skipper and Jake! I hope you all enjoy this chapter because it was actually a real struggle to finish for some reason. As always, reblogs, comments and likes are greatly appreciated! Asks/requests are always open! 18+ ONLY!! You can find me on AO3 under arcane_vagabond where I also post my updates!

Series Masterlist || Moodboards || Playlist

You had always loved mermaids. You had always wondered what it must be like to live as half human and half fish, swimming beneath the blue waves of the sea and singing beautiful songs for everyone to hear. You wondered what it would be like to coast your fingers across the rocks and corals, interacting with the creatures below. Were there cities like Atlantica down there that only the merpeople knew about? Or did they migrate like whales?

“You know mermaids aren’t real, honey, right?” Your mother had asked you one day, brow furrowed in concern. You had let out a sigh that only a thirteen-year-old beginning their journey into the reality of life could give.

“Yeah, Mom,” you had frowned, looking out the window and onto the waters of the lake below. “I know.”

“Have you thought about maybe redecorating your room?” She continued, picking up your porcelain mermaid and eyeing it with vague distaste. You glanced over at her, turning to face her slightly.

“I like my things,” you grumbled, pressing your lips into a thin line. “They’re my treasures. And what’s wrong with liking mermaids and the ocean?”

“Nothing, sweetie,” she had sighed, setting it down. “Maybe it’s just time for you to start thinking about more serious things, is all.”

She gave you one last smile before walking out of the room, leaving you to ponder over her words.

Weeks later, her words still floated in your head, and you had relayed the conversation to your grandmother, your mother’s mother, one day as you sat in her living room. She had scowled, shaking her head and fixing you with a fierce look.

“Now you listen to me, young lady,” she groused. “Your mother means well, but she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. There’s magic in this world, believe you me, and it’s a rare person who continues to believe and see it. You just keep doing what you’re doing, and one day you’ll see the truth.”

And one day had finally come.

The waves crashed against the shore with a deafening sound, the wind whipping your hair about your face where it rested atop your knees, and the rock beneath you was vaguely damp, causing goosebumps to run up and down your skin. You had been out there for hours, needing time to come to reconcile what you thought you knew with what you now knew.

The scene on the beach earlier that morning replayed in your mind. The song, falling into the water, Mandy. It was a wonder you hadn’t run for the hills.

You had stood on the beach, soaked to the bone as the rest of the group stared at you like some kind of wild animal, like you might lash out at them at the most sudden of movements.

“Skip,” Bradley had started slowly, taking a small step towards where you stood, feet planted as firmly as they could be in the shifting sand. Your shoulders were drawn back, attempting to make yourself seem more confident than you actually were. In truth, you were still terrified, the adrenaline from your near death experience still running through your veins as your eyes darted the small group gathered around. The sun had barely risen above the horizon, and it was an oddly cold, summer morning, and you fought the shiver that threatened to run up your spine. “Honey, it’s not that we don’t think you’re ready to know…”

He trailed off as you narrowed your eyes at him, anger starting to course through you. Bob cleared his throat, drawing your attention to him.

“It’s just that you’ve been through a lot in the past hour,” he explained with a grimace. “We don’t want to overwhelm you.”

“Yeah!” Chirped Mickey. “Besides, you’re still wet, and we wouldn’t want you to get sick or anything.”

“Mickey is right,” Nat smiled gently, “you should get changed out of these clothes.”

She moved to grab your arm, but you shifted away, fixing her with a glare before your eyes once again shifted towards the other members.

“Stop trying to change the subject,” you hissed, your hands tightening into fists at your sides. “Stop treating me like I’m some child.”

Your eyes connected with familiar green ones, and your anger instantly dissipated into a sense of pleading. Jake stared back at you, face unreadable as he took you in. After a moment, he walked towards you, and you didn’t even think about stopping him as he stopped in front of you. He raised a hand, running his thumb lightly over the apple of your cheek, and you felt yourself relax into his touch.

“They’re right,” he said softly. You immediately stiffened, opening your mouth to say something, but he cut you off.

“I promise you, that we will tell you what you want to know. But for now,” he pauses, running his eyes up and down your form, grimacing at the sight of you. “For now, you need to go change into some dry clothes. We can talk more after, okay?”

You stared up at him for a moment, studying him. His eyes bore into yours, not a hint of deceit resting in them. Slowly, you nodded, and he let out a relieved sigh, squeezing your shoulders slightly.

“There’s my good girl,” he smiled, running his hands down your arms before releasing you. You preened at his words, feeling your cheeks warm as you glanced away.

“Okay,” Nat sighed, a relieved smile on her own face. “Now that that’s decided, let’s all head home to change and then we can regroup later.”

Bob had escorted you back home, leaving before you had finished your shower. So, you had walked, and you found yourself where you sat now, on the rocks just past Jake and Bradley’s house on the beach, the sky a dismal grey as the seagulls cried. No one was answering your texts, and while it annoyed you to no end to know that they were probably trying to come up with a way to get out of telling you, you remained secure in the fact that Jake had promised you they would tell you the truth. You let out a long sigh, trying to ease some of the tension out of your shoulders.

“Wasn’t expecting to find you right here.”

You jumped, whirling around to see the familiar green of Jake’s eyes as he gave you an apologetic smile.

“Sorry,” he murmured sheepishly, moving to sit next to you. His shoulder brushed yours in the process, and you inhaled a gasp, hoping he hadn’t heard you.

“It’s okay,” you assured him. “I was just lost in my thoughts, I guess.”

“Care to share?”

“As if you don’t already know what they were about,” you scoffed, a smile tugging on the corner of your lips. He chuckled, nodding slowly.

“You’re right.”

“What are you doing out here, Jake?” You asked. He let out a breath, rolling his shoulders back before answering.

“The others are still debating on what we should tell you, or what you can handle knowing right now. I snuck out to come and find you.”

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, listening to the different sounds around you. You chewed on your bottom lip, contemplating whether or not to break the calm between the two of you.

“I wasn’t dreaming,” you breathed, peering over at him. “Was I?”

Jake let out a sigh, leaning back against his arms as he continued to stare out into the ocean.

“You’ve heard the stories the older folks tell, right?” He asked finally, meeting your gaze. You nodded slowly, waiting for him to continue.

“Well,” he started, looking back out at the water. “They’re all true.”

A beat passed.

“All of them?” You questioned, looking down and fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. You thought back to all of the things Mrs. Cambroni had told you. “Even the frenzy?”

Jake’s eyes grew wide, and his cheeks turned a brilliant red. He cleared his throat, looking away as he muttered, “Yes, even the frenzy.”

“What’s it like?”

“What?” He blinked, eyes still wide but holding confusion instead of shock.

“What’s the frenzy like,” you pressed, leaning in closer to him. He stared at you for another second before answering.

“It feels like a constant itch underneath my skin. A heat that I can’t dampen no matter what I do. It drives me crazier the older I get.”

“Is it dangerous?” You whisper.

“It can be,” he admitted slowly. “If we don’t take a mate before a certain time, then the magic becomes stronger because there’s nothing to siphon it in to. Mates help with controlling the magic, and our magic grows the older we get. If we don’t take a mate, then the magic will drive us crazy.”

“When does that happen?”

“There’s no real set number of frenzies you go through before it happens. For some, they can’t make it through their third one before they go crazy. For others, it could be their fourth or fifth one.”

“What about you?”

The question hung in the air, and for a second you were worried that you had upset him with how still he was sitting.

“Me?” He chuckled humorlessly, drawing patterns on the rock beneath the two of you. “I can already feel my control slipping sometimes this go around, especially when I’m around you. It’s nothing I can’t handle though.”

“What do you mean?” You frowned, brow furrowing. “I cause your control to slip? Why?”

Jake stared at you, eyes widening once again when he realized what he had said. He shook his head.

“Nevermind. Forget I said anything.”

“No,” you snapped, glaring up at him. “You promised me that you would be honest and tell me what I wanted to know.”

He looked a little taken aback, but let out another sigh as he relented.

“Sea people have what they call ‘true mates,’” he began, “and they’re different from regular mates. True mates are an ideal pair, one the powers that be have ordained as a perfect match. Everyone can take a mate, sure, but very few ever find their true mate. They’re so rare, in fact, that some people think it’s just a myth.”

“Do you?” You asked. “Think it’s a myth, I mean.”

He stared at you for a beat.

“I used to,” he admitted. “I used to think that true mates were just some sappy fairytale that people clung to to make themselves feel better. I used to laugh at the idea, actually. It wasn’t until-”

He stopped, clamping his mouth closed as his cheeks tinged red once again. You furrowed your brow at him.

“Until what?” You pressed. He swallowed thickly, turning to look out at the water.

“Until I met you,” he said quietly, voice barely above a whisper. You let out a small gasp, but waited for him to continue.

“The first night I saw you in that bar, Skipper, I knew. I knew with everything in me that you were the one that I had been looking and waiting for my entire life. You were the one in my dreams growing up. You were the one I could feel in my chest, pulling me towards you. You were the one that made me realize that I could be happy, that I didn’t have to settle for a life that other people had decided for me.”

You stared at him, registering the look of vulnerability on his face, and you sucked in a deep breath.

“I dreamed about you too,” you admitted, causing him to look back at you. “Or, at least I think I did. And I always felt like something was incomplete, like a piece of me was always missing. But when I sit here with you, things just feel…right.”

“Right?” He pressed, leaning in so that your noses were practically brushing each other.

“Yeah,” you murmured, your heartbeat picking up at the close proximity. “Like things aren’t so hard when you’re around. Like I don’t even have to try. Things just feel easy around you, and if I’m being honest, that kind of scares me.”

He hummed, resting his forehead against yours, warm breath running over your face as he breathed out.

“It scares me too,” he said, closing his eyes, his hand reaching out to curl around yours where it rested atop the rock. “My whole life I thought I knew what would happen. I would marry Mandy, I would go work with my father at his business, we’d pop out a couple of kids, and then the rest of life would happen. I’d die in my bed of old age, surrounded by the people that I love having lived a life that anyone would be proud of.”

“And now?” You asked, squeezing his hand. He took a shuddering breath before opening his eyes. You were almost taken aback by how beautiful they were. Swirling shades of sea glass green mixed with darker emerald, a look of pure longing on his face as he stared at you.

“Now, I know that’s not what I want,” he murmured. “I don’t want to be with Mandy. I don’t want to have the pristine, picture perfect family you find in commercials or magazines. I just want you, Skipper. I want you in any way that you’ll have me.”

His eyes were glowing now, the mossy green standing out against the growing darkness of the storm clouds that were rolling in from the sea.

“Your eyes,” you breathed, raising your unoccupied hand to run your fingers across his cheek. “They’re glowing. I knew I wasn’t imagining it.”

Jake nuzzled into the palm of your hand, humming low in his throat as he breathed you in. His eyes fluttered closed as he pressed a chaste kiss in the center of your palm, and your breath hitched. You shifted, leaning in close enough that your lips hovered just over his. His eyes once again connected with yours, boring into you as if he could see every single part that you kept hidden. Your gaze dropped down to his lips for a brief second before darting back up. Eyes hooded, you leaned in, lips barely grazing his before jumping back as the rain started.

The drops came in a downpour, instantly soaking the two of you as you let out a startled laugh.

“Come on!” Jake grinned, gripping your hand and helping you off the rocks before the two of you sprinted towards his house. You trotted up the steps after him, letting out another peel of breathless laughter as the two of you caught your breath. You looked out at the beach as it continued to pour, a peel of thunder cracking through the roar of the rain. You turned back to look at Jake with a smile, shaking your head.

“The rain didn’t even build up to-”

Jake’s lips were soft on yours, pressing firmly as he cupped your cheek in his hand. You froze, taken by surprise. He pulled back after a second, eyes uncertain as they watched you.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment, eyes growing wide with panic. “I shouldn’t have done that. I just thought after the rocks and you were standing there looking so pretty, I just-”

You cut him off with a kiss of your own, and he stiffened for a second before returning it. His hands landed on your waist, backing you up against the pillar by the stairs as his lips moved against yours in a heated bid to feel every part of you. Your own hands moved to tangle in his hair, pulling on the still wet strands gently and earning a groan from him. His tongue traced your lower lip, and you instantly opened up to him, relishing in the feeling of the muscle against your own.

Jake’s grip tightened on your waist before moving his right hand up to grope at your breast, squeezing it with a low groan. You moaned into his mouth, one hand releasing his hair to slide down and grip at his shoulder as you pressed against him. He continued to lick languidly into your mouth, savoring the taste of you and every little sound you made. He pulled away to allow you to breathe, nipping at your bottom lip gently. As you sucked in a lungful of air, he busied himself with pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your neck. You tilted your head to the side to allow him better access, and you felt him smirk against you as his left hand grabbed your thigh to wrap your leg around him. You could feel the hard bulge press against you, and a tingle ran up your spine.

“Jake,” you breathed out, head thrown back as he nipped at your skin, running his tongue over the same spot to soothe the sting. His lips worked lower and lower as you began to roll your hips against his. You let out a strangled cry as his lips connected with the intention mark on your neck, pleasure rippling through your veins as you gripped onto him and ground down harder onto him. Jake nipped at the mark, causing you to let out another cry as your nails dug into the meat of his shoulders through his shirt. You could feel your arousal dripping from you as your mind grew heavy with lust.

Suddenly, Jake pushed away from you, practically throwing himself across the porch. You whined at the loss, brow furrowed in confusion as you took in the state of him. He was panting hard, almost crouched as he gripped the porch railing to steady himself. His eyes were still glowing, brighter than they were previously, but fading in and out as he calmed down.

“Jake,” you murmured, “are you okay?”

“Not like this,” he said, more to himself than to you. “I don’t want it to be like this.”

“What are you talking about? Jake, you’re worrying me.”

He looked at you then, taking in your disheveled state as he righted himself. A mixture of regret and longing adorned his face as he spoke.

“I gave that mark to you during a moment of frenzy,” he admitted, gesturing to the bite in question. “I was so scared that you weren’t going to make it, and the frenzy magic was already in overdrive. I gave it to you without thinking, and I’m sorry.”

“Jake,” you said slowly, taking small steps towards him as if you might scare him off otherwise. “I’m not mad about that at all, but why are you suddenly acting this way?”

“Because,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair, “because I already told you. I want you, Skipper, and I want you to want me back. I want to know that you want me for me and not because of some damn magic that tells us we’re supposed to be together.”

You stared at him for a moment, processing what he was telling you. It was true that you felt a pull towards him that could only be explained by the magic, but it felt so much more than that. Jake was sweet and kind, and he cared for you. He made sure that you were taken care of when you were vulnerable, and he wanted to hear your opinions on things. You did want Jake beyond the magic, but you were more than willing to take the time to prove that to him.

“Okay,” you agreed, nodding slowly. “So what do you suggest?”

“Can we,” he swallowed thickly, eyes hopeful as they searched you. “Can we take it a little slow? Maybe spend some time alone together?”

“You mean like on dates?” You smiled, standing in front of him now and batting your lashes at him. A grin tugged on the corner of his lips as he looked down at you, giving you a nod.

“Yeah. I want to take you out on a date.”

“Just the one?” You teased, and he rolled his eyes, a full-blown grin on his face now.

“Well, I was hoping you’d give me more than just that,” he teased back, leaning into you again. You tapped a finger on your chin thoughtfully.

“I dunno,” you hummed, fighting back the smile that threatened to overtake you. “I guess we’ll just have to see how the first one goes, won’t we?”

“I have full confidence in myself that I’ll be able to convince you of that second date.”

“Come on, Crooner,” you laughed, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the front door. “Let’s get changed before we catch a cold or something.”

About a half hour later, you were dressed in a pair of oversized sweats and an old t-shirt - both belonging to Jake. The two of you were huddled up on the couch underneath a blanket, some random movie thrown on to fill the silence. Your legs were curled under you as you rested against Jake’s side, his arms wrapped around you as you played with his fingers.

“You bit him?” You huffed out a laugh as Jake chuckled. “Why?”

“Because Bradley gets a little big for his britches sometimes,” Jake defended. “He knew I had an interest in you and what we were, and he still pressed his luck. Even with the mark on your neck. ”

“Boys,” you exclaimed with a roll of your eyes. A comfortable silence fell between the two of you as the movie continued to drone on in the background.

“Jake,” you hummed thoughtfully, “do you regret giving me this mark?”

He stiffened against you, and you chanced a glance up at him. His lips were pressed into a firm line, brow furrowed as he looked at you.

“Absolutely not,” he bit out. “Why would you think that?”

“It’s just,” you hesitated, still fidgeting with his fingers as you looked down, “it’s just been one thing after the other since you gave it to me. Am I really worth the trouble?”

“Skipper,” he said firmly, cupping your jaw and making you look at him. “I will never regret you, okay? Even if you decide that this isn’t something you want, I will live the rest of my life knowing that I had the privilege of having you even for a moment.”

His eyes were sincere as they held your gaze, and you suddenly felt silly for doubting him. You nodded, willing the tears that prickled behind your eyes to go away. You sniffed before settling back down against him, basking in the feeling of him stroking a hand through your hair.

“Jake! We can’t find Skipper anywh-”

You jumped as the front door burst open to reveal your friends, Bob at the front of the pack. All of you stared at one another before you raised an eyebrow at them.

“Are you coming in or not?” You snapped, fixing them all with a glare. Jake turned the TV off as the squad filed in, taking seats wherever there was one available. Once everyone was settled, you continued.

“Finally decide on how you’re going to lie to me some more? Whatever you came up with, I sure hope it’s better than the ones you were telling me before.”

The group had the decency to look ashamed. Bob gave you an apologetic look as he faced you from where he sat in one of the recliners.

“We never wanted to lie to you, Y/n,” he explained. “But would you have believed the truth?”

“I might have,” you countered. “You could have at least tried.”

“Would you trust an outsider that you barely knew with a secret like this?” Javy chimed in. He made a good point, and your silence answered for you.

“I wanted to tell you, Skipper,” Bob continued, “but it wasn’t my secret to tell. And with all the stuff between you and Jake, it just seemed like it would be so much to throw at you.”

“I get that,” you conceded, nodding slowly. “But Jake’s already told me most of everything, so no more lying to me, okay? I need to know and be kept in the loop moving forward okay?”

Everyone looked at each other before nodding at you. You gave them a small smile before letting out a relieved breath.

“Good,” you chirped. “Now that that’s settled, let’s go get something to eat. I’m starved.”

[sashaisready]

Chapter Twenty - Of course I did

Bucky Barnes Mob AU x Femme Reader

You're hard at work in Pepper's Bakery when notorious mob boss James 'Bucky' Barnes darkens your doorway one typical afternoon, and life is never the same again.

Warnings: Dark content, mention of guns/shooting, descriptions of dead bodies and blood, threats/suggestions of sexual assault, minor character fatally wounded/dying, reader is frightened/in danger

18+ - see Masterlist for full list of warnings

Chapter 21

Series Masterlist

You’re not sure how much time has passed when you’re awoken by shouting. You must’ve fallen asleep, which makes sense as it’s so late, although you aren’t sure what time it is exactly. You instinctively go to check for your phone but then remember they have it. Your body is exhausted from the stress of all that has happened. You have a headache, the wine from your date has already transitioned into the beginnings of a hangover and you haven’t had any water in hours. The Thai dinner you so enjoyed earlier now feels heavy in your stomach. The gash on your cheek stings sharply, the bleeding has mostly stopped but not entirely. You feel dizzy, losing blood from your wound most likely not helping that.

The sound of yelling again jerks you to attention, the adrenaline coursing through you as your fear unfurls once more. You can’t make out what they’re saying until the door crashes open and bodies rush into the room. You try to count the number of feet you can hear on the floorboards but can’t figure it out. Two of them, you think? Three? They’re shouting out your name, their voices thick with anger. You can’t see them but you know they must have guns raised, searching every square inch for you.

One of them tries the light switch but grunts in frustration when nothing happens. You can hear the snap of plastic as he forces it up and down. Seconds later the room is partially illuminated by flashlights, the circles of light flitting around the room.

You swallow, clasping your hand over your mouth to mask any sounds you might make involuntarily. You stood a good chance in the dark where they couldn’t see you, but once that light hits you…then you’re done for.

“Come on sugar, come out come out wherever you are…” one of them sneers mockingly into the darkness.

You can’t see him but you just know it’s Rumlow.

“I’m gonna ring Jones’ neck for this” snarls another voice.

“Don’t worry, Pierce will take care of him” replies Rumlow darkly.

They chuckle for a moment as they scour the room.

“I’m gonna make this bitch pay when we find her” says the other voice again.

“Let’s just hope she’s not been too used up by Barnes for us to have some fun with her” laughs Rumlow. “I wanna rearrange her guts”.

Your stomach drops and you choke back a wave of nausea as they edge closer to your hiding spot. You’re seconds away from discovery now. Should you leap out? Use the element of surprise against them?

Don’t be stupid. They have guns. They’re infinitely stronger and faster than you. They most likely have combat training based on how they’re dressed. Maybe it would be better to go quickly, though. To be shot in the head and be snuffed out in an instant after you jump out - rather than be slowly tortured and sexually assaulted and God only knows what else.

You think of your family. Your friends. Wanda. Everything you didn’t get a chance to say to them all. All of the love you have for them. You think of the bakery. You think of your contentment as you bake, happily frosting cupcakes and humming to yourself as you sing along to the radio. You’d give anything to be there now. Hell, even baking in your tiny apartment kitchen would be a luxury. You’d never take it for granted again if you made it out alive.

You hold onto that image in your head to help calm you and give you hope, grounding yourself with the memory and keeping yourself sane. One of the flashlights reaches your corner of the room and moves closer to you. Everything goes into slow motion. You hold your breath as the light reaches the edge of your dress...

But then.

A scream cuts through the air. A clear scream. From somewhere beneath you. Rumlow and the other man or maybe men spin round, their flashlights ripping away from where you are and instead turn to face the door.

“What the…” Rumlow starts.

And then there’s another scream which cuts him off, and then the crystal clear roar of gunfire. You tense up. It seems to be coming from the corridors beneath you.

“Jesus Christ” spits out the other man.

In seconds you hear their heavy feet as they stomp out of the door and rush back down the stairs.

You freeze, panting. You can hear more now. There are more bullets, it must be a machine gun the way the sounds are rattling through the air like that. There’s muffled shouting and crying out from below.

It goes on like this for some time, your eyes are wide like saucers as you press your ear to the floorboards. You try to make out something they’re saying. Anything. Any hint as to what’s going on or who is shooting. But it’s all lost in a sea of bullets and yelling.

And then…silence.

Your stomach drops again. You know what that means. There’s nobody left.

Could it be…?

No. Surely not. He said he wasn’t coming. Why would he come? The last thing you said to him was that you were going to give him to the feds.

And if it’s not him, it’s only a matter of time before they find you too. You’re a sitting duck up here. You were lucky enough to get out of it once, but it wouldn’t happen twice.

Against all of your instincts you emerge from your corner and tiptoe across the attic. You’re barely thinking, just on autopilot. You open the door gently, careful not to make any noise. You squint as you leave the darkness and take each stair warily as you descend, listening out for any tell-tale sounds of what’s going on. But there’s only silence.

Your face stings and now you’re back in the light you can see your chest and dress is covered in old blood. You can feel the hardened stain on your cheek too, mixed with the remains of your tears. You’re shrouded in a thick layer dust from your hiding place in the attic, your ripped dress hanging pitifully off you. You can only imagine how you must look.

As you step out into the hallway you gasp. The wall in front of you is decorated with bloodstains. A few feet away a man is slumped onto his front, laying facedown in a pool of his own blood. From the way the blood has hit the wall his insides must be swiss cheese. You deduce that it’s one of the men from the attic. He didn’t get very far.

You’ve never seen a dead body before. It’s frightening. Not like in the movies. He looks almost inhuman with his impossible stillness. Stiller than a person should ever be. You can smell copper in the air from his blood, the stench of sweat and gunpowder lingers in your nose and makes your stomach churn.

You creep around him and swallow back your nausea. Around the next corner you see Rumlow flat on his back. He made it a bit further. His eyes are closed and circles of deep red splatter his torso. You inhale sharply, stepping around him carefully. You notice that his weapon is gone, whoever finished him off must’ve taken it with them.

You nearly scream when you feel a pressure on your ankle as you stalk by. You look down and to your horror Rumlow has his cold fingers gripped around you. He is still alive, but barely. His hand feels like ice. Staring up at you through squinted eyelids, you can see the fear on his face as his lifeforce is gently ebbing away from him. He tries to speak but can only groan, making a nauseating gurgling sound and you realise his internal injuries are taking hold as the light fades from his eyes.

It’s too much. You begin to break into a sprint. All of your fear from the evening comes tumbling out and you can’t stop. You know you should be quiet, carefully inspect what’s around each corner before you come barrelling around them, but all of that dies as the adrenaline courses through you.

As you fling yourself through the hallways you find them littered with more bodies and bloodstains. Puddles of blood are everywhere, stains of grisly footsteps of the retreating victors brazenly weaved around the fallen. There must’ve been even more of them than you saw in the warehouse. You don’t see Pierce amongst them, but then you aren’t really looking too carefully.

There are angry red blemishes splattered across the walls and your bare feet hurt when you step on bullet casings but you can’t stop now. You shimmy around each fallen figure as you aimlessly continue to run, unsure of where you’re going or if you’re turning back on yourself but just knowing that you need to keep going. Keep going. Keep going. Don’t stop.

You don’t know when you started crying but your tears don’t slow you down. You whip around another corner only to find yourself bouncing off something, the force of your speed means the impact is hard and it knocks you onto your back.

You begin to scream as you sit up and realise you’ve hit a person. An alive person, not a body. A man. A man with a gun. And your fear takes over. You can’t even look at him properly as you know this is it now, this is where your luck runs out. End of the line.

There are arms on your shoulders and someone is talking at you but you can’t hear any words, can’t see their face through the haze of your tears. It’s only when they begin to shake you gently when you realise…

Sea blue eyes.

Sea blue eyes looking into yours. You know those eyes.

Bucky.

You gasp as his features finally become clear in your vision. You can see his lips moving but can’t hear what he’s saying as you stare up at him. You reach out and clutch at his chest as if checking it’s really him and he’s really there. His face is contorted in concern and there’s a worrying amount of blood on his shirt. Not his, though. You can guess that. Suddenly it’s like your ears are switched back on and you can hear him again.

“Doll? Doll? Are you alright? Say something, baby?” His voice is panicked, strained with fear as he places his assault rifle onto the ground. You eye it anxiously.

“Bucky?” you ask weakly. 

Maybe you’re hallucinating, maybe you were shot seconds ago and this is your brain’s confused final flourish as you succumb to the darkness.

“Is it really you?”

His concern morphs into a relieved smile and you melt inside.

“Yeah it’s me, Doll. I’ve got you, don’t worry” he soothes.

You hurl yourself at him, clutching at his torso and throwing your arms around his back as you move your head into the crook of his neck. Squeezing him tightly with relief, pawing at him to check he’s really there. He picks up your legs and you wrap them around his waist, clinging onto him for dear life.

“You came” you whisper into his ear.

“Of course I did” he says matter of factly. “Where have you been Doll? We’ve been looking everywhere for you. Have to say I laughed when they told me you’d got loose and they’d lost you somewhere. Those assholes didn’t know who they were dealing with, huh?”

You ignore his question, gazing back at him with confusion.

“But…you said you weren’t coming? In the text?”

Bucky chuckles, his tone soft as he searches your face.

“I knew immediately those messages weren’t you. You know how mushy those fucks made you sound? I knew it was HYDRA and sent a bunch of my guys here with me to get you out. I just wanted to throw Pierce off the scent to buy us time.”

You gawped at him stupidly.

“You really think I’d leave you here, Doll?” He furrowed his brow, studying you.

“Well…yeah. We had that fight. You said…” you muttered.

Bucky narrows his eyes. “I would never leave you to die, Doll. No matter what happened between us”.

He looks at you with a flash of anger and hurt amongst the relief, clearly wounded that you’d think so little of him.

He lowers you off of him and carefully places you on the ground. “Can you stand?”

You nod, steadying yourself on the wall as your feet hit the floor. Bucky keeps a hand firmly on your waist as he inspects your face. You flinch as his finger brushes against your cheek wound. He huffs with rage.

“Those fuckers. Those stupid assholes” he mumbles furiously.

“It was…” you go to tell him about the nail in the attic but he cuts you off.

“They’re never going to hurt you again, alright? I’m so sorry Doll. I’m so sorry this happened, it’s all my fault” his voice sounds small, broken. He cups your chin tenderly. “I’m sorry that I didn’t protect you…”

Your eyes widen as you realise the gravity of his words when they hit you and a rush of emotion surges within.

He was right.

Before you know what’s happening, you reach out and slap his face. He glares back at you in confusion, touching his cheek where you struck him. You can’t stop yourself, pummelling his chests with your fists as you unravel, all of the stress, fear and anger pouring out of you like an unstoppable tidal wave.

He catches your wrists and holds them tightly in place, you howl with frustration at how powerless you feel.

“This IS your fault James” you bark at him. “How the fuck am I caught up in your turf wars?? We aren’t even DATING. I get wrestled into the back of a van and hauled off to some warehouse in the middle of nowhere with some psychopathic gang…tied up and hunted down…and then there’s a fuckin’ massacre…”

You trail off when you notice he’s smiling wistfully at you.

“What?” you scoff in disbelief. “How can you possibly be smiling right now?”

“I’m just happy you’re okay” he says softly. “You can yell at me all you want, hit me all you like, because for a while there I wasn’t sure you’d ever be able to yell at me again”.

You’re caught off guard by that. You hadn’t even thought about how he might’ve felt through this. You feel a twinge in your heart. He was scared. He thought you were dead. You stare into his big blue eyes and your mouth falls open slightly at the intensity of his scrutiny.

Before you know it you’re on him, kissing him for the second time that evening (maybe morning now?) The kiss is desperate and passionate, eager and hungry. He presses you up against the wall and you can feel him panting, his hands are all over you as if doing an audit of your body. It’s as if he’s affirming that all of you is still here. He kisses your neck, your shoulders, your arms. You momentarily forget that you’re covered in your own blood, or that he’s covered in the blood of men he gunned down.

He pulls away and begins to whisper in your ear. He tells you he’s sorry, for this, for all of it. He tells you he’ll never let anything like this happen to you again. He tells you how brave you are, how smart you were to get away. You allow yourself to get swept away by his words, soothing you and comforting you, your eyes closed as your arms are draped around his neck.

“Buck, you here?” comes a voice from around the corner.

Your body tenses as your survival instincts are still heightened but Bucky kisses your cheek after feeling your posture shift. “Don’t worry, it’s just Steve” he whispers soothingly.

“We’re here” he calls back.

Steve emerges from around the corner. He’s sweaty and blood spattered like Bucky, clutching a rifle. His face lightens when he sees you.

“Hey - there you are” he says sunnily.

You smile back at him. A genuine smile, possibly the first one you’d ever given him.

“Here I am”.

He looks you up and down, struck by the contrast to how you looked when he saw you earlier. Then…pretty in your date outfit and heels, hair and make-up slightly askew after a few glasses of wine but still intact. Your eyes fiery and passionate as you gave Bucky a dressing down. And now…your face was bloodied, some sort of injury across your cheek. Your dress ripped and blood soaked, a layer of dust dirtying your arms. You were barefoot. Your mascara had run down your face in thick black streaks and your hair was knotted and tangled. Mainly he was struck by your eyes, now dulled and frightened. No sign of the heat he had seen earlier. You just clung on to Bucky’s side meekly.

But you were alright, that was the main thing, and he was relieved. You may be Bucky’s girl but he had grown fond of you too. He thought you were good for his best friend, challenging him and keeping him on his toes. Buck needed that in his life. A partner to be his equal, not merely a sex toy.

He was also relieved for Bucky’s sake. He had gone wild when he got the messages, throwing his whiskey glass across the room and yelling. They were just leaving for the night, he’d run to him and didn’t understand what had happened. Bucky was apoplectic, shouting and throwing furniture. He knew you’d been taken, he knew it was Pierce. He ordered them to round up as many men as they could, emptying out the weapons storage as they followed the location pin. They’d even called in a favour with Stark who was more than happy to lend a hand after learning that Pepper’s star baker was in danger - sending over reinforcements and a few extra top of the line rifles.

The car ride was quick as they sped, but Bucky was silent throughout, his eyes focused out on the road. The only sign he was tense were his hands, clenched into tight fists at his sides.

“She’ll be alright. We’ll get her out, Buck” Steve had told him.

Bucky just smiled thinly and nodded, the worry etched over his face. He had turned back to look out at the road again…

“Perimeter is clear, Buck” Steve explained.

Bucky nodded “Thanks Steve”. He stepped forward to leave and you gripped him harder. He turned back and took your hand.

“C’mon Doll, let’s go home” he beckoned, guiding you through the halls.

[bekaterrier]

Happy Audio Drama Sunday! I'm out of town visiting family for my grandma's 100th birthday so haven't had a ton of listening time the last few days. I did enjoy a few new episodes earlier this week though!

@storiesfromylelmore Episode 211 - Magic School: I listened to this episode during my commute and I know I was making all sorts of faces the whole train ride home. More magic lore! Experimenting with Elas! Some super emotional moments with Keryth and how the ways we talk about ourselves can affect us more than we realize. Some more emotional moments with Rion about the fear of being replaced (I think we've all been there). I love these kids and this world so much. ✨

@forgedbondspod - Chapter 6: We started off with an Aphrodite and Hephaestus scene and they are so cuuute! They're bonding! They wanna be friends! And then Hermes and Dionysus were so sweet. Again, some great communication there. Hera giving Zeus a tongue-lashing is what I needed to hear, though I do wish he'd felt worse about it... 💍

@vestaclinicpod Episode 16 - On Gaspra: The Vesta Clinic is back!!!!!! I've been so excited to hear the new season and the first episode back did not disappoint! We had Faye trying to suss out what actually happened with her various patients, Sec adding his commentary, Rai and Xael popping in, and we even got to hear Calyxy for the first time! It was such a fun story to kick off the season. Also, I seriously recommend joining the Patreon for the bonus story and the extra bloopers. So. Good. And we got to hear from a little baby princess cat, who sounded so adorable!⚕️

@monkeymanproductions' Waiting For October S1 Episode 4 - Big City: This episode brought us new friends, brought to life by some wonderful voices! Gabi and her PhD, studying story elements within the world. Yujin the Bugbear and learning about different neighbourhoods of the monster city. I can't say enough about Frederick the Cat, I want to give them so many chin scritches! There were some ghostly presences, the effect of which was heightened for me as I knew I recognized the voices, but took a bit to place where from (The Night Post and TSCOSI/The Pasithea Powder respectively). It was very interesting to learn the effects of unfinished scenes or stories on the world of October. 🎃

[netherfeildren]

The Cassandra Complex : Interlude : Tartarus

Series Masterlist

(Din Djarin x F!Reader)

Content Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence; Torture; Murder; Blood and gore; Self harm; Suicidal ideations; Depression; Unreliable narrator; Alcohol and drug use; Overall very dark themes

A/N: The chapter is what the tags warn. Please, heed them carefully.  Short because it's only an interlude, but the next chapter is almost done!

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 3.5K

Read on AO3

INTERLUDE : TARTARUS

Can you eat winter? [���] Can you live six months inside a frozen pear? […] Can you punctuate yourself in silence?

Anne Carson, Plainwater: Essays and Poetry

You are captured at the start of the cold season. 

The first man you ever killed had been old. Weathered and beaten down by the galaxy and life, and forgotten or absconded to a decrepit and abandoned planet. Once thriving and rich, it had been bled dry and starved by the Empire, and now remained to stand only as a reminder to others as what not to be, a warning of how you’d end up if you did not submit. 

Your master had hunted him for months, a mania about the search that was mouth slicked ravenous and vicious. Something sick about the way he’d obsessed about the man, murmuring his name over and over again at all hours until you were sure you knew the vowels and consonants of it better than your own. You’d never discovered the root of the obsession, the reason for the killing, and when you’d finally found him, he was not at all what you’d expected; brittle boned, white of hair, skin soft and folded over so that it sagged and drooped around his frame, seeming to hang around him out of mere sheer habit. 

You’d swept into his mind, pilfered and pillaged and violated it; his past, his whole life, his family, cradled in the blink of your eye. You’d pulled his joints from their sockets, his fingernails from their beds, and his eyes from their cavities. You’d taken him apart piece by little piece, a slow going saturation of pain until little remained of the creature. Until the final piece you’d pulled from him was his breath, his very life, swallowed and settled heavy into your own soul. 

You had been very young when you’d killed him, a girl of only seven years old. 

You’d once heard that stars are made of a different matter than the four worldly elements – a quintessence – that also happens to be what the human psyche is made of. Which is why man’s spirit corresponds to the stars. You’d swallowed so many souls thinking they might be stars during that time. Perhaps, in an attempt to take some light within you, infuse yourself in the goodness of another’s quintessence. Young and naive and untried. You’d learned eventually how wrong you were. The damage you’d unknowingly wrought upon yourself. And when you remember it all now, the unending reaping, you think: I was young once, and you wish you could cling to that child, beg her to forgive you, beg her to run earlier. 

Perhaps, that had been the beginning of the end, and everything after that had been nothing more than one eternally futile battle towards inevitable failure.

-

For some idiotic reason, you return to Corellia after you part ways with him. Idiotic or desperate, who can really tell, but without a doubt, bitter and angry and devastated. Filled with a keen missing and a fury and an outrage that he’d left you, that you’d allowed yourself to be left. That you’d pushed him away. That really, the destruction of everything was your fault. The day it had suddenly hit you that you’d destroyed everything for nothing, that you’d destroyed the two of you for no real reason at all except for petty and inconsequential fear, had been a monumental sort of devastation. You’d not been able to make it out of your dingy rented bed for days afterwards. And so you’d chosen to believe that this was the end of destiny, rather than the beginning of what had always been fated to you. For choosing to believe that you’d destroyed it yourself was better than the truth, that he had never really been meant to be yours in the first place. And if it were anything else, you’d finish it, destroy it to completion. It if was something less, you’d smash it like a rock, tear it as if it were a piece of parchment, but it is not, for it is your heart, your very heart, your memory.

The only thing left. 

While you’d been with him you’d thought that you were healing, that you were healed. That you’d been made whole in his image. That after everything, after so much darkness, one single silver flame to illuminate the night would shine a light on your newfound completeness. But you’d realized, later, when it was too late, how wrong you’d been to think so. Love does not mend the torn seams back into rightness – it fractures the whole thing wide open, splits you down the middle.

And you’re so full of the most poisoned sort of regrets, a living, breathing, fire filled thing that seemed to exhume you from your own misery and would not let you exist peacefully in the deathlessness you’d have chosen for yourself. But it was impossible to go backwards now. Like any unloved thing, you’d not been sure if you really existed until he’d put his hands on you, and now, to have been forced to return to that half life, to be forced to exist in the purgatory of his aftermath – it was fury inducing, rage awakening. 

All my hurts hurt worse now, and there is no escape and no reprieve, and it always feels as if the sky seems to peer down on me in a strange and pitiful way. How did that feel? It asks. I’m sorry I caused harm, I reply. 

Time no longer exists, and so all you know is that it’s been an unknowable amount of nothing since you’d last seen him. 

You ache all the time, try and forget, can’t help but remember

You’d always known exactly how it would play out. Step by step the course your life would take – the Force guided you, and yet, you were still lost. You were still confused. You’d known that he would leave, you’d always known. Just as you’d known you would be the reason he left. You’d waited for it, and yet, when the moment arrived for him to go, you were shocked. And hurt. You were hurt that he would leave you even though you had pushed him away, even though you had always expected it to happen, even though you were the perpetrator of your own abandoning and had always known that you would be. 

And so, perhaps, you’d continued to return to Corellia despite knowing it was dangerous for you there, that there were whispers of a dark creature scurrying along the planet’s underbelly, that they’d seen your face all that time ago and rumors still abounded. But it had been the last place you’d found each other, and so some idealistic, stupidly desperate part of you thought that, perhaps, fate would look upon you kindly once again. That dark red thread of fate woven into action one more time, ringing taut with purpose and destiny. 

Perhaps, you return looking for a fight or a beating or some form of punishment, certain that you’d find it in that cesspool of vice and crime and corruption. In that place that knows what sort of creature you pretend not to be. 

Eventually, however, you get more than you’d bargained for. Or maybe, precisely what you’d wanted.

You’re betrayed by a slippery little Twi’lek. One who’d pretended at being interested in some easy, fun drinking and debauchery. One who you were not aware had awaited the return of a prize such as you for a long, long time. One who’d held the image of your face and your power in the cradle of her mind, ravenous for the moment when she’d finally be afforded a taste and a pay out.

 If you could not lose yourself in anything else, him, or even something worse – the dark called to you again so often now, it frightened you – then you’d lose yourself in a bottle, a game of Sabacc, even, on occasion, or when things were particularly dire, a little bit of Spice, just to take the edge off. To make you forget. The smell of the past is everywhere, the smell of too many illusions, too many truths, and you try and resist all the time, you feel yourself actively resisting. But you lie in the awareness of it so often, in the miserable hold of rented beds where no comfort and no warmth is ever to be found on so many nights, that at any moment something terrible could happen. It’s not gone, that coldness inside of you. It’s not gone, the dark side, and it calls to you louder now that he is absent. 

You consider yourself in new and strange lights now. A miasma of girl and power and tragedy and myth, always, always the myth of you. You are aware of yourself, of that myth, in so many lights. 

Violence has changed me; my body has grown cold. Now there is only mind, cautious and dim, with the sense it is being twisted. I have never loved being alive, and it is difficult to remember that I should. 

Din has changed me; my heart is half stone, half devoured. The sun has gone away, tucked inside of him, and I am always cold now, and even though I can't see it anymore, him, it’s comforting to know he’s still out there, somewhere. That the sun still exists. 

And so, in need of credits, the Twi’lek finds it easier to sell you off to the highest bidder when she first captures you – that being a league of fanatics who had, at the height of the Empire, venerated the Sith as lords – Gods even – who bent the knee to the dark side in hopes of a power greater than they even really knew the truth of. 

Drugged and cuffed after you’d been too stupid or uncaring to even try and defend yourself, you let them take you. You let them take you. You remember that first night in the hole in the ground you’d sentenced yourself to, before she’d left you to your fate with your captors, arm broken, bone jutting grotesquely from your skin, she’d looked down at you from her great height as you lay limp and ready for more breaking on the dirty ground of the cell deep in that Tartarean pit, brow split open and drooling crimson, glassy eyes wide and unseeing, filled only with the memories of gleaming metal, she’d called you a monster with the greatest of contempt and hatred in her eyes. And you’d laughed and laughed and laughed at the reality of you now, sanity gone away, only a little bit, only a little bit; after all, there had always been more madness than goodness anyways. 

And you’d wanted to cry: I am not a monster! I am not a monster! But you knew she would not believe you. 

This is only what you deserve, creature. Spit from her mouth like venom. You think of the Thalassian crone, all that time ago, or only yesterday: How does it feel to be nothing? She was kinder to you than you know this will be, and for a brief moment you pretend to miss her, fantasize with the idea of him coming to save you once again. 

You’d wanted to lie and say that you were not a monster any longer, that you’d changed, that you were better, different, but that would have been a lie, for at your core you knew there would always live within you something of a slightly monstrous countenance, no matter what you did or made of yourself. And what you wanted to say, even more than that, was that perhaps a monster was not such a terrible thing to be. Perhaps, if you’d ever been given the chance, you could have served as a shelter and a warning, all at once, for a family you’d never been allowed to have. Perhaps, if you’d ever been given the opportunity to have been that, nothing much else would have really mattered. 

You want to tell her his name. To let it serve as proof of the only goodness that has ever lived inside of you. But you do not. And you let them keep you for far too long, lying in that dark, damp hell, letting them hurt you. 

She returns often, the pretty, purple Twi’lek with the sharp teeth. She takes Din’s earrings from you, that first day, and if you’d still had tongue and teeth and voice to thank her for the chance to look upon them, you would have. 

They pull your skin from your bones and your bones from your skin, over and over again, and you try and lie that you don’t know what you did to deserve this, but you do. You do know. You remember the old man, the very first one, you think of all the countless others after him, the flash of shrieking beskar. You remember every single crime and sin and face and scream. Every scream, but loudest of all, your own. 

You exist only in thousands of agonies. 

And they’re creative in their torture and punishment, caring in the imagination of it. They burn the flesh from your bones only so that the Force can heal you back to strength. Slowly, excruciatingly, keeping you drugged and chained, diminishing your connection to yourself. Beaten and flogged and savaged over and over again. You think, or you tell yourself, that you feel little of it, or none at all. 

More than anything, you feel so acutely how little it all matters. 

Why have you done this to yourself? You’re sure you should ask. I don’t know. What is this all about? Be honest. Anger. Are you angry? Yes. You already knew this. 

Perhaps, your mind has finally broken and fragmented in a real and irrevocable way. Perhaps, this is finally destiny finding itself. 

You lie in the dark and let it hold you as it did when you were a child, alone and enslaved. You watch the water snake through the cracks of the stone walls, and you are so small, and suddenly, there’s a hole in your cheek and you heal and heal and tear apart again; taste the outside air with your newly grown tongue, and the blood that pools in your mouth reminds you that you’re still alive and made of nothing but regret. 

You hold one single comfort like a newly blooming flower in your mind, the only thing that remains: We were together once. I forget the rest, before, now, it no longer matters. We were together once. 

For an interminable age, you allow yourself to be poked and prodded, cut and flayed, experimented on – the silly notion these cultists hold that perhaps they could harness your power for themselves, bottle it.   Hurt, you allow yourself to be hurt for too long. They never break you beyond repair, but they get very close, many times, and sometimes, you hope it’ll be too much, it needs to be too much just once, and then it could, perhaps, all end. 

Your bones ache and wounds open where the too sharp edges of you abrade against the too hard stone, and you relish in the healing and reopening, relish in the suffering. You remind yourself that you chose this, that you continue to actively choose this, that all your choices are yours now, even the losses, and you caress that secret piece of you in the furthest, darkest recess of your mind, your lifeline, and it feels so good to finally be in control of the things that hurt you. Even if it is a false sense of control, even if it’s all only a reality of your mind's own making. 

And sometimes, when the delirium has sunk its fangs in you entirely, and you almost don’t know who you are, you think: surely he’ll come to get me. He doesn’t know you’re here. Surely I didn’t fall in love with him just for this. He doesn’t know you’re here. If he knew, he’d come, he would, he would.

Two years is a very long time to be away from a thing you need so much.

I no longer care what sound it makes when I am silenced. 

Two years is a very long time to forget.

If I die, it is not this life I will miss, it is him I will miss. 

But an even longer time to remember. 

How to forget? How to forget? How to forget?

Eventually, you lose yourself, and the brightness of torture becomes the brightness of night, and you’re gone within it.

You consider yourself: the myth, the archetype, the soul, me, me, the Cassandra, the Cassandra.

[Scream] [Scream] [Scream] [Scream] 

Din.

You cling to him through the night, through the brightness, through the nothing. You dream of his hands and his hair and the vividness of him. You dream of that pure, golden heart. You dream of beskar and space and being loved.

You dream of being loved. 

You do not choose the way you live. You do not live; you are not allowed to die. 

You don’t know how long you allow yourself to be held within this womb of punishment, but you know that it is a very long time. 

And then one day, unbidden and unexpected: one moment, you’re hungry, a strange and cold and gnawing hunger like something you’ve never felt before. A hunger of the soul. Your mind, so hazy that sometimes you don’t know if you remember your own name, that at certain instances the only image you can recall is the gleam of beskar – you smell vetiver and sweat and blaster smoke and the leather oil of his gloves. You hear his voice. The feeling of his hand in yours the second before you wake, and for a single moment before your eyes open, you’re somewhere else besides this damp Tartarus you’ve condemned yourself to, somewhere green and alive with him. 

The third time you meet: You blink, and it’s all darkness and steel bars, and then, a dim light far in the distance? No. A blade of silver beskar. 

He’s here. Near. 

She had said to you once, your now made sweet Twi’lek: You’re going to die here. Surely, not soon. But one day, we’ll pull your life from you. Once we’ve pulled everything else, taken all we can, we’ll take your life too. And then you’ll be nothing, erased from memory, erased from myth. Nothing at all forever.

You’d taken her words with consideration. You felt strongly that you could not die any longer in any way that truly mattered. If nothing more, than for the memory of him, the memory of that togetherness could never be taken from you, it would always exist and could never be killed, and so what more mattered after that? Nothing really. They could take your life, your power, but they could not take Din, they could not take the myth of what the two of you had created together. 

And always the myth, always the myth. You understand now, after an age in something worse than darkness, that you are yourself the creation of myth, and myth is indestructible. 

She is made sweet and venerating in the end, and she dies so beautifully, your Twi’lek, and in the singular instant before you pull her heart from her chest, you recall her words from before, how like the Thalassian she’d seemed, nothing at all forever, and you tell her the second truth you’ve now come to understand more surely than anything else: “Only a Sith deals in absolutes, and I am no longer a Sith.”

You free yourself from the cruel and unforgiving hands of the dark for the second time in your life. 

You’d thought once that you’d never again let yourself be captured, never again enslaved, and to have let yourself end up here like this of your own volition, your own wanton stupidity and miserable desire for punishment, this is the lowest a creature has fallen in a millenia, surely, and he’s on the same planet as you now, and you’re filled with the sudden blinding terror that he’d somehow know you’re here. That he’d find you. And that he should see you like this, brought so low and so broken, it would be worse than anything, any pain or suffering or torture you could have ever endured. 

And so you call to that dormant tether you’d held this entire time, to the Force, to yourself, and you kill your captors. All of them. In one fell swoop. Without much of even a single thought on your part. And you thank her, when you pull his stolen, blood splattered earrings from her ears, for teaching you so much, for reminding you that power without conscience is a terrible thing, and that you know this better than anyone. And you walk out into the cold and dark night, silent and obscure as a shadow can be, even more so, if possible, prepared to make your unnoticed escape from him.

But of course, he finds you anyway.

Chapter IX

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It's a Fire - Chapter II

Chapter 2

Wordcount 4,4k

Title The Porch and the Table

Fandom Kimetsu no Yaiba / Demon Slayer

Previous chapter

1

Symbols ⭕➕🖤

Warnings: mentions of grieving and parent loss; alcohol consumption

Tagging ? (If you want to be tagged in any of my stories, just leave a comment on this chapter or send an ask or a message)

N. A.: So this chapter is a bit longer than the first, but I think I should've stopped worrying about this by now hahaha I need to concentrate on what happens in each chapter and how the events move the story forward.

In this one's case, I've cut off rhe details of her arrival at Rengoku house and jumped to the beginning of her adaptation there, which includes her interactions with the staff and, specially, with her stepson, Senjuro. Of all the elements I want to explore in this ff, their relationship is one of my favorite things, so expect a strong bond to be created between them 🥺💜

About Shinjuro's appearances: I'm trying to bring a sort of growing tension each time he's around instead of just making his unpleasant traits too evident right from the start, bc I want reader to figure out the problems in her new house little by little, then trying to deal with them and make herself as comfortable as possible until she snaps and decides otherwise (spoilers haha)

I already know how I want this story to end though I just started writing it, and I believe I'll too much fun unveiling the light and and darkness in each of these characters.

Hope you enjoy this exploration mission with me 🖤

The servant sent by your father was walking in and out your new room at that moment, to bring your belongings to it. Since he was the only person who came with you, you offered to work with him, but the man declined, stating that there weren’t many things to carry and that he would soon be done.

— You made a good work packing your things even in such a small time, y/n-sama — he commented with gentleness — It made things easy.

You laughed.

— Well, I’ve tried my best. But if you’re okay with this, I’ll leave you alone. Thank you for everything.

You entered the room and, out of his sight, checked the spot where you left your sword, a place where it’d be difficult for someone to take it from; you sighed in relief with the vision of the weapon, and left to take a walk outside. There was a few spaces where you were given permission to wander – all of them separated from the parts of the house where the deceased members of your husband’s family used to stay – so, not having much to do right now (and, honestly, not knowing what to do), you were going to use the walk as an excuse to deliberate.

The wedding happened in the morning, but now it was almost midday. Your mood was no better than earlier, but you already sensed part of you accepting your new reality. You didn’t know if it was good or not, and didn’t want to figure it now, preferring to leave your mind free to think about how to act towards the circumstances.

The Rengoku House was as large and solemn as a samurai’s residence, with a wooden, rectangular structure to mark its entry, followed by a short path that led to the front doors. The building itself was raised under the traditional architecture, with two wide wings on each side and a porch to surround its premises. On the outside it was surrounded by trees, bushes and flowers; besides, the maid who led you to your room talked about the existence of a garden, but didn’t let it clear if you could visit it or not. Whatever the case, you thought it was a beautiful and silent compound you had there, despite the sensation of sadness that lingered in each spot you’ve passed by. Another thing you observed was the low number of servants, considering the house’s size, a suggestion that the Rengoku were facing problems that were similar to the ones in your father’s house – that was the only reason you could find for them to accept the good dowry that was offered alongside your hand. It was unnerving, you thought, unable to shake the feeling that you came to live there at the worst moment possible.

You then started to consider your new life as a married woman, and came to the conclusion that you weren’t getting such life at all. As soon as you arrived, you were informed that you wouldn’t share a room with your husband: yours would be in the same corridor as his, but in opposite sides; apparently, he was a man who cherished his privacy enough to organize things in a way that many would consider uncommon, to say the least. This idea seemed correct when you were led to meet your room, because as soon as you entered the house, Shinjuro ordered a maid to take care of you and walked to the other direction, disappearing from your sight, and until that moment you haven’t heard of him. Now that you remembered this, the prudent part of you was relieved that you weren’t going to share your personal space with an individual you just met, but another one, prideful, was a little outraged by the fact that you were dismissed right in your first day as a wife. Were you that uninteresting?

As you walked to an open area, your thoughts changed to lighter directions. You were content to see that the few servants you’ve met were kind enough to give you clear instructions and answer your questions concerning locations, meals and general rules, even though you couldn’t shake the sensation that they were a bit skittish, specially when they thought Shinjuro was near, but since he hasn’t appear to cause any problems you tried not to think of it. You were also relieved to observe that they did their best to keep the house clean and organized, which included your room: though you weren’t at ease with your situation, it was good to have a positive thing to point out in it.

You were thinking about this very thing when you looked around and realized your feet led you to the house’s entry again. You looked ahead and saw you weren’t alone there: a boy, not older than fourteen, was using a broom to clean the area; he worked slowly, perhaps taking care not to raise much dust, and you noticed his concentration from your spot, meters away. But what really caught your attention was the fact that he wasn’t dressed as a servant… and, well, he could never be, for he was the living reflection of the house’s head.

You remembered your mother told you that Shinjuro had two sons, but she didn’t tell you much more; maybe she never met this one. But the same silence coming from his own father was incomprehensible.

He didn’t tell me anything about this boy. Not even his name. What the hell…?

Your throat tightened when you wondered what kind of environment this kid must have been inserted.

Before your imagination could go any further, the boy saw you and stopped working. You approached him and one look at his face made you realize that the concentration you first observed wasn’t but sadness. You also noticed that his resemblance with Shinjuro was limited to his physical looks: apart from the thick eyebrows and the flaming hair, he carried a much kinder expression, with a freshness you doubted his father has ever owned, even in his youth days.

You decided not to bother him by asking about his moods, instead opting for a gentle approach.

— Hello — you smiled; and, looking around, — It seems a lot of work for one to do by themselves.

The boy showed you a hesitant smile, and his tone matched it when he replied to you.

— I know, but I don’t mind. It’s a good way to pass the time.

A moment of silence, and you noticed he wanted to continue the conversation, but struggled to find the words.

— It looks like you want to ask me something — you encouraged him.

— Yes, I do — a note of relief was sensed in his voice, as if you just did him a favor — I just don’t know how to ask this without bothering you. So… are you my father’s new wife?

The tight in your throat returned, but you forced a smile on your lips.

This is enough embarrassing for me. It doesn’t need to be like this to him as well.

— Yes, I am. My name is y/n. My family is from the (…) land. And you must be Rengoku-sama’s younger son.

— Yes. I’m Senjuro.

— That’s a good name, Senjuro-san — and, trying to imprint a comforting note in your voice, — And don’t worry, you could never bother me simply by asking this. I’m really content to meet you. You know, it’s relieving to talk casually to someone for the first time in days. It’s been a busy week, this one.

Now, Senjuro seemed to be more at ease. Maybe his days have been busy in their own way, and speaking with a new acquaintance was a welcoming change in the routine.

— I can imagine that – he commented – By the way, do you need help with something, y/n-sama?

You suddenly waved your hands in a gesture of refusal.

— Oh, no please, don’t call me like that! Y/n will do — you laughed — And, thank you, but I’ve already organized most of the things in my room. The rest will find their place with time — you sighed — For now, I just want to breathe fresh air. Fortunately, it’s a beautiful day we have now.

Senjuro observed the sky, the vivid blue spotted with big, white clouds, and agreed. You imitated him and looked at the weather with a smile.

— It's almost midday… – and, turning to him, – You know, when I was at my parents’ home, we used to eat our lunch on the porch on sunny days. Is there any problem in doing this here? What does your father think of it?

The boy shrugged.

— He doesn’t care at all. But he hates to see leftovers on the porch.

— It’s understandable — you giggled — So, how about we have lunch together on the porch? I’m still a bit lost here, so eating at the table won’t make me feel at will, but I’d still like to have company.

— It’s okay for me — he smiled.

You were afraid that Senjuro was going to see your approach as invasive, so it was with relief you heard him accepting your invitation.

— Right! I’ll ask the maid to bring our food to my room’s porch, then.

He frowned.

— Where is exactly your room? I thought you were going to, you know, stay with my father.

Your heart skipped a beat at that question, but you didn’t let out your discomfort.

– Your father decided that I’m getting a room of my own. Don’t ask me why! – you shrugged, a low laugh escaping your mouth.

You then explained the location to him, and he replied he would go there in a few minutes.

***

Lunch time was quiet and pleasing.

You found the maid who showed your room and asked her to bring food for two to your chambers. When you explained your plans to her, at first you though she was going to argue, maybe considering the possibility of having Shinjuro scolding her for allowing his wife to make a mess right in her first day at the new house, but she just agreed and asked you to wait until she brought the bowls for you and Senjuro.

After the meal itself, you’ve spent some time sitting on the porch and talking. At the same time you spoke to him about yourself, you’ve found out interesting things about your new family from your stepson.

– So… How did you and my father meet, y/n? – was his first, natural question.

– The story is a bit long, but if you have patience I can tell you – you smiled – My parents use to know your family, or so I was told. My mother was a member of the Demon Slayer Corps. She was a (…) Rank, and came in contact with your father during work. She never explained in details how missions work in the Corps, but apparently she was given a task that proved to be more difficult than it seemed at first, so she and her group were supported by Rengoku-sama. They’ve became acquaintances since then – you took the cup of juice from the tray where your bowls were brought – She met your elder brother once, when he was just a child.

You saw a glow of excitement appearing in the boy’s reddish eyes.

– She did?

– Yes! – you laughed – And she always spoke good things about your family – your smile faded a bit with the next sentence – It was like this until she passed away.

– I’m sorry for this – he replied – You know, my mother passed away when I was little. I can barely remember her.

You put a hand on his shoulder.

– It’s difficult without them. I know.

He nodded in agreement.

Talking about your mother, even though it required remembering her absence, was the easy part of the narrative, and your heart was calm while telling it. What would come after it, however, was a different story. Still, verbalizing those events to an attentive listener like Senjuro did you some good, for you managed to leave the bitterness out of your tone.

– Unlike my mother, my father never revealed to be familiar with yours until days ago, when he told me he contacted Rengoku-sama to ask for help.

– Help? How so?

– There has been little to no protection against Oni in our lands since my mother’s death, so the people who lived in the villages around have been suffering – you explained – Things became difficult even in our house, and half of our servants were fired or decided to leave. My father thought it was a good idea to contact yours and offer my hand in marriage in exchange for his protection, and somehow your father said yes – you put the cup back on the tray, lying your hands on your lap and trying not to show the trembling in them – I didn’t know about the offer until the week when the wedding should take place, and your father and I have never met before the ceremony’s day.

That part of the story seemed intriguing to Senjuro as well. Maybe he didn’t think his father was the type of person who’d accept a contract with such terms, or he was simply caught in surprise by being informed about the wedding with a few days in antecedence just like you. Whatever the case, both of you could easily agree that this situation was embarrassing, to say the least.

– That’s why I was a bit afraid earlier, you understand? – you shrugged – It’s been probably years since the last time my father saw yours, and without my mother to support us, I had no idea what I was going to find once I arrived at your house – you giggled – So, thank you for accepting my invitation and eating with me.

Senjuro imitated your gesture and left his own up on the tray, between the bowls.

– That’s okay, y/n. I've actually had my meals alone for a long time, so it was good to have company today – he replied with gentleness – I really liked to meet you.

You were intrigued with the revelation of him eating alone in his own house, but you wouldn’t question him right now. Instead, you replied that you liked meeting him as well.

The boy stood up and nodded, thanking you for the meal. But, before leaving, he turned one more time, as if he forgot to tell you something.

– You know, when I found out my father was going to marry again, I was really afraid.

You frowned.

– Afraid? Why?

He hesitated.

– Well, I… thought he was trying to replace my mother with someone else, but I’m relieved to see this isn’t true – and, urging a shy smile to let it clear that his words had no hostility, – You’re a good person, y/n.

You gave him a smile of comprehension. Of course, the worst fear of a young boy who lost his mother so soon in his life and then his big brother was concerning the kind of people his father would decide to bring under the same roof as him. Your father never met anyone after your mother, so you never had to worry about this, but if you were Senjuro's age, you’d feel the same way.

– No one can replace your mother, Senjuro-san. Actually, no one should try, me included. But it’s going to be good if we continue to get along.

For the first time, you saw him opening a smile with no signs of embarrassment or mistrust.

– I agree with you.

***

After Senjuro left to continue his tasks, you took the tray with the bowls to give them back to the kitchen. You were planning to come back to your room and carry on with the organization of your belongings: though you said to your stepson that the work was almost done in this sense, you knew you weren’t going to finish it that day.

You were walking through the corridor, thinking of this, when a shadow appeared: someone was blocking your way. You startled and raised your eyes to find Shinjuro standing before you. No word came from his mouth; his mere look was enough to make you step back.

– Rengoku-sama – you murmured – Can I help you?

Instead of answering your question, he lowered his eyes to the tray.

– Who ate lunch with you? Senjuro?

You promptly confirmed. The man stared at you for a moment, and it was impossible to tell if he was surprised or displeased.

You tried to justify yourself.

– I paused the organizations at my room and took a walk outside. I met Senjuro-san at the house’s entry. I invited him to eat lunch with me and he said yes.

Shinjuro seemed to accept this explanation, though no contentment was detected in his expression.

– I see. I hope he hasn’t bothered you.

– Absolutely not – you frowned, confused – I don’t see any reasons for him to bother me.

Again, he seemed to approve your reply, but that didn’t mean he was happy with what he heard, and his next words made it clear.

– It’s good that you’ve shown patience towards him. He can be too soft sometimes, even talking too much.

Talking too much? That Senjuro, who was constantly trying to measure his words when asking things to you? Were you speaking about the same boy?

Well, you couldn’t understand why your husband was saying such things about his own son, but considering that he didn’t even mind telling you his name, it didn’t seem reasonable for you to take his words into account.

– Well, I was very pleased to meet my stepson – you stated, taking a step to the side to indicate you were heading to the kitchen that moment – And, to me, he spoke enough. Not much, not less.

Maybe Shinjuro wasn’t expecting your reply, or maybe he didn’t want to carry on with that conversation just like you, but he commented that “at least you two got along” and how much discomfort you were all spared from thanks to this. He walked past you and left with no additional words, leaving you with intriguing thoughts.

***

Apart from other few times when you spoke to the maid or when you met Senjuro, you’ve spent most of that day by yourself, unpacking clothes and other objects, trying to figure out the best way to keep them together in your new room. The place itself was similar to your chambers in your parents’ house, both in place and shape, which somehow made things easy, yet the whole aspect of the room, aside the conscience of not being in the house you grew up in, wouldn’t let you feel entirely at will inside it. The color of the walls, the room’s position in the building, the texture of the floor, the smell of it… Everything screamed that you weren’t at home.

Your husband’s whereabouts were a mystery and, honestly, you weren’t missing his rigid presence and stern tone. He hasn’t said a word about his routine and habits, so that you didn’t know if he left the house at some point during the day, if he spent his hours in his own room, an office or anywhere else or if you should expect to see him again before the next day; being left in the dark was unnerving, of course, but not getting much useful information from the few contact you had with that man, you’d rather not to seek for him.

Shinjuro himself was a mystery to you, too.

Now that you had time to think about this, you found yourself trying to understand his real reasons to accept this marriage. Sure, your dowry was very encouraging, but one day that money would end and you would still be there, and then what? Would he kick you out of his house and replace you for a richer girl? It was too soon to tell if he was capable of such thing, but the money excuse still sounded superficial to you: accepting someone you’ve never seen before in your house just to receive a financial benefit? It didn’t make much sense. Or did he want someone to look out for Senjuro? Well, you already let it clear to the boy that you weren’t there to replace his mother, and nothing about parenting was said in the contract. Besides, Senjuro was no longer a child; the type of education he needed was beyond the one you could ever give to him: you were a well educated woman, but your education was still a female one, so that apart some lessons in Literature and sword movements you were sure he already knew, there weren’t much you could teach him; it was better to hire a tutor or invite a relative.

You were holding a pile of folded clothes at that moment. You put it on an open drawer, sat on the floor and sighed. There you had a mission you didn’t ask for.

Wasn’t it enough to make me move to this place? Do I really need to try and unveil what goes on in this man’s head? As if he would let me...

You decided to take some rest both from your task and those annoying deliberations.

***

It was only in the next morning that you heard of him again.

That time, you decided you were going to have breakfast at the table, so you woke up early, washed your face and prepared yourself.

When you arrived at the kitchen, Senjuro was already there, filling his bowl in silence. He raised his eyes when you approached and knelt in the spot in front of his.

– Good morning, Senjuro-san – you gave him a soft smile while taking your own bowl.

– Good morning, y/n.

The meal had all the reasons to be calm and quiet, and you were glad for it. You haven’t had a good night of sleep, so the last thing you needed was tension right in the morning…

But the sudden shift in the air and the change in Senjuro’s posture let you knew you weren’t going to get what you wished: you turned your head to the entry and saw Shinjuro passing through it and walking to the head of the table without a word or a look to his son or to you. He sat and just started filling his bowl, something that wouldn’t mean anything if it wasn’t for the fact that he landed a large, already opened bottle of sake on the table.

You swallowed.

Drinking at this hour? Seriously?

You glanced at Senjuro, and the boy, as if knowing better, immediately turned his attention back to his food. You tried to do the same, but Shinjuro had another surprise, this second one directed related to you.

You saw his hand pushing a paper toward you over the table. You left the hashi aside and took the paper; it was a letter.

– A letter? To me?

– It’s from your father – was the reply – He told me he would be writing to you right after you moved to my house.

You stared at the folded paper for a while, without giving him a verbal response. When you heard that it was written by your father, your curiosity somehow died inside you, and any wish to read what was in there disappeared. You left the letter on the table and grabbed your hashi again.

The gesture didn’t go unnoticed by your husband.

– Won’t you open it?

You raised your eyes to him, not hiding the tiredness of the last days.

– No. I won’t.

Shinjuro naturally thought you were saying you were going to read it later, and the same could be said about Senjuro. So it wasn’t without confusion that they observed you giving up on the food for the second time, taking the letter and standing up.

There was an oven on the other side of the kitchen, which fire has been fed with coal. You calmly headed to it and, not thinking of how what you were doing was going to be seen by the presents, you tossed the letter in the flames.

You went back to your spot and found father and son staring at you in disbelief, each one for different reasons. Senjuro was probably shocked to see someone dismissing the words of a parent with no hesitation; you were actually content with that, for it was a sign that he has been taught good family principles. Shinjuro, on the other hand, had nothing but indignation with what he just saw: what kind of daughter treats her own father like this? Well, if only he had a father who treated him like yours, maybe he could understand.

They were waiting for a verbal explanation, of course, and you gave it to them.

– Senjuro-san, I’m sorry that you had to see this, but I won’t apologize for what I did. I just cannot – you said to the boy; and, turning to his father with a much lower tone, – Thank you for giving the letter to me, Rengoku-sama, but I ask you to do the same thing I did if more come. I don’t want to read them.

You saw the twist on his lips and knew exactly what he was thinking. Brat. Stubborn, ungrateful girl and many other unpleasing ways to describe a young woman who didn’t act as expected might have come to his mind that time, as well as the idea of a long, difficult path he was going to follow in his life beside you. You certainly didn’t want things to be this hard between you, and an ache in your heart reminded you of this, but this has already started in the least favorable circumstances; what should be expected, then?

What your husband said to you after this, however, had more to do with the practical aspect of things than with his personal opinion on ungrateful girls.

– Why didn’t you at least read it first? How could you know there wasn’t something important in it?

– There wasn’t – it was your prompt reply, not completely devoid of sadness – If my father had anything important to say, he would’ve done it before I left his house.

He frowned, a gesture that in his case would draw more attention than in any other individual, and spent a moment in silence, staring at you and measuring your words before grabbing the bottle of sake and drinking directly from it. You observed the firmness with which his hand left the bottle on the table after it, making a thump on the wood, and couldn’t help wonder that if you were a boy and he was angry, he could’ve yelled at you and even smacked you, but having you putting all your politeness in your words was enough to hold himself in place.

The rest of the meal went in uneasy silence, each of you lost in your own thoughts and you claiming to yourself the task of dissolving the connection with your father and keeping an eye on your stepson whenever your husband was around.

Chapter 3

[foundnthestars]

UWAGH I FOUND YOUR ACCOUNT AGAIN!!!!!! YES!!!

Hi. Hello. Your fic is the fucking BEST. I read it earlier today and I'm definitely gonna go back and leave comments when I have more time to come up with proper words, but I wanted to come squeal about it sooner than that so! Here I am!

You write the conflict AMAZINGLY. Each and every chapter I was absolutely blown away by how *real* it felt. I especially loved the panic attack with Dipper and Stan, and how Stan was so out of his element but did his best anyway. I also just LOVE that Ford didn't want to restart the portal- and dismantled it instead. And the guilt, catching up to him in his nightmares like that, with him trying to come up with different ways to get them back while still tearing the portal apart.... it's so wonderfully done. All of it is so wonderfully done!!!!! Not to mention that brief glimpse of Mabel at home with her parents. I hope Ford doesn't send her back, but I've got a feeling that they're probably not going to give him a choice on the matter, lol.

I'm sorry for rambling AAAA I love your fic so much have an amazing day/night!!!!!!!!!!

HI! HELLO THERE! I'M SUPER GLAD YOU FOUND MY ACCOUNT TOO CAUSE YOU'RE MY FIRST EVER ASK!! :) fair warning, this might get long...

first off, wow, THANK YOU, this response made me smile and kick my feet — i just love that you love this fic. the response i've gotten on here in the past few days alone has been amazing and i love nothing more than talking about this thing with you guys. feel free to flood my inbox with asks or just come and ramble, seriously, you NEVER have to apologize for that i appreciate every word!

this au is conflict on top of conflict on top of conflict for the pineses. reverse drifting stars is really every member of the pines family stuck directly in their own personal nightmare scenario, and the uncertainty they all feel is bound to be at an all time high. i'm glad you think i'm portraying it well and that it feels realistic!

the panic attack scene was something i knew was coming the second i sat down and started writing. i'm a sucker for post-sock opera h/c fics, and i really wanted to explore dipper's post-possession trauma with stan as a witness. the kids really left him in the dark for a lot of things in canon, bill included, but a lot of dipper's walls will have to come down in ttwl. not just because of the lack of privacy when you're traveling tandem on unfamiliar planets, but because he doesn't have mabel by his side to help him through these things anymore. he's had his sister with him for every terrible thing that's happened since he was a baby, and now that support is just gone. that's where stan comes in, and they'll have to be that for each other. their bond once dipper starts trusting him and he loses some of that angst he's carrying around right now will be STRONG. super excited to continue exploring their dynamic.

(and, yeah, stan is extremely out of his element in that scene, but i imagine he's had some experience with panic attacks either from a younger ford or himself even, though i doubt he'd call it that if he was experiencing one.)

i'm also glad ford disassembling the portal felt accurate to the story. i struggled a bit with that decision, but i think ultimately it would play out like this, with ford battling with logic and emotion and his all-consuming desire to have a family and to belong. his nightmares are supposed to be the love he has for his brother rearing up and trying to tell him "hey! you're being incredibly selfish and stupid," but it really takes seeing mabel and seeing the true consequences of his actions reflected in her life for him to reconsider. though, without the oracle's foresight i think this would still be difficult for him. in ttwl, ford is banking on the fact that she's implied he will be the one to kill bill. his ego is very much still at play here.

and ohhh... the parents. i can do a whole post on them, and i probably will at some point. i've always wondered why people don't include them in drifting stars, though i understand it because they are a difficult work around. more on their reactions later, they'll be back! they handled things about as horribly as they could've but they love their kids very much and want what's best for them, and uh... let's just say the piedmont pines home isn't the greatest of places for a grieving child at the moment.

[mingiatz]

Summary: What started as an accidental encounter turned into something neither of them saw coming. Emilia never expected that a chaotic night in Frankfurt—where she met Ateez in the most ridiculous outfit imaginable—would lead to months of stolen moments, teasing, heartbreak and feelings too big to ignore.

Pairing: [Idol] Song Mingi x OC (Emilia)

Trope: Strangers to Lovers

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Light Angst, Slow Burn

Featuring: ATEEZ (being menaces), chaotic sibling energy, found family vibes, and an embarrassing amount of mutual pining

This Series will have multiple Chapters with around 4000 words. I hope you like it. Please be kind this is my first Fanfiction and English is not my first language. (I am open for constructive criticism). I will try to upload a chapter everyday.

Masterlist

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Two

Emilia’s POV

I stood there, trying to muster up the courage to face the whirlwind of energy that was now flooding my living room. Mingi’s smile from earlier was still fresh in my mind, and I couldn’t seem to shake the way my heart fluttered when he’d looked at me.

I needed to focus.

This wasn’t the time for thoughts like that. Not with eight strangers, one of whom was making me feel completely out of my element.

Sophie, naturally, was the first to break the awkward silence that had fallen when I entered the living room. She was practically bouncing, full of excitement. "Alright, so now that we’re all settled in, I think it’s time for introductions! You know, so you can actually get to know who you’re dealing with."

I shot her a look, but she didn’t notice. She was already enthusiastically gesturing toward the group of men, who were lounging on the couch and looking like they were in their natural habitat, comfortable and at ease.

I couldn’t help but notice how different they all were. From what Sophie had told me, they were all part of a K-pop group, but I had no idea how to even begin approaching the situation. Was I supposed to act normal? I wasn’t sure what “normal” even looked like when you had a K-pop group in your living room.

"Emilia, Noah," Sophie called, gesturing toward her twin brother and me. "This is Hongjoong," she said, pointing to a man sitting on one of the armchairs with a deep intensity in his eyes. His hair was a rich shade of Blue, and the outfit he wore screamed effortless cool.

Hongjoong smiled warmly at us. "Nice to meet you, I’m Hongjoong." he said, his voice smooth and confident.

I gave him a polite nod. "Emilia," I said, trying to sound less flustered than I felt. "And this is my brother, Noah."

Noah, who had been leaning casually against the doorway, gave a nod, a small smile playing on his lips. He was trying, at least. He wasn’t one to make a fuss about things, and I admired that.

Sophie’s enthusiasm didn’t falter as she moved on to the next member. "This is Seonghwa!" she announced, pointing at the man sitting next to Hongjoong.

Seonghwa looked like he was in his own little world, a peaceful smile on his face as he casually checked his phone. When Sophie called his name, he looked up, his eyes soft and welcoming.

"Hi," he said with a quiet chuckle, clearly amused by our situation. "I’m Seonghwa. Don’t worry, I don’t bite."

I snorted involuntarily at that. "Good to know," I said with a smirk. Seonghwa’s presence was calming, like he was one of those people who just made everything feel a little easier.

Sophie continued her rapid-fire introductions, each one of the guys introducing themselves with varying degrees of humor and flair. There was Yunho, who had an easy confidence that made him seem like the kind of guy who could get along with anyone. Then, Wooyoung, who was absolutely full of energy and mischief, making the room feel even more chaotic than it already was. His grin was wide and infectious, and it was hard not to smile when he started talking.

"Hey, I’m Wooyoung! I’m the one who makes everything fun!" he said, his voice full of mischief.

I couldn’t help but chuckle at that. "I think you’re already doing that," I said dryly. He looked at me, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"See? I told you!" Wooyoung replied, as if I had just confirmed his greatest claim to fame.

Next was San, who was sitting with his legs stretched out, his smile calm and kind. "Hi, I’m San," he said. His voice was soothing, and he had this natural charm that drew you in without even trying.

"Nice to meet you," I said, nodding politely, though I felt a little out of my depth with all of their attention on me.

Then, there was the guy I hadn’t yet spoken to much—Jongho. He stood up from his spot on the couch, and I noticed that even though he was quieter than some of the others, there was a certain strength in the way he carried himself. His deep brown eyes had a thoughtful quality to them, and when he introduced himself, it was with a warmth that made him instantly approachable.

"I’m Jongho," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle for someone with such a strong presence. "Nice to meet you both."

"Nice to meet you, too," I said, giving him a smile. Jongho seemed like someone who could get along with anyone, though he didn't have the loud energy that Wooyoung did. His calm demeanor was a relief.

Sophie turned to the last two. "This is Mingi and Yeosang!" She beamed, as if introducing them was the highlight of the day.

Mingi—my personal source of heart-stopping awkwardness—was sitting on the far end of the couch. His presence was hard to ignore. There was something magnetic about him. His height, his aura, his voice, the way he smiled… it made my stomach do flip-flops for some reason.

I forced myself to breathe normally. This was ridiculous. He was just another person, right?

Mingi caught my eye as I looked at him, and he flashed a bright, sincere smile, his dimples popping out as he did so. "Hey, I’m Mingi," he said, his voice low but warm. "Nice to meet you, Emilia. And Noah," he added, offering a friendly nod in Noah’s direction.

I nodded back, trying not to be too obvious about how my heart seemed to skip a beat. "Hi, Mingi. Nice to meet you, too."

Yeosang was next, sitting quietly, but there was a quiet energy about him. His dark hair was styled simply, and his expression was more serene than the others. He gave a slight bow as he introduced himself.

"I’m Yeosang," he said softly, his voice carrying a calm, almost peaceful tone. "It’s nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too," I said, smiling back. Yeosang seemed like the type of person who would observe before he engaged—quiet, but kind.

Sophie clapped her hands together after the introductions were finished, looking proud of herself. "Alright! Now that we’ve all met, we can get to the fun part. Who’s up for snacks?"

Noah, who had been relatively quiet during the introductions, finally spoke up. "What exactly are we supposed to do now?"

Sophie grinned. "Well, now that you’ve met everyone, we can all hang out. No pressure."

"Yeah, no pressure," I echoed, though I couldn’t help but feel a little pressure myself. There were so many things going through my head. I’d just met eight people who were famous, and here I was, trying to keep it together while looking like a walking disaster.

"So," Mingi said, breaking the silence as he turned to me with a grin. "What do you usually do when you have unexpected guests?"

I blinked, caught off guard by his question. Was this a joke?

"Uh…" I stammered, trying to formulate a response. "Well, usually, I dont HAVE unannounced guests."

He laughed, the sound so genuine it made me forget my awkwardness for a moment. "I’m sure we can figure it out."

The other guys nodded, each one looking at me with a different mix of amusement and curiosity. Despite my nerves, I couldn’t help but feel a little more at ease. These guys were just people, after all, and they didn’t seem to care that I was a little out of my element.

As Sophie started organizing snacks and chatting with the others, I found myself settling into the conversation. Maybe this unexpected slumber party wouldn’t be so bad after all.

And maybe, just maybe, I’d get used to Mingi’s smile. But for now, that seemed like a problem for future Emilia.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

It was Monday morning, and the house was unusually loud for someone trying to work. I sat at my desk, headphones on, furiously typing away at my computer while trying to drown out the noise. But it was impossible. There was no escaping the shouts, the laughter, the sound of things crashing around in the living room.

I shifted in my chair, adjusting my glasses as I tried to focus on the client’s email in front of me, but the noise from the kitchen kept distracting me. Ateez had been staying with us for a few days, and while I was happy to help, the last few mornings had been absolute chaos. They hadn’t had the chance to relax for the past few days due to their schedules, and now they were making up for it.

I glanced at the clock on my desk. Ten-thirty. Still too early to give up on my work, but I knew this wasn’t going to end well. With a frustrated sigh, I pulled my headphones down, rubbing my temples. I could hear Seonghwa’s booming laugh echoing from the living room, followed by Wooyoung’s usual antics.

I tried to concentrate again, but the sound of someone kicking a chair over broke through the silence, making me jump.

“That’s it,” I muttered under my breath, pushing back from my desk.

I was about to get up and put a stop to it when I heard a door slam open behind me.

There stood my brother, inspecting me and my tower of undone work. He looked absolutely furious. His brow furrowed as he glared toward the living room.

“This is getting ridiculous,” he muttered, pacing toward the kitchen. I glanced back at him, my heart sinking. He was already beyond annoyed.

Noah was usually composed, never one to show his emotions too openly. But when it came to me, especially when it felt like I was being taken for granted, he had no problem speaking up.

I couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed as I heard the door to the living room open with a creak, followed by his firm voice. “Hey! Can you all quiet down for a damn minute?”

The chatter quieted down immediately. I sighed, running a hand through my hair, already knowing how this would go. Noah was protective, sometimes to a fault. And right now, he was pissed.

“Emilia has work to do. She doesn’t need to hear your shouting at this hour,” he continued, his voice firm, but somehow controlled. I heard the shuffle of feet as the guys likely turned to look at him.

Then Noah’s voice dropped a few degrees, taking on a more serious tone. “She’s been putting up with this for days now, trying to be the nice one. She raised me and Sophie after our parents died and keeps this House and our family running. I know you’re all used to a different life, but this is her home. Show some damn respect.”

There was a pause. A long one. I bit my lip, feeling a knot in my stomach. The words Noah said were so blunt, but he wasn’t wrong. I had sacrificed so much for them. For Sophie and Noah. And as much as I loved them, it didn’t make the burden of responsibility any easier to bear.

I had been so caught up in trying to make things work with Ateez that I hadn’t really allowed myself to take a break. I had been running on fumes for days now.

And here was Noah, doing what he always did—taking care of me, just like he’d always done.

There were murmurs from the living room. A few apologies. A shuffle of feet.

“Sorry, we didn’t realize we were being that loud,” I heard Yunho say, his voice softer now.

“I get it,” Noah added, his tone softening as well. “But don’t make my sister feel like she’s sacrificing everything for your group. She doesn’t need that. We don’t need that.”

The conversation died down. I could tell that Noah wasn’t finished, but at least he’d made his point. There was a quiet tension in the air.

I exhaled, feeling a little bit of that tension leave my body. I knew Noah wasn’t going to let this go easily, but it was clear that the guys now understood what they had been doing.

Still, I wasn’t sure how I felt about Noah’s bluntness. Was it too much? Did it embarrass me? I shook my head. I didn’t need to dwell on it. I just needed to focus on my work. I slid my headphones back on and resumed typing.

But before I could get back into the groove, a voice interrupted my thoughts.

“Emilia?”

I looked up, startled. Standing in the doorway of my office was Mingi, his eyes apologetic. He looked sheepish, a little out of place, and his hair was slightly tousled from his early morning chaos.

“Uh… I just wanted to say… sorry about the noise. I didn’t realize how loud we were. Is there anything we can do to make up for it?” he asked quietly, his gaze flicking nervously to the floor.

I blinked. His calm demeanor seemed out of place given the chaos that had just unfolded.

“Just... keep it down,” I said with a tired smile, trying to brush off the awkwardness. “I have a client meeting soon, and I really need to focus.”

He nodded quickly, his gaze lingering for a moment before he backed away from the doorway. “I’ll tell them. And… thanks. For putting up with us. Really.”

I watched him leave, feeling something twist in my chest. He didn’t know what it was like for me. He couldn’t. But somehow, that moment had felt different. There was a quiet understanding there, even if it was unspoken.

Mingi’s POV

As I stepped back into the living room, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of what had just happened. The atmosphere had changed entirely. It wasn’t just the quiet that had settled over the room. It was the realization of how much pressure Emilia had been carrying, even if she didn’t always show it.

Noah’s words kept echoing in my mind. “She raised me and Sophie. She doesn’t need to sacrifice everything for you guys.”

It hit me harder than I thought it would. I’d never really considered how much Emilia had given up to take care of her siblings. I’d always seen her as the calm, composed older sister, someone who could handle whatever came her way. But now, I saw the cracks, the way she’d been quietly managing everything on her own.

I couldn’t help but admire her. I’d known that she had this quiet strength, but hearing Noah’s words made me realize just how much weight she carried.

I glanced at the other members of Ateez. They were still standing in stunned silence. It seemed like Noah’s words had affected all of us. It made me feel guilty for not being more aware of the situation.

“Let’s keep it down, okay?” I muttered, running a hand through my hair. The guys nodded silently, each of them looking a bit more serious than usual.

I found myself thinking more about Emilia as I moved to sit down. It wasn’t just the fact that she had been so kind to let us stay in her house. It was the way she balanced everything—her work, her family, and now, us. It made me respect her more than I already had.

But more than that, I couldn’t help but feel a little drawn to her. There was something about the way she carried herself, even in the face of so much responsibility. It was like she had this quiet confidence, and somehow, it made me want to be around her more.

I had a feeling that things were about to get a lot more complicated for me.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

By the time evening rolled around, the mood in the house was more relaxed. The tension from earlier had simmered down, and most of Ateez had retired to the living room, chatting and joking amongst themselves, likely to keep their minds off the earlier discomfort.

I was sitting on the couch, scrolling through my phone when I noticed Emilia walking past the living room, heading toward the stairs.

Wait, was she going upstairs? To change?

I blinked, unsure if I’d imagined it, but then I saw her again, this time in the hallway. She was wearing something... nicer than usual. Not that she didn't look good before, but this was different. She looked—dare I say it—gorgeous.

There was an almost regal quality about her that made my jaw go slightly slack. Her hair was pulled back into a sleek, low ponytail, and she wore a black dress that fell just above her knees. It wasn’t overly fancy, but the way it fit her frame made her look effortlessly put together. A few simple accessories—a delicate bracelet and a pair of gold hoop earrings—complemented the look perfectly.

Her shoes clicked against the floor as she walked by, her steps purposeful and graceful. I couldn't help but watch her. I mean, we’d only known each other for a few days, but I hadn’t seen her like this before. It was like seeing a whole new side to her.

The rest of Ateez had noticed too. As soon as she walked into the room, there was an almost collective pause, like we were all trying to process what we were seeing.

“Wow,” Seonghwa whispered, eyes wide. “She looks... amazing.”

“You think so?” San said, squinting at Emilia with a teasing grin. “She’s always been beautiful, but tonight, she looks... like someone else.”

Yunho added with a smile. “It is definitely another side than seeing her in that avocado pajamas.”

I chuckled softly, but my gaze didn’t leave her. There was something about the way she carried herself now that made her stand out in a different way than before.

Mingi, focus. I shook my head, trying to snap myself out of it. But Emilia had this effect on me. It was hard not to be affected when she was so... captivating.

“Where are you going?” I finally asked, breaking the silence.

Emilia turned toward us, a soft butstrained smile playing on her lips. “I have a meeting with a client. Just a casual dinner to discuss some business stuff. I won’t be gone too long.”

“A client?” Jongho asked, raising an eyebrow. “Are they important?”

Emilia nodded, giving him a brief but polite smile. “Yes….Sadly.“ She mumbled the last part, but I still heard her.

She was already at the door, ready to leave. “I’ll be back later. See you all then!”

Before anyone could say anything more, the door clicked shut behind her.

As soon as Emilia was gone, the atmosphere in the room shifted. The guys started to exchange glances, and I could tell something was on their minds. Sophie and Noah were standing a little off to the side, and they exchanged a few quiet words before stepping forward.

“Do you think she’s really going to be okay?” Sophie asked towards her twin brother, voice softer than usual.

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

Noah stepped forward, a little more serious now. “We just… we know this client. He’s been a bit touchy with her before. She’s been too polite to push him away, but we’ve noticed. She doesn’t want to create waves, but... it’s a little uncomfortable.”

I raised an eyebrow at them. “You’ve noticed this?”

Noah’s eyes flicked to the door Emilia had exited through. “We’ve seen how he acts around her, especially in meetings. We just don’t want her to feel like she has to tolerate it, you know? She doesn’t need to. Not for work. Not for anyone.”

I nodded slowly, feeling a knot tighten in my stomach. This wasn’t something I’d been aware of—at least, not in the same way they were. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. I’d seen how Emilia could sometimes shrink into the background in certain situations, never wanting to cause trouble or rock the boat.

The others nodded, but I could see they were all uneasy. It was clear we all cared about Emilia, but the more I learned about her, the more I realized how little I really knew. Her strength, her ability to hide the things that bothered her—it was all so apparent now, and it made me want to do something, even if I didn’t have the right words.

Emilia's POV

Dinner was a lot more awkward than I had hoped it would be.

I had arrived at the restaurant early, as I always did when meeting clients. A place like this had a nice ambiance—quiet, elegant, but still relaxed enough to keep the conversation flowing without feeling too uptight. I’d met with Mr. Ren, the client in question, many times before. He was charming, very well-dressed, and always a little too eager to please. Too eager.

As soon as I saw him, I plastered on a smile and walked over to his table. “Mr. Ren,” I greeted him warmly, extending my hand. He took it and kissed my knuckles.

I froze for a second. He wasn’t usually this forward, but I couldn’t show any signs of discomfort. Not here. Not now.

“Emilia,” he said with a grin, pulling out a chair for me, which I graciously accepted. “I must say, you look more stunning than usual tonight.”

I forced a smile, trying to keep the conversation light. “Thank you. You’re looking good as well.”

Once we had settled into the meal, things got slightly better. We talked business—he was eager to discuss the new project we were launching. But every time I spoke, I could feel his gaze lingering just a little too long. Every gesture seemed a little too touchy. His hand brushed against mine as he reached for his glass. I pretended not to notice, but internally, I was screaming.

It wasn’t anything too direct, nothing that would’ve made me outright uncomfortable, but it was enough. I was used to men in the business world being forward, but Mr. Ren had a way of crossing boundaries without ever making it obvious.

I tried to remind myself to stay composed, to not let him see how much it bothered me. This was business, and I had to keep it professional. But I couldn’t help feeling exposed.

When I excused myself to the restroom, I took a few deep breaths in the mirror. “It’s fine. You’ve got this,” I muttered to myself. But deep down, a part of me felt the weight of it all—the subtle comments, the gestures that weren’t always welcomed.

I returned to the table, trying to shake off the feeling. I just had to get through this dinner.

After dinner, we both walked out of the restaurant, and as we reached the parking lot, Mr. Ren insisted on driving me home. I had already told him several times that I could manage on my own, but he wasn’t hearing it.

“I’ll drive you home,” he said, voice a little too insistent. “It’s late, and I wouldn’t feel right letting you go home by yourself.”

“Really, I’m fine,” I tried to say, but he cut me off.

“It’s no trouble at all,” he insisted, giving me a look that made me uncomfortable.

I gave in with a small sigh, and he drove me back to my house. The whole ride was quiet, and when we finally arrived, he stopped the car in front of my door.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” he said, getting out without waiting for me to respond.

I stood frozen as we approached the entrance. “Thank you, Mr. Ren, but I really am fine—”

Before I could finish, he stepped closer, his hand lightly brushing my arm, and in a move that caught me completely off guard, he leaned in as if to kiss me.

My eyes widened, and instinctively, I took a step back, a cold chill running through me. “Mr. Ren—”

His expression faltered for a second before he smirked, as if he wasn’t expecting me to back away. “I’ll take care of you, Emilia. You don’t need to worry about anything.”

That was enough. My heart raced, and before I could respond, I heard a door open from the house.

Noah.

I didn’t know how, but he was suddenly standing in the doorway, his eyes locked on Mr. Ren. The coldness in his gaze sent a shiver down my spine.

He stepped forward, voice calm but firm.

“Is there a problem here?” Noah asked, his tone sharp and controlled.

I stepped back, relief flooding me, and Mr. Ren’s confident smirk faltered. “No problem at all,” he muttered, his gaze flickering from Noah to me. “Goodnight, Emilia.”

I nodded, still shaken.

Mr. Ren left without another word, and I quickly stepped inside, locking the door behind me. I exhaled sharply, trying to calm myself.

“Are you okay?” Noah asked, looking at me with concern.

I nodded, though I didn’t feel okay at all.

“I’m fine. Thanks for stepping in.”

Noah gave me a tight smile. “You don’t need to thank me. You don’t have to deal with that kind of stuff alone.”

I offered him a grateful smile, but inside, I still felt the weight of the evening.

What a night indeed.

 

Masterlist

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Disclaimer:This is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and scenarios in this story are entirely fictional and not intended to reflect the real lives of the members of Ateez or any other individuals. This fanfiction is purely for entertainment purposes.

[beannoss]

Ficsnips

Finishing on one last snippet from my ongoing WIP, it's only me, what have you got to lose?

One of the joys of this fic was spending so very much time with Yor, navigating the identity reveals and the complications there, and especially dealing with a Loid who was... I'll generously name him overly cautious.

When finally Twilight's POV makes the scene, it was a relief as a writer since he knows more than Yor does, but it also needed to come with at least one revelation: certain something(s) that at least partially explain his caution. I'm not giving the game away in the snippet below, but it touches on one element.

In a particularly fraught moment in an earlier chapter when he's been, ahem, overly cautious, Yor challenges him: Aren't we friends, Loid? And the question lodges in Twilight's chest.

I think the following is a fairly blanket statement for most people focused on Twilight, as with others, I have Many Feelings about his identity and his name(s). It's something that comes up in my first completed multi-chapter, let's start living dangerously, and it fits well with what's happening in this fic too. Where living dangerously dealt with TwiYor changing the parametres of their relationship post-reveals in a more lighthearted fashion, it's only me is up to its elbows in the mess of the reveals: and especially the big, complicated feelings therein. What it means not just to be revealed but to choose actively to reveal... Both Yor and Twilight are working through that, in different ways with different pressure-points, different vulnerabilities, different hopes and worries, and different external pressures.

I really, really love this fic. It means so much to me, getting to dive deeply into it with these goobers, doing my best to do their characters and the canon justice, even while going into things I don't think canon will have time or inclination towards.

it's only me, what have you got to lose?

Rating: M Ongoing WIP. Chapter 11/24. 61,000 words so far.

Tags: Identity reveal, emotions, romance, family feels, emotional hurt/comfort, hurt/comfort, touch-starved, intimacy, slow burn, fluff and angst, eventual smut, mutual pining

[agentmarymargaretskitz]

A Great Big Phech-niverse Chapter 8

Tech and Phee play board games, Hunter thinks something else.

AO3

“H-8.”

Tech shook his head. “Another miss.”

Phee sighed and fished another white peg from the bag situated between the two of them.

Tech looked down as his own board, his hand adjusting his goggles out of habit. “I target position F-4.” 

Phee snapped her fingers. “Hit.”

“Excellent,” Tech retrieved a red peg after Phee placed one on her board. “I really do enjoy this game.”

“I’m glad,” the pirate smiled over at him. “D-9?”

“Miss. It reminds me of a simulation I often engaged with as a cadet on Kamino.”

Phee looked up. “Except this isn’t a training game. This is just for fun.”

“I am having fun while also enjoying what appears to be a likely victory. F-5?”

“Hit again,” Phee placed in another red peg. “Damn. A-10?”

“Miss, and I might introduce Omega to this game,” Tech mused as Phee tried to figure out where to place her next strike. “She would enjoy the strategic element of this. F-6?”

“Another hit. Also, sorry to break it to you, but Lyana already beat you to it.”

“Oh,” Tech’s shoulders dropped.

“But she’s probably a better opponent for you than me. A-6?”

The side of Tech’s mouth curved up into a smile. “You have hit.”

“Oh, about time!” Phee grabbed a red peg to place on the other side of her board. “Alright, hit me with your best shot.”

“F-3?”

“Hit,” Phee sighed and placed in the final peg. “And you’ve destroyed my last starship.”

“Ah. The game is now over then, I assume?”

“Yeah. I figured I was going to lose to you, but not this badly.”

“You did hit two of my starships.”

“I sunk only one, and hit another by the time you took out my last ship,” Phee corrected while helping put the boards and pieces away. “I’ll find something new for when I come over tomorrow.”

“And I look forward to it.”

-0-

“Wrecker would like this one.”

“You think?”

“Well, he’d like the board game pieces most of all. He’s started collecting miniature figures now that we’ve settled down.”

“There’s a max of four people who can play this one, so it might not be great for when your family wants to play together.”

“Crosshair would probably not participate in this one at first.”

“Could be. Depends on what he’s like that day I think. Now go ahead and roll.”

Tech rolled the dice. After observing the total, he took one of his pieces and knocked Phee’s off the space he landed on.

“Aw, really, Brown Eyes?”

“You sent me back to the starting line earlier.”

“Touche.”

-0-

Phee looked up at Tech over the board. “You already know this one, don’t you?”

“I do,” Tech confirmed as he moved the piece. “I often played holochess against a computer when we were stationed at bases during the war. Otherwise, I played with Crosshair or Echo.”

“And the other two?”

“They’re terrible,” Tech admitted. “Wrecker’s ADHD kicks in if the game goes too long. Hunter only does slightly better, but also doesn’t like how it drags out. The other two are more patient.”

“And Omega?”

“She prefers other games to this,” he shrugged. “But I always enjoy playing with you.”

“Well, thank you,” Phee grinned under the praise before moving her piece. “I like playing with you too.”

Tech looked down at where she had moved. “Are you sure you want to move there?”

“Oh, come on!”

-0-

“That will be Phee,” Tech said as he moved past Hunter to the door the next evening.

Hunter raised an eyebrow at him. “You invited her over? Again?”

Tech stopped. “Yes.”

“You’ve been inviting her over a lot lately.”

“She’s…” Tech faltered.

They hadn’t really discussed labels for their relationship. Granted, they were an item since they’d started playing board games. 

“Close to me,” he finally decided.

“Yeah,” Crosshair called from the couch. “We figured from all the time you two spend in your room.”

“We like privacy. Unless you’d rather we do our activities out here.”

“No!” Hunter held up his hands. “No, no, no. I just want to, ah, make sure you two are being safe.”

Tech looked at his brother. “We are.”

“Good. Good. Well, you two have fun.”

Weird conversation with his oldest brother aside, Tech opened the door to let Phee in. She entered with a brightly colored box, slightly larger than the ones she usually arrived with. He led her through the living room quickly to his own bedroom and closed the door behind them.

“So what do you have for tonight?”

“It’s a bit different,” Phee set down the box. “You okay with getting a little physical tonight? The board game is more of a mat.”

“Interesting,” Tech took the box from her as she pulled the mat and a spinner from inside. “I think I am comfortable enough with you to engage in this game.”

“Okay,” she said. “But if it gets too much, say the word and we’ll stop.”

The game started off simple with the spinner directing them to place a certain hand or foot in a certain spot. The longer it went on, the more flexible both had to be. Eventually, they did end up in closer proximity while talking about the events of the day. Phee was positioned in a way that her torso was under his head. Tech tried to reach under her for the spinner.

“Stretch,” she urged, trying to bat it towards him.

“I am!”

“Stretch more!”

He tried, but lost balance and fell on top of her. They both crashed down onto the mat in a tangle of limbs. Before he could ask if she was okay, Phee started laughing.

“That was…something,” he stated from where he lay on Phee.

“Oh, yeah,” she wheezed. “That’s what happens with this. One minute you’re upright and the next, you’re all spread out on each other.”

“I think I would have found this quite awkward as a cadet,” Tech decided.

“What about now?”

Tech looked up at her. “Having known you for a significant amount of time and harboring romantic emotions for you, I do not see awkwardness right now. But anyone else…I do not know if I would be as at ease.”

She leaned forward and kissed the top of his head. “I like you too, Tech. You wanna go for another round?”

Before Tech could respond, the closed door was pounded on.

“You two gotta cut it out!” Hunter’s voice said from the other side. “Please. We can hear you and Omega is here!”

Phee jolted up, sending him upward too. “Is he serious?”

“Hunter, we’re just playing Twister with each other!” Tech called through the door.

A strangled noise came from the other side. “Tech, I don’t need details.”

Details? Tech furrowed his brow.

“Oh Force,” Phee put her head in her hands.

“I don’t-”

“Double meaning, Brown Eyes. Oh boy.”

The neurons fired rapidly as he put the alternative meaning together, paired with the comments Hunter had made earlier that evening.

“Hunter!” Tech cried, offended. “Don’t be crass!”

“We really are just playing a game,” Phee added, snorting at the end. “Look, we’re both decent, Hunter!”

There was silence on the other side for a while before Hunter spoke again. “Is it really just board games?”

“Yes!” they both insisted. 

“I’m gonna kick Crosshair’s ass,” Hunter grumbled. “Sorry. Keep doing your games. Be safe.”

Tech listened for Hunter to leave and looked at Phee. “Did he really think we were having sex?”

Phee sniggered. “I think he did.”

Tech shook his head. “He’s one to talk, especially since he’s the only one who’s been caught in the act?”

“Are you kidding?”

“I am not,” Tech shuddered at the memory. “Now, you were asking about another round?”

[justforbooks]

The Dead of Winter by Sarah Clegg

From the devilish Krampus legend to a spot of disembowelment, the author takes us on a scary romp through Europe’s most disturbing festive folklore

Shaggy figures with snarling masks and metre-long horns, scenes of wild drunkenness, random assaults on strangers, witches winding your intestines out on a stick, a giant “Yule Cat” who will eat you if you’ve failed to put on new clothes for the day – no, it’s not your annual family get-together, at least I hope not. It’s a compendium of European seasonal lore from the dark side, as explored in this excellent short book by historian and folklorist Sarah Clegg. She combines a trove of good stories with a serious critique of earlier mythographers’ ideas about them, and also takes us on adventures ranging from pre-dawn graveyard walks to the terrors of Salzburg’s pre-Christmas “Krampus night”, named for the monstrous masked figures who prowl its streets on 5 December.

Clegg approaches Christmas by a broad avenue, so we get chapters on Venice’s carnival, Saturnalia festivals in ancient Rome, the witchy shenanigans of Epiphany Eve (also known as Twelfth Night), and the wassails of January, in which good health is wished to apple trees by waving horses’ skulls at them. What all these celebrations share is a mood of maniacal excess and social exuberance. Practices include “guising”, or putting on animal disguises; “mumming”, or enacting plays; and “knocking” – going around banging on doors, asking for treats, and even dragging out unwilling residents to join the merriment. The mayhem can spill over into violence, especially in the town of Matrei in Austria, where the Krampus-like “Klaubauf” figures barge into houses and fight in the streets, to the extent that local authorities advise tourists to stay away and the hospital’s emergency department prepares for an influx of injured people. Even Clegg does not venture to Matrei, but the Krampus night she attends in Salzburg is only slightly less extreme. As she strolls amid the usual market scenes of fairy lights and glühwein stands, she is set upon by a Krampus who whacks her with two sticks. It’s all good festive fun – except that she still has the bruises and welts far into January.

Krampus is traditionally an assistant to Saint Nicholas, or Santa Claus, and even the white-bearded chuckling one himself can be less pleasant than we might think. His punitive side now survives mainly in the idea that he will bring no gifts if you’ve been naughty. That’s nothing compared with the punishments inflicted by other characters in the winter-festival tradition. In northern Europe, Saint Lucy is usually visualised as a gentle, white-clad maiden with a feast day on 13 December. But she can turn from sweetness to savagery in an instant if she catches you going to work instead of celebrating on that day, or if you have forgotten to put out snacks for her and her friends. She is the one who likes winching out your intestines, but for variety she sometimes also seizes children, removes their internal organs, stuffs them with straw, and sews them up again.

In the 19th century, a shift took place towards more polite Christmas behaviour, especially in Victorian Britain. Santa Claus became portly and took to riding around with reindeer. The feasting became less about chaotic public drinking sessions and more about a family dinner presided over by the master of the house: it affirmed the hierarchy rather than upending it. The topsy-turvy elements of the season were transferred to other celebrations such as carnivals and pantomimes, and door-to-door knocking and treating became more associated with Halloween. In England today, the tradition of raucous Christmas home intrusions survives only in the (slightly) less scary form of doorstep carol singers.

Where the wilder rituals remain, they have become more self-consciously folkloric. Clegg introduces us to the wassailers of Chepstow, with their horses’ skulls on poles, and the Marshfield Mummers of Gloucestershire, who dress up like giant ragged mops and put on a play. These events are well-attended, suggesting a revival of interest; Krampus runs have even become popular in parts of the US. Clegg suggests that this might reflect an increasing disenchantment with the tame, Victorian-style Christmas, especially now that it’s so commercialised. The frenzies of last-minute gift shopping or trying to get a train or plane ticket home can’t compete with the frenzy of running around with an animal head.

If so, these mixed feelings about the 19th-century family Christmas were there from the start. Clegg notes that the century that created that kind of Christmas also created a new kind of historian, keen to find dark and ghastly “pagan” rituals lurking behind the politer ones. In 1890, James Frazer’s The Golden Bough sought a key to all mythologies in a supposed long-lost midwinter rite, during which a king was killed so as to be reborn as a new king in spring. The idea was exciting, and the book became a bestseller. The problem, says Clegg, is that there was no good reason to think any such rite ever existed. The book was “a collection of wild, unsubstantiated statements”, built upon a titillating fantasy of “primitive” fertility rituals.

Frazer has been demolished many times before, but Clegg sees his ideas living on in our tendency, even now, to assume that modern practices are rooted in a timeless hinterland of mysterious, pagan antiquity. This is misleading in several ways, she argues. First, we know too little about what really went on in the undocumented past. Second, it casts the people of long-ago Europe as passive transmitters of tradition, rather than as active agents who reimagined and adapted their celebrations through time. “Never mistake folklore for something ancient and unvarying,” she writes. Like most of what humans do, it is “creative and dynamic”.

Also, the notion of solemn and ancient mysteries ignores the idea of having fun. When the fifth-century Bishop of Ravenna, Peter Chrysologus, inquired into local festivities, people assured him that it was all “just for fun”. He thought they were putting him off the scent of something more sinister. For Clegg, they were probably telling the truth. If people, given a day off work and a good excuse, choose to race around dressed as animals, drink a lot and bash each other with sticks, perhaps they do it because it’s a holiday and it’s a laugh.

I’m not surprised Clegg is so attuned to the possibility of fun as a major cultural force, because she has a strong sense of it herself. Her book is both thought-provoking and filled with amusing asides and quips. Like Gibbon, but with more brevity, she puts many of her best jokes in footnotes. We need all the fun we can get, because, as she reminds us in one of her own more serious moments at the end of the book, “beyond the glow of firelight, the shadows are waiting”.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?