#author’s anvil

[girl4music]

Healthy codependency.

That’s a really good way of putting it.

I often talk about how codependency depicted in this show is bad or negative surrounding the characters of Willow, Riley and even Xander. But codependency in itself is not bad or negative. There is heathy versions just as there are unhealthy versions. And yes, despite how much I can’t stand the way the Scoobies treat Buffy sometimes, she’s definitely better off with them in her life than without them. And vice versa of course.

The main problem I have with Season 7 is really how they don’t consider this even half as much as they used to even though it’s the season where they need to work as a team the most. I mean the ‘father figure’ starts to act like your average Council Watcher again and a lot is taken away from Buffy and Giles’ dynamic because of it. The intelligent nerdy girl and best friend is suffering with her own self-control issues and therefore can’t be as useful as she probably wants to be to the Slayer. Plus their relationship is in shambles following the events of Season 6 and doesn’t get properly reconciled. It’s sort of just skimmed over as a “necessary” requirement to the final plot. And as for Xander… well… perpetual victim mode is just something that never really seems to change for him and as for how that informs his relationship with Buffy… well, let’s just say he deserved to say what he did in ‘Empty Places’ as much as I hate that episode.

I don’t know. They’re all just sort of ‘Scooby Gang but less’ in this final season. They’re so distant and empty. It’s not enjoyable to watch. It’s frustrating because everything just feels forced rather than natural. The organically built significant character interaction just isn’t there between really any of the main characters and because they bring in a load of other characters (the potentials) that may be the focus of the season but don’t really get proper development either, it all plays out like one big chaotic mess. But not like the way it does with Season 6 - which the point is for it to play out like one big chaotic mess for the sake of the main character’s representation and development (both negative and positive). In other words: it feels unintentional and therefore unnecessary. Like the writers didn’t know what they wanted to do but because it was the season to end off the entire show, just did what they thought might be entertaining and compelling but, to me, ended up being anything but.

Yeah, Buffy is one of the greatest superheroines ever. But only when they they knew what they were doing. And I’m not convinced they always did. Still, it’s a hell of a lot better than what we get today with female superheroines - which as you’ve pointed out - may as well be cardboard cut outs given the lack of emotional vulnerability they display on screen.

You’ve got to hand it to Gellar - she definitely knew how to portray a very relatable and human superheroine. And you can see how she was stronger for it, not weaker. That is indeed the problem with depiction of “feminism” on TV today. Which is why I just turn it off. It is not inspiring or motivating to watch. It’s fucking insulting. Well-written characters have layers… depth… nuance. They fluctuate because real people fluctuate. They’re flawed because real people are flawed. Females characters in particular get shafted of all of this characterisation because it’s “feminism” written by people who don’t know or understand how important keeping the balance is.

Sure most of it is because of how she’s written. But Gellar understood the assignment. I just wish they ended the show the way they began it. As a family. You have the parallel shots of Buffy, Willow and Xander walking off side by side together and Giles staying behind and making a witty comment about how “the Earth is doomed” with this rag-tag lot in ‘The Harvest’ and ‘Chosen’ which is meant to be as a tribute to how far they’ve come but that they’re still the same as they always were and it just doesn’t land in the same way because of how much they’re NOT “together” in it. Other people might think that that’s a satisfying conclusion to a wonderful character-driven saga but I don’t feel it because it’s contrived. I like the idea. I like the message. I just don’t like the execution of it all.

[lilqu33rboi]

hey so ik this is random but i made a thing-

i'm currently writing a story abt an autistic non-binary child & since ik there are a lot of nd & queer ppl on this site i thought some of yall might wanna read what i have so far!! i also made a site with a bunch of background info on some of the characters & shit if there's ever anything you're wondering while reading. here's the link if you'd like to check it out :)

(also ima tag a few ppl i think might like to check this out since ik yall like to write/read, ik it's mostly fanfic but still idk i thought yall still might wanna see how it is :D @solarsleepless @galaxysharks @hsmtmts-arrows @trickarrows-bishop

[goblinsstolemybrain]

I'm gonna start putting my little stories on World Anvil as well as my website. I think it could be fun. Plus, I'm already down the rabbit hole of wanting to make pages about literally everything in my world. I'll share links soon! Maybe today... Or next week. It'll depend on how organised I am.

[rugessnome]

im reading a cookbook/memoir and this analogy about trauma just made me realize that when saying that Bilbo lived in a nice dry cozy hobbit hole and not a dirty wet one, there's probably a decent chance the foxholes and trenches of WWI were the nasty holes on Tolkien's mind...

[cygnetbrown]

Finally, Book VII of the Locket Saga to be released in October!

Finally, after 7 years since I published The Anvil, I have completed Book VII of the Locket Saga: Two Rivers. Now available as an eBook and coming out in paperback on October 1, 2024. How the Locket Saga Began People often ask where I get my ideas for my books. The Locket Saga series started from a dream that I had long ago. In that dream, I saw a young man and a young woman sitting on a…

[sunflowergamer6]

CHUCK TINGLE IS ON TUMBLR?!?!?!?!?

[thatsveryvortex]

Writing Tools for Planning Your Story

I've tried tons of writing apps and sites, so you don't have to. Here's a list of free sites to plot out your novel, with my review and some images of how I use it.

Milanote

Milanote is like having a giant pinboard with folders. You can upload anything onto it [yes even your main doc] and then draw over it or connect things with lines and arrows

Milanote lets you add up to a hundred things for free, not including drawing. This is one of the downsides of the site as I've found myself reaching that limit recently.

For me, the best part is being able to draw over stuff, and the color swatches.

Milanote is a lot less structured than other sites I've used, and personally, I don't think their templates are worth using.

8/10 overall, Milanote is what I mainly use. Here are some pics of how I use it:

Miro

Miro is a flowchart website mainly used for corporate jobs, however, it can be a great plotting tool for that reason

Miro has a lot of great starter templates if you are looking for a more structured freeform experience. It also comes with a blank page as well.

Unfortunately, I'd argue that it's a bit of a hard tool for beginners to use without a template, I've learned copy-paste is my best friend with Miro the hard way.

It's much better than most platforms at making timelines though.

It has a limit of three boards which is a bit disappointing but overall, I think it's worth the try.

5/10 Miro is very middle of the road for me due to the limited ability to customize things and the free limit. Here are some pics:

[I wrote that part weeks ago, I am now fully using Miro and believe it's the best for making timelines and charts, I just wish it let me make more boards 8/10]

Hiveword

This might be someone's jam, I can't really say it's mine though.

First off, the unpaid version is really just a few boxes saying "Write a summary here." which makes it just not worth it in my opinion

There really isn't any way to customise things which is my favorite part of most of these softwares

I've barely used this, so maybe there's something I'm missing but

1/10, Just use Google Docs at this point, here's a couple pics

World Anvil

People like this software, it's mainly used for tabletop, which is just a different way of writing adventure, and I've seen it recommended by authors.

Unfortunately, I'm going to disagree with a lot of people and say it's hard to use and isn't even really good at plotting.

I may be biased on this one as every time I've tried to use it in the past I've struggled. However, it seems like another just write it in a document and create a folder.

I'd say it's closer to an organizing tool, but even then just use something else.

3/10, I have nothing to say about it but maybe you'll enjoy it, all here are two photos

Campfire

This is the one I think I've heard the most about, but have never actually tried.

right off the bat, I'm going to say this is 100% worth it, you'll see at the end with the photos but this is like if Miro and World Anvil had an organization baby.

It's extremely easy to understand, and it makes timelines, it's more for writing your whole book but idk about that yet.

7/10, its themes are really pretty but it limits how much you can do to 20 I believe. Here are the photos

That's all for now, honestly, I think you should use Miro if you are looking to plot things out, and Milanote if you want to collect and organize your thoughts for writing, as that's what I do. Obviously what I like won't be for everyone, but hopefully, this helped you see some options

[deception-united]

Online Writing Resources #2

Vocabulary:

Tip of My Tongue: I find this very helpful when I can't think of a specific word I'm looking for. Which is often.

WordHippo: As well as a thesaurus, this website also provides antonyms, definitions, rhymes, sentences that use a particular word, translations, pronunciations, and word forms.

OneLook: Find definitions, synonyms, antonyms, and related words. Allows you to search in specific categories.

YourDictionary: This website is a dictionary and thesaurus, and helps with grammar, vocabulary, and usage.

Information/Research:

Crime Reads: Covers crime and thriller movies, books, and TV shows. Great inspiration before writing a crime scene or story in this genre.

Havocscope: Black market information, including pricing, market value, and sources.

Climate Comparison: Compares the climates of two countries, or parts of the country, with each other.

Food Timeline: Centuries worth of information about food, and what people ate in different time periods.

Refseek: Information about literally anything. Provides links to other sources relevant to your search.

Perplexity AI: Uses information from the internet to answer any questions you have, summarises the key points, suggests relevant or similar searches, and links the sources used.

Planning/Worldbuilding:

One Stop for Writers: Literally everything a writer could need, all in one place: description thesaurus, character builder, story maps, scene maps, timelines, worldbuilding surveys, idea generators, templates, tutorials... all of it.

World Anvil: Provides worldbuilding templates and lets you create interactive maps, chronicles, timelines, whiteboards, family trees, charts, and interactive tables. May be a bit complicated to navigate at first, but the features are incredibly useful.

Inkarnate: This is a fantasy map maker where you can make maps for your world, regions, cities, interiors, or battles.

Miscellaneous:

750words: Helps build the habit of writing daily (about three pages). Fully private. It also tracks your progress and mindset while writing.

BetaBooks: Allows you to share your manuscript with your beta readers. You can see who is reading, how far they've read, and feedback.

Readable: Helps you to measure and improve the readability of your writing and make readers more engaged.

ZenPen: A minimalist writing page that blocks any distractions and helps improve your focus. You can make it full screen, invert the colours, and set a word count goal.

QueryTracker: Helps you find a literary agent for your book.

Lulu: Self-publish your book!

See my previous post with more:

Drop any other resources you like to use in the comments! Happy writing ❤

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[underdark-dreams]

Tiefling Bachelors - Tail headcanons [pining + in a relationship]

Some tail thoughts for Rolan, Dammon, & Zevlor [reader is gender neutral, non-Tiefling]

For anyone who doesn't follow already-- @forgeofthenine creates amazing Tief content! Their headcanons for these three are VERY delicious, including some genius tail HCs that I have been rereading all day!🖤

Pining:

Rolan:

When he's extra annoyed or excited by something, the tip of his tail will twitch side-to-side behind him slightly like a cat’s

Turns out the same thing happens when he’s got a crush on someone

He can control it with enough concentration, but it could still give him away if you catch him off guard or heaven forbid touch him in an unexpected way

It’s no secret from Cal and Lia—the three of them teased each other ruthlessly about the littlest flirtations back in Elturel, as teenagers do, so they’re used to picking up on all of each others’ signs

The minute they catch Rolan’s telltale (tell-tail?) move while he’s talking with you, you can bet those two will not let it go until you’ve moved in. Probs not even then honestly

If you get friendly enough with Rolan to have long talks about magic or the Weave, his guard will lower and he’ll let his tail do its thing (within reason)

He lies to himself that it’s just because he finds your conversation stimulating. Really, it’s everything about you

Dammon:

If you’re a non-Tiefling, Dammon might comfort himself with the knowledge that you probably don’t recognize the significance of how his tail moves when you’re near

He’s good at keeping his words to you measured and polite. The way his body reacts around you is a bit more instinctive and hard to control

He’s goddamn touch-starved to be honest, this man is practically married to his hammer and anvil & he’s been living alone for years

Whenever he makes you laugh, he finds his tail curls forward toward you a bit—wishing he could touch or hold you with it

Dammon always tells himself he needs to be a bit more careful when you come around the forge. But somehow it goes out the window every time

His tail will sway gently back and forth when you talk to him, not quite wagging, but definitely actively engaged

A fellow Tiefling would immediately recognize the gesture as interest and flirtation

Zevlor:

Zevlor thought he was a pro at this: controlling the tail movements, the ear twitches, generally suppressing his Infernal tendencies at all times

But it's been so long since someone made him feel like this. Handsome, desirable, everything

The first time you overtly flirt with him, and especially the first time you touch his arm or shoulder, his tail wags behind him

He stiffens immediately, alarmed and taken aback by his own reaction to your touch. Prays you haven’t noticed

If he can smoothly get away with it, he might excuse himself from your presence to try and collect his composure

He’s very conscious of his role as leader/authority figure among the other Tiefling refugees. He’d be mortified if any of them caught him eagerly tail-wagging like a youth after just a casual gesture from you

From that point Zevlor refocuses his control whenever you’re near, making sure to keep part of his brain aware of his posture around you. The way you keep seeking him out and standing close to him during conversation doesn’t make it any easier on this poor man

Relationship:

Rolan:

More than hand-holding, Rolan prefers to hold you with his tail

Let him loop it around your calf when you’re standing beside each other, or rest the curve around the small of your back

He finds it profoundly comforting to keep in contact and touch you that way

Rolan would love if you let him gently bind you with his tail, whether it’s your hands behind your back or one of your legs pulled open for him

He often wraps it around your waist while you’re topping or riding him

Rolan also likes to drag his tail between your legs while you’re going down on him and he can’t reach you with his hands

It turns into teasing almost every time—Rolan trying to see if he can finish you with his tail before you can finish him with your mouth

Rolan’s tail gets super sensitive when he’s close to coming. Gently tug on the tip, or God forbid suck on as much of his length as your mouth can take—Rolan will come hard with a loud whimper

Dammon: 

Finally getting with you is a relief for this man; he was struggling to control his body’s reactions around you anyway

Dammon is very cuddly and touchy with you in general, but he especially loves the freedom to finally touch you with his tail

Naughty man loves to slide it up over the curve of your ass when you’re kissing—even when you’re both standing in his open-air forge where a passerby on the street could glance over and see

He’s super into you, why would he hide it? Unless it makes you uncomfortable in the slightest, of course, in which case he'll do his best to restrain himself

It would turn him on so much if you asked for tailplay in the bedroom

Let him hold you with it, spread you, spank you, help you grind and pleasure yourself with it—anything you want, he’s down bad for

Watching his tail get you worked up super super does it for Dammon, and he will be sure to tell you just how much

Zevlor:

Once you’re together, Zevlor won’t hold back from using his tail to caress you

It’s usually when you’re already kissing or embracing each other. His tail will curl behind your knees, or perhaps wrap once around your waist to gently hold you close

He still keeps the gestures mild, out of habit and out of some lingering concern that it might come on too strong for a non-Tiefling. Zevlor also just tends to be reserved when it comes to PDA in general

When he’s bedding you, Zevlor’s tail may wrap around one of your legs in the heat of the moment—it’s a sign of deep affection and trust, and a bit of possessiveness (good luck getting him to admit to that one though)

Beyond that you will have to ask, beg, and plead to get this man to use his tail actively during sex

Despite his chivalry, Zevlor has been around the block and seen pretty much everything during his Hellrider days. But those were different times: here now, with the person he cares for most in the world, everything feels new all over again

Asking him to slip the tip anywhere inside you will render him speechless for a moment

You’ll have the best luck if you’re already naked on top of him when you ask

If you want to give Zevlor his hardest orgasm in a decade, tug and play with the very base of his tail while he’s inside you. He will practically sob against you and finish in record speed

[moodymisty]

Hello! So, this is based on an ask I sent a little while back, the one about how the reader keeps asking vulkan for various jewellery and basically coordinating it into jewellery lingerie one day, to try and make him snap. May I ask for a little scenario of his reaction, please? Thank you! Have a wonderful day!

Author's note: I ain't gonna just say no to Vulkan like, mmmmm

Relationships: Vulkan/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Size kink, Jewelry, Kind of rough sex but the loving kind, Creampies, breeding kink and tokophobia warning

"Tell me, Master of the Forge," Your smile was wide, teasing; Looking up at him with a mirth he's quite familiar with. "Do you take requests?"

Vulkan laughed, sticking something into the water with a deafening hiss. Steam rises from it- once it's cooled the primarch sets it aside and returns to you his full attention.

"From you? Always, my love."

Vulkan has made you so many things, beautiful pieces of jewelry that glimmer almost unnaturally. He's made you weapons, but he says he prefers not to. He wants to keep you away from such cruelty, and to widen his skillset with delicate little things you love.

"Could you make me an anket? Two, actually, that match?"

He looks at you a bit oddly, before smiling. He reaches for a few things and sets them on the anvil.

"Of course."

Those anklets had been the last pieces you'd needed for what you had in mind, made shortly before he left Nocturne. You stayed, guarded in his home by many of his sons.

Your sons as well soon enough, if Vulkan has his way. Though they already seem to treat you as if that's the case judging by their vehement defense of you and fondness of your guiding words. They're cute, you won't lie.

Putting every piece of jewelry he's made for you on it bathes your body in gold and a gallery of gems both names and not, shining from the dim light you meticulously set up. You glimmer brighter than a stained glass window, a jewel encrusted crown couldn't spit at the feet of how embellished you were in finery.

You know he's finally returned, his men were quite eager to tell you, and after he removes his armor and greets them, his next stop will be you. You need to make sure it's all ready in time, clasping the last of many necklaces around your throat and scurrying to lie in bed.

It takes significant effort to get on the massive mattress, but Vulkan had it lowered off it's frame so the inhumanly large bed is just about on the floor, and rests at the height of a normal bed for you. It's still wide as a sea however, and you splay yourself out in the ocean of blankets and fiddle with the various chains and gems that lay on your skin as you wait for him. You didn't want even a single one tangled or flipped, they had to be perfect.

It should be any moment now, if you timed it out correctly. Your eyes are locked in the door listening for even the slightest movement on the other side of it; Though only when your eyes begin to wander back to one of your bracelets does something change.

"Love?"

You hear his deep voice come closer, through the thick door before he opens it. It gently creaks open, as if he's wondering if you might be asleep.

"I have returned, It's been so long since I last heard your-"

Vulkan enters the room and stalls completely upon the sight of your gilded form. You wanted to say hello, but the look on his face makes your throat close up completely in something nearing fear.

Vulkan slams the door shut and locks it with newfound force, approaching you with speed in his strides. You let out a delighted squeal as he grips your ankle and yanks you to him from the center of the bed, bringing you right into his arms.

"Ah, ah, ah,"

Coherent sentences were long since lost on you, panting mindlessly as Vulkan pushes the fat head of his cock past your loosened, cum filled entrance for the umpteenth time. Each time he pulls out it stays ready for him, bullied open and used to him. Your voice is far past screaming, you used most of it up well over an hour ago. Now it's just a sore, scratchy whimper. The blanket below you is stained with spit, but cradles your head gently.

You were worried that someone might hear, there are guards posted not far in any direction, but Vulkan fucked that concern out of you along with most of your other factulties.

He's had you in so many different ways you've since lost track, now simply laid spread out beneath him on your knees as your face presses against the blankets. He'd hunted these pelts for you, they were one of a million gifts, and now they're stained with cum as he fucks it out of you and it dribbles onto the fur. All of your jewelry clinks against each other and glimmers, and you swear the noise reignites Vulkan every now and again as he stuffs your cunt full of him.

"You look so beautiful like this, the most valuable of all my treasures,"

You grip his hand like it's your only safety, an island of gentleness as he ruts into you like an animal.

"Let me make you my wife. I can make you the mother of my genesons, and I can give you your own to carry as well."

You've never said no to him, you wanted to be his wife, but you still yelled out a million and one enthusistic 'yes!' until he trailed off into sweet nothings that he panted into the air around you. You can hear the sticky, sloppy noises as a cock that is for all intents and purposes far too big for you stuffs it's way into you, cum leaking down your thighs and smearing on your skin. You can feel his heavy balls smack against your clit, only adding to the primal bodies of the room.

You cum around him again, thighs aching and shaking as even they threaten to give underneath you. Your arms long since had, and soon Vulkan has to use a hand to wrap around your waist and keep you held up, lest you fall to the mattress flat like a limp body. You clench around him with a loud, scratchy cry, almost as if trying to milk his cock for more than he's already given you.

Your jewelry remains still mostly untangled surprisingly, clinking against eachother on your skin as he fucks you. It still shines you imagine, though it's hard to see it. Your thighs and outer lips are slick with juices both yourself and his, mixed together after so long of him mercilessly hammering his hips against yours.

He's always loving, there's a gentleness to him always with you, but you can tell this pushed his limits with you and teeters on the edge of something he has more trouble controlling.

You'd never dream of asking him to stop, this is what you wanted by dressing this way; At least the feral nature. You never expected Vulkan to snap fully, pushing your face down to mount you and growling about filling your womb with the children he's wanted since dawn infinitum.

You aren't complaining, though you also don't exactly have the faculties to do so.

"Relax my love, you wanted this, and now I'm going to fill you until it takes."

[springdaydreams]

Gregory House x fem!reader (platonic?)

Warnings : none

Summary : Greg finds out something interesting about you.

Authors note : Not the biggest fan of this, could've been better, but the idea wont leave my head so I wrote it.

𓈒⟡₊⋆∘ 𓈒⟡₊⋆∘ 𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘

Today was particularly rough, your coffee machine broke down so you had to settle for the crappy coffee in the breakroom, the cafeteria had ran out of your favourite chips, a patient puked on you so you had to change your clothes and by god's grace, all the anti-vaxxers in Jersey decided to come visit you today. Sitting down you let out a sigh, your feet hurt and your head felt like it was being pounded by an anvil closing your eyes in hopes for a fifteen minute shuteye, slowly drowning out the noises of the busy hospital. Suddenly your pager rings, the shrill noise cutting through the room, letting out a sharp exhale you take the pager in your hands and look at it, it’s a page from the NICU, nothing uncommon.

Standing up you rush out of the room, reaching the NICU, the nurse fills you on the patient, a seven month premature baby suffering a sudden attack of patent ductus arteriosus, as the baby flailed around trying to take breaths that he couldn’t catch, you’re held a scalpel your gloved hand tightening around the handle of it, bringing the sharp edge scalpel to the baby’s chest, just as you were about to make a cut the baby stopped breathing. Taking a deep breath you set the scalpel down “time of death?” “Twelve twenty am.” “I’ll go tell the parents.” Removing your gloves you walk out of the NICU towards the maternity ward, walking into the patient’s mother’s room “are you Miss Hennock?” “Yeah, what happened, is he okay?” Biting your lip, fighting back tears, “your son has passed on twelve twenty am.”

“What? How?”

“He suffered from patent ductus arteriosus”

“no no no, that can't be possible.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

The mother broke down in tears. Her screams could be heard by the whole floor, walking out of the maternity ward, the screams still playing in your mind, stopping by a pillar. You rest your back on the pillar, closing your eyes as tears threaten to spill, hugging your body for comfort. After a few seconds of solitude you hear the familiar tapping of a cane, opening your eyes you see Greg House walking, as he reaches you he stops and stares, staring back at him “what?”

With no response he goes back to walking to wherever he was going.

After fifteen minutes of peace the screams of someone interrupt, sighing you decide to go up to the roof. Just as you were climbing the stairs, you reach the breakroom, opening your locker you take you alcohol flask, walking to the roof you sit down on the edge, taking in a deep breath, you open your flask and take a big sip after 15 minutes and a half empty flask you hear the door open, looking back you see House limping towards you.

“Why're you here?”

“You looked like you wanted to die down there, was hoping you didn’t.”

“Awwww, you care about me.”

“Considering you’re slurring, I would like to consider you’ve finished that flask.”

“No, there’s still some.” You shake the flask.

“ So what happened down there?”

“Oh, nothing important.”

“You were on the verge of tears, someone definitely died.”

“Why do you sound so sure?”

“The last time I saw you cry was when one of your patients had died.” he says affirmatively

“Maybe my mom died?”

“Your mom’s been dead for seven years”

“How'd you know?”

“I like snooping, so what's so special today?”

“Nothing just a NICU accident.”

“That's why you're crying?”

“You know what House, lemme tell you a story, sit down” you pat the spot next to you “your crippled leg must hurt.”

As he sat down, “So what's this story about?”

“About ten years ago, in my third year of medical school, I met a man with the prettiest grey eyes, like the clouds on a rainy day.”

“Where is this going?”

“Sush, so we get to talking and a few months into dating he proposes to me and I say yes” “Want some?” you push the flask towards him.

“Yes” he takes the flask from you.

“So anyways, we get married and a few months later I get pregnant, we were so happy”

“You were married?”

“A few months into the pregnancy I start noticing he had started to become distant with me, coming home later than usual, leaving early, talking about that one new nurse that started working at the hospital, so one day i decide to visit him in the hospital, going around the hospital I couldn’t find him so I start to go back when I hear voices in a broom closet and when i open it, I see him and the new nurse he kept talking about, eating eachothers faces.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

He notices tears welling in your eyes.

With a shaky voice and a tight chest you continue, “so we had an argument and then he apologised and I thought everything would go back to normal, but it did not, we started to fight more he started to act weird and one day we have a huge argument like plate smashing and yelling, the argument gets so big he threatens to kill himself. We’re standing in the kitchen, he's holding a knife to his neck, i'm standing a few feet away from and we’re yelling and suddenly he cuts his neck, blood spraying everywhere the stress from the event puts me into early labour, I somehow manage to call 911 and then everything was a blur.”

“You are going to regret this in the morning.”

“The next thing I remember is holding my dead baby in my arms.”

He was rendered speechless.

“That's why I was crying, do you miss Stacy?”

Taken aback by the sudden question, he looks at you “yeah, why?”

“I miss him a lot, I loved him and he had to love me, somewhere sometime between the cheating and lying.”

“Stop” he gets up “you’re drunk.”

You smile at him, “I'm sad.”

“Aren’t we all sad?”

𓈒⟡₊⋆∘ 𓈒⟡₊⋆∘ 𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘𓈒⟡₊⋆∘

fin

[nayziiz]

Disturbed | OP81

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x reader (she/her)

Author's note: I'm trying something a little bit different with shorter form fics, so please send through any requests or feedback. These one shots will likely not have a second part unless it really speaks to me to continue with it. Thank you!

Masterlist

In the high-stakes world of motorsports, where the roar of engines drowned out all other sounds and the smell of burning rubber hung heavy in the air, Oscar stood as a beacon of unwavering determination. His name was synonymous with calm and resilience, his reputation forged on the anvil of countless hard-fought battles on-track and defying odds by helping keep his team in the running for third in the Constructors Championship. From the moment he first strapped himself into the driver's seat, Oscar had possessed an indomitable spirit that seemed impervious to the twists and turns of the race track.

Race after race, he pushed himself and his car to the very limit in pursuit of glory. Whether navigating treacherous hairpin turns or duelling wheel-to-wheel with his rivals, Oscar never backed down from a challenge. His resolve was unyielding, a relentless force that propelled him forward, even in the face of seemingly insurmountable obstacles.

But for all his unwavering determination, there were moments when he faltered too. It was on one particularly gruelling race day that the cracks in his armour began to show. Everything seemed to conspire against him – mechanical issues, strategic missteps, and a relentless onslaught of bad luck. Each setback chipped away at his confidence, threatening to unravel the very fabric of his resolve.

As the race wore on and Oscar's fortunes continued to decline, a sense of despair settled over him like a suffocating blanket. Doubt crept into his mind, gnawing away at his confidence and sowing seeds of uncertainty. For the first time in his career, he found himself teetering on the brink of defeat, his once unshakable resolve shaken to its core.

Amidst the chaos of the pit lane and the cacophony of roaring engines, there was one constant that anchored Oscar's fraying sanity – her. She was the quiet strength in his corner, the steady presence that never wavered, no matter how tumultuous the storm. Her belief in him was unwavering, a beacon of light cutting through the darkness of doubt.

With each passing lap, she mumbled quiet prayers in the garage. She was his rock, his anchor in the storm, her unwavering support a lifeline in his darkest hour. And though he struggled to find solace in the midst of defeat, he knew that as long as she stood by his side, he would never truly be alone.

As the chequered flag finally fell and the race came to an end, Oscar found himself staring down the bitter taste of defeat. But in the arms of the one who had stood by him through it all, he discovered a glimmer of hope amidst the wreckage of his shattered dreams.

“Oscar, listen to me,” she said, her voice cutting through the chaos of the post-race pit lane like a beacon of clarity. “I know things didn’t go as planned, but you've got this. You've faced tougher challenges before, and you've always come out on top. This is just another step to reaching the top.”

He glanced over at her, his eyes searching for reassurance in the midst of his turmoil.

“But what if this time is different? What if I've finally met my match?” he asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

She reached out and gently took his hand, her touch a comforting presence in the midst of his turmoil.

“You're Oscar Piastri,” she said, her voice unwavering. “You're one of the most talented drivers out there, and nothing – not even a bad race – can change that. You have the skill, the determination, and the heart to overcome anything that comes your way.”

In the aftermath of defeat, Oscar realised that his strength did not lie solely in his ability to conquer adversity, but in his capacity to accept defeat with grace and humility. And though the road ahead may be fraught with challenges, he knew that as long as she stood by his side, he would always find the courage to carry on. For in her unwavering support, he found the resilience to rise from the ashes of defeat and chase his dreams once more.

[thyras]

→ of creation & devotion

PAIRING → mairon | sauron x female!elf!reader

WORD COUNT → 6.7k words

SERIES → of sauron & the moriquendi

WARNINGS → more childish yearning, mentions of torture, fighting, mentions of blood

AUTHORS NOTE → welp here we are, again hehe, though this time I do have a plan and someone will kind of get revenge for this little mishap hehe. @enseekay you wished for me to tag you ❤️

SUMMARY → years pass, and mairon settles into his new life while you yearn for what may never come to pass.

PARTS → masterlist

“He seems utterly captivated by you,” Eärlindë remarked, her tone light with amusement as you walked past the forge. The clang of hammers on anvils echoed through the street, the apprentices bustling about their work, but you hardly noticed them. What caught your attention was the familiar sensation of Mairon’s gaze upon you, a weight you had grown accustomed to. His emerald eyes lingered, stealing a moment to take you in as you passed. It was never difficult to tell when he was watching; his presence was a part of you now, woven so deeply into your being that even Vairë herself might envy the threads that bound you together.

And yet, that was all it had been since he had taken over the forge—stolen glances, fleeting smiles, and polite nods as your paths crossed in the market. You had hoped, desperately, that he would seek you out after the moment you had shared in the glade. His touch, his words, his very presence had awakened something within you that could not be silenced. But he had kept his distance, offering no more than the warmth of his gaze from afar.

“I doubt it, Eärlindë,” you replied, clutching the basket of soiled linens a little tighter. The previous night had been a joyous one—the town celebrated the arrival of a new babe, and your heart had swelled with pride as you placed the child into its mother’s arms. The look of wonder and love shared between the parents had been beautiful, a reflection of Arda’s harmony in its purest form.

But as you had stood there, watching the couple bask in their shared joy, a quiet ache had settled in your chest. Your thoughts had drifted, as they often did, to him. You yearned to know what it might feel like to have his arms around you, to be held as though you were his entire world. You imagined him looking at you with the same adoration, his smile radiant as he beheld a child born of your union, the fruit of a bond unshakable and eternal.

It was foolish, you told yourself. A naïve maiden’s fantasy, nothing more. Surely, he could not feel the same yearning that you did. If he did, why would he keep his distance, leaving you to wrestle alone with this unrelenting harmony that sang between your fëar?

You sighed, shaking off the thought, but Eärlindë’s teasing glance told you she had seen through your words. She always did. Still, you walked on, carrying your burden of linen—and of longing—with you.

“Would it warm your heart to know he refuses any advance, Mornelótë?” Eärlindë’s words caught you off guard, and you turned to her, trying desperately to keep the sparkle of hope from betraying you. Her knowing smile only deepened as she continued. “Some of the maidens have tried, trust me, but he only has eyes for you.”

Her voice held a teasing lilt, but there was sincerity in her gaze. She paused for a moment, the hint of a youthful grin lighting her face. “I think you both are acting like two juveniles, dancing around what is so apparent to everyone else.”

The heat rose to your cheeks, and you quickly looked away, pretending to busy yourself with the basket of soiled linen in your arms. The weight of her words settled over you, and your thoughts spun with the possibilities they suggested. You dared not let the hope grow too strong—it was too fragile, too precious—but the warmth in your chest was impossible to ignore.

As the two of you approached the water’s edge, the gentle murmur of the stream mingled with the sound of Eärlindë’s soft laughter. You glanced at her from the corner of your eye, your heart both lifted and burdened by her words, the ache of your longing now tempered by a faint glimmer of possibility.  

Laying his hammer down, Mairon removed his leather apron with practiced ease and draped it neatly over the wooden table. With a cloth in hand, he wiped the soot and grime from his face and clothing, a faint smile touching his lips. There was a quiet satisfaction in this work, in being the Master for once—a role he had never truly held, always serving under the will of another.

Now, he found a new joy in shaping not only metal but the minds of the young men who apprenticed under him. Their eager hands followed his guidance, their unformed talents beginning to take shape under his instruction. Through them, he could nurture his love for creation, order, and harmony, weaving his ideals into the very fabric of their craft.

They, of course, knew nothing of the depths of his true skill or the shadowed history that accompanied it. Nor did they grasp the full nature of the one they called Master—a being forged in fire and ambition, whose light was entwined with darkness. It was better that way, he thought. For now, he could simply revel in the act of creation, even as the weight of his true self lingered just beneath the surface.

Though echoes of his past still stirred in the depths of his fëa, haunting him in quiet moments, Mairon pressed onward. Sleep was a luxury he rarely indulged in, for he had no true need of it. Instead, his nights were consumed with work—designs and creations meant for other purposes. But not all his labors were practical or mundane. Some were more indulgent, more personal.

He toiled over creations of vanity, shaping wonders of unmatched beauty, treasures that no one could mistake for the work of another.

Jewelry for an elven maiden.

The one whose heart harmonized with his own, your soprano a perfect counterpoint to his baritone, weaving a melody that resonated through the very fabric of his being.

Jewelry making had never been a craft he favored; his love was for the grand and the enduring, for structures and tools that shaped the world itself. Yet for you, he found himself drawn to this finer art. He imagined the way the delicate pieces might adorn you, enhancing the radiance that already surpassed the stars.

He would do it for you—for the chance to see you graced with jewels forged by the same hands that had once shaped mountains and rivers. For the chance to give you something as eternal and exquisite as the bond that tethered his fëa to yours.

So he toiled deep into the night, his chamber filled with the faint glow of candlelight and the sound of his quill scratching across parchment. Designs littered the room, crumpled and discarded in frustration, none meeting the impossible standard he sought. His mind, normally so precise, faltered in its pursuit of perfection. Inspiration eluded him, and the longer he worked, the more the ache in his chest grew—a dull, unrelenting reminder of all he had lost.

In a rare moment of reprieve, Mairon leaned back, twirling the silver band between his fingers. It was a relic of an age long past, forged under the light of the Two Lamps before their destruction. The silver gleamed softly, its surface unmarred by time, yet the inscription on its outer curve remained obscured. It was as if the words had been veiled from his sight, their meaning withheld by some unseen power. His darkened heart throbbed faintly with the weight of it, an ache he could neither name nor escape.

He pondered the mystery, his mind drifting. Would the inscription return if he placed the ring upon your finger? Could your light, so pure and untouched, rekindle the meaning lost to him? Or was it gone forever, another casualty of his fall from grace? Perhaps it was a folly to even imagine such a thing. He had turned from Aman, from the purity of its light, and sworn himself to Melkor. What right did he have to hope for redemption—or to dream of you?

With a bitter sigh, he set the ring on the wooden table before him, its gleam dulled in the shadowed room. The thought nagged at him, unwelcome and relentless: something created in the brilliance of the Lamps could never truly shine in his grasp. His hands, once vessels of beauty and creation, had spent countless ages forging horrors in the dark halls of Angband, weapons to enslave and destroy the very people he now walked among. What right had he to even look at you, let alone dream of binding his fëa to yours?

Melkor’s voice echoed in his mind, a phantom that had never truly left him. He could almost hear the cruel laughter, sharp and biting, as if his former master stood before him. “You grow soft, Mairon,” the voice sneered. “Do you truly think she would accept you if she knew whose servant you were?”

And worse, Melkor would twist the blade deeper: “You are weak. A servant, nothing more. You were never meant to be a master—you exist only to obey.”

The rage surged in Mairon’s chest, hot and all-consuming, threatening to break free. He clenched his fists, the silver band forgotten on the table, as memories flooded his mind. When the Valar had come for Melkor, when Tulkas himself had dragged the Dark Lord screaming into the Void, Mairon had fled. He had abandoned his master, not out of defiance but out of fear—fear of what repentance might mean, fear of the light he had once embraced, fear of losing himself entirely.

And so he had wandered, hiding in shadow, evading both the eyes of the Valar and the judgment he knew awaited him. Melkor’s most faithful servant had become a coward, and though the Valar had never found him, he had never stopped fearing the day his master might return.

For when Melkor returned, there would be no forgiveness.

The thought chilled him. Melkor would exact vengeance with cruelty unmatched, and Mairon could imagine it all too vividly: his body torn apart, limb by limb, only to be pieced together again for further torment. And worse—Melkor would use you against him. He would fill Mairon’s mind with visions of your suffering, your demise crafted in every horrifying way his master’s twisted imagination could conjure.

“You will know, Mairon,” the phantom voice whispered in his mind. “You will remember who the master is. And you will bow.”

He shook his head violently, dispelling the dark thoughts before they could consume him. The candlelight flickered as if in response, casting long, wavering shadows across the room. His hands trembled, and his jaw tightened as he forced himself to breathe.

But the silver ring lay there, unmoving, its quiet gleam a reminder of the harmony he longed for and the darkness that would never let him have it.

So now, as he stepped away from his forge and toward the sweet, melodic sound of laughter drifting from the stream’s edge, Mairon allowed a small, wistful smile to grace his lips. He would find the courage to let your light pierce the darkness within him, to fill the hollow ache in his heart with warmth once more. Even if it was only for a fleeting moment, a brief chapter in the eternity that weighed upon him, he would cherish it—this harmony with you—before the shadows of his past claimed him again. 

The sound of laughter and playful giggling grew louder as Mairon approached, cresting like a song reaching its peak. His steps slowed as the scene unfolded before him—you, radiant and carefree, and Eärlindë, your lively companion and the fisherman’s daughter who seemed to bring out the childlike joy in you.

This time, the two of you were engaged in a game so simple, so innocent, it could only belong to children—or those who had momentarily cast aside their burdens. You splashed each other with water, squealing and laughing as the forgotten task of washing linens lay abandoned on the stream’s edge.

Mairon stood still, watching, captivated by the sight. He did not know what lighthearted whim had brought you to this, but it filled him with a warmth he had thought long lost—a warmth he had not felt since the golden days under the Lamps or the shimmering glow of the Trees. It was a fleeting joy, a glimpse of something pure, untouched by shadow, and for a moment, it eased the ache within him.

Though his time watching you was intrrupted, and with his courage wavering he sulked back into the shadows of the forest.

“Calandil!” Eärlindë called out, her laughter trailing off as she noticed the tall warrior striding toward the water’s edge. You turned, catching sight of him just as he approached. “Brother, it is so good to see you once more,” she said brightly, moving to greet him. He chuckled, his arms wrapping around her in a warm embrace.

“It warms my heart to see you both well,” he said, his voice deep and steady, though his gaze shifted to you with a mock sternness. “Though I see neither of you has grown past your childish ways.”

You shrugged with a playful smile as Eärlindë swatted at his chest. “And you must tell us of your adventures! Surely traveling with the great Finwë has brought many tales of might and glory?”

Calandil looked down at his younger sister, his expression softening as he chuckled. “I can certainly share my stories,” he said, a hint of fondness in his tone. “But first, Mother requests that both of you join us for supper—if you are finished acting like unruly youths.” He winked at you, the playful gesture enough to draw a flush to your cheeks. It was not the searing heat Mairon could stir in you, but Calandil’s admiration for you was clear, as it always had been. His devotion had been unwavering, and you knew he would not let Mairon claim your heart without a fight, should it ever come to that.

Eärlindë laughed, but her words came with a teasing lilt that betrayed their sincerity. “Come now, brother, Mornelótë is pledged to another.”

Calandil’s eyes narrowed slightly, his expression turning curious as he released his sister and stepped closer to you. “Is she now?” he asked, raising a brow in challenge. “Do show me this man who is worthy of your beauty, Meldanya.” The endearment, rich and unguarded, slipped from his lips effortlessly, and you felt your cheeks warm again under his gaze.

“Eärlindë speaks of things she should not,” you said sharply, your glare shifting to her as she began gathering the freshly washed linen, clearly pleased with herself. Ignoring your scolding look, she stepped away from Calandil with an innocent smile, leaving you to wade back to the shore alone.

Calandil moved toward you, stretching out a hand in assistance, but you hesitated and did not take it. Your heart was already bound, and his kindness, though genuine, could not sway the truth that sang within you.

For all of Eärlindë’s teasing, she had not lied. Your heart was pledged, irrevocably so, to the fiery being who worked tirelessly at the forge. To the man whose gaze met yours with a resonance that echoed the very fabric of creation. Every stolen glance, every imagined touch, every unspoken word that lingered in your thoughts was his. His song was intertwined with yours, the melody eternal and undeniable.

Even if it took an age, you would wait for him. You would wait for Mairon with a patience your heart could barely bear, even if the ache of longing threatened to consume you. For you knew, in the depths of your fëa, that your destiny was bound to his, as surely as the sun to the day and the moon to the night.

As you walked in step with Eärlindë and Calandil toward their parents’ home, your thoughts were elsewhere, your gaze drawn instinctively toward the forge. There he was, Mairon, toiling away in the amber glow of his craft, the movements of his hands precise and almost hypnotic. You chewed the inside of your cheek, hesitating as the urge to go to him warred with your sense of decorum.

Calandil noticed your faltering stride and gently grasped your arm, his touch careful yet questioning. “Mornelótë?” he asked softly, his voice tinged with concern. You turned your eyes to him, offering a gentle smile in reassurance, though your heart felt anything but settled.

“I will join you both in a moment,” you said, your tone steady though your resolve wavered.

Eärlindë, ever perceptive, tightened her grip on her brother’s hand and gave him a slight tug, motioning toward the man in the forge with a knowing look before pulling him along down the street. You caught the fleeting exchange as Calandil’s gaze darkened momentarily, his expression hardening as he glanced toward the fiery-haired smith. He thought he masked it well, but you saw the flicker of disapproval in his eyes, a silent challenge cast toward Mairon.

For a brief moment, you lingered there, the weight of Calandil’s protective nature pressing against the pull of the melody that tied you to Mairon. And as the siblings disappeared around the corner, you drew a steadying breath, steeling yourself for what would come next.

“Are you taking commissions?” you asked softly, stepping closer to Mairon’s forge. The heat of the embers radiated toward you, but it was nothing compared to the warmth of his presence. He had sensed your approach long before you spoke, and as you drew near, he paused his work, setting his tools aside with practiced ease.

“Not at the moment,” he replied smoothly, his voice carrying a note of intrigue, “but what does the lady have in mind?” The smile that curved his lips was magnetic, drawing you closer as you leaned your hip against the edge of his work table. Your cheeks warmed, not just from the heat of the forge but from the intensity of his gaze. You hadn’t yet thought of what you might request, and the realization made you hesitate.

Mairon’s eyes glimmered with amusement, and he chuckled softly, seeing through your pretense. “If you wished only to speak with me,” he said warmly, “you needn’t invent an excuse. You are always welcome.”

Your gaze fell to the table, shame blooming in your chest as his words hung in the air. You turned over the thoughts that had plagued you for so long. Mairon was a master of his craft, a smith whose skill could rival the greatest of the Noldor. His creations were coveted by lords and envied by those who could never match his artistry. And you? You were a simple maiden, without standing or title, your only claim being the quiet, unassuming life you led among your kin.

How could he ever lower himself to someone like you, whose worth seemed so insignificant in comparison to the brilliance of his presence and the magnitude of his skill? The thought weighed heavily on your fëa, and yet, the melody that resonated between you refused to be silenced. It called to you still, whispering of possibilities you dared not believe.

“I do wish for something,” you breathed softly into the warm glow of the forge, the embers casting flickering light into his emerald eyes. They seemed to burn with the same intensity as the fire behind him. “But I hardly believe you would lower yourself to it.” The words felt heavy with doubt, and you averted your gaze, surprised at the vulnerability that spilled from you. It was the effect he had on you, the way his presence unraveled all your carefully guarded composure.

Mairon tilted his head, a flicker of curiosity and tenderness crossing his features. Without hesitation, he stepped closer, his dirtied hand reaching beneath your delicate chin to guide your gaze back to his. The warmth of his touch sent a ripple of comfort through you as his steady eyes met yours.

“My dear,” he began, his voice as smooth as flowing silver, “there is no request you could ever utter that would be lower than I.” His thumb traced softly along your cheek, his touch grounding you even as it made your heart race. “For I am the lower being. You are the finest creation—one even my hands could never have shaped, no matter how much I might wish for it.”

A heat bloomed in your cheeks at his words, a shy smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. His own lips curled into a satisfied smile, clearly pleased with the way he had chased the doubt from your mind.

“Then—” you began, your throat tightening as your lips struggled to articulate the thought swirling in your heart. The hesitation felt insurmountable, the weight of your emotions too great to put into words.

“Mori,” he murmured softly, the affectionate nickname slipping from his lips like a caress. It was a name he alone had given you, a kindness that turned the town’s harsh moniker into something beautiful. “Please, do not hide your desires from me. I only wish to fulfill them with all my heart.”

His words, tender and unyielding, stirred something deep within you, and the harmony of your shared fëar swelled in unspoken promise.

He meant every word of his promise, and the warmth of his gaze gave you the courage to finally speak the desire that had lived in your heart for so long. “Craft me a ring,” you whispered, your voice steady yet soft, “so I may bind myself to you, and our fëar may finally sing in the song that only we shall know.”

For a moment, his emerald eyes widened, a flicker of surprise lighting their depths. But then, a slow, tender smile graced his lips as he leaned closer, his grime-streaked nose brushing against yours in a gesture so intimate it made your heart flutter. “And what,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with affection, “if I already have one?”

Your hands lifted of their own accord, your fingers gently tracing the contours of his face, brushing away the soot that clung to his skin. “Then place it upon my finger,” you said, the words filled with quiet certainty, “and let us wed, as I know we both desire to.”

The forge’s warm glow wrapped around the two of you, and for a moment, the world fell away, leaving only the unspoken harmony that sang between your souls, ready to be bound for eternity.

Mairon slipped the silver band onto your finger, the very band he had forged so long ago in the days when the yearning for an unknown being had first stirred in his fëa. Now, he realized, you were that being—the one he had unknowingly crafted it for, the one whose presence had filled the void that once consumed him. As the bluish inscription glimmered to life upon the silver surface, the fear that had long plagued him faded. His fëa reached out instinctively, and he felt yours respond, the tendrils intertwining as the bond between you sealed, eternal and unbreakable.

“It is beautiful,” you murmured, holding the ring up to the light of the forge. Its glow danced upon your features, and your words were filled with wonder. “Fairest of maidens, in the moonlight, you shall find me, for we are never truly parted.”

Your voice, soft yet sure, carried the words etched into the band—a mystery that had haunted him for ages. He had not known their meaning when he inscribed them, guided only by the melody in his heart. But now, as you spoke them aloud, they resonated with a truth that made his chest tighten. A smile graced his lips, and his hand lifted to cup your chin once more, his touch tender yet possessive, as if to ensure you would never slip away.

“I would find you even in darkness, my sweet Mairon,” you whispered, the words laced with conviction, “nothing could ever take me from you.”

Oh, how he longed to believe it, to cling to the hope that your love could withstand all that might come. Yet in the depths of his heart, he knew there were forces that could tear you apart—forces far beyond his control. Still, he let the moment linger, cherishing the promise your words carried, a vow he held onto with fervent desperation. Even if the darkness claimed him once more, even if time itself conspired against you, he would find you. For your bond, sealed now and forever, would endure, waiting to reunite you at another point in the endless melody of creation.

Your breath hitched as he leaned closer, his emerald eyes fluttering shut, and your heart swelled in anticipation. After what felt like an eternity of waiting, the song that had bound your fëar to his was about to reach its crescendo. The air in the forge grew stiflingly warm, his fiery presence enveloping you like the sweetest embrace. And then, after a moment that stretched endlessly, his lips met yours.

The world around you dissolved as the harmony of your shared melody surged to life, wrapping around you both like an intricate, unbreakable thread. It was delicate yet unyielding, a reflection of the bond you had nurtured and the longing you had endured.

His kiss was soft at first, tender and reverent, but the intensity grew quickly, as though he could no longer contain the depth of his desire. His lips teased at yours, pulling at your bottom lip, and his touch deepened, exploring the taste of your sweetness as if it were a gift he could scarcely believe was his to claim.

His strong arms encircled you, drawing you closer against him, as if he feared you might slip away. In his embrace, the forge’s heat was nothing compared to the fire that surged between you, igniting a connection that felt as eternal as the stars.

The moment shattered as you felt a firm arm snatch you away from Mairon’s grasp, tearing you from the warmth and harmony you had longed for. Your blissed-out mind struggled to catch up, your lips still tingling, aching to feel his pillowy kiss once more.

Blinking, you turned to face the intruder, your tongue sharp and ready to scorn whoever dared interrupt—but the words caught in your throat as your gaze met white hair and piercing blue eyes. Calandil.

A lump formed in your throat as the intensity of his expression struck you. His eyes burned with a fury that rivaled Ulmo’s great wrath, his jaw clenched as though he were holding back the full force of his anger.

“Mornelótë,” he said, his voice low but trembling with restrained rage, “what is this?”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry as your eyes darted back to Mairon. Your heart sank at the sight of his darkened gaze fixed on Calandil, his emerald eyes now sharp and unreadable. In all your prayers to the Valar, you had hoped this moment would never come to pass, this clash between the fiery smith and the stalwart warrior.

The weight of the silver ring on your fourth finger pressed against you like an anchor, a stark reminder of the bond you had chosen. The luminous inscription, which had moments ago filled you with joy, now felt heavy under Calandil’s burning scrutiny.

Words faltered on your tongue. You did not know what to say to Calandil, his expression a storm of betrayal and fury. Nor did you dare let Mairon speak, for fear of the provocation that might follow. Calandil’s anger simmered just beneath the surface, and you knew too well the rashness that could overtake him in such a state.

Desperation filled your chest as you stood between them, caught in the rising tension, praying silently that the fragile harmony of the moment might somehow be preserved. But it was not to be and among your silence, Calandil pulled you from between them and walked over to the smith.

“You think you can come here,” Calandil hissed, his voice trembling with barely contained fury, “share in our goods, take up the post as our city’s smith, and all would be well.” He stepped closer, his face now mere inches from Mairon’s, his posture bristling with indignation.

You moved instinctively to intervene, your heart racing as the tension between them grew. “Calandil—” you began, but your words were cut short as he pushed you gently but firmly back to where you had been standing. The action left you stunned, a flicker of concern flashing in Mairon’s eyes as he glanced briefly toward you. But the moment passed, and his attention returned to Calandil, his expression composed but steely.

“And now,” Calandil growled, his voice low and sharp, “you wish to defile one of our maidens?” His words dripped with venom, and your breath caught at the accusation.

“Calandil, please, it is not like that at all,” you pleaded, your voice trembling as you stepped forward once more. But the elf turned to you sharply, his blazing blue eyes cutting through you like a blade.

“You will silence your tongue,” he barked, the force of his words making you flinch. Tears threatened to spill as you gazed up at him, the sting of his harsh tone a bitter reminder of how much had changed.

This was not the Calandil you had known—the gentle, soft-spoken elf who had once protected and cherished you. His time away, wherever Finwë had sent him, had transformed him. It was clear now that the journey to the West had not been what he had hoped. The brightness that once filled him seemed dulled, replaced by a hardened anger that lashed out, even at you.

He would never have spoken to you this way before, nor would he have jumped to such cruel accusations. Something deeper was wrong within him, and it pained you to see it, even as his fury consumed the moment.

To your surprise, Mairon had remained silent, his lips pressed into a firm line as his piercing gaze stayed locked on the elf before him. He made no effort to defend himself, no attempt to argue against Calandil’s fury. But then your breath caught as you noticed his hand slowly glide toward one of the tools laid on the worktable. The motion was subtle, deliberate, and it sent a chill down your spine.

You shook your head sharply at him, your silent plea carried through the threads of your bond, tugging gently but urgently at his fëa. Don’t. Your eyes met his, wide with stress and desperation, imploring him to let it go.

For a long, tense moment, Mairon regarded you. Then, with a subtle exhale, he shifted his hand away from the tool, resting it instead on the edge of the table. Relief washed over you, though the tension in the air remained thick and unyielding.

Calandil turned back to him, his voice cutting through the heavy silence. “What do you have to say for yourself, smith?” he demanded, straightening to his full height, his presence radiating authority and challenge.

Finally, Mairon’s voice filled the forge, smooth and steady, its calmness a stark contrast to the storm brewing between them.

“I hardly defile your maidens,” Mairon said smoothly, his tone calm but firm. “For I have asked Mornelótë for her hand.” His emerald gaze remained steady as he watched Calandil’s reaction, the disbelief flashing in the other elf’s blue eyes like a storm. To Mairon’s mild satisfaction, there was more than disbelief there—there was hurt. It was subtle but unmistakable, a crack in the warrior’s hardened facade.

“Is this true?” Calandil asked, his voice low but edged with emotion. His piercing gaze flickered toward you, searching for the truth in your expression.

Mairon didn’t move, his heart attuned to yours, pulling at your fëa as though urging you to speak. Say the words, and be mine, he thought silently, his eyes never leaving you. He could see the conflict in your watery gaze, the way your throat worked as you struggled to form the words.

Finally, you took a trembling breath and answered, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yes, Calandil,” you said, your tone resolute despite the emotion laced within it. “His song matches mine in every melody known, and I cannot ignore what is destined.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with truth, as Calandil’s expression shifted, his hurt deepening. But your declaration was unshakable, your choice made. And Mairon, though calm in his outward appearance, felt his heart surge with a quiet triumph.

For all his darkness, Mairon felt a light and warmth now that rivaled what he had once known in Aman. You were his, and nothing could compare to the quiet triumph that swelled within him as your declaration echoed in the forge.

But the moment was fleeting. Calandil’s fist struck hard against Mairon’s cheek, the force of the blow staggering him backward. Pain bloomed sharp and immediate, but Mairon steadied himself, his gaze flickering briefly toward the enraged elf. He knew well that elves rarely turned to violence unless driven by absolute necessity. But the fury in Calandil’s eyes mirrored something Mairon recognized all too clearly—the same blazing fire he himself once bore in service to Melkor. It was the look of a predator consumed by wrath, striking without mercy or thought.

The blows came again, one after another, but Mairon did not retaliate. He stood firm, enduring the onslaught with a stoic resilience that only seemed to fuel Calandil’s rage. Each strike was met with silence, Mairon’s emerald eyes calm despite the chaos around him.

For Mairon knew. These blows, these moments of fury, would one day be avenged—not through violence, but through the quiet and unshakable bond that had been forged between you and him. In time, his triumph would echo louder than any fists could, and Calandil’s fury would fade into nothingness against the weight of destiny.

Though as he looked up at his attacker, he felt something else. The silent but deadly voice of his master. “You weak being, letting a mere mortal torment you over something so beneath you. I should flay you for your weakness.” Mairon’s eyes clamped shut as the taunting laughter and more degrading words echoed through his mind. His rage over came him and he pushed Calandil back with a forceful kick of his boot. The elf fell back on to the stone floor of the forge and in his consumed fury Mairon did something, he had never wished for you to see.

His fingers wrapped around the elf’s neck, squeezing down on his windpipe, drawing the air from his lungs. “She is mine,” he snarled at the choking elf. Eyes black with fury as the dark lines of his true nature stretched underneath his eyes. “Her fëa sings for mine, elf, not yours and you will do well to remember what Eru proclaimed in existence. Her destiny is with me.” Mairon snarled. Though in all his consumed fury and rage, your voice cut through him like a knife.

“Stop it,” You cried out. “Stop it, your hurting him.” You continued with tears in your eyes as he looked up to see the fear and desperation for him to cease his tight grasp on Calandil’s throat. That tiny amount of light inside him pulling and flowing once more, softening his gaze until he released the elf’s neck. Mairon moved off him and sat back against the work bench, trying his hardest to regain his breath as Calandil took in what he had been deprived of.

"Is there a problem here?" The question cut through the tension like a blade, as two guardsmen approached, their boots crunching against the cobblestones. Their stern gazes flicked between you and the commotion, shadows from the burning forge dancing across their faces. You turned, mouth half-open, ready to explain, but before your words could find air, Calandil surged forward, his voice trembling with a mix of fury and triumph.

"Arrest this man!" he commanded, pointing an accusatory finger, his hand shaking with indignation. "He dares to lay his filthy hands on me!" His breath came in ragged gasps, his face flushed, and the gleam in his eyes was that of someone savoring the power of the moment.

Mairon stared at the man in disbelief, the faint metallic tang of blood sharp on his lips as he wiped it away with the back of his hand. His chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, but his glare remained fixed, defiant even in pain. You turned sharply as the guardsmen approached, their deliberate steps carrying them toward Mairon, their expressions unyielding and devoid of question.

“Please,” you said, your tone steady yet pleading, like a balm over the fraying tension. “It was only a minor dispute. Escort my lord back to his home so he may recover in peace. I will see to our faithful smith.” The two elves exchanged a brief glance before inclining their heads to you. Wordlessly, they bent to hoist Calandil to his feet, the defeated lord sputtering protests as they guided him away.

You crossed the space to Mairon, your steps quiet but deliberate. His body sagged slightly, the tension in his shoulders melting away. Relief washed over him like the cool mist of a morning breeze, and his eyes fluttered closed as if seeking refuge behind the darkness of his lids.

You couldn’t suppress the flicker of satisfaction that stirred within you at his eventual defense of your honor. Yet, the events that followed left a shadow over your heart, a chill that gripped you tighter with each passing moment. The gentle, soft-spoken Mairon you had always known seemed to dissolve before your eyes, giving way to a darkness—raw, potent, and unfamiliar. It was a presence unlike anything you had felt in all your countless years among the spirits and the nurturing embrace of Arda.

Your fingers moved instinctively, tracing the curve of his split lip, the skin rough beneath your touch. They traveled upward, brushing aside strands of his fiery red hair, damp and clinging to his sweat-slicked brow, to reveal the bruised cheek beneath. The sight tugged at something deep within you, and you let out a soft tsk, the sound both chiding and affectionate. A faint smile curved your lips, tender yet tinged with unease.

“My sweet Mairon,” you whispered, your breath mingling with his as you settled yourself fully onto his lap, your knees bracketing him, steadying him as your hands ghosted over his injuries. Each touch was careful, reverent, as though the very act of tending to him might erase the pain he had endured. “You didn’t need to take such blows for my sake.”

A strong hand rose, his fingers curling around your left one with a firm yet tender grasp. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open, and the familiar softness of his emerald gaze pierced through the lingering tension. Without breaking his gaze, his lips pressed a lingering kiss to the silver band on your ring finger, an unspoken vow in the tender act.

“You are worth every torturous blow,” he murmured, his voice low but unwavering. “If it means that each man in this city knows whose heart you hold, who you belong to.” Heat rushed to your cheeks at his words, and your face warmed despite the coolness of the room.

“Mori,” he continued, his voice laced with an almost pleading tone, “I love you with all my being and wish for nothing but your happiness. Though I am sorry you had to see that side of me.” His tone shifted, laden with regret, but before he could say more, you silenced him with a soft shush, your free hand rising to cup his bruised cheek. Your thumb moved in delicate circles, careful not to worsen his pain, your touch a balm to his unspoken wounds.

“I love every inch of you, Mairon,” you said, your voice steady and filled with truth, “even the darker parts of you.” The weight of your words hung between you, unnoticed by you, but searing into him. For in that single, sincere statement, you unknowingly etched the lines of your destiny—an ending that would sear your place aside one of Melkor’s dark servants for eternity.

For now there would never be a place for you in the Blessed Realm. No white ship could bear this burden of darkness that you had pledged yourself too.

[yaut-jaknowit]

Black smith fem reader x gawtin.

Reader recently started up smithing again and made a armor piece for gawtin for the first time after managing to get it her measurements without her noticing, paying attention to every detail so it’s perfect and could only fit gawtin and only her.

A Shield For Your Heart

Pairings: Gawtin (Female Yautja) x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3068

Summary: After a near life ending injury, you've finally gotten back your life. The first thing on your list was to make sure Gawtin knows you are beyond thankful for her. It may have been a year since you've last touched a hammer and fired up the forge, but you are able to settle right back in.

Author Note: This is such a cute idea! I filled this one with as much tooth rotting fluff as possible. Enjoy!

Masterlist

Ao3

Dust collected over the old tools and ironwork you once poured your heart and soul into. Your fingers skimmed over the top of an anvil and sighed at the dust that built up on your skin. It had been so long since you’ve last stepped inside of here. All those months trying to heal from a devastating injury that nearly left you paralyzed from the neck down. It’s a miracle that Gawtin was able to save you from a horrible end.

That moment will forever be melded into your mind like the metal you used to forge. A shudder run down the length of your metal infused spine. A piece of you forever changed. Hours, upon hours under a knife as they reconstructed your spine and melded metal to it to protect it. You can still remember the pain once you woke up afterwards. The fear. The horror.

At first, you couldn’t move. After time, you relearned how to twitch muscles to gain a response. From there, you were able to shakily lift your arms.

This all took a year to come back from. A whole year to learn how to be you again.

All of the skills you’ve obtained from the years of working as a blacksmith felt lost. You were thankful Gawtin hadn’t moved a thing. Everything was left in the same position like the day you lost yourself. Today though, you were ready to take back your life and breath life into metal once more.

And the first thing you were craving to make was for Gawtin. A thank you gift for her saving you. For not abandoning you in hard times. For being there, no matter what.

The front door slid open and closed. A soft sound you knew to listen for. You perked your head up towards the door of the forge for a moment before returning to work. The metal in your tongs was rare and extremely strong. It took a small fortune to retrieve but thanks for Gawtin’s extensive network of knowledge, you were able to hunt it down. All of the money you paid for came out of your own pocket. From the business you used to run as a blacksmith.

Said metal was carefully placed into the blazing fire. The door behind you opened up. Without even turning to greet her, you instantly knew it was Gawtin. Her presence always filled any room she walked into.

“Hey, love,” you greeted your mate without taking your eyes off of the piece. You hoped she wouldn’t walk in here while you were working on this specific piece. She had come home earlier than you expected. You couldn’t just stop either. Once the metal has begun to be heated, you had to keep working at it until the drawing process was done.

Gawtin stepped up behind you but kept a distance that didn’t disturb you and your work. “Little one.” You always loved when she walked you that. Yes, as a human, you are small to everyone and thing on this planet. Many would think it as derogatory but you loved it.

“I am glad to find you in here once more. You have talked about returning,” she remarks about past conversations. All about returning back to blacksmithing. Not only did you miss it, but many others enjoyed your work. Even some Yautja blacksmiths. You would share information from things you learned back on earth and vice versa.

A smile graced your lips behind the respirator covering your nose and mouth. A design of your own with a touch of Yautja to ensure your lungs stay safe. You take a moment to glance over your shoulder as the metal continued to heat. “Me too. I’ve missed it so much.” Your back still twinges every once in a while. Something that can’t be fixed. But you pushed past the pain to make yourself happy. This was your passion.

The blaze of fire reflected into those gorgeous purple orbs of hers. You could get lost in them. Forever. You snapped back into reality with a shake of your head. “Are you cooking tonight?” you asked her and hoped she would leave. The metal needed to be pulled out shortly.

“Of course,” she stated as if your question was stupid. Maybe it was. Ever since your injury, Gawtin waits on you hand and foot. Not as much as before since you had a sit down with her after you’ve healed enough to do things yourself. You appreciated every single second. Every one. But… you needed to be independent more.

“Does three hours work for you?” she questioned back and stepped closer to her. Though the heat of the fire blazed brightly behind you, her warmth overpowered it. Your instinctive reaction is to lean towards her, take in all she could give you.

“That’s perfect for me,” you told her honestly. It will take some time to draw the metal after bending it. Three hours should give you enough time to get to a point where you are able to stop for the night. This would be a multi-day project. Since you want to keep it a secret from her until it was finished. With your aches, who knows when that might be.

Carefully, the giant green alien reached out and cupped your jaw. Gawtin’s moves were soft and slow as she leaned down and nuzzled her forehead to your temple. Your eyes drifted shut as you took in the comforting feeling of her touch against you. A feeling you always craved even if she was touching. Somedays, you just want to crawl under her skin and live there. In the comfort of her presence and safety.

“Okay, I will go make dinner for us.” Gawtin gave you a mock kiss on your forehead before taking her leave. The moment the door closed, you sighed and wiped off the sweat on your forehead. That had been nerve-wracking. You knew Gawtin was suspicious of what you are up too now. From now on, you must be as secretive as possible to make this a surprise.

The question now is: how in the world were you going to do that?

Over the course of the next week, you worked tirelessly over creating the perfect piece for Gawtin. Hopefully, she didn’t know a thing. When you were done for the day, you would take a bath or shower to rid yourself of the smell that stuck to your skin. All in hopes that Gawtin couldn’t figure it out. She, of course, would question if you had worked today or were going to. Yet, you brushed it off. Just using the excuse of your back or not feeling up to it.

Not that either of those were a lie. Striking the metal into shape pulled on your spine with each hit. The pain only reminded you there was a reason you were doing this. To protect Gawtin from the dangers of her own planet. From the things that nearly took you out in the first place.

The callouses you once had on your hands had long disappeared from the lack of use. Starting up the grueling time of rebuilding the callouses through pain and lots of blood. To the point you had to wrap your hands to prevent those scabs from ripping apart and bleeding all over the metal and any tools. The wraps definitely gained Gawtin’s attention. She never verbally mentioned it, but you saw the suspicion floating around in her eyes.

From the pain of your hands to your aching back, the process had slowed down along side that Gawtin’s presence. She had been staying at home more after her latest catch will survive the two of you until the end of week. You were getting antsy, needing to finish this off before Gawtin completely figured it out. The surprise would be ruined then.

Once the front door closed behind Gawtin and Qui-oky, you swiftly rushed towards the forge. There was around four hours before she’d returned. It wasn’t long but enough to give you time to work.

Sweat dripped down your face as you slaved over getting this stupid piece of metal to soften in the heat of your forge. It had a stubborn heat temperature that made it difficult to maintain for long periods of time. That’s why its been taken so long to draw out the metal into the desired shape.

For it to fit Gawtin in the first place, it had to be a large piece. The flattened out metal was held in the pit of a fire while you took a moment to gulped down some water. You looked down at the worn down gauze that was wrapped around your palms. They had been dirtied already by the handle of your tools. You sighed then wiped off the sweat that collected on your brow. Some more water was consumed before you returned back to work.

Two hours passed before you got the desired shape finally drawn out. You pumped an exhausted, shaky arm in the air in victory. The muscles in your arms were crying out from the constant, painful usage. Another thing you lost after the near-death experience.

The piece was placed back in the fire once more. A constant thing that happened every three or so minutes. This type of metal was the worst you’ve ever used. You also had to be careful of any miniature cracks during the drawing process. Or else the whole thing would had to be redone. From the start.

You lugged it over to your anvil once more and began the grueling process of hammering. This time, you were softer with the hits and aimed more to smooth out the previous hits. Before your eyes, the metal became smooth and dent free. You grinned to yourself, proud of your abilities and skills that still resided in you after so long.

Then, the front door shut again. Your head snapped over to the door of your forge. A curse slipping past your lips. Swiftly, you rushed to hide the piece and killed the fire of the forge. With an air of calmness, you stepped into the main area of the dwelling while wiping your hands with a rag.

“Oh, hey love!” you smiled at Gawtin’s return, happy to have her back. “Did you get what you wanted?” Gawtin had gone out to the market to get some items the house needed. That’s why it took so long for her to return. The markets can be crazy. This was far away as well.

Gawtin sets down a bag on the counter then placed her child on his own two feet. Qui’oky squeaked when he saw you. On two stumbling feet, he ran over to you and latched onto your pant leg. You snorted as he buried his face into the fabric of your pants. He loved the smell of the forge but you didn’t let him in there. Plenty of things he could hurt himself on.

“Yes, I also got you those fruits you liked as well.” Your eyes brightened up at her. Those fruits she was talking about were a mix of what a dragon fruit and banana looked like. It has a slight spicy taste to it. The name for it was alien and hard to pronounce so you call it a spiky banana.

Oky was scooped up into your arms before you walked up to Gawtin. You stood up on your tippy toes, head slightly tilted back, and lips pursed for a kiss. The towering, green Yautja easily got the message and bent at the waist. You place your lips against one of her upper mandibles. “Aw, thank you so much, baby. I love those things, weirdly enough.”

She pulls away to put away the groceries she had gotten. “I will be out tomorrow for most of the day. Bziut-ty wants to go hunting. If that’s alright with you.” Blessed by Paya, you were given the golden opportunity to finish.

It took everything within you stop from grinning like a mad man. “Of course, love. Do bring me back a pretty rock or-ooo, maybe a piece of bark!” She finds it weird of what you liked to collect but goes along with it. She just marks it off as you being human.

A snort came from her before she leaned down to nuzzle her brow to yours in a soft, loving gesture. “I can do that for you, little one.”

Perfect.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow you would finally finish up your project.

Hours upon hours. Blood, sweat, tears were put into the piece of metal you were finishing up. A little more polish was added before you held it out, proud of the work you’ve finally completed. You beamed with pride before setting it down on your work bench. There was no way you could easily wrap it up. It was too awkward for that. The next best idea came to you.

The last remnants of the forge had been washed away from your skin when you felt the shift in the air. The front door could be heard closing. Gawtin’s return. Your heart began to pound in your chest. The ultimate gift after she saved you from certain death or paralyzation for the rest of your life. You washed off the soap that still clung to your body before stepping out of the shower.

A towel is wrapped around your waist once you had dried off. You are quick to redress and stepped out into the main area of the house. Instantly, your eyes scanned over Gawtin in concern. No matter how many times she assures you, you are frantic about her getting injured. Not that you don’t just her skills and abilities. You did. But… it was human nature to fret about the person you cared about most.

“Welcome back,” you greeted her with a skip in your step. Gawtin’s purple eyes scanned you up and down. Suspicion growing in them. “How was the hunt?”

“It went well. Bziut-ty was able to get what she wanted. A great skull for her collection. The scales will decorate her house well.” You couldn’t wait to see what she’s taken down. You’ll have to visit her in a few days to see it.

“I’m glad.” You stopped in front of her and looked up at her with an innocent look on your face. “Are you busy? I wanna show you something.” Your hands are clasped behind your back as you rock up and down on the balls of your feet. Gawtin’s head slightly tilted to the side.

“I am not.” A small smile broke across your features. “What is it you wish to show me?” A pout claims your smile.

“Nuh uh. You’ll find out.” You latched onto her arm and began to pull her towards the forge. Something changed in her eyes. Gawtin allows you to pull her along and follows you. You stopped just shy of the door and pointed a finger at her. “Okay, close your eyes now. Please.”

One brow is raised down at you for a moment before Gawtin listens to you. The pulling continued as you lead her into the safety of your forge. The air still warm from the dying heat of the fire. A heat you quiet enjoyed to bask in.

You stopped just shy of your workbench and took one step back. “Okay, open.” With bated breath, you watched as her eyes opened and scanned towards the table. They widened once they found the piece you worked so hard on.

A chest piece.

Nervously, your head bowed down as you looked at the floor. A foot kicking at the hardwood floors. “I… I know you said there’s no need to thank you for saving me from that, that male.” The memories were still hot and fresh in your mind. The way he tried not only to kill you but to rip you into pieces. “But, you’ve done so much for me. You’ve given me a chance to return to what I love most.”

“So… I decided to use my skills to create this for you.” You motioned towards the metal chest piece sitting on the work bench. “A shield for your heart.”

Your bottom lip was trapped between dull teeth, chewing on the soft skin. The giant alien stepped closer and laid a hand gently on the smooth metal. “This is… Moskite. How were you able to get this?” Disbelief filled her voice. She was more than appreciative of the piece but her astonishment of how in the universe you were able to get one of rarest metals.

“Oh, uh,” you trailed off and rubbed at the back of your neck. “Connections. Plus, I had saved up every credit I made since I had no reason to spend it. It was luck, I guess.”

Gawtin turned towards you and cupped your face with both of her hands. With precision after being with her for so long, she tugs you towards her mouth. All of her mandibles widened to allow you space. She shoves her tongue into your mouth and hooked her mandibles around your face.

A deep, throaty growl vibrates from her chest. One hand goes to your throat and wraps around it, easily swallowing up the limb. She pulls away enough to look you in the eye. “You are the best thing to ever walk into my life,” she whispers. “I do not deserve you, little one. You…” It almost sounded like she was about to cry.

And you’ve only seen her cry once.

You surged back up and placed a kiss on her snout, pouring your love and passion into it the best you could. Then, your hands gripped the sides of her face and pulled her even further down. “Don’t you dare say that. You deserve me. You saved me from certain death that day. This is the least I can do for you.”

It’s almost like she was watching the scene unfold right before her all over again. The way he cracked your spin over his knee and attempted to pull your head straight from your body. Your nails dug deeper into her skin.

The two of you held each other for a long, long time. Life had changed. Death had almost been certain. You had Gawtin to thank for the life you will finish.

[heavens-moonlight]

𝗕𝗢𝗥𝗗𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗘𝗦 | 𝟬𝟭 : 𝗠𝗜𝗦𝗔𝗗𝗩𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗨𝗥𝗘

SYNOPSIS | 02 : THE BUTTERFLY EFFECT

Author’s Note: The following chapter will be where the misery starts but I wanted to build character and friendship dynamics here first. Updates won't be as frequent (because of one word: life) but I have pre-written a lot for this drama already so I'll see this work to the end! Hopefully this is enjoyable so far, and feel free to let me know what you think (or what you want to see in future chapters)! Until next time! ♡

"THE INNOCENT CIVILIANS HAVE LOST, AND THE MAFIA WON!"

Your heavy palpebrae that moments earlier masked your vision in dimness, adorned with a trace of gentle sleepiness, slowly flutters open at the announcement, eyes emerging from the veil of unconsciousness. Finding yourself awakening with an overwhelming and unshakeable wave of trepidation washing over you, your chest tightens in palpable distress. The heaviness pales no less in comparison to the weight of an anvil sinking down atop your sternum, lungs punctured by bowed bones.

You sit there in a state of unease, mind racing with apprehension and discomposure, searching for answers to the troubling sensation coursing through your body. The sense of foreboding grips your heart tightly like an invisible vice, leaving you breathless and unable to shake off the unwanted feeling.

In a haste, you slide open the window beside you, the glass screeching against rubber weatherstrips expanded by scorching summer heat. Through the humidity, a light breeze brushes past, breathing air and life back into you. It's not hard to recognize the way your subconscious whispers insistently that something is amiss, the combination of uncertainty and uneasiness blending together into something you can't decipher.

Your hand comes to rest against your chest, heart pounding strongly and ceaselessly against your ribcage, almost as though wanting to escape from its confines. It sends you reeling, akin to an out of body experience. For some unexplained reason, confusion clouds your thoughts as you struggle to clear the thick shroud of fog encasing your entire being, the mist muddling and settling deep within you. A haunting sense of premonition creeps over as if some elapsed memory shares in its ominous secrets. Yet, try as you might, you could not uncover the source of this inexplicable anxiety. You're left clueless except for the empty feeling both in your mind and soul, like you have forgotten something important.

When your breathing returns to normal and your pulse has settled back into its regular rhythmic beat, you shake your head to clear it of the sudden upsetting thoughts. Only then do you realize you had fallen asleep at one point, head tilted back against the warm and worn peeling leather seats of the bus. The sound of loud conversations and even louder hum of the engine, the smell of smoke, and the bump of the vehicle's wheels on uneven pavement brings with it a gentle sway of movement that returns to you a sense of comfort you can't put into words.

Glancing down at your lap, you notice that you had left the entirety of a horror movie playing on your phone, the end credits having long since rolled endlessly, words drenched in red blinking cursorily across the screen. You rarely experienced nightmares, not even after indulging in disturbing content, and certainly not when it's broad daylight out still. So then, why now?

The sound of a book plopping down to the ground pulls you out of your reverie and you lean forward to pick it up, folding it closed to survey the front cover.

흰나비의 살인.

The White Butterfly's Murder.

You smile to yourself. It was so like Yoon-Seo to read a murder mystery on a school trip, the same exact one you had gifted to her only yesterday for her birthday. A love of thriller was what brought you both to be such good friends in the first place, and it didn't seem those like-minded interests would diverge any time soon.

"Yoon-Seo ah..." Scooting forward in your seat, you lightly tap her on the shoulder and she jolts upright, turning back to look at you, unreasonably startled, a shiver running down her spine. "What's wrong?" Your grin drops slightly at her growing restlessness, face now pale as if she had encountered an apparition. Her eyes shift back and forth, guarded for a microsecond before snapping back into her usual self.

Yoon-Seo takes noticeably deep inhales, drawing the attention of Jung-Won, her seat mate for the ride, who pauses mid-coding to look over, displeased.

"What did you dream of?"

"I'd rather not say."

"Han Seol-Hwa. Lee Yoon-Seo.” Jung-Won clicks her tongue teasingly, pointing a finger from you to Yoon-Seo. “I'm making it a rule that you guys stay away from blood, murders, and deaths this trip, alright?"

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. "Alright, I promise you eomma. No more nagging Yoon-Seo and I."

Jung-Won scowls at you playfully, pushing her glasses up higher on the bridge of her nose and you stick out your tongue in her direction impishly. Yoon-Seo laughs quietly at the exchange as you hand her back her book.

"Thanks, Seol-Hwa."

"Tell me all about it later when we've arrived." Despite muttering it under your breath to avoid being heard by Jung-Won, you fail miserably.

"Seriously?!"

You and Yoon-Seo laugh together as Jung-Won goes on a tangent about how psychologically, scary things are not good for young, impressionable minds, fingers click-clacking away all the while. Fortunately preoccupied, she doesn't notice Yoon-Seo sending you a wink, a hidden promise between you two to indulge in the realm of the supernatural regardless.

A resounding and victorious scream travels all the way from the back of the bus and you turn around to observe the friend group seated there.

"See?! I told you all Yool was the Mafia! Let's play again," Eun-Ha says, arms crossed. "You idiots never listen to me, do you?" She slaps both Yeon-Woo and Eun-Chan on the back of their heads as petty punishment.

"What can I say? You simply can't kill the master." Yool leans back, legs thrown atop the headrest of the seat in front, a proud smile stretched across his face.

As they're about to commence another game, Jin-Ha gets relayed a message through Seung-Bin. "Tell them that Kyung-Jun is sleeping and to shut the hell up."

"YAH!" The random shout is so out of place and entirely uncalled for, but it's effective for the time being. "Kyung-Jun is sleeping," Jin-Ha parrots, obedient. "You guys are always so fucking loud that we can hear you before we can see you!" Met with blank stares all around, he's finally satisfied at the reduction in volume and goes back to looking at something Seung-Bin points out to him on his phone. Unbeknownst to him, the rest switch to eyeing him in disfavor behind his back.

It wasn't hard to see the hierarchy of the bullies' group, although Jin-Ha most likely doesn't notice anything wrong with the skewed power dynamics.

Kyung-Jun unpredictably opens his eyes, turning to glare at Heo Yool specifically, but when he swivels back around again, your eyes meet coincidentally and he simply stares, an unreadable expression on his face. You avert your gaze hastily, not wanting to stir up trouble with the bullies, especially not Kyung-Jun who was quick to anger if someone so much as breathed wrongly in his direction.

Your eyes search the rest of the bus lazily before landing on Jun-Hee, sleeping peacefully unaware, head tilted towards the window. The sunlight bathes him in a soft yellow glow and you can't help but stare as a single ray of light filters through the curtains, slanting lightly across his face. You etch every slope, every contour, and every dip of his countenance behind your eyes so that the image of him doesn't fade.

The comfortable rise and fall of Jun-Hee's chest, synchronized with his steady breathing is so serene that it captivates your heart. In high noon, the gentle curves of his face seem even more soft, accentuated by the calmness enveloping his features. Fondly, you observe him in the morning's bright golden haze, and in the beauty of the falling sunbeams, you wonder if he'd ever see you in the same way.

A rolled-up piece of paper hits you square in the face and you finally drag your gaze away long enough to see who it is. Whipping your head around, you're met with snickers from Hyun-Ho and Dong-Hyun, who don't even try to hide they're the culprits.

You're being obvious. Hyun-Ho mouths the words discernibly. Just sit next to him if you're going to gawk.

You chuck the paper ball back toward him and it smacks him in the mouth, your nose scrunching up in focus mixed with annoyance.

"I think that's the most creative way I've ever seen someone being told to shut up," Dong-Hyun voices approvingly, shooting you two thumbs up.

"Are you my friend or hers?" Hyun-Ho asks childishly, somewhat snubbed.

"To be honest, she can be more frightening than you at times even though she's half your size."

You giggle to yourself as the two start squabbling in their seats across the aisle from Jung-Won and Yoon-Seo.

For the most part, after having transferred to Yooil High, you were fairly well-liked by everyone for your just and nonjudgmental attitude. That, and you pretty much kept to yourself, stayed out of trouble, and knew not to dig your nose in other's business if it didn't concern you. You weren't popular by any means, but not a single person had a true reason to dislike you and you hoped to continue that track record.

By a stroke of bad luck, your parents died a few years ago in a car accident, and you've been living with your cousin Hyun-Ho ever since, adopted by your aunt and uncle-in-law. They have been nothing short of welcoming and loving, and the same goes for Hyun-Ho, who acts no less like your real brother. Sure, he's annoying at times but it's just his overprotective nature and ease of accepting the older sibling role. You got on quite quickly with Yoon-Seo and Jung-Won, and Hyun-Ho made sure you adapted to his own friend group, introducing you to his best friends Jun-Hee and Dong-Hyun. You loved your companions dearly, all incredibly close and inseparable ever since you could remember.

But you couldn't remember when you began to see Jun-Hee as more than that.

Friends.

It's not the first, and it certainly won't be the last time you remind yourself of that fact.

Just friends. Nothing more and nothing less.

Except, you're not the only who was harboring feelings for him. Where you were quiet and discreet about it, So-Mi is loud and unabashed. It's hard to ignore and pretend you don't hear her snapping pictures of Jun-Hee shamelessly and without permission, the shutter ticking in quick succession.

"Isn't this crazy? It's like a photoshoot, right? How does he look like that? Even while sleeping?" So-Mi rattles off questions in awe, more to herself than anyone else.

Woo Ram doesn't miss a beat in his reply. "I'll tell Jun-Hee about your crazy obsession with him."

"Could you, please?" So-Mi widens her eyes, batting her lashes imploringly. "I'll use that as an opportunity to tempt him."

You hear Ji-Soo's laugh ring out brash and clear. "This delusional girl, seriously..." she chides. "You've been saying that since last year. When will you actually find the courage to tell him?"

That's the question you ask yourself also. You don't blame So-Mi. Sometimes, you think it might be better to not have been best friends with him. It only complicates your feelings further, too afraid to ruin years of friendship, but also too filled with wishful thinking on the mere possibility of it growing into anything beyond that.

Sighing, you turn to look out the window, trying your best to tune out their conversation even though it doesn't work. There's not much to hold your attention when the scenery is endless stretches of barren trees and even emptier infrastructure, or lack thereof, rolling by.

The setting sun dyes everything in a blaze of orange, making it appear as if the city was burning, the sky collapsing.

"Seduce him now," Yu-Jun taunts, voice giving way to his utter lack of confidence in So-Mi's coquetting abilities, knowing full well the impossibility that the two would ever end up together.

"Cut it out! It will happen soon...just not here." So-Mi tries to shush her friends as they holler at Jun-Hee teasingly, with all intent to wake him up.

Woo-Ram and Yu-Jun successfully manage to rouse him if the sound of So-Mi's indignant squeals is anything to go by, coupled with the unmistakable clicking of her phone's camera shutter, pressed by accident this time around.

Somewhere in between listening and musing, you had begun to doze off again when you feel the seat shift and sink beside yours. The movement is so light and careful that you don't pay it any notice at first.

"Hey, I thought when you flirt with someone, they're supposed to come to you and not away from you." Ji-Soo's snickers mix in with So-Mi's annoyed remarks aren't as jarring as you thought it'd be after everyone was subjected to the silent rule earlier.

You feel your head droop forward before someone touches the side of your face gently, fingers grazing the curve of your cheek to angle your head into the broad line of their shoulder.

The pads of their fingers trace the underside of your jaw in a featherlight motion, and you lift your face in alarm, curious as to who would do such a thing especially if they weren't necessarily close to you

Eyes trailing upward, your vision refocuses and they widen at the sight of Jun-Hee staring down at you, gaze soft and unwavering as he stares, transfixed, pupils shining. One hand is hanging in midair, held steady to shield your face from the sun.

You open your mouth to say something, anything, but no words come out, a frozen expression of surprise on your visage.

Jun-Hee's lips tilt slightly upward, the motion bunching his cheeks up, almost as if he was trying hard to suppress his laugh.

Pulling yourself together, you sit up properly and lean away from his shoulder. "Sorry."

You don't notice Jun-Hee's smile dropping imperceptibly and the light in his eyes dimming as you're no longer within close proximity. "Why are you apologizing?"

"It's nothing." The response is too dismissive even to your own ears as you can't conjure up an excuse for the sudden pretense, or for your outlandish behavior.

It would be quite a long bus ride, sitting next to each other, both not knowing what to say.

The space between Jun-Hee's eyebrows crease together in confusion, but he doesn't push the matter further.

You clear your throat awkwardly, shifting in your seat to sit on your hands. When did simply talking to him become so hard to do? You've hidden your feelings for years without problem, so why was it so different now? Those feelings changed and grew. "When did you come to sit here? Weren't you just sleeping earlier?"

Jun-Hee knocks his shoulder into yours, a teasing lilt to his voice. "You were watching me?"

"Pft, as if," You deny with lackluster confidence, scoffing. "I was just observing what everyone was doing."

"Right..." He elongates the word. "...And what I was doing was sleeping. That you watched." Jun-Hee looks at you again, a deadpan but knowing look on his face. Flustered, you duck your head only for him to mirror the movement, subtly leaning his own toward yours and trying to catch your eye. It ends up with him chortling as your forehead nearly collides with your knees in the slouched over position you had subjected yourself to.

Knowing full well you were being made fun of without a hint of malice, you twist your body sideways and lean your back against the window, turning to him with a glare. "Is this fun to you?"

As he laughs, you find yourself wanting to follow suit, but stick to the bit of maintaining your mock angry façade, slapping him on the arm. If anything, he continues to chuckle, barely flinching, finding your reaction rather amusing.

"Don't worry. I promise I didn't sneak any pictures." It quickly registers to you that he was clearly teasing So-Mi for earlier. You can't help the scandalized look on your face, cheeks puffing out as you try to hold in your laugh. "I guess you did notice a camera being pressed up to your face, huh?"

"Kind of hard not to with all the noise." He shakes his head in annoyance. "But I am still sleepy." Jun-Hee pulls your arm so that you're pressed against his side again, no semblance of space remaining between the two of you as he lowers himself, sinking further down into the seat, eyes shut and head now leaning against your shoulder.

"Jun-Hee..."

"Let me borrow your shoulder for a little while."

You're about to pull away, thinking he's playing around when his grip tightens on your arm.

"Think of it as returning the favor from earlier. We can call it even."

Making a vague sound of neutrality but not moving, you relax, and Jun-Hee lessens his hold, adjusting his position to be more comfortable. "Are you going to watch this time too?" His hand squeezes your forearm once.

"Dream on," you kid.

"Maybe I will," he answers with certainty. "Until it becomes reality."

"I didn't know you were this affectionate with everyone."

"Not just anyone. Only you," Jun-Hee mumbles, tilting his head further into the crook of your neck. His lips move dangerously close to the juncture of your shoulder, your pulse point centimeters away as he shifts around, finding the most relaxing spot to rest.

"Don't say things you don't mean." You can't bite your tongue fast enough as the words tumble out unprompted. That was supposed to be an inside thought no one else should be privy to but yourself.

"Who says I don't mean it?" You tense up beside him, at a loss for words, but Jun-Hee doesn't point it out, more than not nice enough to ignore it for your sake. "I'm self-proclaimed as your favorite." He bumps his knee against yours. "I know you better than anyone else."

"Do you, though?"

"...Of course, I do."

But you don't know that I'm already halfway in love with you.

"On what basis, mister?"

"Best friend privileges."

"Right..."

You stare down at the top of his head, Jun-Hee unaware of your blatant staring and the way your smile fades at the same time one appears on his face.

"That's acceptable, no?"

"Of course, it is. Best friends. That's what we are..." You trail off.

And I guess that's all we'll ever be.

Hours later, the sky has since darkened and you can see the visible outline of the full moon on high, light not concealed by the stars weakly glimmering to illuminate the night.

Most, if not the entirety, of the students on the bus were asleep, except for you and your two lovable, but mischievous best friends sitting in front of you.

Yoon-Seo and Jung-Won peer over the back of their seats like cute meerkats, only their eyes visible, phones raised suspiciously in your direction.

"You're welcome in advance," Yoon-Seo says cheekily, showing the widest grin you've ever seen on her, eyes crinkling as Jung-Won stifles her laugh behind her hand. At your persistent eye signals, they sink back down into their seats, satisfied after overfilling their camera rolls.

As the bus slows down, indicating that your class was nearing your destination, the road gradually begins to get rougher and bumpier. It's a surprise Jun-Hee still hasn't woken up yet, sleeping soundly away still leaning on you.

Deciding to mess around with him, you slightly pivot your body so it's facing him, leaving enough room for his head to not fall off your shoulder.

"Jun-Hee," you call, tilting your head down in front of his.

"Jun-Hee ah." The bus is rocking him, lolling his head forward along with the movement, his face nearly downturned.

"Wake up, sleepyhead." Your shoulder is no longer acting as support when you turn your face directly below his and peer up, tilting your head like he had done to you miles back, smiling at his obliviousness to the harmless prank, peacefully undisturbed in his slumber.

"Kim Jun—" The bus lurches abruptly, running over a speed bump the driver misses, and your words die in your throat as it jostles Jun-Hee's body forward and consequently his head toward your own, his lips meeting yours. The next slope in the road, and the fleeting press of the accidental kiss fades away, but the butterflies in your stomach refuse to settle.

You're motionless, eyes wide, hands immediately coming up to touch your lips where they're still tingling from the lingering imprint of Jun-Hee's lips against your own, barely registering just how close his face is to yours still, remaining asleep all the same.

"Kids, we're here!"

Your teacher's announcement snaps you out of your thoughts and you hurriedly sit back as Jun-Hee's eyelids sluggishly part, the first thing they focus on is you. He grins drowsily, and you wonder what can truly fix the irreparable damage to your heart.

Get a grip, Han Seol-Hwa.

Forcing a smile that you hope isn't as awkward as it feels onto your face, you decidedly withhold the truth about the incident.

"That was the best sleep I've had in a while," Jun-Hee tells you, leaning closer to be heard over the ruckus of everyone moving around in their seats, wanting to alight the bus the moment it stops.

You scoot back reflexively with your face aflame, still not over what had happened.

Jun-Hee also pulls away, worry mixed with bewilderment evident on his face. "Are you alright?"

"What do you mean?" You cringe internally at how guilty the tone of your voice comes out.

"It's just..." Jun-Hee regards you for a moment, studying your face as you avoid his searching eyes. "You've been acting a little weird since this morning."

"I'm tired is all," you lie through your teeth.

"If I—"

Suddenly So-Mi appears next to the two of you in the aisle, eyeing you up and down judgingly. "Jun-Hee, the teacher said he wants to talk to us."

As Jun-Hee gets up but doesn't reply, you swiftly scoot out of your own seat and attempt to scurry away to where Yoon-Seo and Jung-Won are waiting for you by the wheel, wanting to avoid the dreaded conversation you knew was sure to follow.

So-Mi dismisses your presence completely, standing into the empty space between the rows in an effort to block Jun-Hee off.

His eyes count your steps and before you can move even a feet away, he grabs ahold of you, fingers wrapping securely but tenderly around your wrist. Your pulse quickens beneath your skin, and you wonder if he can feel how rapidly it bounds under his touch.

"Seol-Hwa—"

Jun-Hee appears a bit dejected for some reason you'd rather not dwell upon. You gaze down at his grasp on you before turning to face him.

"Didn't you hear me?" So-Mi interjects, trying to make him focus on her by stepping into his line of vision, but his eyes remain fixed only on you. "Seonsaengnim needs both of us for something."

Your fingers graze Jun-Hee's as you slowly remove his hand, much to his reluctance. To the bitter distaste of So-Mi, he doesn't seem like he'll go along with her any time soon. She directs her glare at you once more, and you sigh quietly, not wanting to be in the middle of this interaction one bit.

"I'll see you later Jun-Hee."

"Wait—" He tries to grab your hand again, but So-Mi is quick to turn his shoulder away, making up filler dialogue.

Given the slip unintentionally, you speed walk toward your friends, and the three of you descend the steps. You feel Jun-Hee's stare burn through the back of your head yet refuse to turn around.

Maybe if you leave everything that happened on the bus and the thoughts along with it, you'll go back to being yourself soon enough.

The teacher is pacing the edge of the curb looking perturbed, voice frustrated as he speaks into the phone, the person on the other end not comprehending a single word.

Before you can tune into what he's saying, Yoon-Seo taps you on the forearm, whispering, "Have we been here? Why do I feel like I have? It's so familiar..."

"All the youth centers look the same," Jung-Won settles, rummaging through her backpack. "Yoon-Seo, Seol-Hwa, I'm heading in first. See you inside."

You wave to her as Yoon-Seo stands beside you, unmoving and gazing up at the third-floor window of the building.

"Yoon-Seo...?" You move your hand back and forth in front of her face, and she finally blinks, her gaze returning to normal.

"What is it?" she responds absentmindedly.

"That's what I should be asking you." You halt at the blank expression on her face staring back at you.

"I thought I saw something..." She points at the window but when you look, squinting against the dark to focus your eyes, all you can see is the white curtains billowing back and forth from the window barely cracked open.

"It's only the wind. Your mind is probably playing tricks on you." Yoon-Seo seems assured by your answer for the time being, nodding. You rap on her head lightly with a loose fist, mock admonishing. "Aigoo, Miss Detective. The books are taking over your imagination."

Yoon-Seo laughs and shoves you playfully. "Don't act like you don't also live and breathe all things horror."

"But I'm not the one seeing things, am I?" Raising your eyebrows at her teasingly, Yoon-Seo simply rolls her eyes and links her arm with yours.

"Come on, let's go. It's cold out here, and I want to see the rest of this place."

The two of you enter the lobby, and the first thing you take note of is the pure white marble statue of a girl, sitting atop a pillar and staring down into nothingness, eyes soulless and devoid of emotion. It’s melancholic in a way, a personified goddess, yet alone and ostensibly powerless.

"Yoon-Seo, don't you think those eyes remind you of anyone?" You fix your gaze on the figurine closely, examining the features etched haphazardly into the rock. Whatever intention the sculptor had, you couldn't find the purpose for the seemingly out of place decor.

Yoon-Seo nudges you. "Now who's the one with the wild imagination?"

"I'm being serious here."

"I don't see any resemblance to anyone we could possibly know. There's no informative plaque on who it may be either."

You shrug. "Maybe it's just me then."

"Aren't you two going to scan?" Jung-Won ushers you and Yoon-Seo toward the flyer:

[ sᴄᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ǫʀ ᴄᴏᴅᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡɪ-ғɪ ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴsᴛᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ʏᴏᴜᴛʜ ᴄᴇɴᴛᴇʀ ᴀᴘᴘ ᴀᴜᴛᴏᴍᴀᴛɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ ]

"This place has an app? What for?" you question.

"Hmm, I'll just stick to this paper booklet they have instead." Yoon-Seo decides quickly, rifling through the readily available printed maps.

"You'll have to lead me around," you say in all earnestness. "I'm very direction disoriented."

Jung-Won doesn't even try to hide her smile. "We can tell."

"It's not my fault I was born like this." You dramatically fall back onto Yoon-Seo. "Would you two really lead me astray as my best friends?"

Yoon-Seo giggles behind you. "No way. We saw how dazed you were getting off the bus earlier. You need all the help you can get."

Jung-Won snickers, shaking her head while dragging you and Yoon-Seo through the double doors of the gymnasium where the rest were gathered.

Everyone is off scattered into their own respective friend groups, your trio throwing your backpacks haphazardly on the floor before sitting against the wall of bleachers yet to be pulled out.

Jun-Hee and So-Mi enter shortly after with the teacher, engaged in a discussion. You look away before they can notice, and focus on the girls attempting to practice for their performance instead, Woo-Ram filming their efforts. Joo-Young pushes Mi-Na out of her spotlight and steals it openly, not that Woo-Ram minded. If anything, he holds the camera ever-sturdier, a newfound excitement apparent this time around as he zooms into her face. His happiness is short-lived however, as Kyung-Joon turns off the speakers nonchalantly, forcing the girls to start over from the beginning, much to their irritation.

Despite what you decided on earlier, you can't help but throw glances over in Jun-Hee's direction. He's seated at the table reserved for school council members by the entryway, overlooking everyone as So-Mi talks his ear off, undeterred by his indifference.

"Stop staring. You're going to wear away his pretty face," Yoon-Seo jokes from your left.

"I wasn't staring," you reply back half-committally, knowing she's caught you in the act.

"You totally were," Jung-Won joins in, slowly leaning her head on your right shoulder. "Let me borrow your shoulder while I code."

"If she's allowed, I should be too," Yoon-Seo copies, mirroring Jung-Won from your left side.

"Careful, that one's Jun-Hee's. You'll have to wait your turn, Yoon-Seo."

"Oh my god," you groan, embarrassed, hiding your face into your hands as the two laugh beside you, kicking your feet from both sides with theirs. "You two are merciless."

"Are you going to deprive me of the best sleep I'll ever have?" Yoon-Seo snuggles closer, hugging you tightly to her.

"Yah! Lee Yoon-Seo!"

You had the intention of taking Jun-Hee off your mind by hanging out with your friends, only for you to see bits of his personality in Yoon-Seo, their long-time friendship having had them taking on one another's mannerisms.

"I'm using my best friend privileges." Jung-Won pats you on the knee. "Stay still."

As Yoon-Seo and Jung-Won squish into you from both sides, you can't help but giggle at the sheer absurdity of the reenactment and their dedication to coming up with jokes on the fly. You try to fight back the onslaught of laughter, but it's entirely pointless in their presence. Traitorously, your eyes crinkle in mirth, half-crescents resting atop your cheeks as your laugh tinkles in the shared space, making the other two giggle along, shaking with glee where they're pressed against you.

Jung-Won eventually caves and sits up properly when all the hooting you and Yoon-Seo are doing keeps rattling her laptop, messing up her coding. A permanent smile sits on her face though, watching you two bicker.

"Jung-Won, help, I need my inhaler. I can't breathe from laughing so much," Yoon-Seo gasps out, holding her stomach.

"I'm not getting it for you."

"I can't believe you would tease me at the expense of your asthma." You push Yeon-Seo away, sniggering as she goes back to clinging onto your arm and laying her head back on your shoulder.

Jung-Won turns to look at you and Yoon-Seo briefly, her eyes shifting to the side momentarily, a ghost of a smile settling on her lips before she resumes attention to her laptop. "Don't look but Jun-Hee is watching."

Right as she says that, you make to move your head, but Yoon-Seo expects it and holds your chin in place with her hand, pinching your cheeks playfully.

"I said don't look!" Jung-Won chuckles.

It throws Yoon-Seo into another fit of giggles as you try to speak through your puckered lips. She releases her hand quickly after, and you drop your head to lean on the crown of hers, giving up.

You elbow Jung-Won in her side. "Were you messing with me?"

"Why would I?" she says innocently, typing away.

You look at her pointedly. "Yeah, you totally wouldn't."

Jung-Won holds her hands up in a motion of surrender. "I'm not this time, really. Seeing So-Mi angry is my favorite past-time."

"So mean," Yoon-Seo sing-songs.

"And you had no part in this?" You poke Yoon-Seo in the cheek. "Who told you to have an annoyingly cute and kind best friend?"

"You mean you?"

"You know what I mean."

"It's true."

"Guess I'll have a crush on you instead."

Yoon-Seo chortles with laughter. "So, you do admit you like him!"

"I didn't say that!"

"I read between the lines."

“It was one line!”

"This really sucks," Jung-Won says off-handedly, scrolling through the app. "I can make something like this in a day."

"Huh?" Yoon-Seo inquires, lost.

"You really didn't scan the QR code earlier? It was installed automatically. Give me your phone. I'll do it for you."

"No, it's okay. I'll get by. It's a short trip."

"I wouldn't put it past Yoon Seo to carry around the paper map for two whole days," you jest.

"Careful, you can't even navigate well, Seol-Hwa."

Jung-Won snorts at Yoon-Seo's jab.

"You got me there. If you tell me to walk back the way we came from I'd probably end up walking in the opposite direction."

Yoon-Seo shakes her head in fond disbelief.

"I'm not getting any signals in here." Jung-Won holds her phone up high, arm stretching.

While you watch as Jung-Won moves her device around to figure out the cause of the lost signal and no connection to Wi-Fi, Yool rushes past, making a mad run for the storage room. Adjacent to the bleachers where you and your friends were sitting, he flings the door open with purpose and digs through the contents of the room. Various apparatus gets upended from their designated places, the speed and sheer amount of hiking gear, equipment for ball sports, as well as other items meant for the gymnasium flying out from the doorway is nothing short of the effects in a comedic cartoon. Knowing how much of a jokester Yool was, you pay it no mind and turn back to the task at hand.

You pull out your own phone to try and locate even one bar of cell phone service, only to be met with the message that the vicinity was an unserviceable area. "That's weird. We're not in a remote place or anything like that. What happens if the power goes out, then?"

Right as you say that, static from the speakers produces head-splitting screeches, causing everyone to recoil with palms over their ears in annoyance, the lights flashing once before cutting out.

With everyone fearing the worst, a few remain unmoving while screams of the rest bounce off the walls, echoing in the spacious room. You and Yoon-Seo however, have no reaction, more curious than anything else.

"Why did you turn the lights off?" Someone you can't put a name to probes in the dark. "Turn them back on!"

Following in haste after one another, the students make good use of their phone flashlights, aiming it at the court's center, revealing a figure cloaked in white standing as clear as day amidst the obscurity of the room.

While the majority cower in fear, clutching onto their friends, Hyun-Ho imperturbably throws a basketball at the unknown prowler, knocking them over in one go.

"Ouch!"

The white sheet is flung off theatrically, and out crawls a disheveled but cackling Yool.

"Aish, seriously," Hyun-Ho admonishes. "Quit goofing around."

Kicking the blanket to the side away from his feet, Yool raises his hands up in the air dramatically, acting to the end. Not a single person has managed to find the overhead lights in the meantime, the only ones illuminating the outline of his thin frame were the stage bulbs operating on a different circuit.

"While I have your attention, you guys have to listen up," he begins conspiratorially. "I heard a harrowing tale that's been passed down to everyone who steps foot into this building." Yool looks from one classmate to the next, more serious than he's ever been. "They say a female high school student took her own life here." He continues on as gasps and murmurs spring up around you. "There are things you absolutely can't do." He waggles his pointer finger dramatically for emphasis. "Don't look back after glancing in the mirror past midnight, and ignore it even if someone were to grab your ankle while you are asleep. If you don't follow these rules..." Yool pauses for staged effect before walking in broken steps like he’s possessed, arms and legs bent in odd angles, rushing straight toward the dancers still seated on the floor.

"...YOU'LL SEE A GHOST!"

Shrieks pierce the room as someone manages to flip the lights on again with perfect timing, ending Yool's one-man show.

Jung-Won clucks her tongue while you and Yoon-Seo look at one another. You were expecting her to be as nonchalant as you were, all her readings considered, but she's staring straight ahead, spooked.

"Earth to Yoon-Seo?" You touch her hand and she flinches, causing you to jump as well from her unexpected reaction.

"Huh?" She whips her head toward you, still zoned out. "Sorry." A forced smile settles on her face, an infrequent sight to her usual bright demeanor. "Don't worry, it just felt like deja vu for a minute."

"You said something similar earlier. Are you sure you're doing okay?" Your voiced is laced with worry.

"See, this is why I told you two to tone it down with the heebie-jeebies. You're only scaring yourselves." Jung-Won pats your head and then Yoon-Seo's in turn. "We should go to our rooms anyway. They all have too much energy they can't wait to waste away," Jung-Won states, gesturing to everyone milling about.

"Let's go?" You pull Yoon-Seo up, and she nods in return, reassuring you that she was finally present and not off and away in her thoughts.

As the three of you leave, your ears perk up at the last thing you hear Yool say.

"Did you guys really believe it?" His sentence is cut by a boisterous laugh, pleased to no end at the affirmative from his friends. "Eyy, come on now, it was just an innocent and fake joke. None of us are going to die. Not tonight and not for a long time to come."

SYNOPSIS | 02 : THE BUTTERFLY EFFECT

© 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐇𝐚𝐬 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞. 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨, 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞, 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫-𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐭. 𝐀𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 𝐢𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞.

[lazysublimeengineer]

Birth Order Theory: The Anvil of Responsibilities of Being The Oldest

I've read something interesting about new official informations about Rin & Sae from Kaneshiro:

• Sae doesn't see himself fighting with Rin. The author thinks that Sae is more like “Why is my younger brother picking a fight with me like that?”

Ik that a lot of people have been surprised at this tidbit but considering Sae's behavior and personality, it's not really a farfetched line of thought to him.

Which is why this brings the attention of Alfred Adler's Birth Order Theory in theories of personality as the theory's core idea is that the birth order of a person shapes the person's personality and attitude.

I remembered that I did bring this theory back in Kiyora and how his backstory is related to it but it's interesting to note on how this is also related to Sae's life and story with his family in general.

According to Adler, "firstborn children typically have higher expectations placed upon them by parents and thus develop a greater sense of responsibility and ambition."

Noticed that in Rin's backstory in this match, it is revealed that when they're younger Sae has been taking care of him albeit in a "practical way." He's the acting second parent of his brother when their parents are unable to immediately fulfill on that role because of some other factors which might be a career related scope hence it is the "oldest child" whose responsibility to take care of their younger siblings and placed higher expectations around them.

Typically, these children are the usual achievers and the most matured of the siblings. However, the downside of it is that the other people can see them as bossy, blunt and overly ambitious.

When Rin and Sae had a fallout during that snowy scene in the manga, it's one of their major fights between the two of them. But I'd like to interpret Kaneshiro's words about the new information if we're going to step into Sae's shoes for a moment. In his own perspective, it's not him fighting with his brother but him enacting his "tough love" on him because he experienced firsthand on how harsh and cold reality could be for geniuses in other countries. It's him acting out as a "parent" to his brother to toughen himself out because it's a shit world out there. Sae was clearly hurt by Rin's words in their confrontation but I gathered that Sae was in his "tough skin mode" to let it deter him. The core strength of his character had also become one of his weaknesses as he failed to understand on how his words must've cut deeply to Rin especially his younger brother idolized him and place him on a pedestal. That's why he can't imagine fighting with him because he's always acting tough for the two of them and he was taught of some adult responsibilities when he was young.

Can't believed that Adler's theory will be relevant as Freud's Psychoanalytic theory in Blue Lock but here we are once again.