#beautiful traumatized fictional man

[jasontoddenthusiastt]

Honorary appreciation post for this mentally exhausted sweetheart.

[variousxcruelties]

disgustingly down bad for pixel man lucanis dellamorte

[blossom-hwa]

a very fine line, indeed [1] | c.bg

pairing: Beomgyu x fem!reader genre:  fluff, angst, enemies to lovers, regency era!au, nobility!au warnings: attempted assault, mentions of abuse, cursing, period typical misogyny word count: 6.3k notes:  — updates every M/W/F at 8pm EST until the series finishes — assault/abuse scenes are not graphic, but please heed the warnings and let me know if any of it is romanticized or just written in poor taste--I assure you I did not mean it, and I will fix anything needed. — inspiration taken from an amalgamation of different bridgerton stories - let me know what easter eggs you find! — story takes place in the same universe as my duke!yeonjun and earl!taehyun fics - check out the link to the series below for some more easter eggs :) In a society where it only takes a year for a young woman in search of a husband to be considered out of season, it is no wonder that by your third year out, you are desperate to marry. Known as one of the beauties of the ton, such a task should not be difficult for you—but with an absent father, no dowry, and a reputation centered around your inability to keep your mouth shut around one certain Beomgyu Choi, your prospects are more limited than you’d like. While you cannot recover your family or your wealth, however, the one thing you can try to control is your reputation. So when the third season rolls around, you resolve to keep your distance from Beomgyu Choi, your childhood enemy, and the man you hate most in the world. Enter Beomgyu Choi, second son of the Kensington Viscountcy, one of the most eligible bachelors in the ton. His older brother, cousin, and good friend have all recently married, leaving the mamas to salivate at his doorstep for the chance of marrying one of their daughters to him. When Beomgyu walks in on a particularly traumatizing moment between you and one of the most unsavory men in the ton and learns of your desperation to marry, despite your history of enmity, he proposes you a devious deal—to pretend to court you. It seems like a winning situation for both of you—more gentlemen will take notice of you, enhancing your prospects, and he will have the ton’s mamas off his back—and so, despite your misgivings, you agree. With you hell bent on marriage and Beomgyu completely indifferent to the concept, even independent of your hatred for each other, it seems unlikely that any sort of true affection will bloom. But as you begrudgingly put aside your differences to spend more and more time in one another’s company, and as you grow to know each other beyond your ill-conceived preconceptions from childhood, you begin to realize that perhaps you two have more in common than you had once thought. And as your faked acquaintanceship becomes more truth than fiction, a friendship beginning to bloom most unexpectedly— Perhaps you no longer need to convince the ton of the veracity of your courtship, because anyone with eyes can see that it is true.  Part 1 >> Part 2

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By the end of the night, you think you might murder someone.

It’s not the party’s fault. Lady Arina Park always hosts the first ball of the season, and in the three years you’ve attended them, not once has it ever been a disappointment. Her taste in decoration always sets the tone for the months to follow, and she is the most wonderful hostess—crotchety, kind, and always brimming with wisdom to impart. 

She might be one of your favorite people in the ton. 

Unfortunately, you cannot only talk to one person the entire night, and given your own reputation, you’re not sure you even have the social right to speak to her this season. See, it was never the party that was the problem. 

It is the fact that you have attended now three times in three different years, each without a husband. 

This is a fact that seems to dog you everywhere you go. Beautiful, sharp-tongued Miss L/N is going yet another season without a man on her arm—or at least a serious man on her arm. Never mind that you have had two proposals, both of which you turned down quietly and did not announce out of sympathy for the man’s reputation. You might be on your third season and desperate, but you rather think you’d prefer to become a spinster than marry either of those who asked for your hand. 

Lord Kierston was nice enough, if absentminded. You genuinely might have said yes to him if not for two things—his rotten breath (you have no idea what he could be eating to have such horrid breath all the time), and the fact that he is over the age of forty. 

You are barely one and twenty. And while there have been married couples with greater age gaps than that, you wonder if it is truly too much to hope to find someone nearer your age.

As for Mr. Thompson…he wasn’t even nice. He was rude, and arrogant, and during his proposal blatantly said that you would have to accept him as with your lack of dowry and snide personality, you had no choices elsewhere. All facts for certain—your dowry is nonexistent, your character is not one that endears many to you, and at the time, no other men were seriously courting you so it was true you had no other options. But you could still be a spinster, you let him know. And you would far rather be old and unmarried than tied to a man such as he. 

He looked almost murderous when you said that, which was why you’d excused yourself quickly after. You may consider yourself cleverer than most, but you are no fool. You thank your few lucky stars that your family left for the country just a few days later at the end of the season and you haven’t seen him since. 

But now you are back in town, with a fresh new crop of debutantes to outshine your wilting, rotten personality, a father trying to drum up business abroad, an evil stepmother breathing down your neck, and possibly a Mr. Thompson to run into. Not to mention Lady Whistledown with her peacock feather pen and watchful monocled eye, carefully waiting to elaborate on your futile prospects with her sharp-tongued words. 

Not that you know if she uses a peacock feather pen or a monocle. As far as your knowledge stretches, no one in the entire ton save the writer herself knows who she is. But you’ve always imagined her with such things. Ridiculous to the max. It makes it much easier not to strangle someone after you read her words about you. 

God, you’d care so much less about her gossip column if she wasn’t so damn good at writing it. 

You wish you were still in the country. Lady Whistledown wouldn’t see you there, and her gossip column would never reach your home. In fact, the only reason you’re certain she isn’t part of your sparse circle is that your spat with the younger Lord Choi at the garden party last year took at least two weeks to be broadcast in London after you came back for the season. Someone had to feed her the information before she could issue it, including your now infamous quote about how you’d like to slit his throat with his own letter opener. 

Your stepmother yelled at you for hours over it. You were sentenced to a week of nonstop chores and none of the few servants still in your family’s employ were allowed to help. Yet at the end of the day, Lord Choi the Younger is a menace to you and to society, and so you privately still stand by your comment. 

Lord Choi the Younger. Mr. Choi, when his brother is in the room. Annoyance. Menace. The devil in disguise. All apt nicknames by which to call Beomgyu Choi, one of the most annoying people you’ve ever met. Which, unfortunately, brings it all back to here and now, because apparently he is in attendance at tonight’s party. 

And hence why by the end of the evening, you might be locked up in jail for murder. 

Last season after the horrible garden party, you took very, very great care not to end up in the same room as the younger Lord Choi. For the most part, you succeeded. You couldn’t always avoid him—the ton is only so large—but the few times you had to come face to face with him you managed at least one minute of civil conversation before it turned into thinly-veiled verbal sparring that you thankfully had the self-control to bow out of sooner rather than later. But apparently people found your little spats amusing. A source of entertainment. And Lady Whistledown has remarked more than once since then that it would certainly liven up the endless parade of balls and parties to see a showdown between you and Mr. Choi once more. 

You’ve been at this ball for hardly two hours and already almost everyone who’s spoken to you tonight—even Lady Arina Park!—has found some sly way to allude to a possible catfight between you and Mr. Choi to bring down the house. And unfortunately, experience tells you that in the heat of the moment, you care about getting the last word in with Mr. Choi far more than you care about your precarious reputation. 

You do so hate to disappoint the ton, about as much as you love it when your grievances are aired in public via the Whistledown gossip column. And it does so truly break your heart not to be the sole source of entertainment at Lady Park’s annual ball. But this is your third season out and you need to be married soon, so when you see the man himself wearing that annoyingly bright smile and surrounded by an annoying number of young girls and their mothers, you make the first excuse you can to duck out of the ballroom and make a beeline for the gardens, where you find yourself in sudden silence. 

Sudden, but not altogether unwelcome. The night air feels comforting on your face, wind breezing softly against your skin. You hadn’t realized how hot the ballroom was until you came out here. You settle on one of the benches in the garden and fan yourself with a hand, letting the cool air bring you back to the moment. No one else is out here as far as you can tell. You can relax, if only for a moment.

For a few minutes you just sit in the moonlight, your face tilted to the sky, letting the cool air kiss your cheeks. It would be lovely to just stay out here all night, you think. Away from the people, away from the stares, away from the crushing anxiety that no one will ever want to marry you and you’ll have to live at home with your horrible stepmother forever—

A branch snaps. Your eyes fly open. And all of the anxiety returns, with a healthy dose of fear, when you see Mr. Thompson looking at you from the other side of the garden. 

For a long moment you just stand there. Looking at each other. All of the night’s beauty has been forgotten, its comforting silence turned threatening in light of the knowledge that you are a young, unmarried woman alone with a man in a garden. 

Scandals have been made out of less. 

“Mr. Thompson,” you say in as flat a tone as possible. “I apologize. I was just leaving.”

“Now don’t leave on my account, Miss L/N.” His mouth twists in what looks more like a sneer than a smile and he takes a step toward you. You take a step back. “It is lovely to see you after a summer away. Your beauty hasn’t diminished a bit with your age.”

You almost snort. Exactly how much does a person change in one summer? “Apologies if I don’t quite take your compliment, Mr. Thompson. I was not under the impression we were on speaking terms after last season.”

“We never spoke again because you left for the country.” That sneer-smile grows wide and you start calculating how much of a head start you’d need to flee into the ballroom before he caught you. “If it were up to me, I would have proposed again, after you had had the time to consider it.”

This time, you do snort. “With all due respect, sir, after an entire summer to think about it, my answer remains the same.” You still your features into a cold mask and pray, even with the sinking feeling of dread in your chest, that he will go away. “I will never marry you, Mr. Thompson. As I aptly put during your first proposal, I would rather become a spinster than entertain the thought.”

His eyebrows draw in. You’d think the sight was comical if his eyes didn’t glint with menace under the moon. “Do you really think yourself better than me?” he snarls. “You should be thanking me now, for offering you this second chance.”

You laugh incredulously. “Thanking you? For what?”

“I’m your last hope.” He advances so quickly you almost trip on the hem of your dress as you stumble backward. You try to hide the panic rising in your throat as you glance at the house—still full of light, still full of gaiety while you’re trapped outside by the night and this man. “No one wants you, Miss L/N.” He lunges forward and you gasp, his hands uncomfortably tight around your wrists. “Not a single one.”

“Let go of me,” you snarl. “Let go of me—get off me—”

“Not—” He grunts as you stomp on his foot, but doesn’t let go. “Not until I have what I want—”

You manage to free an arm and before you can think, your fist careens through the air straight into his face. 

For a long moment you just stand there, barely able to breathe, the thump of Mr. Thompson’s body falling to the ground playing over and over in your mind. Your heart is pounding and your breath is coming out in short gasps and your fist throbs with pain. A sort of buzzing sound fills your ears. The world starts blurring before you and vaguely you wonder if it’s just the night, or if you’re about to fall. 

“Miss L/N. Miss L/N!”

The sound of your name from a familiar voice breaks through the buzz and you blink, coming back to earth. It takes a moment for you to reassess the situation. 

Mr. Thompson is still on the ground. 

It does not look like he will be getting up soon. 

You are still physically unhurt. 

And there is a new third person in the garden with you. 

Oh, God. You resist the urge to bury your face in your throbbing hands. Not only did Mr. Thompson try to assault you, you also knocked him out with your own fist, and someone caught the two of you in the garden just after it happened. Or maybe even before. Maybe they saw it, saw everything—how much did they see? How badly will your reputation be ruined beyond what is already in tatters?

A hysterical laugh builds in your chest. All that comes out is a strangled whimper. You’ll never be married once Whistledown gets her hands on this. No matter that Mr. Thompson didn’t succeed in whatever he planned to do with you. All that matters is that you were alone with him in a garden at the first damn ball of the season and someone saw you.

Things couldn’t get any worse than this. 

“Miss L/N.” The familiar voice says your name again, this time accompanied by a cautious hand on your shoulder. You flinch viscerally but it doesn’t leave. “Miss L/N,” it repeats, considerably lower than before. 

You shut your eyes hard. Open them. You try to take a breath and only just manage to stifle a strangled half-gasp before it leaves your throat. You’ll have to face your fate at some point when you beg for this person not to immediately spread this juicy piece of gossip to every person in the ballroom. With heaven’s mercy, they’ll take pity on your situation and leave some details out of the story. Or at least not embellish what they already saw. Praying silently to the hopefully-merciful heavens, you slowly turn around. 

And then you curse out loud. 

“What in God’s bloody name—”

You were wrong when you thought things couldn’t get any worse, because the man standing before you is Beomgyu Choi. 

The heavens must be having a good damn laugh at you right now. 

. . . . .

After what just happened, Beomgyu is honestly surprised that the first thing to come out of your mouth upon seeing him is a curse. Maybe he should be thankful, though. This probably means that you’ll come out of this all right. 

“Goodness,” he says as genially as he can, given your outburst. “I would have asked if you were all right, but based on your reaction to seeing me, I suppose you are just fine.”

“Mr. Choi.” You look and sound vaguely sick. Beomgyu gathers that you would rather be anywhere than here. “Apologies. I did not realize it was you.”

“I gathered about as much.” Now that he knows you’re fine, or at least standing upright, he steps forward to check on Mr. Thompson. Thankfully and regrettably, the man still has a pulse. Beomgyu wouldn’t purposely wish death on anyone, but if he had to choose one person in the entire ton he wouldn’t mind not seeing for the rest of his life, Mr. Thompson would certainly be one of the top contenders for the position. He looks back up at you. “Pray tell, Miss L/N, what is your first made of? Pure steel? You’ve knocked the poor man out.”

You look to be grinding your teeth even as you speak. “I had no intention—”

“I am not chastising you, my lady.” He smirks. “In fact, I must say I’m quite impressed.” Then he squints. “You’re not about to swoon, are you?”

A long silence hangs in the air before you mete out a very measured reply. “I am not going to swoon, Mr. Choi. And the next time you decide to say something just as inane, take very good care, or you might find yourself in the grass next to Mr. Thompson as well.”

He lifts his hands in surrender with a laugh. God, he might hate you and you might hate him, but it really is so much fun to spar with you like this. “A jest, my lady. I thought simply to lighten the air.”

You open your mouth to reply, then close it. Beomgyu watches in amusement as you close your eyes for a good few seconds—ten, if he’s counting correctly—before taking a deep breath. Good God, you really are making some strong effort to rein yourself in this season. “With all due respect, my lord, what are you doing out here?” you finally ask. 

Beomgyu raises an eyebrow. “I might ask you the same question.”

“You were the one who walked in on a private disagreement,” you snap. “If anyone should be asking questions, it should be me.”

“It didn’t look like a private disagreement as much as an entire physical altercation,” Beomgyu retorts. 

He expects a rapid-fire reply from you just as he always has, but instead you blanch. Your lips suddenly look too pale, entirely drained of color, and your eyes are fixed on Mr. Thompson’s prone body. He stands up. “Miss L/N?” he says quietly, slowly stepping toward you. “Are you all right?”

“I—” You turn to him but it doesn’t look like you see him. “Don’t tell anybody,” you whisper. Your breaths have grown shorter, more rapid, and he bites back a curse. You look like you’re going into shock again. “Please. I can’t—if Whistledown—if people know what he did—what he tried to do—”

What he tried to do?

Well, clearly now is not the right time to ask, and it isn’t that difficult to put the pieces together anyway from what little he saw—Mr. Thompson grabbing you, you punching him, your current shock. If Mr. Thompson was awake he might yet punch him again but he isn’t, so Beomgyu focuses on you.

“Miss L/N.” He gently puts his hands on your shoulders. Something in your eyes seems to focus and internally, he sighs with relief. “I will not tell anyone what I saw today in the garden. Not a soul.” He takes one hand off your shoulder to place it over his heart. “On my honor, I swear it.”

Something in his words must have rung clear. Your breaths begin to slow, and you manage to nod. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” It’s somewhat strange, comforting his sworn enemy since childhood, but oddly enough he isn’t too conflicted. Even if you spend most of your time annoying Beomgyu out of his boots, you’re a person too, and clearly Mr. Thompson wasn’t doing anything good in this garden. If anything, Beomgyu is a man, and he knows what the other entitled men of the ton sometimes do. No woman—no person—deserves to be subject to their horrific plans. Not a single one. He keeps his voice as gentle as he can as he leads you to a nearby bench. “Will you tell me what happened?”

He stays quiet as you mumble out a vague summary of the altercation. That Mr. Thompson had proposed last season and acted an absolute arse about it, that you thought you’d seen the last of him but he showed up in the garden when you left the ballroom for some air (Beomgyu saw you leaving just as he entered so he gathers he had something to do with your quest for air, but he bites his tongue just this once). That he had proposed—if it could even be called that—a second time, and when you repeated your original sentiments, he grabbed you by the arms and told you to be grateful. 

And then you punched him. 

Beomgyu nods slowly at the conclusion of your story. “First of all, I must apologize. Being the recipient of a proposal from Mr. Thompson could be nothing short of traumatic.”

For the first time that evening, the ghost of a smile flutters across your lips. It’s a very nice smile. You have always been beautiful—even Beomgyu will admit that—but you’ve never directed a smile at him like this. Likely because you’re always scowling at him instead. Which, given your history, is fair enough, but that doesn’t mean this still isn’t nice. 

“There is a reason I turned him down,” you mutter. “I may need to be married, but I still have my pride.” 

He raises an eyebrow. “You need to be married?”

You fix him with a dead stare. “Mr. Choi, I am not exaggerating when I say that if I don’t marry this season, I will go insane.”

Beomgyu blinks. “…Not even a little bit?”

You look away with a loud sigh, muttering something under your breath. Beomgyu doesn’t hear all of it but he does catch something about three seasons and hopeless and men.

He chooses to focus on the first bit, because he gets the feeling that the last two wouldn’t end up being particularly complimentary to him or his kind. “Three seasons?”

You give him possibly the worst stink eye of anyone he’s ever met. “Yes, Mr. Choi. This is my third season out. If I am not married by the end of it I may as well be a spinster, and to be a spinster in my stepmother’s home is not a fate I wish upon anyone.” You look down, fiddling with the dance card around your wrist. “I need to get married,” you say again, though more to yourself than him this time. 

“You need it this badly, then,” he says, half amused, half surprised. “So much so that you would exit the ballroom the moment I entered for fear of confrontation.”

Annoyance flickers back into your eyes. It’s a much more familiar expression than the one you were just wearing, and thus infinitely more comfortable to deal with. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Mr. Choi, every time we come into contact in public, the resulting altercation makes its way into Whistledown and, as such, everyone else’s lives. Forgive me if I am only trying to pick up the remnants of my already shattered reputation.”

Beomgyu snorts. “You seem to think it my fault that your societal standing has plummeted so. Have you ever considered it a matter of your personality, instead?”

Low blow. He sees it in your face, in the way your eyes shutter as soon as the words leave his mouth. Immediately he wants to slap himself. He should apologize, but before he can open his mouth to do so, you’re replying through very obviously gritted teeth. “I have, actually.” You fix him with a hard stare that reminds him why half of the ton finds you terrifying. “I would be a poor judge of my own character if I did not realize that I am at least as responsible for our disagreements as you are.” A bitter laugh escapes your lips and curdles in the air. “And it is not as if the ton hasn’t been gossiping about my temperament for years.”

Beomgyu stays quiet. 

You let out a sigh. “I have answered quite enough of your questions, Mr. Choi, so I beg you now to answer mine. Why are you here?”

“Avoiding people.” He eyes the bright lights still coming from the ballroom. Distaste curl his lip. “Mamas, mostly. I suppose they are people.”

You don’t smile, but at least the tension in the air seems to lessen somewhat. 

“They seem to have gotten it into their minds that I intend to marry this season.” He shakes his head. “Just because all of my other friends are married doesn’t mean I intend to so soon as well.”

“I wasn’t aware that Mr. Huening was married.”

“Oh, so you do pay attention to me?” Beomgyu snickers at your outraged expression but continues before you can retort. “He has returned to his home country and won’t be back for the season. Ergo, I get attention I don’t necessarily covet.”

You snort. “I wasn’t aware there was any sort of attention you did not covet.”

Beomgyu sneers. “Couldn’t I say the same for you?”

“You—I can’t do this.” You stand up and Beomgyu can practically see the anger shimmering off you in waves. “I shouldn’t be here, you shouldn’t be here, and I don’t want to be here when Mr. Thompson wakes and decides to take a pass at me again. It’s bad enough that the two of us are alone—” Your eyes widen in horror. “The two of us are alone.”

Beomgyu stands too. “I guarantee you,” he says lowly, “not a word of this will pass my lips to anyone in the ton.”

“Thank you, but that hardly matters.” You take a large step away from him. “You walked in on Mr. Thompson. Someone else could just as easily walk in on the two of us.” Your voice turns sardonic. “And I’m sure you have no wish to be married to the likes of me for the sake of propriety. Good night.”

Well, that’s certainly true. Just the thought of it makes Beomgyu shudder. If your current relationship is anything to go by, the two of you would never stop talking, never stop arguing…

Hm. 

Beomgyu’s eyes narrow as he watches your back disappear from the gardens. He would never want to marry you, it’s true. But if you’re having trouble attracting suitors, and he has too many women on his tail…

“Miss L/N.”

You turn around with a huff. “What is it now?”

Beomgyu grins. He might just be a genius. “I have a proposition for you.”

. . . . .

“This is a very, very bad idea,” you mutter. Then you look around sharply, because it wouldn’t do for anyone to think that you see hallucinations on top of all of your other less-than-choice characteristics. Even though you made sure to stray far from prying ears in this garden, it seems Lady Whistledown’s eyes are everywhere. 

An issue came out just this morning. You were relieved beyond belief that not a word about your and Mr. Choi’s accidental tryst in the garden was mentioned, though she did mention a terrible black eye and a murderous expression on Mr. Thompson when he reentered the ballroom. 

Mr. Choi had assured you a man such as he would never admit that a woman had bested him in a fight. You weren’t sure you believed him until you got the paper and Whistledown could only speculate about what had caused such a spectacular black eye—apparently Mr. Thompson had remained tight-lipped and snarly to anyone who dared ask. And as he hasn’t come banging on the door of your home demanding retribution, you can only conclude that he doesn’t plan to.

All the better for you. 

Fortunately, beyond some other vague mutterings about the other debutantes and who danced with who and who hogged all the lemonade, that was all that was said about Lady Park’s ball. Not a word about you. Not a word about Mr. Choi. 

Not a word about the idiotic deal he proposed as you were trying to leave the garden, and not a word about how you were idiotic enough to agree. 

You never quite believed yourself stupid. If you had anything to your name besides your beauty, you would say it is your wit (quite separate from your sharp tongue, which is not even close to a blessing). But when you woke up the morning after the ball, you really re-thought all of your previous conceptions of yourself, because what on earth possessed you to agree to the insane proposal Mr. Choi presented you that night?

Unfortunately, you know the answer to that too. 

Desperation. 

He’d presented his idea so reasonably. “You are searching for a husband. I want the attention of the ton’s mamas off of me,” he’d said, his tone so calm as words of madness left his tongue. “If I pretended to court you, men would take more heed of you, and the mamas would be discouraged from chasing after me.” He spread his arms in a show of his apparent genius. “Thus, the two of us might find some success in each of our respective endeavors.”

You could only gape harder the wider he smiled.

To your credit, you refused at first. “That is madness,” you had scoffed, turning back around. “Who in this ton would believe that the two of us are courting? Our arguments have become their source of entertainment. No one is going to buy that we now like each other enough to be civil in one another’s presence, let alone court.”

He was still undeterred, for whatever damn reason. So convinced it would work out by his own sheer force of will, like most men. “So we will come up with a believable cover story,” he’d replied easily, still with that unflappable smile on his lips. “Listen, Miss L/N. You are desperate, and I need an out. What do either of us have to lose from at least trying?”

Try as you might, you couldn’t cobble together an answer. Because he was right. You were desperate. You still are. If you have to live another year in your stepmother’s home, cleaning and gardening and playing maid while still maintaining appearances for the ton, you will go mad. Not mad enough to accept Mr. Thompson’s suit, but mad all the same. 

So you had agreed, and in the process lost a healthy chunk of your own self-respect. But you refused to spend another moment in the garden alone with him that night for fear of others seeing, so you two decided to meet at the outdoor musicale at the park a few days later to discuss the…logistics of this plan. There would be plenty of time for refreshment before and after the performance—plenty of time for the two of you to sneak away and find each other. 

So here you are, standing in the sunshine without the cover of night to hide all of your bad decisions. The longer you stand here, the more you’re beginning to believe this is all a major mistake.

But like Beomgyu has said multiple times, you’re desperate. You’ve tried being yourself for one season. You’ve tried reining in your sharp tongue for another. Neither worked. What’s the worst that can happen? You not being married for a third season in a row? Sick as the thought leaves you, it’s not as if you haven’t pondered the possibility many times already. 

Anyway, if your stepmother drives you too far up the wall, you’ll just have to run away. Find work as a governess somewhere, or a maid. Nothing could possibly be worse than her shrill voice ordering you to do this or that while she sits on her arse all day without contribution, your father still gone on some business call hundreds of miles away. Easier said than done, but a bad plan is better than no plan. Or so you hope.

In fairy tales, this is when the handsome prince is supposed to swoop in with a charming smile to come and save you, the poor damsel, from her distress. Unfortunately, you are not in a fairy tale, and all you have to save you is Mr. Choi and this ridiculous deal. 

What a world you live in.

“Miss L/N.”

You jerk your head around to see Mr. Choi pushing through some bushes a few feet away. A quick glance behind him confirms that no one has followed him here. “Mr. Choi,” you greet, already feeling your stomach roll. This is a terrible idea. “I wonder if it isn’t too much to hope that you have re-thought your ridiculous plan and intend to call it off now?”

He snorts. “Of course not. You should be on the floor, praising my genius.” Before you can reply with something scathing about his big head and nonexistent intellect, he continues. “Besides, no matter how ridiculous you think my idea is, you’re still here.”

How you wish you were here to just call it all off. Unfortunately, you are just as desperate as you were several days ago. “Unfortunately, my desperation is greater than my self-respect at the moment.” You look up at where he’s still standing in the grass. “Do you plan to sit?”

He sits on the green next to you, that stupid unflappable smile still on his face. You want to slap it off. “We need a cover story,” he begins. “You were right on that front. Which means at some point, one of us must have apologized first for the cake and dirt incidents from when we were children.”

“You apologized,” you say immediately. “You knocked my cake over first, ruined my new shoes, and it was my birthday.”

Mr. Choi scowls. “You threw dirt at me—”

You raise your voice over his. “It was my birthday, and you didn’t even apologize then—”

“I had dirt in my hair!”

“And my new shoes were ruined! Forever!”

The two of you glare at each other for a long, long moment. Then you stand abruptly. “Forget it,” you mutter, ready to head back to the party. “If we can’t even agree on this—”

“Neither of us apologized,” Mr. Choi snaps. “We just agreed to put it behind us.”

You turn around slowly. “…Fine.”

He gestures impatiently to the grass. You sit down again, resolutely not looking at him. Silence passes over the two of you for a long time before you force yourself to speak. “So how exactly did that happen?” you ask, voice rough. 

Slowly, the two of you hash out the details, though not without your fair share of sniping back and forth. After the last season, the two of you met at a gathering in the country. Having seen how badly Whistledown had written of you two, you agreed to put your old resentments behind you. You began exchanging tentative letters through the off-season and those letters increased in volume as time went on and you became friendlier. It was very surprising when Mr. Choi asked if he might court you at this season’s first ball, but you did not say no, and that brings you up to now. 

None of it is verifiable. That’s the only thing that makes you think this plan has even a shot at working. You two were at some gatherings in the country together, and ironically, because you did your absolute best to avoid him by hiding in different places, there are definitely some moments where the two of you could feasibly have been alone together and talked things out. As for the letters, they don’t actually exist, but no well-bred person would dare ask to see private correspondence. Hopefully. 

You work out a schedule for the next few months. He must call on you at some point, and you both agree you’ll need to be seen in public at least several times. At least one promenade every couple of weeks, and you will dance together at least once at each of the balls you both plan to attend. One call a week and if he cannot make it, he must send flowers. “A large bouquet,” you say, internally smirking at his expression. “You must act serious about it so that the other men will know they must outdo you.”

By the time you’ve argued and compromised and sniped it all out, the sun is almost directly overhead, and you need to return in time for the musicale to start. Mr. Choi stands and you don’t refuse his hand to help you up, a new grudging respect in your chest for him. If anything, he’s a good negotiator, not to mention a gentleman. “Shall we return to the musicale together, then?” he asks, offering his arm. 

You stare at him. “Already?”

He peers at you, eyes twinkling obnoxiously. “There’s no time like the present, hmm?”

While you were talking and snapping and quipping, you were able to ignore the voice in the back of your mind screaming that this is a terrible idea. But now as you look at his proffered arm, it suddenly seems to be all you can hear. 

Everything is going to go wrong. You’re going to make a gaffe because for all you can act nice and pretty around pleasant people, you cannot hold your tongue in front of people you dislike, Mr. Choi obviously included. Which means someone is going to get suspicious because of your mistakes. Which means people are going to start talking and eventually the truth is going to come out and you will be humiliated publicly more than ever before—because what idiot pretends to court their enemy in an effort to gain suitors—and bloody fucking hell, this was a mistake and you might as well run away right now—

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to yet.” Mr. Choi’s voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts, his words gentler than before as he lowers the arm. You hate that he can do that—can be going back and forth with you for hours without pause, then put it all on hold to respect you as a woman and a human being. It makes it really hard to hate him as much as you want to, and ironically makes you hate him even more. “I only thought it would at least explain our combined absence, in case anyone noticed.”

You swallow hard. “No, you’re right,” you mumble. “We should—we should start now. Sorry.”

Mr. Choi raises an eyebrow. “I think that’s the first time you’ve ever apologized to me.”

And there it is. You scowl. “Don’t get used to it.”

He laughs aloud, a sound that would be quite pleasing if you didn’t want to punch him in the face so badly. “I am sure I won’t,” he replies, a bite beneath his genial tone that ironically soothes your anxiety. Yes, even if you two go through with this, nothing will actually change between the two of you. You’ll always be annoyances to one another. “Now, are you ready?”

You take his arm gingerly. “It doesn’t quite seem like I have another choice.”

Reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed this, and have a lovely day :)

[writingrock]

a lost dream

pairing: katsuki bakugou x reader (gender neutral) summary: katsuki has been missing you a lot recently, so he decides to visit you

notes: angst, major death, mourning, hurt, slight toxicity, moving on, time skip, mentions of alcohol, traumatic flashback

word count: 3.3k

a/n: recently made a prequel to this here!

“Hey, is Dynamight in? Got some papers he needs to sign.” 

“Oh.. um– honestly not sure. He’s been in and out all day. Why don’t you leave them on his desk?”

Simple enough. The office mailman wasn’t going to complain about that. It beats personally handing this to the pro hero. It’s always been fifty-fifty that the pro hero is either grumpy or decent. The man walks towards the pro-hero’s office, shuffling the stack of papers awkwardly as he opens the door with his elbow. Hoping that he opens it without making a mess. He knows he couldn't be bothered to pick them up if they did spill onto the floor. Muttering a line of prayer under his breath, his elbow sits on top of the doorknob. Pushing it down as he readied himself for the papers to fall.

Thankfully, the stack of paper remains stable. A small exhale of relief leaves his mouth as he walks into the office. Dynamight’s office is vacant and dark. Only a small section of the office is illuminated by the light seeping through the open door. Using the side of his shoulder, he manages to press the light switch to turn on. Flickering on with a low buzz, the office comes to view. The office is neat despite what one might think. Organised shelves filled with numerous documents and files with labels. Well kept and clean office space.

Yet on his desk were scattered piles of paperwork, almost as if he hasn’t been looking at any of them today. Usually even when looking at them, he’s still very tidy with them. Always keeping them in sections. Odd. The pro hero is usually diligent and retroactive. It wouldn’t make sense if he hasn’t already blazed through them. Carefully arranging the stacks of paperwork on the desk, he makes space for the new delivery of papers.

The simple office mailman continues to come up with various scenarios on why the boss isn’t here. His mind coming up with wild ideas that were pure fiction. He was about to leave when something clicked in his head. A sudden thought enters his head as he sets the papers down. "Could it be.." he sucks his breath in. Confirming his suspicions, the mailman looks at the calendar. On the wall is a well used calendar with marks and indications of deadlines and events. The ninth is circled. Suddenly, it makes sense.

“Ah.. it's the ninth of August already?”

Driving down a quiet road is a sleek, velvety red sports car, the low purr of the engine cuts through the air. Newly tinted windows hiding the identity of the driver. One hand on the steering wheel whilst the other turns off his phone completely. The screen turns black and in the reflection, you can see the famed hero Dynamight. Slinking back into the carseat, his steely gaze remains on the road. The one hand on the wheel smoothly manoeuvring the car perfectly to the road. Almost as if he’s driven through it multiple times. With a click of his tongue, Katsuki places his other hand on the steering wheel. It's as if someone was next to him, telling him to do so. But there’s no one but himself.

The roads are narrow, gently curving through the forest, the tree branches forming a natural canopy overhead. Turning his wrist to face him, his eyes peek at the time displayed on his watch. Ensuring he would be alone. Everyone had their set time when they visited you, he preferred it when he was alone when he did. Most knew this and never came by when he planned to visit you. Parking his car near your place, he gets out of the car with the bouquet he always gets for you.

Pure white lilies and purple heliotrope flowers paired with hyacinths painted with a beautiful gradient of blue and purple hues. You’ve always loved hyacinths. He also can’t forget that expensive sake he promised you. God forbid he did. If he turns up without flowers and alcohol, he probably wouldn’t hear the end of it. 

Heavy footsteps crunch against the soft, damp grass. Brushing over the blades of grass with each step. The sound changes to low thuds as he moves from the grass to a stone pathing. You’ve managed to find a beautiful place to live in. The area is abundant in maple trees with well maintained stone pathways. It's well taken care of: carefully pruned bushes and manicured lawns, the grass trimmed almost perfectly. There’s an air of serenity and peace here. You’ve always said you were going to live in a luxurious area surrounded by nature. The walk to your home isn’t far and before he knows it, he’s in front of your place.

You’d go up to the door and greet him with a hug. Your same cheerful greeting that he’s grown fond of. Like usual, he’d pretend to be annoyed at you. But it’s different. Not because the two of you got into a fight where the two of you aren’t on speaking terms. Katsuki would actually much prefer that rather than the one he’s currently experiencing. Heck, he’ll deal with petty fights, dumb hypothetical questions and even your indecisiveness. He’d much prefer to have you annoy him every day of the year. All of it is better to deal with than to live in a universe where you’re dead.

You can’t hug him because you’re buried under his feet– instead of you, there is only a slender, polished tombstone. 

“I’m here, Dumbass.” The usual gruffness in his voice turns soft as he places the bouquet on the base of your grave. Fresh, fragrant blooms giving colour against the cool grey slate. 'Dumbass' becoming a term of endearment for you. Around your grave, there are some recent offerings from the morning when you had other guests. Starting with the basic respects, he lights the incense, letting the thin line of smoke waft in the cool air before sticking it into the small incense holder. He gives a deep bow to greet your soul. Every year, he’d pay for a professional team to clean your grave. There wasn’t a chance he was going to let your grave be overgrown and turn into a mess. Hell would have to freeze over before he let that happen.

Katsuki is silent as he sits down on the ground, bringing out two ornate sake glasses as he pours one for you and another for him. Without a second thought, he downs the shot of sake, letting the slight burn settle in his throat. “I bought you this darn sake so you better enjoy it.” a grumble leaves his lips as he pours another for himself. Honestly, he drinks straight from the bottle but he could already hear your nagging from the grave so he stops. Putting the bottle aside, he gestures to his current outfit. His hero attire. Katsuki definitely looks incredibly out of place in this cemetery but he doesn’t give a damn. It’s for you. “You’ve always said you wanted to see my hero outfit. I can’t lie there hasn’t been a huge change but this is my most recent one. Figured you’d still want to see.” He explains as if you’re sitting next to him, “my gauntlets are probably the ones that changed the most though.”

He removes one of his gauntlets and starts to demonstrate the intricate details to his hero gear, disassembling it and reassembling it for you. Not a slightest sign of worry on his face as he expertly showcased the gauntlet. Describing each part and how it all worked together to become his weapons of destruction. You were always interested in his gear and how it worked. Finding all sorts of excuses to ask him about his hero outfit or gauntlets. 

“In the future, you’d better update me on your gear.” Your voice firm as you look up at your blond haired classmate. The two of you huddled over his hero gear, inspecting it curiously. Screws and loose bits were pushed to the side neatly to ensure they did not get lost. Snaps of metal prying open filling the dorm room. Complex mechanisms on the ground, cracked open to investigate the inner workings of the gauntlet.

Why would you care about his gear in the future? You’re just being nosy. He only scoffed at your words, “I’m not doing that. It’s none of your damn business,” his hands busy reassembling the gauntlets, your head peeking from his shoulder. Katsuki did not manage to reassemble his gauntlet. He got in trouble and had to do without his gear for a week. Despite his words, he always did end up updating you on every detail regarding his gear or costuming. Usually because you noticed a difference and bugged him about it. 

Slotting his gauntlet back on, Katsuki turns to point at the car parked under the maple trees. The deep, vibrant red paint gleams under the soft, filtered light that passes through the leaves of the maple tree. The polished alloy wheels had a metallic sheen to it, twinkling in the soft light. “You’re the reason I drove that damn thing here. You better take a good look at it.” Slight embarrassment laces his words as he turns away from the car. Unable to look at it. He feels like some asshole, show-off driving that car all the way here. Like some rich numbskull who has nothing better to do but show his car off at a cemetery. Who even drives a sports car to the cemetery? “I haven’t gotten those imported sports cars you used to talk about. But I’ll drive it over when I do.” Even if he looks like a lunatic driving a sports car to a cemetery.

He wouldn't have done it if not for you. Back when the two of you were classmates, you often talked to him about racing or any new sports cars that piqued your interest. Ranting about any recent races and how it was either rigged or perfect. Gushing about your favourite drivers who performed well in their races. Sometimes it wasn’t clear if you liked them for their talent or looks– honestly, it was probably a mix of both factors. Katsuki always acted like he didn’t care but he was always listening to you go on and on about them. The way you pulled magazines up to his face and essentially forced him to look at some cars. He always told you he didn’t care but it’s never stopped you from continuing your ramble. In a way, your endless talking did benefit Katsuki. Often at any event, someone eventually brings up those topics and thanks to you, he can actually chip in with a few thoughts. 

“Hey– when you get loaded, can you buy a sports car and drive me around?” A loud laugh and scoff left his mouth when he fully registered your words. Katsuki could not believe you just said that. What did you think he was? His eyes stared you down in pure disbelief. “Idiot, who the hell do I look like? I’m not buying some shitty sports car and then driving you– of all people– around.” His laughter filled the dorm room as he processed your words. At that moment, he thought your brain cells burned off from training.

“Why don’t you get one yourself?” He shoots back, still recovering from the dumb question you asked. Katsuki still remembered the look on your face. The blankest expression on your face as you bluntly say, “I don’t think I’ll ever make enough money to buy one.” Katsuki remembers this as if it happened yesterday- the way he chortled at your words and used his hand to rub your scalp roughly. His fingers running through your hair as he messed it all up. Your hair ended up looking like you just got out of bed. He thought you looked cute though. 

Katsuki can’t take you for a ride. But he can at least show you that in the end, he did buy one of those shitty sports cars. The wind blows past Katsuki, the palm of the wind running through his wild, dusty blond locks. Slowly, he turns back to the bottle and pours himself another shot. It’s been eight years. He’s moved on the best he can. At least he tried to. Nightmares of your death plaguing him occasionally during the month of August. They’ve gotten lesser over the years but they still occur. Detailed ones as if he was transported back to your death.

Sometimes he still asks himself if he could have saved you. The answer is no but he still lingers on the thoughts where he could have saved you. Etched into his brain is the sight of your mangled and bruised body lying lifelessly on the ground, beyond saving. Blood soaked through the rubble under your body. The air thickened with devastation and tragedy. In these night terrors, he’s always holding your body close to his, cradling your frail body as he wept. Choking through sobs as your name leaves his lips. Rocking his body slowly as he registers your death. A blank, empty stare staring down at your face. A painfully deafening ringing plays in his ears when he revisits the memory.

Katsuki doesn’t even realise how tightly he’s gripping the glass whilst the painful scene plays out in his head. A curse slips past his lips. Snapping out of it, he puts the glass aside and looks back at the erected tombstone. Your name written on the polished stone. His quivering red orbs tracing the curve of the letters in your name. Memorising the carved name on your tombstone.

Katsuki always thinks of you when he has a shit night. Memories of you entertwined with his emotions in the stillness of the night. When the weight of the world presses him down into the earth, the thought of you lightens the load even just slightly. Comfort tinged with sadness. He lays in his bed, thinking about every aspect of you. Your smile and the way you always spoke– the way you knew how to comfort him during trying times. During these nights, your absence is palpable and raw. All he wants to do is reach for your touch but you’re just a hollow space. 

“I’ve started seeing someone,” he awkwardly starts, the words don’t feel right leaving his mouth, “I know you would have wanted me to find someone. Because in your own words, ‘I can’t be alone.’ .” Katsuki rolled his eyes, it was like he could hear you say that phrase again. He describes his current partner to you. Every detail from how they met and every ‘dumb’ thing he did to court her. In a soft voice, he tells you of how she’s helped him move on and learn to regulate his emotions. How she lets him lean on her whenever he requires. As well as how she dragged him to therapy. She’s the rock he can lean on and he’s also hers. He’s devoted to her, wanting to take care of her as much as he can. To protect and be the man she needs him to be. Strangely, his current partner understands how much you mean to him and respects it. Words cannot describe how thankful he is for such a wonderful partner to enter his life.

Honestly, she reminds him of your stubbornness and wit. Almost as if you sent her to find him. His special lady is probably the most understanding and strong-willed woman he’s ever met. Besides you of course. Nothing could ever compare to you though. You are the dream he lost. Probably one of the best things that’s happened to him in his life. You’ll always hold a part of his heart no matter what. Because you’ve always been that irritating stain on his heart.

Painfully, he had to admit that the number of times he’s seen you in his new lover only fills him with guilt. It should have been you. He hates it when this thought springs through his mind and all he does is bury it deep. Katsuki swears he’ll never say it out loud because it’s unfair to his current partner. He hates himself for even harbouring that thought. Guilt and disgust coils in his stomach when that thought comes up. He refuses to acknowledge such a disrespectful thought. You'd find it appalling and scream at him if he ever revealed such thoughts. Hence why he takes his time in therapy seriously and pays no mind to such thoughts. His lover deserves that at least.

Katsuki allows himself this one day every year to mourn you again and reminisce of old memories. The ninth of August is when he comes here to sit in peace and talk to you, his lover. To fall back in love with you just for one day. The rest of the year, he does not think of you– or at least he tries not to. There’s no forgetting you no matter what he does. Hours of therapy or drinking will never be able to untangle you from him. The two of you essentially grew up together, meeting in UA and going through the whole ordeal of becoming friends. Not to mention that whole messy timeline where neither of you confessed the blatant feelings you both had for each other. He sighs at those memories. A pair of fucking idiots the two of you were.

Possibly the only regret in his life is that he didn’t ask you out sooner. But there wasn’t a way for him to know he’d have such little time with you. Katsuki accepts that you’ll always linger in his life, and he doesn’t mind. He never wants to forget you. But he’s learnt that he can make space for others too. Hours pass and he sits there, talking to you. Not registering the time that has already gone by. It’s only when the sky starts to turn into a deep orange, he gets up from the floor. Cursing to himself as he dusts any debris on his pants. His low gaze stares at where your body is buried and manages to curl his lips into the smirk you loved so much.

“I’ll see you next year. Savour the rest of that sake yeah?” Katsuki says goodbye to you. Hands in his pockets as he turns away, walking back to his car. “And I know, keep two hands on the wheel.” a long drawn out sigh leaves his mouth as he automatically repeats what you always told him. When he first got his licence and drove you around, he swears that’s all you said. Coincidentally, the wind runs by the blond and gently caresses him as he leaves. As if you had taken the form of the wind to give him a peck on his cheek.

Soft sounds of his footsteps echoing as he leaves your grave. Time slows as you watch him go further and further into the distance. The engine of that sports car you’ve always talked about purring to life as he gets in. You can hear the car drive off into the distance back to the city. Presumably back home and to his new lover. It should be you right? It should have been you. Your heart swells at the sight, slinking back into your home. At least you still had the sake right?

A dry chuckle leaves your ghostly form as you take the sake. Katsuki was right about one thing, your corpse would have rattled in your coffin if he did not bring this for you. Possibly haunting him out of spite.

In this lifetime, you’re simply a dream that will never come to fruition. The only thing you can wish for is to be reborn into another universe where you are next to him tonight. You'll wait for him to reincarnate together.

a/n : i wrote this for myself but i hope yall enjoy it <3

border credits: @enchanthings & @adornedwithlight

© writingrock 2024 do not copy, translate or repost.

[ctrlsht]

Fragment of the Past 01

pairing: patient!jungkook x psychiatrist!reader genre: thriller & yandere au

summary: You are a well-known and respected psychiatrist and author. You start treating Jungkook, who suffers from PTSD after surviving an extremely traumatic incident. As you help him confront his traumatic past, he begins to act strangely, and you start uncovering something about him that will change everything.

chapter summary: As you get to know your patient, Jeon Jungkook, you begin to notice that something is wrong with him, until the day he confesses to you what really happened during the night of the incident.

chapter warnings: mention of PTSD and depression, mention of hatred towards the family, mention of murder. This chapter is the only chapter that isn’t too heavy. word count: 8K

note: This fiction will contain multiple mental disorders and psychology facts. I conducted my own research to avoid spreading misinformation, but there may be aspects I've overlooked, so I am open for any corrections.

"Dr. Y/N, your next patient is already waiting outside. Shall I invite him in?" Soyeon asked while holding the doorknob, your office door slightly ajar. You leaned back in your swivel chair, glancing at the clock hanging beside the door. Soyeon stood patiently, awaiting your response.

“It’s still 2:30 and my next session is 3 o’clock. He arrived early?” 

“Yes, he did. In fact, he already arrived at 2. Although he mentioned not informing you since it’s still early.” 

You looked at the clock once again and contemplated your decision. You still have 30 minutes before the new session starts but you’re not going to do anything, anyway. Just like your next patient, you’re just waiting for the clock to strike at 3. 

“Let him in. We’ll just start early.”

After a few moments, the door opened once again and a tall muscular man entered the room. His movements are slow like he has all the time in the world and when he faced you, his eyes sparkled, and he offered a subdued smile without revealing his teeth. He removed his black ball cap and extended his hand, presenting you with a box of cake.

“Good afternoon, doc. I’m sorry I’m too early from the original schedule but I got you a strawberry cake. Heard that you love them.” He said.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind. Thank you and it’s nice to see that you’re in a good mood, Jungkook.” You smiled and reached the box of cake that he gave you. He smiled even wider as he removed his leather jacket and you immediately saw his full sleeve tattoo on his right arm. They were beautiful. It perfectly suits him. 

“Thanks, doc. I’m happy that I didn’t dream about ‘that’ nightmare and I believe it’s because of the medicine that you prescribe me. You help me a lot.” He responds, sitting on the white sofa facing your desk.

When he is settled down on the couch in front of your office table, you press the ‘record’ button of your phone. You record your session with your patient for your advantage. It helps you review and recall  the discussion that you had with them, and it’s useful whenever you’re writing a book. Having the recordings allows you to convey your words more precisely.

Of course, you always ask for their consent to record the conversation. However, there are patients who do not agree with it, and in such cases, you still record them. They wouldn't know, would they?

“Well, that’s good to know.” You said and got the folder placed on the side of your table and opened it. It’s the record of him for you to easily navigate his diagnoses. “Are you still visiting the gym like I’ve recommended to you?” 

“Yes I do and it helps me to distract my mind to what happened. Going back to the gym helps me a lot, honestly. It’s hard to push myself to go back at first but as I was in there, it became easier.” His smile is like a pill that can light anyone’s mood. It is so bright and contagious. No one will guess that he suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder. He witnessed how his mother died in front of him exactly six months ago and he suffers a lot. He’s unable to talk for weeks after the incident happened and was advised to attend psychotherapy. 

Right now, he has made significant progress, and you're glad about it. Throughout your sessions with him, you've observed how he copes with his trauma and understands what's going on in his mind. It's a major trauma for him to witness what happened to his mother. According to studies, women are more likely to develop PTSD than men, and you've handled multiple cases with women experiencing PTSD. However, in your years in this career, he is the only man you've treated with this specific diagnosis. It's a new experience for you, especially since it's your first encounter with a male patient with this condition. You've conducted extensive research, but there are still things your patient does that contradict what you've read.

“During the weekends, I spend all night reading your book, Dr. Y/N and it helps me so much. Plus, it’s good and I love it. I can’t wait for you to release the book that you’re writing right now. When did you plan on releasing them?” He crosses his legs as he looks at you with so much adoration. 

“I haven’t finished writing it so I haven’t planned the date of release.” you replied, turning your attention back to the folder in your hand. “I’m glad that my books help you. Do you think that you’ve already overcome your trauma with the event that happened?” You looked at him and the smile that he had seconds ago was gone. His lips were formed into a straight line and he stared at you. It only happens for seconds and he immediately brings his bright expression once again.

“I’m not quite sure about that, Dr. Y/N. I may be happy right now, but later on, I’ll remember the tragic event once again.” He responded. 

“It’s okay. It really happens. Healing from your trauma doesn’t happen in a short period of time. But eventually, you’ll be okay. It may not be right now nor tomorrow but one day,” you assured him.

“Will you leave me after I completely heal, Doc?” he leaned forward, his gaze intense.  You didn’t respond right away and waited if he’s about to add more with his statement but turns out, he’s also waiting for your response.

“Well, that’s quite the opposite, Jungkook. You’ll be the one to leave me after our final session comes to an end.” You tried to smile. “And as your doctor, I genuinely want you to heal and move on to continue living with your life.” 

“Then I’m not quite sure if I’ll be happy for our final session to come to an end.”

You achieved success as a psychiatrist and book author within just four years of your career. Your excellence in your work is a result of the praises you've received from people. You've built a strong reputation and you're determined to maintain it. While you may be at the top now, you know there's still a long road ahead. You're committed to continuing to excel in what you do and to break numerous records.. 

The day has finally ended and you are still inside your office room as you continue on writing your ongoing book. The paradox of choice. You’ve released three books and this is going to be your fourth one. You’ve been pouring your blood, sweat and tears in every book that you’ve released resulting in its success and you’re confident that this ongoing book will be the same. 

You have nothing else to do except to work 24/7. You’ve been doing this for the past four years already and you have no problem with it. In fact, you love everything you do. But there are people who’s against your life cycle. 

As you type on your laptop, your phone chimes, seeing a notification from your friend, Taehyung. He's been your friend since you were in diapers.

Taehyung: You’re not at home. Where are you?

You: Clinic. Why?

Taehyung: what the. At this hour?

You didn’t respond because you figured out that he doesn’t have anything to do but to disturb you and honestly, you don’t have the time for that. 

Taehyung: Join me for dinner. It’s on me.

You: Can’t you eat by yourself and you have to treat me just for you to have dinner?

Taehyung: You talked as if we’re not friends. Come on, Y/N. I know you love your job but don’t wait until you are the one who becomes a patient.

Taehyung doesn’t understand you. You’re doing what you love and you don’t have a problem with it yet he thought that you were drowning yourself with work. You can choose what you want and you choose to burn yourself from work. You don’t have any problems with it. 

You decide to fix your things and get ready for Taehyung to pick you up. As much as you love your career, you also cherish your friendship with him. He's your only friend, and you don't want to lose him. You've come to consider him as family.

“My father is asking me again if I can now run the business in New York." Taehyung said as he got the pork belly from the grill and placed it in his bowl of rice before he put it together in his mouth. 

“Tell him you haven't decided." You respond subconsciously while wrapping the pork in the lettuce and eat it. 

“What amazing advice coming from a therapist herself.” Taehyung smirked.

"What is your decision then?"

"I don't really know, Y/N." He released a deep breath and continued. "I do want to manage it but I can't. I love what I'm doing right now."

Since his teenage years, Taehyung has been destined to inherit his father's assets, including the family company. However, Taehyung chose a different path and became a successful musician and artist. He's content with his career until his father reminds him of his obligation to take over the family's oil company in New York. He has been wrestling with this difficult situation for years and has yet to find a solution.

“Try to do both.” You suggest while having a mouthful of pork belly. 

“I don’t know if you’re fucking with me or what but damn, Y/N. If you’re my therapist, I’ll immediately leave your clinic and find another one.” Taehyung rolled his eyes and you tried not to laugh. "I can't choose both and you know that!" 

You do want to help your friend to get out of this situation but the only thing you can do is give emotional and moral support because you don't have control over his family. You do feel sorry for him but you can't do much. 

"The conflict between personal desires and altruistic choices has been common in dealing with ethical dilemmas. Choosing a decision between what you want and what your father wants that will be beneficial for the majority is quite a difficult situation and you need to weigh them according to how you see it. Your father has been there for you and in return, he wants you to handle his business not only for the benefit of him but also for you." You pause and take a bite of kimchi before you continue. "But you wanted to keep pursuing the career you have right now. It's a personal gain. It's up to you if you become selfish or selfless." 

Many researchers have presented real-life ethical dilemmas and case studies to understand how people navigate decisions that involve personal desires and the welfare of others. These studies often highlight the complexity and context-dependency of such choices which is what Taehyung is experiencing right now. 

If you were to decide with his situation, you'd choose to continue with his career that he has right now. Life is too short to become selfless. What society makes people believe can result in each and everyone's failure. 

If he chooses to do what his father wants, it won't guarantee success, as he has no clue about running their business. And even if he manages to muster the passion to understand how it works, he might not only fail himself but also disappoint his father.

You ended the night with Taehyung bringing you back to the clinic to get your car. It was nice catching up with him once in a while and hopefully, it won't happen often. Taehyung has known you since forever and he knows that even if you love him, you will still choose your work over him. 

You were about to open the door of the driver seat of your car when you felt something. Or more of someone. 

You don't hear any noise coming from afar or nearby and you're certain that you're the only one who is at the parking lot in front of the clinic but you feel like there is a pair of eyes that's watching you. You're facing the two-story building of the clinic and catch sight of anyone but the only thing you see is a light coming from the entrance and nothing else. 

You slowly turn around to see the surroundings and the only thing you see is a quiet night street illustrated by a few streetlights. There is no one, yet you can still feel that pair of eyes looking at you. 

You weren't sure if it's because of overworking or the alcohol you've consumed tonight but you're certain that one of it is the reason why you are having this kind of imagination. 

—

“Good morning, Yunjin. You look pale today. What’s wrong?” You looked at your patient that’s seated across the sofa in front of you. Her lips were paper thin and she continuously blinked her eyes. Yunjin is a 25-year old diagnosed with persistent depressive disorder and she's been your patient for a year already. Being diagnosed with depression can cause a lot of factors including imbalances in brain chemicals like serotonin and norepinephrine. These imbalances can occur in anyone, regardless of their external circumstances. In Yunjin’s situation, it’s caused by her genes and hormones and most likely, she inherited from her family.

Yunjin came from a well known family and her life is what every person dreams to have. She already has everything yet she still suffers with depression. 

Not because a person has a wealthy and happy life doesn’t mean they do not encounter problems. 

“It’s happening again. I’ve lost track of my motivation to continue painting.” She speaks hoarsely. “Last week, I’m pouring all my hardwork and energy into what I’m working on but now, I’ve messed up. And I don’t even know why I am doing this because my work is mediocre in the first place.”

“You know that’s not true, Yunjin. Your paintings are amazing. I love them so much, especially the one you gave me.” You said carefully.

“No, you don’t understand. My works are trash compared to others.” Her voice is already trembling—on the verge of crying.

“Everyone has a unique and creative way to express their works. Not because you think that the works of others are more creative means yours are not. Your paintings are a masterpiece, Yunjin and I won’t get tired of reminding you about that.”

Yunjin is one of your patients who is incredibly transparent. She is consistently honest and open about her feelings, and you have played a significant role in nurturing this honesty.  Over your years of being a psychotherapist, you’ve encountered thousands of patients with different problems and diagnosis. You’ve known the ins and outs of them and you’ve mastered the meaning of every action they’ve made and words they’ve said. You also know if they’re telling the truth or not and you can spot it within a single session. 

That’s what you’re known—for being an excellent psychiatrist. 

However, you’re not yet perfect and still working with your skills. You know that you’re already great but there is still room for improvement. 

Not because you’re confident with how you read your patients means that it’s the truth. Sometimes, they deceive you and that’s a case that you have to improve with yourself.

It’s almost five and a few moments from now, you’ll have your last patient for the day. The truth is, you’re already exhausted with all the work you did today and given that it’s friday. Tomorrow, it’s a rest day, therefore, things should be done until today if you want to enjoy the weekend. But in your case, you’ll most probably work with the book you’re currently writing. 

Jeon Jungkook is your last patient for the day and hopefully, after the session, both of you will feel relief. 

“Hello, Dr. Y/N. You look so tired. Are you okay?” Jungkook asked you as he removed his bomber jacket revealing his full sleeve tattoo. He has a taste in fashion and it suits him so well. With his tall and muscular body, he can wear anything and still look stunning. Beside his body build, Jungkook is handsome. With his beautiful doe eyes and perfect smile, he can captivate anyone. And it’s something that you should be cautious about. 

“I’m fine, Jungkook. You don’t have to worry about me.” You slightly smile and insist him to sit on the sofa. “Please take a seat. How are you?” You try to energize your voice to hide your exhaustion. 

"Today was supposed to be great until one of my employees messed around at work. His name is Bryan, and ever since he got hired, he's been getting on my nerves. If it weren't for the fact that he's my uncle's son, I would have fired him right from the beginning," he began, settling into his seat.

“What happened?”

“He lost the memory card of the camera I used from the photoshoot yesterday and now, we had to redo the shoot.” His eyebrows scrunch as he tightens his lips. 

“Your feelings are valid, Jungkook. It’s okay to feel that way. What you can do to control your emotions when you’re in that situation is to leave and take a break where you can breathe.”

“You’re right. But now, I feel okay. Relief even. I just fired him from being incompetent. Someone like him doesn’t belong in my studio, anyway.”

You take a pause to look at him. He looks at you with a blank stare and when he does that, he’s unbothered or doesn’t care. You admit that he’s not easy to read but you’ve learned to master his gesture and there is something about him that feels off. 

“Can you tell me why his action results in you firing him?”

“Because he’s useless and I don’t need useless people in my team.” He responds like the answer is already obvious.

“Don’t you think that he can improve?” His gaze intensifies and after a moment, he smirks.

“My studio is not a training ground, Dr. Y/N. It’s a place where you should already master what you’re doing.” His fingers move in his lips to play with it, eyes still bore at you.

“I’ve established my business from the scratch and I’ve poured my blood sweat and tears just for my business to be in where it is now. Perhaps, I have the right to do anything that's better for my studio. I know what my worth is. Don’t you think, Dr. Y/N?” 

He’s full of himself. But you didn’t say that.

“Well, you have a point, Jungkook. But you’re the one who said it. Your studio is made from scratch and perhaps, you know what being in your lowest point feels like.” You try to smile genuinely. “It’s okay to know your worth and at the same time, look back where you came from.” You looked at his medical records and proceeded. “How’s your condition? Are you still experiencing anxiety?”

“30 minutes ago. When I was traveling to get here.” 

“Why? What’s running in your mind?” He wiggled his ankle and continued to play with his lips, thinking of the answer.

“I was nervous during the ride. I don’t know but sometimes, you make me feel nervous.” He let out a playful chuckle. 

“Why?”

“The fact that you knew everything about me makes me feel something. You’ve known everything about me yet I don’t know a single thing about you.” You don’t understand what's his point so you try to laugh to ease the heavy feeling you feel right now.

“Of course, you knew me, Jungkook. You’ve mentioned that you knew me even before the session started.” You give him a smile and you put down the folder that you are holding right now.

"Yeah, I know you, Doc. Everyone knows you. I'm aware of everything that's public about you. What I want to know is who Dr. Y/N is without her MD and PhD. What do you do during your days off, and what are your hobbies besides helping people with their problems?" He glanced at the wall beside you, where a painting of you hangs. It's a picture of you that people can see in your books, a gift from Yunjin. 

You’ve known Jeon Jungkook with his traumas and all however, you don’t know what he’s up to right now. He entered your clinic being a fragile person with his traumas and right now, it felt like you’re talking to another person. Maybe because this is him without his diagnosis. 

And you don’t know how to feel about it. 

—

It’s a photoshoot day for a magazine featuring you as a doctor and an author as well. It’s a media organization focusing on psychology and human behavior and you’re delighted to be featured for the upcoming magazine. You’ve already featured in some magazine but this time, it’s different because it’s ‘Psychology Today.’ 

You’re now on your way going to the studio with your team along with your agent, Kim. You seem to look calm and relax but deep down, nervousness is wrapping your insides. It is by far the biggest media organization where you will be featured and it’s another achievement of yours. 

As you get out of your car, you weren’t surprised that the location where the photoshoot is going to be held is this enormous. It’s a four-story building located at the center of the city. You’re not sure if the media organization also owns this but as you looked at the name of the building, it looks like it isn’t.

GCF Studio

As you enter the building, you are greeted by enthusiastic guards and staff, which motivates you even more for this shoot with them. The interior is minimalist, with the entire first floor being plain white. When you walk through the glass door, the first thing you see is the reception desk. To the right, there are couches and a coffee table where people can wait, and to the left, there's a cafeteria. You walk straight ahead toward the elevator, and one of your assistants presses the button for the third floor.

As the elevator door opened, you were greeted by a hallway with various doors, clearly indicating it's a working area where the shoot takes place. You walk a few steps before entering through double doors, where you find a bustling room filled with people busy at work. It resembles a dressing room but on a larger scale, with various outfits hanging, and several vanity mirrors where people can prepare for their shoot. It's fantastic.

“Good morning Dr. Y/N. Before we proceed with the shoot, I’d like to discuss with you what look you’ll be having for today. You also have full control of what you would like to look at and we’re here to assist you.” You are greeted by a young male with full of feminine energy. He’s tall and petite wearing a white blouse and a sweater that is hanging on his shoulder. He leads the way and you smile before you follow him. 

You’ve thought that this photoshoot will only take an hour of your time but you’re wrong because an hour just passed and they were still dressing you up. You didn’t feel uncomfortable because everyone is approachable and enthusiastic. They made you feel that you’re indeed their client. 

After an hour and a half of preparation, you finally entered the photoshoot studio, and once again, you found many people inside. You're not entirely sure about each person's specific role here, but everyone is clearly occupied. 

But the atmosphere immediately changed when the door swung open. It was chaotic seconds ago and right now, everyone is silent looking at the person who just entered. 

You saw a familiar figure. His tall and muscular figure is very familiar to you. He’s wearing a black slacks and a casual long sleeve polo that’s folded up until his elbow where you can clearly see half of his tattoo while his hair is pulled back. 

Jeon Jungkook is undeniably handsome and he knows it. 

“What’s this chaos? I told you that once I’ve entered the studio, everything should be ready.” His voice was threatening as he spoke with authority. A side of him that you’re not surprised to see. 

What surprised you is the fact that he’s inside of the studio. 

What is he doing here?

Everyone works silently as if they were being oppressed in their workplace. They were enthusiastic and approachable seconds ago and it all changed when he entered inside. 

“Good morning, Dr. Y/N. It wasn’t obvious how you look surprised to see me here, aren’t you?” Jungkook gave you a boastful smile like he doesn’t look threatening a few moments ago. 

A sign of bipolar disorder.

“Welcome to GCF Studio where there is no room for failure.”

You will be working with one of your patients and you’re not even aware of that.

Ethically, there is nothing wrong with working with your patients outside the session but you aren’t fond of that. The idea of working with your patient outside the session doesn’t suit you and particularly with the patient that is in front of you right now. 

You haven’t thought of the reason why but you just don’t. 

Everything is already set up, and you are now behind the backdrop while Jungkook is holding the camera, ready to capture everything. You're confident in the outcome of this shoot, but at this moment, it feels like everything is crashing down at your feet. Everyone is looking at you with high hopes for the result of this photoshoot, and you wouldn't want to ruin it.

“Smile for me, Y/N.”

—

You don’t know how you manage to end the photoshoot smoothly knowing that Jungkook is making you uncomfortable. You were mad at yourself because you don’t know why you felt that way. He isn’t doing anything but to do his job in taking a photo of you. 

Now that you're home, you don't have anything to be distressed about when thinking about what happened during the shoot.

You have to admit that there is something wrong with his words and actions. There are signs that he’s becoming manipulative and a sudden change of mood. He's self-absorbed and lacks remorse for others. You’ve been thinking that there are other diagnoses with his actions and behaviors however, you cannot suddenly show up and tell what other illness he has. You still have to observe your sessions with him. 

You have now freshen up and are ready to rest but you decide to visit your office to check your schedule for tomorrow and the following days. You only have one patient for tomorrow and most of your schedules are meetings. Before you log out, you glance at the folder of Jungkook in your patient list and you click it subconsciously. 

Jeon Jungkook, 31-year old male who suffers from PTSD, after surviving an extremely traumatic incident.

He witnessed his mother die in front of him and aside from that, he was also shot in his left thighs twice. And it happens in the comfort of their home. 

The suspect? A loan shark who’s coming for his mother. 

There are a lot of questionable things that happened during the incident and one of them is how come that he always claimed to have a successful business while his mother is buried in debt? He also claimed that he doesn’t know about the debt of his mother. There are several inconsistencies in his story but the bottom line is, the loan shark surrendered and is now in maximum security prison for murdering his mother.

You transfer the recordings you made over the following days to your computer and listen to one of them, specifically the conversations you had with Jungkook.

You have 12 sessions in total with him and you have 5 more sessions left before it finally comes to an end. You don’t count the remaining number of sessions with your patient until now.

—

You love to read books during your free time, However, it most likely does not happen due to your busy schedule. But right now, you take a break from everything and decide to go on a date with yourself. You don’t normally take a break but you’re becoming busier than usual and you don’t want to risk your health because you know that there are a lot of people that need you. 

You’re not a fan of going out and you prefer to stay at home and rest but getting out of your comfort zone won’t hurt you. You decided to visit your favorite cafe and do your thing there. You dislike rowdy places, that’s why you went early in the morning where people are still in the comfort of their bed.

You underestimate the morning and how you’re used to people getting up mostly before lunch yet there are people who also like you—waking up at 6 in the morning to get a morning coffee in their favorite cafe. 

“Dr. Y/N! You’re here!” You lift your head to see Jeon Jungkook standing in front of you with his bright smile while holding a cup of coffee. 

Among all the people you could meet here, you don't understand why it had to be him.

“Jungkook. I didn’t know you’re here.” You try to return the smile and you almost fail when he sits in front of you. 

He’s wearing a casual polo shirt and a pair of ripped jeans. Unlike the last time you saw him, every strand of his hair is falling into a harmonious arrangement. It looks so soft and suits him well. He looked effortlessly handsome as usual. 

“Just grab a coffee and then, I saw you.” He smiles sweetly before he gazes down at the book you’re reading. “I don’t know why I am surprised that you like reading books even for the fact that you’re an author.” 

"I read when I have time," you respond. "How are you?" you add, trying to steer the conversation away from yourself.

“I’m doing amazing. I’m continuing to write in my journal like what you suggest. It does help me a lot, Dr. Y/N.” He takes a sip from his coffee as he gets comfortable in his seat. He’s not leaving any moment now.

“That’s good. Journaling really works.” You just said whatever is in your mind because you’re thinking of an excuse to leave. 

“That’s right. But we’re not in the session right now, Doc. We don’t always have to talk about me.” He leans backward as he glances at your book once again. “The four agreements. I’ve read that book before. It’s good. You’re really into self-help books, aren’t you? You like to write and read about them.”

“Yes. It does help me to improve my writing. How about you? I didn’t know that you also read nonfiction books.”

“I started to read because of your books, Doc.” He looks at your eyes filled with tenderness, traced the curves of your face as if he's memorizing it.

He’s been looking at you like that lately as if he wants you to drown with the way he stares. The way he looks at you carries an underlying tone, and truthfully, that's one of the reasons why you've become uncomfortable around him.

“I’m glad that I’ve encouraged you to read books.” You answer while looking at your wrist watch hoping that he understands that you wanted to leave already. 

“Your photos from the last time were amazing. Our team has already sent you the soft copy. Did you receive it?” You do but you didn’t tell him.

“I haven’t seen it but I’ll check it out later.” You looked at your wrist watch once again.

“Yeah, you should. They were amazing. You’re stunning as always.” His eyes twinkled but you didn’t notice that.

“I want to thank you and your team for working hard on this shoot. I do appreciate it so much.” you smile and look at your wrist watch for the last time. “I’m afraid that I have to leave you right now. I already have to go home.”

“That fast? We haven’t talked a lot, Doc.” He fixed you with a steadfast gaze and you were caught off-guard. You’re thinking of what to respond but you were out of words. After a few seconds, he chuckles. “I was just kidding, Doc. I know how busy you are and I understand that.”

You let out a nervous laugh. “I apologize, Jungkook. There are a lot of things that I have to do. But I’ll see you on tuesday.” 

“You don’t have to apologize because I understand. Yes, I’ll see you on Tuesday, Dr. Y/N.”

—

Tuesday came and you just woke up yet you already wanted to end this day. It’s strange that you haven’t properly started your day but you already feel heavy to move forward. Yesterday was exhausting for all the work you’ve done and you didn’t get home until 10pm, however, it doesn’t justify your heavy feeling right now. You’ve experienced worse so you don’t understand why you feel this way.

As you make your way to the clinic, you receive numerous work-related calls, and you're already feeling tired from answering them. However, you have no choice but to attend to them.

“Good morning, Dr. Y/N. Your first patient has already arrived. Do you want me to let him wait inside your office or here in the lobby?” The receptionist spoke on the other line. 

“You can let him in. I’m almost there.” When the traffic light turns green, you already move. “Is it Mr. Park?” You asked.

“No. It’s Mr. Jeon, Doc.” 

Damn. That’s why the morning feels heavy.

As you arrive inside your office, you spot Jungkook in the corner looking at the frames that are standing in the chest drawers. The air conditioner is already on–Soyeon the receptionist must have turned it on. He immediately turned his head towards you when you opened the door and greeted you with his charming smile. 

“Good morning, Dr. Y/N. I thought you'd take longer to arrive because the receptionist already let me in.” He greeted and walked his way towards the sofa–where your patient normally sits. 

“I was stuck in the traffic. You know, morning rush hour.” You responded as you placed your things on your office table. 

Jungkook is a punctual person. He may arrive early or on time but he is never late. If you count the things that you like about him, you’re counting nothing because that’s the only thing you like about him.

“How are you?” Is the first thing you asked him when you get comfortable with your seat. You press the record button on your phone that's hidden from him.

“Bad. I met my father last night and I wish I didn’t.” He brushed his hair back and slouched on his seat. 

It's the first time he mentioned his father at the beginning of a conversation because he never does unless you ask about it. From his descriptions, his father seems like a terrible person. He never fulfilled his role as a father, often creating conflicts with his mother. His family life seems chaotic, and you believe it might be one of the reasons he's become the person he is today.

“Why did you meet him?” 

“He just showed up to my house without permission to talk about bullshit. My life is already at peace and he’s ruining it.” His jaw tightened.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Your eyes locked into him as you try reading his mind. You know that every patient that walks into your office has different problems in life and they are sometimes hard to predict but this man in front of you is something else. There is something in him that you couldn’t understand. 

“No. He’s a waste of time. He’s really… Okay, I’ll talk about him briefly. He’s a horrible person and he doesn’t deserve to be a father to me. I never got to experience the love from a father because the only thing that he gave me is hatred. He always gets drunk and gamble and he cheated with my mom multiple times. I’m not going to be surprised when I find out that I have other siblings from different mothers. He’s the worst person I’ve known.”

You find his explanation vague but you didn’t think much about it and you let him continue.

“Do you have other instances where you see the different side of your father? Something that makes him a person to you?” You asked.

“None. Even during childhood. Especially now that he only wants money from me. He and mother are very similar to each other. Maybe that’s why they end up together. They both pissed me off and even though my mother is not here anymore, I can remember her because of my shitty father.”

You were taken aback with what he just said. He never badmouthed his mother until now. When he discussed his mother, there is nothing else he said rather than how he misses her and how she’s a great mother to him. 

But you didn’t say anything about it and let him elaborate what he just said. 

“Do you think that your parents do the same thing?” You asked–hoping that he doesn’t suspect your question.

“Yeah. They may be doing it in different ways of being a shitty person but they are the same for being useless parents.” He puts his index finger on his lips and slowly rubs it while resting his elbow on the arm rest, looking at you with intensity. 

You’re finding a word to say but you found nothing. You wanted to look away but it would indicate that he caught you off-guard. 

You saw a glimpse of his demonic character for a second. His eyes that had once been warm and inviting, now bore into you with an unnerving intensity as if trying to peer into your soul.

He spoke once again and his voice took on a low, whispery, and the words that slipped from his lips sent chills down your spine.

"Maybe that's why she died. Now, I wonder when my father will be next."

—

You're standing on the side of the street embracing the subtle chill in the air as the city lights painted the night with different colors. People are walking by and snippets of hushed conversations drifted on the breeze while the flow of traffic added to the scene with vehicles weaving through the crowd.

You don’t know why Taehyung is taking so long to arrive. You’ve been waiting for him on the sidewalk for 10 minutes already when in fact, he should have been here 30 minutes ago. You’re going to come with him on his event show because he’s been annoying you for the whole week to come with him and for him to stop, you just agreed.

What pisses you off more is that he's running late, and your stomach is growling. You haven't had dinner because Taehyung assured you that he'd swing by the drive-thru to grab something for you to eat.

You're waiting for Taehyung, but someone else showed up in front of you.

“Dr. Y/N, hi!” You met Jeon Jungkook’s eyes with his bright and warm smile. He’s wearing a gray hoodie and skinny jeans that fit him perfectly. You looked in the surroundings of him if he's with someone and it seems that there’s none. 

“Hello, Jungkook. You’re heading somewhere?” You gave him a warm smile that hopefully, doesn’t look like it’s forced.

“Yeah. I’m going out for dinner. I was actually in that building,” He pointed out the building behind you and it looked like a law firm office. “I already saw you when I entered there but I didn’t have the chance to greet you because I’m in a hurry and now, you’re still here.” He glances at the road and returns his eyes to you. “You’re waiting for someone?” 

“Uhm, yeah. I am.” You looked at your phone to see if Taehyung had a message but there’s none.

“You’ve been here for a couple of minutes already. Are you sure that they are still going to make it here?” 

“Yeah. Maybe they—

You were taken aback when your stomach started to growl and heck, it’s so loud that you want the grounds to eat you alive. You were sure that your face was burning red and you couldn’t bear to make eye-contact with him as your gaze fixed elsewhere.

 You glance at him as a soft chuckle rumbles in his throat. “I already hate the person that keeps you waiting in hunger. You know what, I’d love to treat you for dinner with me and drive you to your destination afterwards. Or we can just go to a drive-thru.” If he’s someone else, maybe you will consider his offer. 

“No, it’s okay Jungkook. You don’t have to do that.” You glance at your phone to pretend that someone messages you. “My friend is already on his way. You can go.” 

“Your friend of yours is really something else. What kind of man is he for making you wait for so long on the street with your stomach empty?” His voice took on a sharp edge as his eyebrows knitted together.

“I’m really fine. You don’t have to think about me.” You force a smile as you bite the inside of your cheeks.

“I insist, Dr. Y/N. I really want to treat you for being there for me during my worst days. You help me a lot and I want to get you something to show my appreciation. It’s nothing big and I will be guilty if I just leave you here.” 

“I really appreciate your gesture, Jungkook, but I have other plans. Maybe next time?” You smile hoping that he understands that you don’t really want to go with him.

“With the same guy that made you wait in the cold air? Oh come on, Doc. You know better.” He spoke in a pompous tone, as if he proved that Taehyung is a horrible guy.

“You can make up to me some other time. I’m really–

You haven’t finished your sentence when Taehyung’s audi arrives beside you and he instantly gets out to meet your gaze.

“Y/N! I’m sorry for keeping you waiting. The traffic is so heavy.” He didn’t notice Jungkook until he opened the passenger’s seat and slowly glanced beside you. Jungkook released a sarcastic laugh and glared at Taehyung.

“What a surprise that Kim Taehyung–a famous musician and artist let a lady wait in the cold breeze with an empty stomach. I didn’t know that you’re such a gentleman, Taehyung.” He spoke in a mocking tone as Taehyung looked at him in confusion. 

“I’m sorry, who are you?” 

“You wouldn’t want to know.” He arched a brow before he returned his gaze to you. “If you really insist on being with this guy, then I’ll leave you already. I just hope that he won’t completely ruin your precious night.” He said before he finally turned around and walked away–placing his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. When he’s already out of sight, you turn your head to Taehyung and glare at him.

“What?” You suddenly smack his chest before you hopped in the car.

“Damn you.”

—

It didn't take long before Jungkook was back, sitting on the couch in front of you. You’ve realized that your day always feels heavy every Tuesday of the week and that is whenever you’re going to have a session with him. 

You've tried to shake off the discomfort you feel when he's in front of you because you regret thinking of him differently from your other patients, but every time you try, he makes it worse.

“Are you taking your medicines I’ve prescribed you?” You scan his record file that you’re holding. 

“Yeah. I consistently take them, Doc.” He responded as he smugly looked at you and before you think of negative thoughts of him, you already returned your gaze back to the folder.

“Are you still having nightmares during your sleep?” He didn’t instantly respond like he’s thinking about the question carefully.

“I do. I still do, Dr. Y/N. But it wasn’t worse, unlike what I have for the last months.” 

“Then it’s a good sign. You’re now improving. Are you still thinking about the incident?” You give him a genuine smile while he slowly crosses his legs and places both of his arms on the arm rest.

“Yes, but not as frequently as before. I love my mother so much but I’ve learned to let her go and accept the fate she has. Afterall, it was her fault.” He was looking at the painting that Yunjin had given you as he answered. He doesn’t have much of a reaction but his last sentence caught your attention.

“Why do you think that it’s her fault?” You ask in your soft voice.

“You see, my mother isn’t the perfect mother and she has her mistakes and sometimes, she doesn’t learn from them. She keeps doing the same thing until she has to pay for it and that costs her life.” He responded.

“Do you want to talk about the mistakes that your mother made?” He smiled and played with his lips once again. You’ve noticed that he’s doing that if he finds something funny or there are things that he knows and you don’t.

“But we will take forever if we discuss it right now, Dr. Y/N. But if you’re really interested, we can talk about it over dinner. You promised me last time that you’ll come with me for dinner.” You mentally rolled your eyes with his statement. Here he goes again.

“Not right now. I still have a lot of things to do but we can talk about other things like how great your mother is.” You said and he laughed—as if your statement is absurd. You try to not raise your brows with his action and behavior. 

“Let's not talk about that, either.”

You were doing your best to understand his actions and statements but there is something in him that you haven’t seen. Something that will answer everything

“But I will tell you how I see my mother during the incident.” He leaned forward and intertwined his fingers “When my mother is kneeling and begging for her life, I was thinking that ‘damn. It’s really happening, isn't it?’. And when the trigger was pulled, the world stopped. And after a few moments, I felt a sense of relief and before I knew it, I was shot as well.” His voice was soft and light as if he’s confessing something that he should have confessed before. 

You felt a shiver down your spine as the creeping horror crawled along your arms, raising goosebumps. You held unflinching eye contact, determined to keep your composure and hide the discomfort and fear you felt.

“Where were you when your mom was being shot?” You asked as you held your breath.

This question is already asked during the investigation. ‘I’m in the living room, 10 feet away from her. When I saw her  position and situation, I immediately ran towards her but it was too late because before I even reached her, she was already shot in the chest. It didn’t take 10 seconds of my life before I was shot as well’.

But you still ask him once again. Away from the detectives.

“I was there, I told you.” 

“Yes, but in what position?” Your hands are already trembling. 

“I was standing,” He took a deep breath before he continued. His next sentence didn’t surprise you because it was something you already expect but trying to deny it to yourself, and it terrifies you, so much that you thought that this may be your last day.

“After I was shot, I collapsed, along with the gun I was holding.” 

a/n: I'm almost done with the whole series so I've decided to post the first part. I hope you'll like this new fic because I enjoy writing it! I am open for comments to further improve my works. Have a nice day everyone!

taglist: @iloverubberduckiez-blog @kingofbodyrolls @fangirl-death-rose @looneybleus @softie00

[freaksnvans]

A 30-year-old Christian Fujoshi With a PhD's Thoughts on Team Fortress 2 Shipping.

Here I will be providing my thoughts and opinions on my personal favorite Team Fortress 2 ships. I do not know who will be interested in my speakings, but I am branching out into this beautiful fandom like a great oak tree. Haters can "suck an egg," and I do hope that saying is not an euphemism for anything of the less appropriate variety! Please be ready for a very long and verbose post.

How Did I, freaksnvans, Become Interested in Such a Thing?

An Introduction to Me.

I am indeed a Christian woman, and I self-identify as a Fujoshi. That may seem contradicting, but it is not. I ship the mercenaries from Team Fortress 2 in a good and god-honoring way, and I will not tolerate any negative speak of the Lord in my comments and/or reblogs. As for myself, you may only know me as freaksnvans. I chose that name because My favorite ship, as you may be able to discern from such a screen name, is Trucks n' Vans. The "Freak" part comes from a childhood nickname I was given in elementary school... the Freak. That is very traumatic to me, so I mustn't delve into the details. Moving on.

Where It All Started.

In 2007, I was vaguely interested in the game, having heard whispers of it from sites like YouTube as well as my male classmates. I was Thirteen years old, therefore in middle school. Team Fortress was, without a doubt, popular with middle school aged boys at the time of its release. Being curious as to what the "hype" (am I using this Gen Z slang correctly?) was, I googled Team Fortress 2. I had no, and will still never have any, interest in first-person shooter games. I do not like to kill things. I am a god-honoring woman. However, seeing the image of seven strong and mysterious men, (I am indeed disregarding the Scout, as he is not strong nor is he a man, he is a weak and pathetic boy.) I was indeed intrigued.

I, before then, had minor experiences with fandom spaces, having been interested in Harry Potter at the time. I read fan-fiction occasionally. However, I felt no interest toward fan-fiction and pairings of the homosexual variety. My favorite ship to read fan-fiction of was Dramione. I imagined myself as Hermione. My readings of fan-fiction were in fact very self-serving. I became gradually interested in Team Fortress 2 when the fandom was in its infancy. (If you are wondering as to how I never interacted with the fandom before now, or used "social media," that is because I was not allowed to at such an age, and had a fear of doing so up until adulthood. Please do not shame me.)

Back to the topic of Team Fortress! I began searching for fan art of my favorite characters - which, then, were Medic and Soldier. I longed for the Soldier to hold me in his strong arms. I secretly desired for Medic to perform cruel and unusual acts of surgery upon my body. That is a common sentiment shared upon fans of Medic now, I have found. I thought I was alone!

Anyways... At some point, I began to discover Team Fortress fan-fiction. I was extremely intrigued by my discoveries. I, being a pre-fangirl with no real interest in shipping between the mercenaries yet, read "x reader" fan-fiction. However, the extreme abundance of slash fiction made stories of the homosexual variety completely and utterly unavoidable. I naively decided to read just one story of such a kind. I do believe it was a HeavyMedic fic. It was like a fujosplosion inside my mind. I quickly became hooked on reading M/M Team Fortress fan-fiction, scouring sites such as FFN to find more.

That does seem to be how I became interested in gay pairings in Team Fortress 2.

Ok, then what are your favorites? Stop rambling, woman.

Why would you say that to me? Anyways, over the years, I have been particularly drawn to three different pairings.

the first would of course be Trucks n' Vans.

It may be obvious that is my favorite. Actually, I think I already mentioned that it is, ha ha! Anyways. Trucks n' Vans has captivated me ever since I was a young girl. First of all, Sniper is skinny and mildly pathetic, while Engineer is a beautiful fit man. He is also Southern, which I am too. I became interested in this pairing because I imagined Engineer teaching Sniper the ways of God and life in the South. He would show Sniper the beauty and joy of a good old peach cobbler. Which he clearly needs, because I do have a burning hatred for Australians. Sniper is an exception. Anyways.

I have also found great interest in HeavyMedic.

Of course I have. I was interested in this fandom from the day it was created, you silly goose, of course I love HeavyMedic. They were meant to be. Please don't tell God that I said this but I wish I was between them as they kissed. I am short enough for that, being a meager five-foot-one, and generally petite. Well, um, sorry to cut that short, but I am having an extremely bad nosebleed at the moment. Because I thought too hard about HeavyMedic with me sandwiched int he middle. I may as well complete typing this post up, because it's not that bad, but I may make typos here and there. There is blood on my keyboard. Oh Dear. LOL!

My Other Thoughts.

I do believe that Team Fortress shipping is what made me more tolerant of people leading a homosexual lifestyle. When I see gay people in the streets I no longer recoil in disgust as my parents taught me, but I remember that they are people too. Just like Team Fortress 2 in real life. I did meet lots of gay people in college, when I was learning and working toward my PhD in philosophy. Most of the men there did not interest me, because they looked too much like Scout and not enough like a handsome Soldier.

As detailed in my previous post, there are many people who hold disdain for fangirls, or generally people who ship and read fan-fiction. I did experience some of this in college and high school. In middle school, I was very secretive about my fan-fiction and fandom activities. I didn't even have any online friends. The only people I knew who had any interest in Team Fortress 2 were boys at school, who thought I was a freak of nature for being interested in gay scenarios between the mercenaries. I once had lemonade thrown on my brand-new white pants because I was caught reading a HeavyMedic fan-fiction in class. I wanted to die. Please, Lord, excuse my language...FUCK you, Jared. I have violent fantasies regarding him sometimes. As a result of that, I was called gay pee-girl for the rest of the year. I had to move schools because nobody called me by my name, and I was only known as the gay pee-girl. It was definitely worse than "freak."

That may be it from me today. There's so much blood. I think it is not just a normal nosebleed. Oh goodness

[immediatebreakfast]

Well, the consequences for Jonathan's disobedience were quite terrifying, on top of destroying an aspect of Jonathan's beliefs as a character.

We already have seen plus noticed how Jonathan identifies with what femininity, and women represented in the 19th century. He is a male character that expresses so much love for the ideas of safety, and comfort that the feminine entails without the narrative trying to paint this in a derogative light anywhere.

So, it's not wonder that the visit from the Weird Sisters (a.k.a. the speculated brides, and housemates of Dracula) left him totally traumatized. Nothing that Dracula has done so far has gained such huge reaction from Jonathan.

Great God! merciful God! Let me be calm, for out of that way lies madness indeed.  ... for now, feeling as though my own brain were unhinged or as if the shock had come which must end in its undoing, I turn to my diary for repose. The habit of entering accurately must help to soothe me.

In his journey as a gothic heroine as he is trapped in the castle, Jonathan has been surviving by employing the same ideas used by fictional heroines he admires and looks up to in dire times, and he has comforted himself with Mina's memory, and his undefying love for her. Everything that Dracula represents regarding masculinity means danger for Jonathan, he is scared how the power that the Count holds over him; not as a man towards another man, but as a man towards a conceptual woman within Jonathan's mind that is part of his being.

All of this concludes in Jonathan taking a nap in the ladies' chamber room, away from Dracula's aggresive masculinity in his tainted designated room, and inside what he now deems a safe space because women lived there.

Then the Weird Sisters appear in their ethereal, beautiful glory, and as Jonathan recalls the incident in his diary, the feeling of angry loosing sanity is written with an underline tone of pure defeated betrayal. It feels as if Jonathan keeps asking himself "why did they do that to me? Aren't they in the same position as me?"

The feeling of what Jonathan calls repulsion cut through the sexually charged scene like a knife. All of the soft adjectives to describe the Sisters' appearance, Jonathan's attraction to them as he shames himself for thinking like that because of Mina, the emphasis of voluptuos charm laced with danger, all of it gets cut when Jonathan realizes what the Weird Sisters are planning to do.

There was a deliberate voluptuousness which was both thrilling and repulsive, and as she arched her neck she actually licked her lips like an animal.

The ladies that he thought were a dream at first are there to use him the same way that Dracula has been doing... the only difference is that the vampire ladies made very clear that they will kill him. So out it goes the kind language to describe women, and what enters is the language that Jonathan uses to describe the Count.

The femininity that Jonathan felt comfort in to shield himself from the horrors he has seen is now fractured to incorporate the monsterhood of the Weird Sisters. It's a realization that shatters him, not all women are soft, and kind, these women would have killed him if not the Count arriving, and if Jonathan cannot go to the Weird Sisters for safety against Dracula, then it means that the only being who stands between his death and life is the Count himself.

The man who is keeping Jonathan as a prisoner in everything but name is who he has to run to if Jonathan wants to keep living... What a nightmare indeed.

[trips2saturn]

towl spoilers below!!!!!!!!!

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late briefing but it’s here and that’s what matters!!!!! let’s get into this episode! ❤️‍🔥

this episode was amazing. no notes. angst fuels me, so keep it coming in episode four along with some loving intimacy! 🤝

michonne is the most clever, headstrong, charismatic, fearless powerhouse of a woman in the entirety of twdu. there is no situation nor circumstance that she cannot handle. no matter the time, skill, or hardship that woman is going to do whatever she fucking wants. she’s such an admirable character, and yes this is just a fictional show but she means so much to me. tv mom forever and ever and ever. my lovebug!!!! 🫶🏼

rick… my og lovebug. his selfless, tender hearted yet courageous and dangerous personality is sooo missed recently because of these losers who love to keep playing hide the donkey. he’s been so beaten down and forced into the caged mindset, also known as stockholm syndrome. it hurts so much to see it affect him so deeply, especially in this episode. we truly get to understand just how horrified he is of losing michonne, losing judith, losing their home. it’s so layered that he’s come to the conclusion that he has to do whatever it takes to protect his wife and their children (judith for now until further notice). even going as far as pretending to break michonne’s heart just to get her to go back home for the sake of a safe and secured future. and as much as it rips his entire psyche into shreds, this man is a family man. his priority in life is to protect the ones that he loves by all means necessary.

and thank fucking HEAVENS that despite their years apart, michonne knows her husband like the back of her palm and can read him like a book!!! every word that poured out of his mouth was utter bullshit merely for safety purposes and i’m soooo glad that she understood that without even having to retaliate verbally.

she retaliated by throwing them out of a moving chopper LMAOOO 😭 MY GIRL, MY LEADING LADY!!!!!! CAN WE MAKE SOME NOISE FOR THE CRAZIEST CHARACTER IN THE ROOM. thank youuuuuu! i digress.

“we needed a timeout” shdjshdhsjdjs well yes! please knock some sense into your traumatized husband. he needs his wife!!!

moving forward. the phones!!!! “believe a little bit longer”!!!!! CARL MENTION!!!!!!??????!!!!! 😨🫨🥺☹️😖 rick not mentioning any names for three years and never liking any drawings of his son because they could never be depicted perfectly 😣😣😣 try not to cry challenge [FAILED]. punching me in the gut would hurt less. still hoping for a random chandler cameo too :D

i know that what rick said was absolutely fake and futile but as a fierce michonne lover… HER FACE AS HE SPOKE??? if we don’t see him loving on her endlessly in episode four… i might throw myself out of a moving helicopter.

one hundred percent positive that they’ll be pouring bisquick and making pancakes next episode. i’m sat.

thorne is a D. not an A. she’s a piece of shit and will be dealt with eventually. michonne will handle any light work. i rest my case.

jadis is a sexual predator and a grade-A loser with a shit haircut. i almost pissed myself laughing when rick said that. he’s been waiting and so have i!!!! 😁 but yeah she sucks. die asap.

RICHONNE KISS IN THE WOODS AFTER BEING A POWERHOUSE COUPLE. 🥹 reminded me so much of when they took those cars and drove into that herd of walkers. ugh. please put their entire love story into the louvre.

last but not least because i’m tired — unsure what beale is up to. he’s so sketchy, and also SO CONFUSED about rick supposedly having a briefing with him about being promoted?! NO. no thanks we didn’t ask for him to ever be a leader nor get kidnapped in the first place!!!! scared to see what lies ahead for the next three episodes :(((((

in conclusion, michonne is the most beautiful angel to walk the earth. she looked so hot in every single scene. episode three is hands down my favorite episode yet, despite the hardship. again, angst fuels me. so excited to see what’s in store next week, and every other week after that!!!! it’s only up from here. ❤️‍🔥⬆️

okay that’s it. hope everyone enjoyed the episode!!!! this is such a wild ride, and i’m happy to have my television parents back on my screen, making things happen again. 🌟🔥

[klance-headcanons-official]

Just got dumped for a chick so it's angst today kiddos (good ending dw)

Mkay, so for plot, we're gonna say this is post-canon but hella early in the relationship. Basically there's a bitch, there's always a bitch u guys. And one day this person tells Keith that Lance is romantically involved with someone else

And Keith, being the beautiful, traumatized baby he is, has trust issues as we know,

—(hang on, gotta clarify, guys I love Keith, he's my baby boy, my little meow meow, my pretty princess. No hate to him, I'm just projecting lowkey.)—

and he believes this. Keith gets really upset and really scared. So naturally, he talks to Lance about it. And of course, Lance denies this, because he isn't romantically involved with someone else. Because that someone else turns out to be a friend of his, who happens to be lesbian :D.

Keith doesn't know how to feel though. He's afraid that it's true, and he's doubtful. So much so that he tells Lance that he doesn't know if "he can believe him given the information he's been given" (<- actual quote)

Lance keeps protesting, swearing and promising Keith that nothing is going on with that person. There are tears in his eyes and his heart is pounding because of how desperate he is for Keith to believe him, because he loves Keith more than anything, he's given all that he is to this man, and he does not want to lose him.

And here's where the fiction comes in

Keith actually takes Lance's side, and they talk things through, LIKE GOOD COUPLES DO BECAUSE WHEN YOU LOVE SOMEONE YOU SHOULD TRUST THEIR WORD WHEN SOMEONE TELLS YOU SOMETHING YOU DONT HAVE PROOF FOR GUYS!!!

And they make up and Lance gives Keith a little kiss on the forehead and they snuggle and watch a movie.

Guys I'm so sorry I'm really mad about this and I needed to project because these guys are my outlet for everything

[honeyhoneyplskillme]

im so happy that like- fandoms are a thing?? like wdym there's other people in love with a fictional 6 feet something traumatized and beautiful man who loves austen?? like, hi guys!!!!

[tacticalrefrigerator]

For personal reasons im gonna ignore the last 10 ish minutes of season two episode 8. it's not canon its a fucked up fan fiction that someone wrote :)

⚠️Season two episode eight spoilers⚠️

Genuinely tho why the fuck did David Jenkins think that THAT was an appropriate send-off for izzy? To be a representation of the metaphorical death of blackbeard? That's it??? That's all he was in the end? His death taking blackbeard with him leaving just Edward?

My question is why couldn't he have lived and his "send off" be becoming Captain izzy hands aiding Zheng and company in revenge against prince ricky? He could have lived and taken on the role of "blackbeard" while leaving Ed and Stede to be innkeepers, that being the "death" of blackbeard. Or if Izzy had to die why couldn't the death of blackbeard be literal? Killing blackbeard and his first mate Izzy Hands, leaving not a trace of blackbeard leaving stede and company to either continue piracy or split up. I'll never be able to watch season two the same way knowing they, traumatized, abused, disabled, and grew Izzy all for him to die as a pawn for Ed's story. That was fucking soul crushing.

It wasn't even a character arc for Izzy, his own death. It was an obstacle for FUCKING ED. So everything leading up to this point, all of his growth, his acceptance within the crew as the unicorn, the abuse from Kraken!Blackbeard, the finding of himself, ALL OF THAT WAS FOR FUCKING NOTHING???

This character meant so much to me for so many reasons. He was an angry, traumatized man who was clinging to an ideal of someone who'd changed. As he grows as a character he realizes that Blackbeard doesn't exist anymore and what's left is Edward Teach, the man he fell for, his best friend. He realizes he's accepted by the crew of the revenge, and in turn realizes he's finally part of something again. His growth as an older queer disabled man from a hardened jerk who couldn't let go of blackbeard was beautiful to watch. And they cut it short. Izzy spoke to me as a character, watching him die in such an, undignified way killed me inside. I have very little in common with izzy yes. He's a 50 something heavily traumatized disabled man living in the (though not historically accurate) 1700's , im a queer, able bodied, teen from colorado in the 21st century who rants on tumblr for fun. But watching episode 6 in particular, knowing what he was in season 1, watching him fearful to be himself then be accepted beautifully when he started singing, accepted as their unicorn dressing in drag, performing during Calypso's birthday, It spoke to me. That process of being terrified of being yourself then finally finding the group that loves you for you. I related to that point in his story so much. I was and still in a sense am terrified of being myself. Im a weird little gay trans guy who's into weird niches. Seeing that struggle in a character and watching his acceptance resonated with me and meant the world and beyond to my little queer heart.

And another thing, Jenkins didn't even fucking tell Con that izzy would be killed when he signed onto ofmd 2. He broke the news halfway through FILMING. A character that meant that much to both Con and the fanbase was killed off to be nothing more than a CHARACTER ARC FOR EDWARD. And the actor who brought Izzy Hands to life was none the wiser until he'd already agreed to play Izzy again.

Now knowing that the story might go on without Izzy, without Con constantly reposting fanart of izzy, without his sass, without his vaguely nsfw quips. It makes the idea of season three less appetizing, for lack of a better word. Izzy was a key part of why i loved season 2 and was willing to excuse how rushed it was.

That's my 2 cents about that absolute bullshit ending to Izzy's story.

[grimace-writes]

New Kid New Love

{NKIT No 4.0}

GN!Reader x Task Force 141 { Ending Epilogue }

DNI IF YOU AREN'T A FAN OF MILD GORE!!

{TW: THIS STORY CONTAINS DESCRIPTIONS OF INJURIES, BLOOD, MILD GORE! PURLEY FICTION!!}

| No.1 | No.2 | No.3 | No.4 | Masterlist |

Summary: {Y/N} has been in the hospital since their mission mishaps, due to the severity of their injuries they couldn't have visitors until now. Who from the team was the first to visit them?

Word count: {560}

Art by Me { @ghostswow }

(3rd Person POV | They/Them so anyone can read :) | Mid Twenties to Early Thirties)

[Enjoy! (๑ º ᗜ º๑) ノ♡ ]

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“Do you remember what happened?” An older man in a white lab coat asked, standing at the foot of their bed.

“Don’t do this..Keep your eyes open, luv…” 

“In pieces..(liar)” Their voice cracked as a sharp pain flashed through their head to the memories.

“It’s okay, beautiful, you are going to be more than fantastic..I-I promise..”

“That’s normal for patients to experience when going through a traumatic event, best to focus on rest for now,” The doctor explained, causing them to wince more.

“They aren’t moving, why aren’t they moving..Please Duckie, Wake up.” 

“I know that..I just…I just wanna be left alone please..” They said looking out the window avoiding the look of pity from their medical colleague, who left them without further comment. 

“You don’t get to leave us just yet, Hen. Not now..”

{Y/N} took a shaky breath trying to gaze at the clouds, their vision blurred as tears began to fall down their cheeks, the image of their previous mission replaying vividly in their mind. 

—————————————————————————

“No..It’s not supposed to be like this..” 

“{C/N}!”

Ghost ran towards them first with Price and Gaz giving him cover, he hoisted them into his arms. The team had no time to panic as they needed to just escape, luckily they made it to an incline to provide them the needed cover.

{Y/N} coughed weakly, blood coating the palm of their hand as they tried to stay conscious, shocking rapidly to setting in. “Don’t do this..Keep your eyes open, luv…” Ghost’s voice sounded so distant even though he was practically shouting, the ungodly ringing in their ears overshadowed him. 

It felt like they were watching a movie, their life on a big screen as they were carried to the helicopter to them being placed onto the bench seat. Only being forced back into their body by the fiery pain of disinfectant being poured into their wound. “It’s okay, beautiful, you are going to be more than fantastic..I-I promise..” Gaz spoke with fear in his tone as he tried to fish out the bullet with a pair of forceps, “I almost got it..” {Y/N} threw their head back groaning, one hand gripping the fabric of the backrest and the other on Gaz’s shoulder. 

The pain began softened to the sound of metal hitting metal, the loud humming of the helicopter mixing with the ringing that has come back with a vengeance. {Y/N}’s only solace was clenching their eyes shut, it was way past too much for them. ‘I just wanna sleep..A nap isn’t gonna hurt..’

Their intense grip quickly loosened as they lost consciousness, their breathing was starting to slow down. “They aren’t moving, why aren’t they moving..Please Duckie, Wake up.”  Soap dropped to his knees next to them, taking their hand in his.

“You don’t get to leave us just yet, Hen. Not now..” Price’s voice caught in his throat as he weakly ordered his subordinate to stay alive, the whole team praying for them to get back to base quickly. 

—————————————————————————

Mild knocking broke them for their memories, they wiped their face with the back of their hand before they faced their visitor. {Y/N}’s shallow expression softened as a tender smile formed on their face to the sight of their favorite flowers and a..

↳..Plush Plague Doctor. {Ghost}

↳..Plush Duckling. {Soap}

↳..Plush Cat. {Gaz}

↳..Plush Otter. {Price}

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Author's Note: The long awaited romance, note each story have similar elements with a twist to match each of the boys. Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed the story. Let me know what you thought of it, Love Love~

(o´ ω `o)💕💕

| No.1 | No.2 | No.3 | No.4 | Masterlist |

[penny-the-pissed-poltergeist]

Hey! Figured I'd send in an ask since you had indicated you wanted some. With the company now defunct, it seems like a good time to reflect on RWBY and examine it more closely. As such, I wanted to ask what are your top three most favourite and least favourite parts of the show? It can be a character, a specific scene, a particular detail, anything you want. More importantly, why do you like/dislike those parts respectively?

things I liked

The Yang and Weiss reunion in VOL.5

"Your MOM kidnapped me! YOU KIDNAPPED HER" is still one of the (intentionally) funnest things in the show. The hug is just really cute and beautiful, I love how the home leitmotif is playing and it's main reason both me and many other people like freezerburn. (even if there is a platonic explanation if you're not a coward)

Ruby's character post VOL. 8

You can tell she's a good character because even when the writing is really bad she's still at least KINDA compelling, I genuinely enjoy her arc in VOL.9 despite how bad it makes her team look, before they stumble at the end at least (I don't blame that on it being rushed, ascension is just that fundamentally bad of a plot point)

even in shit like the JL movies she's still one of the characters I like having on my screen the most, I'm really glad she has officially left her era of barely doing anything important in her own show. she's one of my blorbos now because I relate to the whole not liking yourself thing

The vibes and world

the world of RWBY is such a unique setting, not quite fantasy, not quite sci fi, even a tiny bit superhero. No one else in fiction who looks and fights exactly like Ruby Rose or Weiss Schee or Pyrrha Nikos. The world felt so unique especially in the OG trailers

bonus round: Penny

OH MY GOD I LOVER HER SO MUCH AUTISTIC QUEEN HXHXAJHSA (that's it that's the whole entry)

Things I really didn't like

Jaune Arc

You know all that stuff I said about how unique the setting and character's are, yeah like ignore all of that. here's a generic white guy swordsman with a regular sword and shield who's is incompetent and has no powers in first 3 volumes and only exists to make unfunny jokes and get explained at by a character who's 5x more interesting than him, he's only here because they couldn't find a way to naturally drop exposition even though they literally in a school. He might as well have dropped in here from the real world after getting hit by a truck.

Then his (almost) GF dies and he's the only one allowed to morn her except Ruby like once, and then Jaune is given so much important screen time that he feels more like the main character then Ruby ever did and becomes a bully because angst. he finally becomes a character I can enjoy in VOL.7 and most of 8, before he kills Penny and my faith in his character along with it, he immediately gets like 5 other things to get traumatized by in the ever after and gets explained OFF SCREEN so you don't even get conflict from it. god that wasn't even everything, I'll stop now.

The white fang (or Fannus in general)

You can point out literally anything to do with this subplot and it would be offensive in some way. From animal people being race allegory by itself being sketchy at best to even Blake's mom's name being a slur in some contexts. People still try do defend it even though the WRITERS THEMSELVES admitting it was bad.

I think we should just stop trying to make truly divergent species direct race allegories, it's never worked

that one "Maybe you lost some brain cells along with that arm" scene

started with a good Yang scene, ending on a bad one. Oobleck is here (YIPPY) and Port too (god damn it) and they are joking about how funny that one time they put Qrow in a dress was because man in dress funny (ugh). So Yang gets some mediocre advice and gets insulted by the "maybe you lost some brain cells along with that arm" line and finds it funny. yes disabled people are allowed to make jokes about their own disability but there's a big difference between that and able bodied writers having an able bodied character make a joke at a disabled character's expense and saying the disabled person is fine with it. maybe I should be happy that they cut down on Yang's recovery arc if we were gonna get more of this, no matter how stupid that was.

Bonus: Coco

They really based one of their few gay characters on an IRL nazi and then made her predatory and sadistic in the not fun way...

[blossom-hwa]

a very fine line, indeed [3] | c.bg

pairing: Beomgyu x fem!reader genre:  fluff, angst, enemies to lovers, regency era!au, nobility!au warnings: mentions of abuse, cursing, period typical misogyny word count: 7.7k notes:  — updates every M/W/F at 8pm EST until the series finishes — assault/abuse scenes are not graphic, but please heed the warnings and let me know if any of it is romanticized or just written in poor taste--I assure you I did not mean it, and I will fix anything needed. — inspiration taken from an amalgamation of different bridgerton stories - let me know what easter eggs you find! — story takes place in the same universe as my duke!yeonjun and earl!taehyun fics - check out the link to the series below for some more easter eggs :) In a society where it only takes a year for a young woman in search of a husband to be considered out of season, it is no wonder that by your third year out, you are desperate to marry. Known as one of the beauties of the ton, such a task should not be difficult for you—but with an absent father, no dowry, and a reputation centered around your inability to keep your mouth shut around one certain Beomgyu Choi, your prospects are more limited than you’d like. While you cannot recover your family or your wealth, however, the one thing you can try to control is your reputation. So when the third season rolls around, you resolve to keep your distance from Beomgyu Choi, your childhood enemy, and the man you hate most in the world. Enter Beomgyu Choi, second son of the Kensington Viscountcy, one of the most eligible bachelors in the ton. His older brother, cousin, and good friend have all recently married, leaving the mamas to salivate at his doorstep for the chance of marrying one of their daughters to him. When Beomgyu walks in on a particularly traumatizing moment between you and one of the most unsavory men in the ton and learns of your desperation to marry, despite your history of enmity, he proposes you a devious deal—to pretend to court you. It seems like a winning situation for both of you—more gentlemen will take notice of you, enhancing your prospects, and he will have the ton’s mamas off his back—and so, despite your misgivings, you agree. With you hell bent on marriage and Beomgyu completely indifferent to the concept, even independent of your hatred for each other, it seems unlikely that any sort of true affection will bloom. But as you begrudgingly put aside your differences to spend more and more time in one another’s company, and as you grow to know each other beyond your ill-conceived preconceptions from childhood, you begin to realize that perhaps you two have more in common than you had once thought. And as your faked acquaintanceship becomes more truth than fiction, a friendship beginning to bloom most unexpectedly— Perhaps you no longer need to convince the ton of the veracity of your courtship, because anyone with eyes can see that it is true.  Part 2 >> Part 3 >> Part 4

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When your stepmother announces that the two of you will be attending the Harlowes’ upcoming garden party, you decide not to complain. It isn’t as if anything would come of it even if you did. But the Harlowes are a nice family, and their parties are never too intense—it is perfectly acceptable to pull out one of your older, more comfortable gowns for one of these events, and not have to worry about having a new one made. 

Not that you have the money to afford new gowns at the moment. But even so, re-wearing one of your older ones saves you the effort of having to fetch your embroidery hoops and threads to spruce up one of your gowns just to give it the illusion of being new. 

The day of the garden party dawns grey and wet in the morning, but by early afternoon the sun cheerfully shines in a blue sky mostly devoid of clouds. The light drizzle of the morning gives the grass a little sparkle as you step over the green, and to make things even better, a few gentlemen engage you in conversation almost immediately after you join the party, which takes you far away from your stepmother. 

It's a strange feeling, having people around who are actually interested in courting you. You are no stranger to having admirers, it is true, but any admirers you had never showed much interest in actually pursuing you. Even after Mr. Choi started pretending to court you, the general sentiment around you still seemed to be mostly look, don’t touch, until Lord Kim and his friends spoke to you at the Smythe-Smith musicale. With that conversation, it seems as though some final barrier has come crashing down, giving the men of the ton some sort of signal that you are acceptable for courtship. 

You are begrudgingly grateful to Mr. Choi for proposing this idea, and to Lord Kim for being the first to actually begin courting you. But you can’t say you don’t find it a little demeaning that all of these men now asking for your attentions felt the need to wait for other men to approve you first before trying their hands. 

Still, though, you need to be married, and beggars—or third season near-spinsters—can’t be choosers. So you smile prettily the way you’ve learned to and indulge them in conversation. Even though it is a garden party, Mrs. Harlowe has arranged for a short dais to be raised on the grass, a suitable floor for dancing. As the sun sets into evening, you engage some of the gentlemen in a few dances. 

Eventually, though, your mind and body begin to tire, and citing exhaustion, you duck away from your dance partners to find some peace and quiet. You don’t quite find that, but you do find the next best thing—Lady Choi by the refreshments, looking at the desserts.

“In need of saving?” she says as soon as you’re close enough, her lips twisted in a wry grin. “Here, you must be parched.”

You take the glass she hands you with thanks. “Not really saving,” you reply, taking a sip. “I’m just a little tired.” You sigh. “How are you? Is your husband not here?”

“I’m doing all right for myself.” She smiles. “I came alone, but Soobin and his brother said they would join me later. They should be here soon.”

You nod, smiling easily with her. She was married early the season you debuted, but prior to that she had been out for three years before she and Soobin finally realized their childhood love for one another. They were married soon after, but they of course still attended the season’s events, and last year when it became obvious you were not to be married for the second year in a row, she was one of the few who comforted you, rather than mocked you behind your back. You’ve become good friends over the past year despite your turbulent relationship with her brother in law. You can’t imagine how she abides Beomgyu in her daily life, but you only admire her all the more for it.

“Oh, Mr. Choi will be here too?” you ask. “He hadn’t mentioned it to me.”

“Curious, aren’t you?” Your friend snickers knowingly at you. You roll your eyes, because she actually knows nothing at all, but it isn’t as though you can say that right now. “You two are so strange. I suppose it really is true that hate is closer to love than anyone ever thinks.”

You just manage not to spew lemonade all over your friend’s dress. “Love?” you sputter, holding your drink at arm’s length before you spill it more. Already there are a few drops soaking into your gloves. “Where—what—we don’t love each other—”

“Only love could have ended that horrible blood between the two of you,” Lady Choi interrupts, glancing at you slyly. “Trust me, Y/N. If you don’t love him now, you will come to.”

Only love. That, or maybe just a deal made by two desperate people. 

“That is…a long time coming in the future,” you finally say. “He only started courting me a couple of months ago. We may be on better terms, but I’m…marriage…” You feel your cheeks get warm, even with the cool wind brushing across your cheeks. “We haven’t spoken of marriage. I don’t know if either of us is ready for it, or if we will even want it.”

Nothing you just said was a lie. But you still feel slightly nauseous just thinking of it. 

“People have gotten married in less time, and with less reason,” she points out. “Perhaps as his sister in law I am biased, but of all your suitors this season—and you have quite a few more than ever before—I believe him to be the best of all of them, and the best suited to you.” She squints at you briefly, then smiles. “I never thought I would say that. But when I saw you two in the park, talking and laughing…I must say, the two of you do make a striking pair.”

Talking and laughing. She doesn’t know that you two were trading thinly veiled insults almost until the moment you saw them. 

“Well, that is…very kind of you to say,” you get out. You take a sip of your glass of lemonade, ignoring the sticky drops still staining your gloves. The sky has darkened with the onset of evening so no one should be able to see it, but you can feel it. And with your hands cracked between washing dishes and the slowly cooling weather, the stinging lemonade doesn’t feel very good. You rack your mind for something to say, but behind your friend, two familiar figures catch your eye. “Oh!” you exclaim, relieved at the distraction. “Is that your husband?”

Sure enough, Lord Choi and Mr. Choi are coming over the grass, the last rays of sunlight framing their faces. Not for the first time, you envy your friend for her marriage. Lord Choi is handsome, very handsome, but your envy doesn’t come from his looks. Rather, it is the clear adoration on his face as he walks up to his wife and takes her arm so sweetly, the look they share after they greet each other that means a thousand things to them and no one else. 

“Miss L/N.” Mr. Choi takes your hand and you nearly jump, still rattled from your conversation with Lady Choi. Belatedly you realize he took the hand with the lemonade spill, but he’s already pressing the customary kiss on your knuckles so there isn’t any point in trying to pull away. He doesn’t say anything about it either. “I didn’t know you would be here today. How long have you been?”

“Well, my stepmother only decided we would attend a couple of days ago,” you reply back. Relief helps you smile quietly at him—you can manage polite conversation like this. “I’ve been here since the afternoon. We are very lucky the rain stopped earlier in the morning.”

“So we are,” he agrees. His gaze skips over behind you, and his gaze turns nonplussed. “It seems my brother and his wife have decided to give us some time alone.”

You turn and sure enough, the two of them are disappearing into the growing crowd, happily linked by their arms. You smile a little. “They’re in love,” is all you say. 

“Yes, I know,” Mr. Choi grumbles. “It was such a pain to watch them figure it out. I swear, Soobin was about to send me to an early grave.”

That startles a laugh out of you. “Was it truly so terrible?”

“Miss L/N, one of the worst things that can ever happen to you is to watch two idiots fall in love and not realize it.” He shudders. “Soobin would deny it every time I tried to talk to him. They just have to realize it themselves, and unfortunately that takes an eternity.” 

You didn’t know Lady Choi before she was married, but she’s told you a fair amount about her childhood. And in the end, it always came back to Lord Choi—Soobin. How they played together as kids, how he wrote to her even when he was in school, how he comforted her after her first season out with nary a proposal in sight. It was so obvious to you just from the way she spoke of him that she had loved him for a very, very long time. 

You try to imagine what it would be like to be around that for five, ten, maybe fifteen years, except without admitting that she loved him. You also shudder. 

It must have been infuriating. 

You say as much to Mr. Choi and he snickers. He doesn’t seem to do that around anyone else. Which makes sense—snickering is not exactly one of the hallmarks of polite society, tittering is more like it. But Mr. Choi doesn’t need to pretend to be polite around you given that you both have seen the worst parts of each other already. 

Hm. You always thought that Mr. Choi brought out the worst in you, but maybe he’s the only one you can truly be yourself around, and vice versa. Flaws and all. 

How ironic.

You drag yourself out of that strange train of thought with difficulty. Maybe you’ll probe it again later, but the idea that only Mr. Choi knows the real you makes you want to hide in the bushes and maybe scream. “Would you like a drink, Mr. Choi?” you ask, motioning to the refreshments. “It seems they have just refilled the table.”

Once both of you have drinks in hand, you congratulate yourself for having whiled away another few minutes of polite conversation with Mr. Choi. Then you realize that there aren’t very many people around here, so you have to continue talking with him. 

Good God. You didn’t realize it would be so difficult to hold a conversation with Mr. Choi that didn’t involve insults that echoed around the ton. It isn’t that you want to hurl obscenities at him now. You just don’t know what else to say. “Any residual trouble with the mamas?” you ask, because your deal is usually a safe topic when there aren’t others around. 

“Only a few of the most determined.” He smiles at you in that conspiratorial way, like you share a secret, and when you smile back it feels almost friendly. It isn’t a bad feeling. “Mrs. Jung…I hardly know anything about the woman, but when she puts her mind to something, she certainly does everything she can to see it to the end.”

You think back to the Mrs. Jung you know, all warm smiles and gentle eyes burning with a passion to see both of her daughters married to titled gentlemen. Her second daughter, Mihae, is a shy little thing—very sweet, very pretty, but very quiet. You wonder how she feels about her mother’s efforts. “Well, you aren’t wrong about that,” you reply frankly. “But she’s a good woman. Very kind.”

“I know. The two aspects are not mutually exclusive.” Mr. Choi sighs, then runs a hand through his hair. Your eye catches on the movement. In the fading sunlight, his brown hair takes on a tinge of gold, and for the first time you realize Mr. Choi really is handsome. You have never been blind to his looks, of course—you know he is attractive, the same way you know you are beautiful. But when he is friendly, when he speaks to you like a person and not someone he holds a childhood grudge against…

He's very handsome. And try as you might, you can’t exactly figure out what to do with this information. 

“Your end of the deal seems to be going rather well,” he says, and you shove your train of thought away. You are never picking that one back up. He eyes a small group of men farther down the green, who all seem to be looking at you with varying degrees of interest. You’re quite sure they aren’t looking at Mr. Choi, at least. “How many suitors have you gathered?”

“A few,” you say, allowing yourself a wry smile. Lord Kim called the morning after the Smythe-Smith musicale, and for once your stepmother didn’t yell at you at all for the rest of the day. There were a couple others, too—Mr. Winslow seemed very kind, and though you don’t think much of Lord Fife, he at least made you laugh a little. “I suppose your plan did have some merit.”

“Of course it did. I’m a genius.” He smirks, his expression so self-congratulating as he raises his glass to you in mock cheer that you abandon all notions of Mr. Choi being handsome. You want to pinch him. Hard. 

“Don’t inflate your head too much,” you snipe, taking a sip of your own drink. “It doesn’t become you.”

He snickers again and for some reason, you feel your annoyance grow. You force it down. You were having a good time, you remind yourself. Mr. Choi was being almost bearable—actually bearable, even, if you’re being nice. You just need to change the subject back to something safe that won’t have you at his throat in seconds, or maybe maneuver yourselves to talk to other people—

“Did you not buy gloves?”

You blink. “What?”

“The other week, when I called. You mentioned you had gone to town to buy gloves.” Mr. Choi looks down at your hands, then back at you blankly, completely oblivious to the way your heart has stopped beating. “Did you not find any? Forgive me if I am wrong, but you seem to be wearing the same pair as always.”

If your heart wasn’t beating a second ago, it is now beating fast enough that you almost can’t breathe. You look down at your gloves. You always wear them—you need them to hide the calluses and cracks that come with your housework at home—but no one has remarked on them before. They’re plain, white, and customary. You’ve always kept them clean and mended them to perfection and you haven’t had to spend your family’s meager funds on a second pair in years. 

Why did you use that as your excuse to Mr. Choi? Why did he have to remember that? And why, just why did he even have to notice?

“I didn’t find anything that day,” you say haltingly. “And I haven’t had much time to go out since.” Your voice grows slightly sharp, and you can’t seem to rein it back in. “I spilled some lemonade on them earlier. I apologize if that upset you.”

A beat of silence follows. You bite the inside of your lip to keep yourself from speaking and making things worse. 

“Damn,” Mr. Choi finally curses, breaking the silence. You blink, but his expression softens, looking almost contrite. “I apologize. I shouldn’t have said anything. I spoke without thinking, Miss L/N.” He swallows, looking uncomfortable for the first time. You start to feel a little guilty for snapping at him. “I wanted to make conversation and so I spoke my thoughts without thinking. I apologize if I offended you.”

“It’s…quite all right,” you say, feeling just as awkward as he looks. “I must apologize for snapping at you. It was not so offensive a question, I was just not…prepared.”

Mr. Choi raises an eyebrow. “That might be the second time you’ve apologized to me, Miss L/N.”

You roll your eyes, but for all his mocking words, you can’t help but feel relieved that he let it all go so quickly. “As I’ve said before, don’t get used to it,” you snap. “And if I recall correctly, you apologized first.”

“So I did.” He smiles, looking almost friendly yet again, and it seems like he’s about to say something more before someone calls his name. 

“Beomgyu!”

The two of you turn to see a man and his wife walking up, his wife holding something in her arms. You don’t quite recognize them, though the wife looks very familiar. You stare at her a moment, trying to place her, but then Mr. Choi smiles widely and calls out the man’s name. “Yeonjun! I didn’t know you would come today.”

And then it hits you. This woman was the diamond of your first season who was acknowledged by the queen during her debut, and who went on to marry the Duke of Hastings, only the most eligible bachelor of the ton in years. You haven’t spoken much to her, but she is beautiful, and from what you have heard, she is also kind, gracious, and very intelligent. 

The Duke of Hastings also happens to be Mr. Choi’s first cousin, which explains why they seem so delighted to see each other here.

A sick feeling curdles in your stomach. What would such a brilliant woman think of you, sharp-witted and foul-mouthed, being courted by her cousin in law? Surely she has read Whistledown or seen snippets of it. Last season, there was a mention of you in every other week, and very few of them were focused on your positive aspects. 

The two of them approach you with bright smiles. You see that the duchess isn’t just carrying something—in fact, she’s carrying her baby, which explains the servant trailing behind her with a small pram. Though your palms remain sweaty with anxiety, something in you melts when you see the child, small and giggly and obviously very happy to be in their mother’s arms. 

“Well, we wanted to get some fresh air. I’ve been cooped up inside for too long.” The duchess smiles and in that one expression, you can see her kindness. “The Harlowes always host some of the greatest parties, so I thought we could drop by.” She looks at you, obviously not recognizing you, but her kind smile doesn’t waver. “Might I ask your name? I’m not sure we’ve been introduced.”

“Oh, I am Miss Y/N L/N.” You curtsy slightly, fixing a smile to your face. “My father is the Baronet L/N, I am not sure if you are acquainted with him.”

To your surprise, her smile doesn’t fade even the slightest upon hearing your name. In fact, she only laughs. “So you are the young lady Lord Choi was telling me about, the one who had such a terrible history with Beomgyu only for him to end up courting her.” She leans closer to you. “Between you and me, Miss L/N, whatever you did to him in the past, I’m sure he deserved it.”

Her words startle a laugh out of your chest, compounded only when Mr. Choi snaps “Hey!” with a deep pout. “I’m not that bad,” he mutters.

“Actually, you are,” the duke replies, smirking, which just sets you off again. 

The duchess, apparently taking pity on Mr. Choi—she might just be an angel—segues the conversation away from teasing him to your courtship, which is a much less welcome topic but also one that probably cannot be avoided. “How long has this been happening?” she asks, handing her baby off to the duke. “The way Soobin told me about it, you two had been at odds for…well, nearly forever.”

You’ve told the story so many times that it is almost second nature for the lies to slip off your tongue. Mr. Choi nods to emphasize some points, and chimes in to finish the story off on his own. You look at him after, just for a moment, to let your secret understanding pass between the two of you.

“Well, that sounds just like a love story for the books,” the duke says, smiling in surprise. “I honestly never though Beomgyu would get past his childhood grudge. It’s good to see that he’s matured.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” you tease, which sets off another round of laughs from everyone but Mr. Choi, who narrows his eyes at you with his mouth still fixed into that deep pout. “I jest. But I will admit, it has been nice to see another side of Mr. Choi that I had not been privy to before.” It’s as much truth as it is a lie, so you don’t feel much guilt for saying it.

Mr. Choi, likely sensing that you are veering back into teasing territory, swiftly turns the conversation to the duchess’s baby. Apparently she is just a few months old and already the sweetest thing, but she was a bit small at birth. “Should she be outside like this?” Mr. Choi asks, stroking back a bit of flyaway hair on her head. The duke obligingly hands the child to his cousin, and as he carefully takes the baby, you are reminded of how he spoke to your little sister that day he called. He’s so gentle, so sweet and concerned—he almost seems like a different person altogether. 

“The doctor said it should be fine, and that it would do good for her to get some fresh air every so often,” the duchess says, gazing fondly at her child. It isn’t right, but you feel a little pang of envy—that she is so beautiful, that she can be so kind and have such a loving and doting husband as well as the sweetest child. She’s perfect in every way that you aren’t. “She seems to be enjoying it.”

“She certainly does,” you say softly, holding out a finger to her. She grabs it with her own little hands and you laugh when her big eyes find yours, wide with wonder and curiosity. “She’s lovely.”

“Would you like to hold her?” the duchess asks. 

You take her with reverent hands, feel her small body pressed against yours as she laughs and gurgles at you. She reminds you of Delia when she was small and you helped take care of her, rocking her to sleep before she napped, walking her around your small garden so she could see the flowers. “She’s lovely,” you whisper again, more to yourself than anyone else. 

When you look up, the duke and duchess are gazing at their child with undisguised fondness, but Mr. Choi seems to be looking at you with a strange expression. You frown at him slightly. “Mr. Choi? Is something wrong?”

He blinks. “No, nothing at all,” he says, that strange expression disappearing so fast you almost think you imagined it. You narrow your eyes, not trusting him completely, but then the baby gurgles again so adorably that you have to coo. 

The duke and duchess eventually leave, and then Mr. Choi leads you to the small stage to dance with you twice. You spend a few hours more at the party, just chatting and laughing, before your stepmother decides it is time to leave. 

When you go to bid goodbye to Mr. Choi, that same strange expression flashes across his face quickly before he bows and wishes you a good night. And for some reason, though so much happened during the day, you can’t help but wonder what that expression meant all the way home. 

. . . . .

Standing across the ballroom, watching you whisk your way across the dance floor with another man, Beomgyu comes to the unfortunate conclusion that you are likely actually a good person. This is a very unfortunate finding, as it only makes it more difficult for him to dislike you on principle as he always has.

But he can’t exactly ignore it anymore. The fact has been pushing him to stare it in the face for a while now, but after the Harlowes’ party, where you held the duchess’s child with such tenderness and care…

Quite frankly, Beomgyu has never seen you look so soft in your life. He caught a glimpse of it when he met Delia for the first time, but your tenderness to those you care for has never been more obvious than in that moment when you held the baby. Beomgyu automatically distrusts those who are rude to children—he would never say anyone has to like them, but they are young and inexperienced and never deserve outright cruelty. To those who are not only kind to children, but actively respectful and accommodating for each of their individual quirks and personalities…well, Beomgyu holds such people in quite a high regard. It usually means they have good hearts.

As Beomgyu is beginning to see in many of your interactions with others, you have a good heart indeed.

When he saw you holding his cousin’s baby, your face soft with wonder and tenderness, it struck him then that good people are very beautiful, no matter their looks. And unfortunately, since then, he hasn’t been able to see you the same way he did before—pretty, but unconvincing in your respectability. The more he observes you, though, the more grudging respect he gains for you.

It is true that you have acted abominably around him. But Beomgyu now must conceded that he has let that part of you blind him long enough that he never bothered to notice how you act around others, too. This leaves a bit of a bitter taste in his mouth, though he has to acknowledge that he is at least as responsible for your mutual enmity as you are. 

It doesn’t mean he has plans to apologize just yet, though. 

The current piece ends, and Beomgyu watches you curtsy to your partner with a wide smile on your face. The man doesn’t seem to be one that he recognizes, and he frowns a little. Beomgyu knows almost every gentleman in the ton, simply by virtue of the season and attending school with them for many years. If he doesn’t know who this person is, he must be from out of town. 

It isn’t that rare for some foreign nobility to attend a season to find a partner in London, but Beomgyu feels certain that he would have heard of such a thing from Whistledown. Perhaps this man arrived in the week between issues. The next issue should tell him more about this person. 

No matter. You and Beomgyu agreed to dance a quadrille tonight and that so happens to be the next dance in this set. Foreign suitor or not, he should at least ask if you would like to take to the floor with him. He wouldn’t mind if you refused, as there will be other quadrilles, but he won’t break your agreement. 

You fairly seem to sparkle tonight. As Beomgyu comes closer, he almost stops at the sight of your bright smile directed right at this foreign lord. You’ve never looked so happy—or at least so enamored. Which, to be honest, Beomgyu doesn’t quite understand. Yes, this man is handsome, but what exactly else does he have?

Thankfully, he gets to you when it seems that you’ve reached a lull in your conversation. He catches your attention and to his surprise, your smile hardly fades when you notice him. “Miss L/N,” he greets, bowing slightly. 

“Mr. Choi.” You curtsy prettily, and that’s when Beomgyu realizes why your bright smile unsettled him—it looks completely genuine. With everyone else you’ve spoken to, your expression has been pretty but bland, pleasant but reserved in a way that isn’t quite yourself. Right now, though, speaking to this new person, you look completely at ease with yourself, and not in the way you are with Beomgyu, unafraid to bite back and toss insults in his face. 

No, with this foreign lord, you look completely yourself in your most charming form. And Beomgyu…

He almost feels jealous of it. 

“Allow me to introduce you to Lord Cho,” you say, breaking Beomgyu out of his rapidly devolving train of thought. “Lord Cho, meet Mr. Choi, second in line to the viscountcy of Kensington.”

“A pleasure.” Lord Cho inclines his head, that charming smile never once fading. Beomgyu has to force his own smile not to curdle as he greets the other lord in turn. 

“Lord Cho has just come from the continent to join the season,” you explain. “He hails from Prussia.”

Beomgyu raises an eyebrow. Prussia is a great distance away, not one that most would brave simply to join the London season. He has enough propriety not to say that, of course, but he has to wonder why this Lord Cho could find no one in his home country to marry, with his good looks and charm. “My word, that is quite the journey,” he says neutrally. “I hope you did not find the travel too taxing.”

“Not at all.” Lord Cho smiles easily, which for some reason just puts Beomgyu more on edge. “I love to travel, and if in the end it was to meet Miss L/N, it was all worth it.”

Beomgyu almost gags. To your credit, you don’t look much impressed by his flirty quip, but you do smile somewhat wryly at him. “We have only just met, Lord Cho,” you say. “Do save your deepest compliments for those who deserve them.”

Lord Cho grins. “And do you not think you are deserving?”

That’s quite enough. Beomgyu fixes his attention on you before he does something stupid to Lord Cho, like roll his eyes. Or punch him in the face. “Miss L/N, the quadrille is about to begin,” he says. “I came to ask if you might want to dance.”

You glance at Lord Cho, but before Beomgyu can tell what you’re thinking, you’ve turned back to him and are putting your hand in his. “Of course,” you reply. “Thank you, Mr. Choi. Lord Cho, perhaps I will find you sometime later this evening.”

“I will count the dances until then,” he replies smoothly, and Beomgyu just refrains from rolling his eyes as he leads you onto the floor.

The music begins, and the two of you effortlessly take your starting positions. “How did you meet him?” Beomgyu mutters as you pass one another. 

“It seems he is good friends with Mr. Jung,” you reply. “Lord Cho is staying with him while he decides whether or not he wishes to stay long enough to let a house. He came with Mr. Jung to this ball.”

This makes sense, to Beomgyu. Wooyoung is a social butterfly. If anyone in town were to have foreign friends, it would be him. He spins you under his arm. “You seem to like him very much.”

A little smile involuntarily curves your lips. Beomgyu isn’t even sure you notice it, which annoys him more than it really should. “He’s very charming,” you say. “And he has already asked to call on me sometime this week.”

Well, at least he seems to be serious. Beomgyu wants to ask more questions, but the music is picking up as it nears the climax of the dance, so he forces himself to focus on the steps first as you dip and spin and whirl across the floor. There will be time to probe later. Beomgyu doesn’t wish to think ill of someone he hardly knows, but he has been accounted a fair judge of people’s personalities. If he dislikes Lord Cho, there might be a reason. 

Or it could just be that twinge of jealousy that he felt earlier. 

No. He turns you under his arm, catches your hand. For a moment, the two of you meet eyes. He can’t be jealous—you two have no relationship. He isn’t even really courting you. Sure, the animosity between you two might be fading ever so slightly, but you are still a ways from even being friends. Jealousy doesn’t make sense. This is just…concern. Normal concern that one would feel for any acquaintance who might possibly be in a worrisome situation. 

The music fades out, and as he bows to your curtsy, Beomgyu can already see Lord Cho glancing at you from one side of the ballroom with a group of what Beomgyu will assume to be his friends. Fortunately, the refreshments are on the other side of the room. “Shall we get a drink, Miss L/N?” he asks. “You must be parched after having danced so much this evening.”

You smile at him gratefully, and Beomgyu feels some absurd sense of pride that he’s the one who made you smile this way. “That would be most welcome,” you say, and so the two of you head to a table laid out with an array of glasses. 

Several things happen in rapid succession. 

One: Beomgyu picks up two glasses of lemonade and hands one to you. 

Two: You take the glass. 

Three: Someone’s elbow knocks into you from behind. 

Four: You crash right into Beomgyu, and the two of you fall to the floor in a twist of limbs and lemonade. 

Beomgyu blinks, drops of lemonade stinging his eyes slightly as he tries to take in what just happened. You’re on the floor and clearly took the worst of the fall—you may have knocked into him, but your cup shattered on the ground and little glass shards lie all around you, glinting in the candlelight. "Bloody hell,” he curses under his breath. Someone’s apologies sound vaguely against his ears but he can only hear your slight hiss of annoyance as you try to stand. “Miss L/N, come—you need to get out of the glass.” You cry out in pain when he tries to take your hand so he gingerly grips your fingers to help you up. “Come, I’ll help you to another room,” he says, glaring at those who have come to gawk at the scene. “Move, please,” he snaps at the crowd. 

Somehow the two of you make it to a small, empty room, where a servant rushes in with a little basin of water and a cloth. Beomgyu looks at you, unsure what to do. Your gloves are covered in sticky lemonade and part of the front of your dress is also soaked in it, but worst of all…

A line of red seems to have soaked through your gloves. You’re bleeding. 

“You’re bleeding,” he says as calmly as he can. “Miss L/N—”

“I know,” you snap, jerking your hands away from his, which doesn’t make sense because he’s the one who has the cloth to wipe the blood with. He doesn’t relent, though. “The glass must have scratched you,” he says, reaching for you again. “We need to clean it.”

You look at him. He looks at you. Then, almost as one, you look down at the blood seeping through your gloves. 

Through your gloves. Beomgyu blinks. There are no rips in the fabric, just stains from your blood and the lemonade. 

Which means the glass didn’t cut you, and the blood is coming from something else. 

“Miss L/N,” Beomgyu says slowly. “What happened to your hands?”

. . .

You stay silent for a moment. When you raise your head, a dull expression resides on your face. “Leave me, please, Mr. Choi,” you say, reaching with your unbloodied glove. “I can clean myself up. You need not be here.”

Beomgyu snatches back the cloth. “No,” he replies shortly. “How exactly do you plan to bandage your hand on your own? Do you even have anything to bind it with?”

“Just leave me!” you snap. “I will find some way on my own—”

“Would you just let me stay here and help you?” Beomgyu explodes. “I know you don’t like me, but I only want to help!”

Then he remembers that the door is still open. 

Dead silence falls. But though no one comes in and he hears no whispers outside, meaning their deal is probably still safe, he looks at you and you suddenly looked hunched in and—terrified. Beomgyu feels awful. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “I didn’t mean to yell, and I certainly didn’t mean to say that.”

You swallow hard. Beomgyu is reminded of the terrible night of that first ball, when Mr. Thompson tried to assault you and you went into something like shock. This time, though, you manage to speak. “It’s all right,” you say quietly. “I’m sorry, too. It’s not because I dislike you. It’s…” You turn away. 

Beomgyu reaches out. Takes the hand with the bloody glove gently. You flinch slightly and he almost lets go, but with seeming effort you force yourself to relax. You don’t pull away even as he begins to peel back the worn cotton layer to reveal your bare hands. 

A lady’s hand is meant to be smooth, soft. The hardest labor they might do with their hands is sew embroidery, or pen letters and documents every day. But your hands are rough, littered with small calluses and cuts left in tender skin. The pads of your fingers look pricked and raw while your palms seem slightly swollen. Beomgyu recognizes the cracks that come from the mixture of harsh wind and exposure to cold water. He got plenty of those when he used to play outside in the winter, but young ladies your age don’t play outside, especially not in this harsh winter season. These marks have no place on your hands. 

So where did they come from?

Without a word, Beomgyu dips the cloth into the basin and presses it against one of the cracks still oozing blood on your palm. Silence fills the room save for the sound of your breathing, the ripple of water in the basin as he wets the cloth again. 

“You’re not going to ask what happened?” you ask roughly. Normally, Beomgyu would bristle at your tone and the sarcasm littered through it, but in this moment he recognizes that this is your last defense in a moment of weakness. He doesn’t rise to the bait. 

“No,” he replies quietly. “Not unless you want to tell me. I will not pry.”

You stay silent for a moment more. Beomgyu continues cleaning off the blood and lemonade, acutely aware of your eyes warily searching his face for something. He doesn’t quite know if you find it, but as he’s dipping the cloth back into the basin, you take a breath. 

“On your honor,” you say, voice trembling, “what I am about to say does not leave this room.”

He nods. “On my honor, and that of my family, I swear it.” 

Something in your face seems to relax, though your shoulders remain tense. “I have no dowry.”

This is common knowledge. Beomgyu says nothing of it, though, and just waits. 

“My family is poor.” You state the words with a dull finality. “We may still have our house and estate, but we do not have a full array of servants.” You pause to take a deep breath and Beomgyu has a sinking feeling he knows what you will say next. 

“And so someone must help them with the chores they cannot summon the manpower to do.”

Beomgyu lets those words mill around his mind for a bit before he says anything. “And that person is you,” he states. 

Your lips curve in the semblance of a smile, though no mirth reaches your eyes. “How ever did you guess?” you ask, sarcasm in every word. 

Silence falls again. Beomgyu takes the time to sort through the revelations you’ve given him. Your family is far poorer than the ton even knows. There is not enough money to hire the number of servants needed to keep your estates in order. Which means you must help them with their work, resulting in these rough, callused hands. Beomgyu can see exactly where these cracks come from. Doing laundry in the cold air, icy water drying out your hands while the wind chaps them…

A sick feeling rises in his stomach. No wonder you wear gloves all the time. And no wonder you have worn the same pair for…however long. Probably longer than Beomgyu even knows. You likely don’t have the money to spare for a new one. 

“Does your stepmother know about this?” he asks quietly.

You snort. “Who do you think ordered me to begin with it?”

He stops. Stares. “What?”

“My stepmother hates me,” you snap. “I am a daughter, and not even one by her blood. If I wasn’t already known to society when she married my father I’m sure she would have dropped me off as a maid in someone else’s home and been done with me.” Your voice starts rising, but with visible effort, you rein yourself in. “Unfortunately, she is stuck with me, so I must earn my keep as a daughter who brings no monetary value to the household.” 

Beomgyu’s head is reeling. So he was right—you and your stepmother aren’t on good terms. But what he hadn’t realized was just how bad those terms were. Not only does your stepmother know about your servitude, she’s the one who started it. And Beomgyu doesn’t have to ask to know that your stepmother has likely never lifted a hand to help even when you started. 

He feels a little nauseous. Maybe you really do fear your stepmother, if your relationship is more of a master and servant than a mother and daughter. It sounds terrible, but the more you say, the more likely it becomes. 

No wonder you are so insistent on marrying before society takes you off the marriage shelf.

Something of his thoughts must show on his face, because you jerk your hands away. “Don’t pity me,” you say dangerously, a snarl creeping into your words. Your eyes shine strangely and Beomgyu thinks you might be about to cry. “I am telling you now, Mr. Choi—don’t you dare give me any of your pity. I don’t want it. If that is what keeps you in here, you can leave right now.”

“I don’t pity you,” he replies quietly, reaching for your hand again. “I could never pity a person as strong as you.”

Tension hangs in the air, so thick it feels like a noose wrapping around his neck. Slowly, though, you extend your hand back to him, and the air relaxes slightly. “Does your father know?” he asks. 

“No. He is always on his nth business venture, trying to make money for the household so my brother will have something to inherit.” You shake your head. “His last letter was months ago. I have no idea where he is or if he’s even still alive. Anyway, my stepmother would never have me work whenever he was home, and he’d never believe me if I said anything anyway.”

Beomgyu sucks in a breath. Lets it out slowly, very slowly. “I see,” is all he ends up saying.

You watch in silence as he takes a clean handkerchief from his pocket and wraps it around your hand, covering the cuts in the white cloth. It takes him a few tries but he finally manages to tie the ends in a knot. It looks a bit clumsy, but it is functional. “You’ll want to bandage that properly later,” he says. “Do you still want to return to the party?”

He sees the answer written on your face even before you reply. “No,” you whisper, and for the first time that evening—the first time ever—you look broken. It shatters something in Beomgyu’s chest. “No, I really don’t.” You swallow. “But my stepmother is still here and she won’t want to leave so soon…”

“I will send you home in mine,” he interrupts quietly. “I had planned to stay a few hours longer, anyway. If anyone asks, I will say that the mess was too great, and you went home to clean up and rest.” He holds out a hand. “Will that be all right?”

Relief crashes over your face as you nod. “Yes,” you say. “Thank you very much.”

The two of you slip out of the room. Beomgyu is thankful to see that no one seems to have been in the hallway. You alert a servant to the basin and cloth you left in there, and then Beomgyu manages lead you out of the mansion without anyone asking too many questions. You don’t speak until you’re in front of his family’s carriage and Beomgyu has given directions to the footman. He offers you a hand to help you inside and you take it, but you don’t step up yet.

“Thank you, Mr. Choi,” you say quietly. “I must apologize for any rude behavior I displayed earlier. I am ever grateful for your help, and your understanding.” You swallow. “I owe you.”

“You owe me nothing,” he replies. “And there is nothing to forgive. You were forced to show me something you have kept secret for a long time, and understandably so—I cannot imagine anyone would have reacted gracefully in the face of that.” He looks at you, moonlight glittering solemnly in your eyes. “And, Miss L/N, I swear on my honor and those who came before me that what you told me tonight will never pass my lips to another. Not without your express permission.”

You look at him for a long moment, gaze unreadable. “Mr. Choi,” you finally say, “for all the faults I once perceived in you, your honor is the one thing that has never been in doubt to me.”

Reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed this, and have a lovely day :)

[eroguron0nsense]

Marineford is basically just the really ambitious dark what-if bad ending for Water Seven/Enies Lobby (ONE PIECE SPOILERS)

Let's review: you've got two victims imprisoned and awaiting execution for supposed crimes against the world government. Their supposed offences are inextricably tied to the nature of their existence through absolutely no fault of their own. Neither of them think they particularly deserve to be alive and are horrified that the people they love–whose lives they value way more than their own–are facing near certain death to rescue them. Like, to the extent they're both begging to be abandoned and left for dead as they're chained up and helpless, watching good people struggling and falling one by one in the struggle to save them and the situation getting more and more dire. Both have a moment where they have a breakthrough and express that in spite of all their trauma and suicidal self hatred, they want to live and seek joy and meaning with Luffy and their respective crews as it becomes evident that their loved ones will take on the world to get them out.

The difference is just that in Water Seven, you have dozens of really hype moments and everything is cathartic and saving Robin is arguably the greatest moment of triumph in the series. Everyone you think might die gets saved by deus ex machinas (Sodom and Gomorrah, the Franky family, the Straw Hats themselves). In Marineford, we get to watch Ace's friends die in front of him and we watch him scream as the Whitebeards suffer for him; Oars is kind of a perfect microcosm of this who literally has his body trampled over in the effort to rescue him. The brief moment of catharsis you get when he's almost rescued gets shattered with his murder, and then we end on a desperate rush to get Luffy out alive because he's so exhausted and traumatized he can't fight any more. It's one of the biggest downer endings to any arc in fiction and it's made doubly so by all the parallels we've seen in which the Straw Hats are rewarded for their boundless love for each other and their fellow man, their "all for one, one for all" ethos that underscores the entire series, and their willingness to throw themselves against any enemy–and quite literally take on the world– for their friends in the face of horrible injustice against them.

And instead of "I want to live" we get this kinda subtly dark ending for his character because as beautiful as him dying for Luffy and the whole "thank you for loving me" speech is, it reaffirms that as much as Ace has found meaning in his existence, he'll never get to go through Robin's (ongoing) journey of self acceptance. He'll never realize that his friends love him for who he is and not in spite of it. He does't get to grow past the last of the trauma and self hatred and survivor's guilt holding him back as a person, or meet Rayleigh in the postwar and learn things about his parents and the real history of the world that could have given him the catharsis he always needed, or just that he has immense value and brings as much joy to the people he's devoted his life to as they do to him. His final words just make it really clear that as much as he wishes he could keep living with his friends and family, he still cannot fathom the concept that he personally was worth saving or sacrifice at all.

[am-i-dead]

Just finished Greedfall in 2024 because it was on sale (and they implemented a way to disable camera effects which stopped me from playing the first time due to motion sickness). And I saw your post about Greedfall content in 2023, and I am similarly starving. This was such an ambitious game for a small studio, and I think with more polish and resources, it could've been an all-time great. It kills me to think this game won't get the love that it deserves since it's made with so much heart, you know? Worse yet, I fell for Kurt, the least loved LI by Steam metrics. Only 1.7%??? C'mon! Haven't fallen this hard for a fictional character since Garrus Vakarian (please don't judge me).

That's exactly why I started playing Greedfall in the first place too, I was just looking for a random fantasy game, and I saw it on sale for like $7 and I just bought it on a whim. And honestly, despite some of Greedfall’s bugs it's SUCH a fantastic game, plus the fact that it was made by such a small studio?? The visuals are phenomenal, and the world-building is chefs KISS. It just sucks that it was made by a smaller studio with limited resources, so it wasn't able to reach its full potential. Think if a group like Bethesda had produced this game, it would've been, like you said “an all-time great”! But then again, if it had been made by a bigger studio, it wouldn't have the same amount of heart as Greedfall now…

OMG and don't get me started on Kurt. If the game had gotten more popular IMAGINE all the Kurt content we could’ve had. I find it SO HARD TO BELIEVE that only 1.7% of ppl romanced him… LIKE WHAT?????? You are telling me you don't want this beautiful beautiful traumatized soldier? I hyper-fixated on that man for MONTHS

(also no judgment abt Garrus, I GET you. He is a fantastic choice)