#i really want to know more about the rebellion plots

[sillyengineerperson]

another day, another hunger games book that's made me cry my eyes out

[coolauntlilith]

Every now and then I replay the first episode of VLD and I wonder why I thought it be a good show lol

[pennyellee]

𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐗𝐈𝐑

title: ELIXIR pairings: mafia hoseok x female reader genre: dark romance, smut, porn with plot, 90s, sort of arranged marriage, childhood friends to lovers word count: app. 22K beta read by one and only @chaoticpuff17 prompt 1: "And I won't be satisfied till we're taking those vows" prompt 2: you were apparently promised to the heir of Jung's criminal empire since birth, not that you ever took that ongoing inside joke seriously. You grew up alongside the said man, yet your mind is conflicted about upholding your part and saying I do until one drunken night reveals a lot more than you'd like.

warnings: minors dni 18+ | explicit language, hurt men's ego, arranged marriage, yandere behaviour, hoseok is complicated to understand tbh, but same for the reader, implied murder, graphic violence, alcohol usage, heavy drinking, abuse of prescribed medication, anti-depressants, oral sex (both f and m receiving), face riding, penetration, unprotected sex, sideways sex, creampie, shame walk, misogyny, old traditional norms forced upon, guns, illegal activities, emotional distress, hoseok is sometimes kind of a dick, manipulative behaviour, and so on (if i forgot something I'm sorry)

author's note: Good morning American, Good afternoon Europe, Good night Korea. Happy Birthday to Hobi! This one has been simmering in my brain for the longest time, and I can’t believe it’s finally out in the world! This is where the heart of the story really began for me when I first dreamt up the telling the tales that happened around 1996 in NYC. Champagne Confetti and Anubis may have made their debut first (and trust me, I’m still cooking up more for those), but this piece is a stand-alone one-shot, though hey, I’m not against adding some filler if inspiration strikes. Princess and Hoseok’s story is woven through all my works, past, present, and future, especially with the Anubis chapters, so you’ll definitely see more of them.

I’m a bundle of nerves and excitement sharing this with you, just like every time I hit that publish button. If you didn't read the preview and my note there, to emphasise - I’m knee-deep in my MA thesis (yes, the chaos is real), so if I go ghost for a bit, know I’m just wrestling with academic deadlines. Thus, that's why there is still no new chapter on Anubis or Lacrimosa.

But I adore you all endlessly for sticking around and reading my stuff, my lovely little fairies! ✨

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐏𝐑���𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐋 | ❝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟔❞

Winter 1995

"Well thank fuck we are making a ton of those,—" he laughs at you and how you're gulping down nearly a tenth glass of whiskey that has his family name on the crystal clear bottle, poisoning your mind with the elixir more and more each time the liquid meets your lips.

"and that's why you're ordering me another one now," you say, resting your head on your right hand and squinting, eyeing him. The man sitting next to you at the bar loves you, and all he wants is for you to love him back. When it was decided that you were to be wed, he was thrilled to hear the news, as if he would not want it without the blessing. But your disappointment and rebellion against the elder's decision made him calculate how to get you to obey and be the good girl he knows you are.

"You ready to talk, Princess?" The pet names were the usual consensus in your friendship. Though this one turned a shade darker. Everybody called you that and you never minded it, but now this remind you of your "duty" that you are not ready to fulfil.

You have no idea what you just agreed to. The young man nods to the bartender, who begins to prepare the eleventh glass while he only sits by his second.

The bartender places the crystal clear glass with ice and liquid inside in front of you. You inhale the air sharply and press a finger on your eyelid to smooth down your eyeshadow, only for your hand to drop to balance your head on the back of it. The other runs through a sleek, shoulder-length bob with a soft inward curl at the ends, giving it a voluminous and playful bounce that you sport now. Your hair is parted down the middle, with delicate face-framing tendrils that you push out of your eyesight turning to face him.

 "What do you want to know, pretty boy?" you play with the words on your tongue. Hoseok momentarily thinks about all the ways he could show you he is the man and not the boy you just called him. But he knows it’s just banter. He takes a sip from his glass while raising an eyebrow at your remark.

"What bothers your mind? You wouldn't be drowning like this otherwise."

You give your so-called wannabe fiancé one drunken look and reply. "They killed off the man I dated and now everything is going to shit. Am I supposed to be happy?" You wave your glass in his face and take a sip. You were too drunk to not be honest with him.

"Look, honey, I've always been honest with you, and I'm not about to change that. I ain't gonna lie to you that I'm sorry that boy is dead because I'm not. You know I didn't like him—"

"Why?" You interrupt him. Deep down you knew why, it was rather obvious, but that didn’t stop you from demanding he voices his thoughts. Hoseok lifts his head and stares into your caramel-brown eyes.

"Because I love you, and you know that." Yeah.

Sadness flickers across his face. He wishes you would say yes when he proposed to you just a few months ago when the elders' approved. They were very angry with you when you decided to chase the already dead boy instead of planning the wedding with the clan's golden heir. But that did not matter. It is decided and they'll drag you down the aisle whether you'll cooperate or not.

Jung Hoseok is the heir to his family’s s empire, your family, and when the heads of other clan families sat down in a meeting about the future of the syndicate, it was already decided that the heir needed his bride. The decision was made for you before you had something to say about it, and going against it, means risking everything. That's why he was more than surprised by how easily you answered when he was on one knee holding the emerald ring in a velvet black box staring at you with happiness in his eyes.

The subtle hum of conversation and the clinking of cutlery provided a comforting background melody. It was a few weeks since the last time you saw Hoseok, hence there was no reason for you to not go to dinner with your best friend to catch up. That's what you considered him to be for you. He had your outermost love and respect and for years you thought that's how he saw you too.

You often laughed at the remarks the other syndicate members threw your way, how you are such a lovely couple. Match made in heaven. Hoseok laughed too, but, in a different manner than you. And now when you look back, you could have seen this coming. His father always spoke about you two should get married one day and you thought that's just a fantasy because you used to be inseparable. You never fought the idea, to confess. Until you met him.

Mark Tuan had you at hello, there's no need to sugar-coat it.

He always had a way of taking up space, not physically—he was lean and unassuming—but in how he commanded a room without trying.

He wasn't like the others. He didn't wear wealth-like armour, nor did he wield power with a showy arrogance. Because he had none.

He was a stark contrast to Hoseok. But that's not why you felt so hard on your knees for him. For that reason, you want to selfishly hide as it is nothing extraordinary.

He understood your desire to be, well, you. Wild and free, being your own person, despite how the family raised you. Mark saw you for who you were beneath the titles, the wealth, and the legacy. He didn't try to contain you, didn't try to mould you into someone you weren't. With Mark, there were no expectations, no carefully laid plans. There was just you and him, two people finding solace in each other's chaos.

And that, more than anything, was why you fell.

To him, you were just some bar owner at the border of Manhattan and the Bronx. But behind the word, some was more.

You weren't serving drinks—no, that's Peaches expertise— you were listening, observing, connecting, and occasionally pulling the strings that kept the undercurrent of your world from swallowing everything whole.

Mark saw through the haze of cigarette smoke and dim neon lights to the person standing behind the scenes. He didn't need you to explain the why of it all, nor did he ask for a justification for the choices you made. He simply accepted you, and that acceptance felt like a gift.

Truth be told, you never questioned yourself why you did not cut yourself from the family. Anubis was in your name, after all.

But it wasn't just a name; it was an identity, a burden, a purpose. It tied you to something larger, something darker, and no amount of neon lights or spilt Jung whiskey could ever wash it away. Ironic that you drink Elixir out of all the liquor in the world. And maybe, just maybe, you didn't want to wash it away.

Why?

Because despite everything you just said, you loved the person you grew up with. The bond was there. A strange feeling of loyalty. When there's a seed, you nurture it until it blooms. You had grown up together in the shadow of your family's empire, running through its grand halls as children, oblivious to the weight of the world you were destined to inherit. He was your partner in crime before you even knew what that truly meant.

That's what they did. They raised you, gave you education, and love, scolded you when you misbehaved and later on gave a role in the family. You were the eyes and ears. But you were not foolish. Even that was temporary.

So, you stayed.

Not like they would let you go.

This wishful thinking by Hoseok’s old man reminiscing about the good old days. You never thought Hoseok took it seriously. Not until that tonight.

"Y/N," Hoseok's voice broke through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present.

He reached across the table, his hand warm against yours and you looked from your intertwined hands to his shiny smile and warm eyes.

"I missed you—" a voice carried a softness that disarmed you, momentarily unravelling the protective walls you'd spent years building. He made you go soft each time he decided he had enough of not being around you. You two were busy, always, but he also always found the little loophole where he could steal you away and parade with you wherever he wanted. And you never thought anything big about it. Just two best friends, living their lives together. But this time, that night, it was different.

"I missed you too," you murmured, unsure if it was a lie or a reluctant truth. His smile widened upon hearing your words and he brought your hands to his lips, laying a warm kiss against your tender skin. Another gesture you never thought twice about before.

The restaurant was dimly lit, its ambience a blend of candlelight and murmured conversations. It was the kind of place Hoseok liked—elegant, understated, and private. Tonight, however, the intimacy of the setting felt like a noose tightening around your neck.

You had a bad feeling since the moment his driver pulled in front of Anubis and you had to drop everything to accommodate Hoseok's need of having an outing with you. Why wouldn't you, right?

He studied you for a moment, his gaze both tender and searching.

"You've been avoiding me," he said, though there was no accusation in his tone, only an unspoken plea for honesty.

"I've been busy, Hobi. You know how it is." You let out a small laugh, shaking your head.

He tilted his head, a slight smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"I know you, love. Tell me the truth."

There was no point denying it, not to him. Hoseok had always been able to see through you, even when you wished he wouldn't. The one who had dared you to climb trees too high, who laughed until his sides hurt when you both got caught sneaking into places you shouldn't have been. You sighed, leaning back in your chair, suddenly feeling exposed.

Should you confide in him?

"I'm just tired,—" you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hoseok's smirk softened into something closer to concern, his eyes narrowing slightly as he leaned forward.

"Tired of what?" he asked, his tone careful, coaxing.

"Everything?—" you huffed out, a bitter laugh escaping your lips.

"I love Anubis, I do—" you began, but your voice wavered, the weight of your admission pressing down on your chest.

"It's just—" you struggled to find the right words for a moment, "too much to handle now."

It's been a lot to handle. Especially, when the source of your happiness and outermost help with the operations Anubis ran behind the scenes while it posed as an ordinary bar, was nowhere to be found for weeks.

He was missing, and you told yourself he was probably just busy with some shady dealings, something that would blow over in time. He had a way of disappearing when things got too hot, and you never questioned it—at least, not out loud. He was not as protected as you were. A princess.

But never this long. No calls, no messages, no nothing. The usual channels you both relied on for communication were silent. It was as though he had vanished from the world, leaving behind nothing but an eerie void.

And that's when you started to question your place in this world. All over again. As the only source of hushing those thoughts, was gone—

The teasing glint in his eyes was gone now, replaced by something deeper, something that made your chest ache.

"I don't think the place can be what the family wants it to be anymore, Hobi."

Hoseok's brow furrowed at your words, his usual calm demeanour cracking ever so slightly. He sat back in his chair, his fingers gripping the edge of the table instead of your hands now.

He seemed…..nervous.

You looked away, staring at the faint scratches on the wooden table, tracing them with your eyes as if they could lead you to an escape.

"God's timing is always right, I guess," for a moment you wondered whether you heard the same exact words he just uttered.

You swallowed, the lump in your throat growing.

"You've been handling it all this time," he said softly. "You've been holding it together when most people would've folded—"

"I just want to escape it for a little bit," you interrupted him, to not tune him on the wrong octave but by the looks of it, it's too late for that.

"And what would you do?" he asked, his voice a careful balance of curiosity and concern. "If you could walk away from all of it—Anubis, the expectations, the weight of it all—what would you do?"

You blinked at him, startled by the question, not sure what answer he wanted to get from you. The only person who ever asked you that is Mark.

“I… I never considered leaving it fully–” you started, sighed and said the truth.

"--I don't know," you admitted, a touch of bitterness creeping into your tone. "It's not like I've ever been given the choice."

He nodded slowly as if he'd expected that answer. Then, without a word, he reached across the table and took your hand in his.

"But you know that everyone has a choice in this family—" he said, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

"And it's up to you if you choose right or wrong."

That's the family mantra. At least one of many you go by. But what did that even mean to you anymore?

You had always chosen right—or at least, that's what you'd convinced yourself. You had played the game, followed the rules, kept your head down, and stuck to the script the family had written for you.

You wanted to argue, wanted to say that the control had never really been yours to begin with, but you didn't.

"You don't have to be alone you know?—" his voice quieter now, almost hesitant, as if testing the waters, unsure how far to push. But that night he pushed far.

"I'm here for you."

Before you could conjure a response, he leaned forward, his voice lowering to a near whisper.

"Do you remember when we were kids, sitting under the maple tree in the garden behind my house? You used to say you wanted to be free, to see the world. And I told you I'd take you anywhere you wanted to go. Do you remember?"

You nodded, the memory as vivid as if it had happened yesterday. Those days felt like a different lifetime—a simpler one, untouched by the complications of duty and obligation.

But Hoseok's interpretation of freedom never matched yours.

Hoseok's grip on your hand tightened, grounding you in the present.

"I still mean it. I'd give you the world if I could—"

"Hoseok…" you started, unsure of what to say.

"You don't need to worry about anything or about what anyone thinks. I'll take care of everything, I'll make it right."

You wanted to pull away, to find some way to untangle yourself from the web he was spinning around you, but his presence, his certainty, was paralysing.

You could feel the walls closing in, and a part of you wanted to fight, to tear free from the grip he was starting to have on you. But the other part—the part that had been with him since childhood, the part that knew him too well—began to crack under the pressure.

"Hoseok…" Your voice trembled, the uncertainty and the fear finally making its way to the surface. "You're not hearing me. I don't—"

His thumb ran over your lower lip and he gently pressed against the soft flesh, silencing you with a tenderness that only made it worse.

"You don't have to say anything. I know what you need, what you want. I'll give it to you. You don't have to choose anymore—

"I'll choose for you."

You blinked once, twice, thrice but you could not shake his words off. What is he alluding to?

He got the wrong impression. Or did he?

"Why are you saying all this, Hobi?" you asked, your voice barely audible. His touch was warm, and grounding, as his other thumb brushed over your knuckles, again and again.

"I've loved you for as long as I can remember, Princess," his eyes rose to yours, searching for anything. Any emotion, a hint that you're sharing his love, that you're ready for it to bloom like it was always meant to.

When he could not recognise what he was seeing in your reaction to his words, he slowly rose from his chair to move to the side of the table, closer to you.

Before you could give him any response, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black box while he descended to one knee before you.

Your eyes were never wider and even when you connected all the years of your shared youth, you still couldn't believe what was happening before you right now.

"And I won't be satisfied till we're taking those vows–"

He knew about Mark and you. He fucking knows you have a man you love. This was an ownership, a claim. He had enough of your avoidance that you blamed the bar for. He knew that avoiding him meant only one thing.

"Will you make me the happiest man in Manhattan and marry me?"

This wasn't just any love. Any proposal. This was Hoseok's way of drawing a line in the sand, demanding your loyalty, your love, your future—all of it. And in that moment, you realised the truth you had been avoiding.

A quick, shallow breath escaped your lips as his hand hovered over the open box. The family ring you used to see on Hoseok's mother's finger when you were children.

You swallowed hard, your voice trembling as you tried to find the right words. Fuck right words, ANY words.

The emerald settled in a delicate halo of precious diamonds spoke to you. More than once you imagined that ring on your finger, but whether you imagined Hoseok putting it on was hazy and distant, as if you were never sure.

Hoseok's gaze softened slightly, a glimmer of hope dancing in his eyes as if he already knew the answer you were about to give him.

But you didn't answer immediately. Instead, your gaze flickered to the small black box again, then back to Hoseok. You could see it in his eyes now—the certainty, the devotion, the unwavering belief that he was the only one who could make you happy.

The thought of rejecting him, of crushing everything he had built in his mind, gnawed at you. But at the same time, a part of you felt suffocated by his expectations, by his love that felt more like a chain than a choice.

You opened your mouth, but the words still refused to form. Your mind was a battlefield, caught between two worlds, two people, and an obligation that you could never shake.

Your heart twisted, the weight of his words settling into your chest like a stone. You wanted to tell him that you did remember. That you still cherished those memories. But things weren't that simple anymore.

"No."

He'd like nothing more than for you to understand; that you belong to each other.

"It's your fault." You mutter to yourself.

"What?" Hoseok sets a defensive tone, hoping you are not implying what he thinks you are. "What do you mean?" he asks.

"If you'd come with this forward a little bit earlier—" you point at the barren ring finger. By earlier you mean before you fell in love with Mark. You could not wear the ring so proudly when he forced it upon your finger and a second later in the heat of the moment, you threw the ring back at him, storming out of the restaurant.

"—I'd have happily said yes, do you know why, pretty boy?" You laugh drunkenly. The brunette man shakes his head, but when he sees you not continuing, he voices out his answer.

"No," now he waits impatiently for yours.

"I l-loved you—" His breath hitches when he hears your words; this is what he waited for. He does not care, it is the whiskey speaking for you, fogging your mind and critical thinking.

“I do love you, just my own way–” 

He-does-not-care. He waited long enough to hear those words from you, and now his heart is becoming whole again.

"You've always been here, and you don't look like you're going to leave me that easily. Appa Jung always used to tell me how we are meant to be, and you know what I did?" You do not wait for him to answer the rhetorical question before you do so yourself.

"I threw it all selfishly away—" You wave your hand sideways until you nearly fall off the barstool. That's what your drunken brain thinks. You could have had it all. Pussy and power. Instead, you chose the wild whirlwind of emotions you felt for Mark.

They took Anubis from you. Not literally, but you knew that the moment you'd step your foot there, Namjoon or any other brother would gladly drag you to Hoseok. So you mentally parted from the bar that embodied your youthful years for the time being. The time you needed to think. And you wish you could slap yourself for selfishly still wanting that life. Your life.

"Because I fell in love with a dead man—" he knew that. Hoseok knew you loved that young biker boy and how head over heels you were for him. In all the years of your life, he never saw you that happy and it pained his heart that it isn't him you so openly adore.

He loathed that boy and all his being. Of course, he was not sad his brain got blasted off.

"You love me?" Hoseok voices out finally. If he'd known that all it would take is for the love of his life to get a little tipsy, he would have invited you to the uphill parties with him a long time ago. He did not hope you’d show up. But this morning, you woke up vomiting last nights tour de bar and decided you are done feeling crappy about man who stole your heart (and money as you got to know later) from you and died with it. Life has to go on. 

"I want you under me, Princess,—"

—right-fucking-now," he takes the glass out of your hand, saying the words through his teeth. You would never allow it if it weren't for your lust and the boost the alcohol provided. Or at least you would tease him longer than just agree right away. 

You were grieving, drinking whilst on anti-depressants that were causing your body to swell and cloud your mind enough to give up and let the man have you. It’s not like you never wondered what that filthy mouth of his can do to you. Hoseok was an extremely attractive man to say the least. 

"Then take me, hon–" You say seductively, biting your bottom lip. Hoseok doesn't flinch and tosses a few bills on the bar with some tips for the bartender. He grabs you by the wrist and pulls you out of the club the party was held at. You obediently put one foot in front of the other, trying not to fall when you trail behind him.

The walk to the elevator feels like never-ending to Hoseok. Once in, he reaches for you, pushing you into the furthest corner of the elevator, pinning you tightly. He pulls your face to his and presses his lips to yours. He traps you there, his hands in your short hair. As he subdues you with his tongue, you taste his relief, his desire, his passion for you and your mind is clouded enough to realise that this is your first kiss together. 

Suddenly he stops, leaning into you with his gaze and the full weight of his body too, so you can't move nor attempt to run if you would have wanted to. You have nowhere to go but he's still cautious. It feels like an eternity before the elevator stops at the ground level, and an even greater eternity is the actual journey home. Agony. Hoseok is in agony to bed you and show you how much he longed for your body and soul.

In the sanctuary of his bedroom, you shed your inhibitions along with your clothes, your hunger for each other insatiable. You could feel his masculine body all over you, his hands exploring every piece of your skin and leaving hot wet kisses on your body.

His lips seared a trail of fire along your skin, leaving you breathless and wanting more. You arch into his touch, your nails grazing his back as you pull him closer, desperate for the heat of his body against yours.

In the heat of the moment, there are no words, only the primal language of desire that speaks volumes in the silence. You gasp as Hoseok's lips find yours once more, his kiss a promise of ecstasy beyond imagination.

"Ride my face—" He growled whilst he snatched the panties that covered your pulsating wet pussy.

You feel a surge of heat at his words, your pulse quickening as you meet his gaze with a hunger of your own. You feel his hands grasp your hips, guiding you towards his waiting mouth. Without hesitation, you comply, straddling his eager face as he hungrily devours you. His tongue traces maddening circles around your throbbing core, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. You moan his name, your fingers tangling in his hair as you ride the waves of ecstasy that crashes over you.

The gentle suction, the soft caress of his tongue, and the subtle scrape of his teeth all combine to create a maelstrom of feeling that leaves you gasping and trembling.

Each flick of his tongue, each nibble of his lips, sends you spiralling closer to the edge, teetering on the brink of oblivion. Your hands instinctively reach out, grasping for something to anchor yourself to as the world spins around you. You glimpse at how your fingers are tangled in the soft strands of his hair as you pull him closer, deeper, hips rocking back and forth as you ride the waves of pleasure.

His moans vibrate through every cell in your body, resonating deep within your cunt. Fingers dig deep into your skin, holding you in place as he devours you with an unbridled hunger. And when you finally shatter into a million pieces, it's with his name on your lips, a prayer of gratitude for the bliss he's given you.

Hoseok was painfully hard, his slacks were too tight at the moment. You feel his arousal pressing against you, the hardness of his desire evident even through the fabric of his slacks. With trembling hands, you reach for the button of his slacks, eager to free him from the confines that only serve to intensify his longing. As the soft fabric falls away, you're greeted by the sight of him, thick and throbbing with need. 

Without hesitation, you take him in your hand, relishing the feeling of his hardness against your skin. You stroke him slowly at first, savouring the feeling of having him in your grasp for once. He hissed, the sensation travelling his body. The knowledge that you have this effect on him sends a thrill through your veins.

With each movement, you push him closer to the edge, teasing and tantalizing him until he's on the brink of oblivion. And when you finally take him in your mouth, it's with a hunger that borders on desperation, eager to taste the sweet release that awaits.

You take him deeper, you feel him throb and pulse against your tongue, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He grips your hair tightly, guiding your head on his cock while your eyes water when he hits the back of your throat. With each bob of your head, you feel him grow even harder, his breath hitching in his chest each time.

You move faster, your own arousal building to a fever pitch, and you feel him tensing beneath your touch. But he is not ready just yet. Forcefully pushing your head away, you let his cock go with a loud pop, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his throbbing member.

He looks down at you with a hungry intensity, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he catches his breath.

"Gon' fuck you silly, princess."

You meet his hungry gaze with a look of anticipation, eager to feel him deep inside you.

With a hungry growl, he takes you in his arms, his lips crashing against yours in a frenzy of need and longing. You respond in kind, your hands roaming over his body, eager to feel every inch of him against your skin.

He flips you on your side and presses himself against your back, the anticipation builds to a fever pitch, the air crackling with the electricity of your shared desire. When he finally enters you, it's with a force that takes your breath away, filling you completely with his hardness and heat.

"Fuck, Hobi," You moan his name as he moves inside you, each thrust driving you higher and higher towards the pinnacle of ecstasy. Your nails dig into the sheets as you cling to him, lost in a haze of bliss that consumes you both.

As he whispers words of longing and desire against your skin, you feel a surge of heat coursing through you, igniting a fire that burns brighter with each passing moment. His hips are rutting against your ass, the skin slapping too, having a contest of what is louder, your united moans or the latter.

"Tell me you fucking love me again." He demanded while his cock was abusing your cunt with all the pleasure. Each thrust passes and you feel yourself edging closer and closer to the edge, your body humming with need and longing.

Your heart races in your chest as you meet his gaze, your eyes locked together in a passionate embrace. He lifts your leg to thrust even deeper than before sending your moans an octave higher.

"I fucking love you, Hobi," you gasp, the words spilling from your lips like a prayer as you surrender yourself fully to the pleasure of his touch.

A hungry growl escapes Hoseok's lips, reacting to your words. He twists your upper body so he can reach to kiss your lips, not stopping to fuck his cock into you. Hoseok's hands roam over your body, tracing every curve and contour with a reverence that sends shivers of pleasure racing down your spine.

You arch into his touch, your nails digging into his hair as you cling to him desperately, unwilling to let go of the intoxicating sensation of his touch.

"I'm gonna cum inside of your pretty cunt."

His lips crash against yours in a passionate kiss, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth with a hunger that leaves you breathless. Even as he kisses you, his hips never cease their relentless rhythm, driving you closer and closer to the edge with each hard thrust.

You feel yourself inching closer and closer to the edge as you squeeze your eyes shut, a loud whimper coming out of you from the overstimulation that he's forcing upon you.

"Please make me cum again, Hobi. I can't-" Your plea hangs in the air between you. Hoseok's lips curve into a wicked grin as he continues to thrust into you with increasing fervour. He tightens his grip on your hips, his movements becoming even more urgent as he drives you closer and closer to the edge.

Your body trembling with anticipation. And then, with a cry of release that echoes through the room, you finally let go, surrendering yourself fully to the pleasure that consumes you. His throaty moan is muffled as your head is too dizzy to concentrate. He spills his hot cum inside of you just seconds after you release it.

And as you lay tangled together in the tangled sheets, you know that he won't let you slip away tonight. So you drift off to sleep in each other's arms after he takes you again and again and again until you cannot hold your eyes open anymore.

A sharp pain throbs in your head. You gasp when your eyes register the bright light of the morning sun. You rub your hand over them and pick yourself up, leaning with your elbows. You sigh and close your eyes for a moment. Your head spins, and you have a very strong urge to empty the contents of your stomach, which actually has nothing in it. You freeze in place when you hear a murmur from the other side of the bed, and the subsequent rustling of the duvet startles you even more.

Slowly turning your head to the source of the sound, you're scared. On your right side, the man is lying peacefully, snuffling contentedly away. His raven hair is plastered to his forehead, and his eyelids are tightly closed.

Your mouth opens into a big 'O', and you hold yourself from screaming out; the whole house would hear the words that don't belong in a lady's mouth. Your head swivels back into place again, and this time you look down under the duvet just like in all the romance movies you watched alone.

Upon discovering that your clothes are somehow missing, your eyes widen completely, and now you are absolutely awake. The maid must have taken them to laundry earlier. You put your feet on the cold floor of Hoseok's room and grab his shirt from the walk-in closet. Putting it on quietly, you begin to sneak out of his room. At the door, you turn to look at him. The realisation hits you like a truck on the highway — Hoseok won't let this slide.

Your footsteps lead you to your old room where you grew up. You hope to find some of your old clothes there so you won't have to leave the Jung mansion in only a shirt that barely reaches below your ass.

In your mind, you rejoice once finding what you're looking for and begin the smooth flee out of the mansion. You pray that you will not meet Kkangpae Jung or Halabeoji Jung on your way. You know if you do, you'll never leave this house. It wouldn’t be nice talk.

Sighing happily, you get into one of the cars and try to drive away through the open gate just for the guards to surround the car immediately.

Your body tensed and your eyes held the reflection of the armed men prohibiting you from leaving the premise of the Jung's mansion. You switched the car off, the engine's purr fading into silence as the gravity of the situation sunk in. It was clear that escaping unnoticed was no longer an option.

A tall, stern-faced man approached your car, his gaze unwavering as he rapped on your window. Reluctantly, you rolled it down, the crisp early morning air replacing the warmth of the vehicle.

"Miss Kim," the man said, his voice authoritative. "I'm afraid you can't leave. The Kkangpae requests your presence."

Fuck. You were fucked. Your heart raced as you processed the severity of the situation. The Kkangpae, Hoseok's father and the head of the whole syndicate had summoned you. It wasn't a request you could decline without consequence when you were right in his den, and you knew this was the end. They trapped you in.

The Kkangpae's study, adorned with dark wood and leather, exuded an air of authority that matched the man himself. He sat behind a large mahogany desk, studying some documents. Without looking up, he motioned for you to take a seat.

As you sat down, your eyes couldn't help but wander to the framed family photos on the walls. Hoseok's smiling face stared back at you from childhood to adulthood. The Kkangapae was a family man to his core or misogynistic anti-feminist, you choose.

"Y/N,—" he began, his tone measured. You braced yourself for what storm is to come.

"I thought you finally came to your senses when I saw you arrive with Hoseok last night—" his voice was calm, but there was an undercurrent of disappointment. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, knowing that the events of last night were fuelled by the large amount of alcohol you devoured.

Only now you realise that he aimed to doom you all along by bringing you to the epicentre of the whole syndicate instead of his brownstown in the downtown. You mentally cursed at Hoseok and the brilliance of his manipulative nature. You should have known better than to try to negotiate your freedom with Hoseok and drink like that in his presence. Stupid girl, aren't ya?

When he finally looked up, his steely gaze penetrating your soul, you could feel goosebumps on the back of your neck.

"—but I did not expect you to attempt to flee the mansion like you're some whore and not my son's fiancée!" His fist met the surface of the carefully crafted table and you jumped in your seat.

The impact reverberated through the room, the sudden noise echoing in the silence that followed. The framed photos on the wall seemed to witness the confrontation, capturing the Kkangpae's stern expression and your startled reaction.

"We all have been patient with you, dear, thinking you just need to compose yourself—" a tear escaped your eye. No matter what, you won't change the outcome of this.

"But you found solace in drowning yourself in alcohol and whoring yourself around the city!" He shouted your way. "I knew I should have brought you home far earlier than this."

You could not argue with his words, no matter how shameful they are. In a span of four months, you managed to get drunk until you blacked out numerous times all for that one boy you loved and lost. The one that loved but betrayed you back. When you drank you did not think of him and how much you miss that smile of his and how much you should hate him. His tattooed masculine arms that held you at nights and soft pierced lips that kissed yours —only fragments of memories now.

"I did not raise you to ruin yourself. Have I not given you enough?" The Kkangpae's voice, though stern, held a tinge of desperation, as if searching for a semblance of reason in the chaos of your actions. You were sure that if your father would be among the living now, he would have never let this happen. But he is not and by raising you, the Kkangpae means, taking you in after he decapitated your father for betraying his leader. Remorse, he called it.

You are disappointed in yourself. But for a solely different reason. You should have run away from the continent when Mark said he had a way. Perhaps, now, he would be alive and you would not have to write foolish love letters to heaven anymore. Perhaps, you would fall asleep without the extensive drinking and all the anti-depressants you probably did not even need, but with them, you do not hate him for leaving you here to deal with this mess alone.

The truth hit you like a tidal wave, and the weight of your actions settled in the pit of your stomach. The Kkangpae's words, though harsh, were a reflection of the reality you had tried to escape.

"You lost your way, child." The Kkangpae leaned back in his chair, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. The room, once charged with tension, now felt heavy with the weight of unspoken regret. You did lose your way in the name of love. Founding him, already long gone, in the jeep just at the outskirts of Bronx, a hole in the side of his head, dried blood sprawled on the white leather seats, broke you.

There was not a second you did not regret saying no to Hoseok. It haunts you how that selfish decision might have led to the strongest gale in your sea. Perhaps, they would let him live if you would cooperate. The Jungs always found a way to persuade people to do what they wanted. But you did not expect them to go as far.

Suicide. The police ruled it as suicide. Of course, they did, with the right amount of bribery — everyone bent to their will. The day after Hoseok swore that he had nothing to do with it, that it’s an unfortunate coincidence, lying straight to your face broke you even more and that's why you ran. Hoesok knew everything that happened around, but he refused to tell you. You ran around the city as fast as you could so he would not catch up to you.

You loved Hoseok in your own way and when you said that if he'd come with the proposal sooner you'd say yes — that was not a lie. You always had a hunch feeling that those words about you two and your future together were to some degree true. So it was not such big surprise for you when he bent the knee and popped the question, a little too late. But you could not marry him then and you don't think you are willing now. You would be willing to do so, when you are ready. The difference is, now, there's no other choice. He won't let you leave this house alone, he won't let you run away again.

And there's nowhere nor no one to run to anymore.

"I never intended to bring disgrace to the family," you whispered, your voice betraying a mixture of regret and sadness.

"You'll redeem yourself, child, don't worry—" he said

"I need you to understand that you are not just Hoseok's partner; you are the future matriarch of this family. Your actions reflect not only on you but on the entire Jung legacy—"

"I know, I just never thought of this as seriously. I'm scared, I panicked when he popped the question." You blurt out. Your confession hung in the air, raw and unguarded. Or more like a lie so he will let you go, at least from this suffocating office.

You had spent years perfecting the art of composure, of presenting a façade that betrayed nothing only for it fail now.

The Kkangpae regarded you for a moment, his sharp eyes softening just enough to betray a hint of humanity beneath the ruthless exterior. He wasn't used to hearing you admit fear—it was almost as if he didn't quite know how to respond.

"Fear is natural," he said finally, his voice low but firm. "But you have nothing to fear if you choose right."

Choosing right in this family never meant following your heart—it meant aligning yourself with their expectations, their rules, their version of right.

You nodded, not trusting your voice to stay steady under the pressure. Your heart raced as you avoided his piercing gaze, hoping he'd accept your half-truth as sincerity. All you needed was a way out of this office, a moment to breathe, to think.

"You've always been stronger than you give yourself credit for," he continued, his tone measured but unyielding. "This family needs that strength now. Hoseok needs it."

The memory of his hands cradling yours, his eyes boring into you with a fervour that felt more like ownership than love, played on a loop in your mind.

"Okay," you managed to say, forcing the words past the lump in your throat.

The Kkangpae nodded, satisfied with your answer. "Good. Now off you go, Hoseok's waiting."

You stiffened, your pulse quickening.

"He's awake?" Your voice came out quieter than you intended, barely above a whisper. The Kkangpae raised a brow at your reaction but chose not to comment on it.

"Your breakfast is going to get cold if you stall this even more."

The Kkangpae's words cut through the air, dismissing any further hesitation. His sharp gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he returned to the stack of documents on his desk, signalling that your audience with him was over.

You spotted Hoseok seated at the table, a serene picture of composure, his fingers curled around a steaming cup of coffee he enjoys in the mornings.

He looked up at your approach, his eyes locking onto yours. There was no trace of anger on his face, no sharp edge to his expression. If anything, he seemed calm, almost disarming.

"Hobi—" you started before he quickly interrupted you.

"Sit down," he said a bit more firmer than he'd want to, gesturing to the seat across from him.

You hesitated for a moment before lowering yourself into the chair, acutely aware of the weight of the moment. A plate of food sat before you, untouched. Your stomach churned, but the thought of eating felt impossible.

"Are you?—"

"I'm not mad, no," he cut you off gently, surprising you, as if he knew what you were suggesting before you even managed to let those words roll on your tongue.

"So?—" you echoed hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper. You didn't know what to expect now. Maybe it would be better if he'd be mad and you knew that you have to make it better just like it used to be, instead he is not showing any kind of position in this situation and that was making you uneasy beyond comparison.

Hoseok leaned back in his chair, exhaling deeply.

"You're still here. That's what matters to me for now." He began, his tone measured. For now. Hoseok was always skilled at this—at saying something that sounded kind but felt like a command.

"I panicked," you admitted softly, the honesty slipping out before you could stop it.

"I know, baby, you chose wrong—" he replied, his gaze unwavering.

"—twice," he added fuel to the fire, salt to the wound. But you knew why. He wanted you to submit to him, and he needed to work overtime to do so.

"You need to show me you're willing to make this right, love," you swallowed hard, the tightness in your throat making it nearly impossible to respond. His aura and magnitude of how he could move you however he liked now was overwhelming. You cannot run away, not when he dragged you back to this place instead of his brownstone at 57th street. You're not only under his surveillance here, but the Kkangpae and the rest of the family.

“What’s it gonna be? Cuz’ I can’t fucking pretend anymore–” 

His gaze dropped to the table for a moment before he reached into his pocket. You stiffened instinctively, already guessing what he was about to do. Sure enough, his hand emerged clutching the familiar black velvet box. The sight of it made your chest tighten.

"Hoseok," you said softly, your voice trembling with unease. "Please—"

"I don't think I will be so forgiving if you'll choose wrong for a third time, Princess." He ignored your plea, opening the box to reveal the ring again. The one you'd angrily thrown at him that fateful night when he tried to force it down your finger after you explicitly said no to him.

The one that symbolised everything you were not ready to accept, but you had to. It glimmered in the soft light of the room, deceptively beautiful.

"I'm done asking," he said firmly, his eyes locking onto yours. Your breath hitched, but before you could speak, Hoseok reached across the table and took your hand in his. His touch was warm, grounding, yet the weight of his action was suffocating.

You tried to pull your hand back, but his grip tightened—not painfully, but enough to make it clear you weren't going anywhere. With deliberate precision, he slid the emerald ring onto your finger.

"There," he said, his voice softening just enough to send a shiver down your spine. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

You stared at the emerald ring, your mind racing. It looked almost serene on your finger, as if it had always belonged there. Hoseok sat back, satisfied, his lips curling into a faint smile.

Before you could respond, the soft thuds of certain leather shoes announced another arrival.

"Joon-ah!" Hoseok greeted, leaning back in his chair. "I assume there's news?"

Namjoon glanced at you briefly, then back to Hoseok. "Yes. We've made progress with the Anubis situation. The distilleries have been secured, but the reports of interference need attention."

"Anubis situation?" You echoed Namjoon's words. Hoseok's smile didn't falter, but there was a subtle shift in his demeanour. His gaze flicked to you, and for a moment, you thought he might dismiss your question. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his fingers interlacing.

"Nothing for you to worry about," he said smoothly, his voice laced with a quiet finality that suggested the topic was closed.

Namjoon, however, wasn't as careful with his expression. His brow furrowed ever so slightly, a crack in the façade of calm efficiency he usually wore. It was gone as quickly as it came, but you caught it, and it only fuelled your curiosity.

"Anubis is my responsibility, Hoseok, you cannot—" you pressed, your tone sharper now. You'd learned long ago that brushing things under the rug only meant tripping over them later.

"Not anymore."

Hoseok's words cut through the room with an authority that left no room for argument. He leaned back in his chair, exuding an air of complete control, his eyes locked on yours with a quiet intensity.

"What?!" You breathed out rather loudly now.

"Not anymore," he repeated, slower this time as if daring you to challenge him. And challenge him you did.

"Hoseok," you tried again, your voice quieter this time, laced with both frustration and fear. "This isn't—"

"I gotta punish you somehow, Princess," his one was calm, almost casual, but the weight behind his words was anything but. Your stomach churned as his lips curved into a faint, disarming smile—a predator's smile hidden beneath a veil of warmth.

"Punish me?" you repeated, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to steady it. "Exactly for what you gotta punish me, Hoseok?

"For running," he said, the amusement in his voice doing little to soften the hurt he felt inside. "For throwing the ring. For abandoning me this morning after we made love last night—"

You opened your mouth to argue, but he cut you off with a raised hand. "Don't misunderstand me, Princess. I'm not angry. But actions have consequences."

Your heart pounded against your ribs, the rhythm chaotic and uneven. His calm demeanour made it worse. It took one wide-eyed glance for Namjoon to excuse himself and quickly retreat to Kkangpae's office to leave you two alone.

The sound of the door clicking shut behind Namjoon seemed louder in the heavy silence that followed. Your eyes darted to it, half-hoping for an interruption, but it was futile. Hoseok's gaze was fixed on you, unrelenting and unreadable, trapping you in this moment.

"Hoseok," you began, your voice trembling. "This isn't fair. You can't just—"

"I can," he interrupted his tone steady but brooking no argument. "And I will. You know I don't take betrayal lightly."

"Betrayal?" you repeated, the word stinging as it left your lips. "Is that what you think this is? Hoseok, I—"

"You ran," he said simply, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table. His fingers interlocked, creating a casual posture that only heightened your unease. "You left me, you threw the ring at me, you abandoned what we're building. Call it whatever you want, Princess, but to me? That's betrayal."

Your breath caught, the weight of his words pressing down on your chest. "I needed time," you whispered. "Time to think, to—"

No, you needed Mark. But you also needed your best friend.

"Think?" Hoseok's laughter was soft, almost amused, but it didn't reach his eyes. "What is there to think about? You're mine. You've always been mine. And this?" He gestured to the ring now firmly on your finger. "This makes it only official."

"You can't force me to—" you said, the defiance in your voice surprising even you. This was never a discourse you or Hobi ever had. Everything was thought to be just platonic. Not for him.

"To what?" he asked, cutting you off again. His tone was low, dangerously calm. "To wear a ring? To stay by my side? To stop running every time things don't go the way you want?"

You flinched, the truth in his words hitting too close to home. Hoseok sighed, his expression softening just enough to make your heart ache. You were running each time you did not feel like the family was doing you justice. And each time it was Hoseok who came to talk sense into you. But this is different. You are not kids anymore, or teenagers. This is serious. Hoseok is serious this time.

"You know what Anubis means to me—"

"And you still thought it was something you could just walk away from?"

You clenched your fists, your nails biting into your palms as the urge to argue warred with the fear.

"I didn't walk away from Anubis," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I needed space, Hoseok."

"You said you were tired, love."

"You misunderstood—" Hoseok shook his head slowly, cutting you off once again, his gaze hardening.

"I never wanted it to come to this," Hoseok said, his voice softening as he reached across the table, his hand brushing against yours. "But you forced my hand, Princess. And now, you don't get to run anymore. Not from me. Not from us."

"But Anubis—"

"It's still yours. But until you learn your place, Namjoon will suffice."

You bit your lip, caught between the suffocating desire to fight back but all you could do is shut your mouth and obey, telling yourself that this is only temporary.

He was, indeed, not mad.

The sterile scent of antiseptic filled the room as you sat on the edge of a plush velvet chair, your posture tense, fingers gripping the fabric of your dress, as if the soft material of your slip dress that you wore on top of a while turtle neck could shield you from Yoongi's steady gaze.

You couldn't quite remember when the combination of alcohol and antidepressants had become a regular part of your routine, but it had. One to dull the ache, the other to keep the panic at bay. It felt like you were walking a tightrope between relief and disaster. The pills had been prescribed with a promise of healing, but they didn't fix anything, did they? They didn't ease the guilt, the shame, or the sense of being utterly out of control.

And that's precisely why you are sitting in Yoongi's clinic.

Again.

The door opened softly behind you, and your head whipped around, your stomach clenching in a mix of panic and irritation. Hoseok came in after he finished his call, eyes narrowed, lips pressed together in that familiar line of disapproval when Yoongi interrogated you and your well-being this past months.

Not pleasant for both of their ears.

His eyes flicked over to Yoongi, a silent communication passing between the two. You could feel the heat of embarrassment creep up your neck, the shame of being caught in this cycle again pulling at the edges of your pride.

"You've been drinking, and you've been taking your medication," Yoongi said, pretty much summarising what was happening, his voice low but commanding, as he folded his arms across his chest. His usual calm was undercut with a note of frustration. "This combination is dangerous, and you know it. You are being fucking reckless–"

"Well this family makes living that way, so—"

You trailed off, the words hanging in the air, sharp and bitter. You didn't have to look at Yoongi to feel the tension rise, the way his jaw tightened slightly, the subtle flicker of frustration in his gaze. And you didn't have to look at Hoseok, to know he rolled his eyes.

"But we don't use ourselves, not to such extent, Y/N, and you fucking know it."

You winced at Hoseok's words, the sharpness in his voice cutting through you more than you'd like to admit. You had always known that their disapproval wasn't just about the way you led your life these past months, but about how far you had drifted from the person they believed you could be. You were. 

"I'm not—" you began, but Yoongi cut you off, his tone flat and unwavering.

"—the choices you're making—this self-destructive pattern—it's not the family's fault. It's not even about the family. This is about you, Princess. About your choices."

You couldn't meet his eyes, couldn't face the depth of his concern, the quiet disappointment in his voice. The truth was, you knew what you were doing wasn't right. The pills, the alcohol, the numbness—it all came with consequences, but they were easier to deal with than the constant whirlpool of guilt and pressure that churned inside your chest every day.

"You don't get it," you muttered, your voice wavering, trying to steady it but failing. "It's hard to breathe sometimes. Everything feels... too much."

"Do you want your liver to fail, sweetheart, or your heart?"

Yoongi's gaze softened, the sharp edge to his features dulling just slightly. "You don't need to numb the pain to survive. You need to face it. And you need to let us take care of you."

"Okay." The word slipped out before you could think about it, the weight of it settling between you all. You couldn't quite believe it, the relief that came from simply acknowledging the truth. It didn't feel like a solution, but it was the first step toward something.

"No more drinking, no more pills—"

The quiet of the room enveloped you for a long moment. The sound of your breathing felt too loud, but somehow, it was a reminder that you were still here. Still breathing.

"And you gotta get you off your birth control too, we do not need additional hormones in your body."

The words hit you like a cold shock, the air in the room suddenly feeling thicker. You blinked, trying to process what Yoongi had just said. His words were muffled by the sounds of Hoseok's Motorola. Excusing himself briefly to pick up yet another call, you stared at Yoongi.

"What?" you breathed, your voice barely a whisper. The thought of changing anything about your routine, especially something so personal, felt like a violation of your fragile sense of control. "Yoongi, I—"

"You heard me," he cut you off, his voice firm but not unkind. "You need a clean slate, and that includes everything. The alcohol, the pills, the hormones. It's all adding to the mess inside you. We need to strip it all down," he spoke, overlooking some of your results that came in this morning.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out at first. Then, the words escaped before you could stop them. "But... you were the one who prescribed it."

"I know," Yoongi replied, his voice calm but firm, his posture never faltering. "And at the time, it made sense. But now? With everything that's going on in your body—"

"Was it his idea?" you cut him off rather bluntly a bit angry with his dishonesty.

Yoongi's gaze sharpened, his eyes narrowing as he met yours. There was a moment of silence between you two, the air thick with tension. The weight of your question seemed to hang in the room, the vulnerability of it pressing on your chest. Yoongi took a slow breath before answering, his voice steady but with an edge of something—something you couldn't quite place.

"No," he said simply, his eyes softening just a fraction. "This wasn't Hoseok's call. It was mine."

You felt a knot form in your throat as you processed his words. A part of you wanted to argue, to resist, but another part, the part that had been drowning in self-doubt for months, simply wanted to listen, to let go of the control you had clung to for so long.

"Don't lie to me, Yoongi."

The accusation hung between you, thick with tension. Yoongi's expression flickered, a brief flash of something—guilt, maybe?

"Was it your decision, or not?"

Yoongi stood still for a long moment, his gaze flicking briefly to the side, avoiding your eyes. His fingers clenched around the papers in his hands, and for a brief second, the weight of everything between you seemed to press down on him, too.

"Princess…" he finally breathed out, his voice low but steady.

"It was my decision, but he encouraged it." The flicker of guilt in his eyes, something raw and unguarded, made your chest tighten. You knew what that meant for you but you could not put your five cents on the table right now.

This choice is yours to make. Not Hoseok's.

The Jung Whiskey Distillery stood in the heart of Brooklyn, a looming relic of a bygone era where industrial ambition met old-money elegance. And you found it fucking ironic to be commanded to stop drinking extensively and simultaneously being called to a place that reeks of alcohol.

The building itself was a labyrinth of exposed brick, dark oak barrels stacked high like sentinels. The faint hum of machinery echoed through the cavernous space, blending with the rhythmic drip of amber liquid into hand-labelled bottles, each stamped with the clan's insignia that did not change even after the Kkangpae-ship changed several times over the decades. A dove.

You stepped inside, the heavy scent of whiskey and charred wood assaulting your senses immediately. You blinked against the dim lighting, the golden glow of antique chandeliers barely cutting through the thick shadows. Your Louboutin heels clicked against the worn concrete floor, the sound swallowed by the quiet hum of workers moving methodically through their tasks. Some cast quick, assessing glances your way, but no one said a word. You weren't an unfamiliar face here, after all.

Hoseok was already waiting, leaning against a towering stack of barrels, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable under the soft glow of an overhead lamp. He was dressed in his usual understated elegance—a charcoal suit, crisp white shirt, and a gold signet ring glinting on his finger, a subtle reminder of his place in the family hierarchy.

"If I knew that you'd take time that equals the three meetings I managed to go through, to actually get here, I'd wake you up in the morning and take you with me," he remarked, his voice carrying easily in the quiet space.

"Traffic," you replied coolly, stepping closer. "And I wasn't exactly given much of a choice nonetheless, was I?"

Hoseok smirked, a glint of something dangerous dancing in his eyes. "No, you weren't."

"I need you to sign some documents—" he started.

You stared at the papers in his upstairs' office, anger and frustration bubbling inside you, but you knew the truth. Hoseok wasn't giving you a choice—he'd planned this all along. You'd taken the risk, now you had to pay the price. Your stomach twisted as you read the details—transferring the market representation of Anubis to Namjoon, at least temporarily.

He didn't say anything at first, letting the silence stretch between you. He pulled out the pack of cigarettes after long deliberation and lighted one.

"You want me to sign this?" you asked, your voice carefully neutral.

"I'd hoped you would've learned the consequences of your actions by now—" finally, he spoke, his voice a quiet challenge, "you thought I was bluffing, am I right?"

Hoseok could read you like an open book, and that only pissed you off more.

"Namjoon is going to represent Anubis while you're away, so the market doesn't wait for anyone—"

"What about Peaches?" you had to ask. The girl who always looked up to you and listened when you needed to yap. She had, among others, a precious place in your heart. You knew she was only working for you as a barmaid until she paid off her college, but you were sure the friendship will remain.

Hoseok's lips twitched into a smirk, but there was no humor in it. His gaze lingered on you for a beat too long before he spoke again, his words deliberate.

"You know…—" he began before you cut him off. You know what he's going to say. Namjoon was rather blunt, and the girl was young and naive to ignore it for so long.

"I know—"

"She's not your concern anymore. Not with the way things are going. Namjoon's got his eyes set on her, and trust me, it won't take long before she's out of there, taken care of...in more ways than one."

"But—" you had plans to move he to work for the distilleries instead of the bar. A safer place.

"You've already dug your own grave, love, hers is not yours to lay in." You clenched your jaw. But it is, you thought.

"She'll hate him for it," she might hate you for it. You muttered, but you knew it was futile.

"That's least of your worries now, you know Namjoon's intentions are good, Princess—"

"Now, unless you want to keep playing the martyr, sign the fucking papers." He had you by the throat, and signing was the only way to keep breathing.

You hesitated, fingers tightening around the paper. "And if I don't?"

Hoseok leaned in, his lips curving into something far too amused for your liking. "Then I can take you to City Hall right fucking now and have us sign a marriage license instead. Husband and wife—your signature won't be needed anymore."

Your heart stuttered in your chest, but you schooled your features into indifference.

"You wouldn't."

His smirk widened, eyes glittering with that maddening confidence.

"Keep fucking trying me, love, a little longer." He said through gritted teeth.

Your eyes flicked back to the contract, and with a resigned sigh, you reached for the pen tucked inside.

"That's my Princess."

You hated how much he enjoyed this. He stood up, retrieving the papers and closing the folder in one swift movement. You were getting inside your head when his shiny shoes came into your vision. You raised your eyes to see him standing in the small gap between the table and your chair, looking at you hungrily from above.

"You're tense," he observed, his voice dropping into something softer, something more dangerous. His thumb brushed against your wrist, tracing slow, maddening circles.

"You just made me give it up—" You swallowed hard, willing yourself not to react, but the heat of his touch seeped into your skin.

"As I said, it's still yours, love, you just won't be its main character for a while." He tilted his head, eyes darkening as he leaned in, his breath ghosting over your ear. Your pulse hammered in your throat as his fingers slid up your arm, slow and deliberate. You hated how easily he got under your skin, how much you wanted to push him away and pull him closer all at once. Why were you so messed up in the head?

You took out the pills. He insisted. Yoongi insisted. You don't drink. At least you're trying not to. You have therapy once a week. Everything but that one thing you kept hidden from him. Your suspicions were quite rightly placed when just this morning he cream pied so deep into your cunt, it made you recount your life-span. No condom on.

The scent of whiskey and expensive cologne clouded your senses, making it impossible to think clearly. You momentarily glanced through the window to see the twin building in the distance where Kim's bourbon was made. You wonder if Namjoon's there or in Anubis now. He's got a lot work to do if he now covers both positions.

Before you could retort, he bent down and his mouth claimed yours in a searing kiss, one that left no room for hesitation. Hoseok's fingers wrapped around your wrist to pull you out of your seat and press you into his hard torso. You felt him. Every single inch.

Your hand shot up to his breasts where you laid your palm straight, trying to push yourself from him and ease the pressure he laid on the small of your back from where he was pressing you into the warmth of his body.

You yelped into his mouth when he stood and lifted you effortlessly onto the cold and hard surface of the desk, his hands roaming possessively over your hips.

"You drive me fucking insane, can't keep my hands to myself" he breathed against your lips. His curious fingers trailed down its way to the black slacks you wore today and slipped past the soft material.

You couldn't help but moan into his mouth.

"All I could think about the whole noon was you—under me."

At least, with the miraculous protection of birth control, you can enjoy sex with him. It was not bad. You wish it could be bad lousy sex but he knew damn well what buttons to push to let you see stars and scream his name. This was your new dose of drugs. Him and his gorgeous body. He knew that the line between him being your best friend was cut into small fragile pieces the moment you sat on his face that night he did not only trick you into his bed but kept you in his life. Forever. And Ever.

It felt oddly right.

Every kiss, every brush of his hand, felt like a promise—one that wasn't going to be broken.

Unlike this table.

It was several weeks later when the little peace you made with this arrangement was shattered as quickly as you built the walls around you.

The twisted branches of bare trees stretch upward like desperate hands, clawing at the sky, trying to touch something they can never reach. The heavens above seem to hum with a strange mystery, an almost suffocating weight in the air.

Beneath your feet, the fallen leaves crackle and crunch, a brittle reminder of the cold that's creeping in, claiming everything it touches. The frost is starting to settle in again, coating the world with a layer of death, a silent witness to the dying season. The peak of winter is coming, relentless and unforgiving, a season full of hidden traps and painful truths.

From a distance, you hear the haunting echo of a raven's call. It cuts through the stillness, adding to the quiet beauty of this desolation. The air feels heavy, thick with something unspoken, something unsettling. You inhale deeply, trying to push away the unease, but it lingers, like a shadow that refuses to leave.

Your eyes flutter shut, trying to hold on to the fragile calm of the moment, but the silence is broken. The crinkle of newspaper reaches your ears, followed by the faint scent of coffee. You open your eyes, slowly, and see Hoseok sitting at the table, his face absorbed in the pages, the kind of concentration that could swallow him whole. His lips are pursed, his brow furrowed, the weight of the world hidden behind those simple movements. He trimmed his hair a little. They were becoming a bother. He said to you when you asked. Nothing major though, just a little change. Not everyone could sport a mullet like Jung Hoseok could. It was such a trivial thing to do but you kept thinking about how your fingers instinctively ran through his soft locks. You liked them long. Is what you said to him and he gave you his shiny smile that you were soft for, in response. 

You sigh, your gaze drifting from him to the empty garden around you. The air feels colder now, the frost creeping deeper into your bones. You tug the fur blanket tighter around you. You need fresh air. Yeah well, not in fucking cold January, you don’t. He insisted. For you, for your health. Hoseok, oblivious to your internal storm, shifts the newspaper in his hands. His fingers grasp and release it as he turns the page, his eyes never leaving the print. He's lost in the world of politics, and you're stuck here, in your own head, unable to break free.

"What is it?" he asks, his voice not quite reaching you. The question feels distant, like it's meant for someone else. You take a sip from your coffee mug, the New York City skyline etched in its design, trying to ground yourself in something, anything.

"Nothing," you murmur, but the words feel like a lie even to you. 

You still did not know how to feel. You, of course, were still playing with the narrative you created in your head, that you do not want to get married. Hoseok’s not the problem. He never was. Only the cursed piece of paper that will bind you to him for eternity, as this family still worships and protect marriages, is what you’re afraid of. Why? You’re pushing thirty. You are expected to settle. But how can someone like you settle? You still dream of a boy who is no longer walking among living, a man who fucked you over, now that no pills are clouding your mind. And that’s another thing. 

How can you have kids after you poisoned your body with so many things? Yoongi recited the report to you and Hoseok, his lips in thin line after he finished, the verdict was clear. Cleanse. In private. They believed in the strength of your young body to recover swiftly and splurt out heirs, just like that. Don’t be mistaken, you were never addicted enough or now you’d be in asylum if you were. You just needed a reality check. But that did not include your boyfriend with a hole in his head and gun in his hand.

Then there was this tiny feeling of betrayal. You felt like you were betraying Mark each time you spread your legs for Hoseok to bury himself deep inside of you. What’s worse. You enjoyed it like this is how it was always supposed to be–

–the sound of paper crunch tears you from your stream of consciousness. Hoseok makes a ball from the newspaper with a deliberate slowness, the sound harsh against the stillness of the room. There must have been something he did not fancy to see. Your rough guess, it’s the pretty journalist that questions every step of Kim Seokjin. Your family consigliere.

He meets your gaze, eyes softening with an unspoken question. 

"Are you sure?" His voice is more insistent now, a slight edge to it as his hand reaches out, crossing the distance between you. You want to pull away, but you don't, he would never harm you. Not you.

"I don't want to get married,... yet," you say it with a finality, and rather bluntly, a decision made in the quiet chaos of your heart. You did not know why that thought came out loud. "I don't think I'm ready—"

"We talked about that already, baby" he says, his voice cold, as he releases your hand and strides toward the house, his back turned to you. The distance between you feels unbearable now, the space between your hearts widening with every step he takes.

"No! You talked about it!" you shout after him, your voice cracking as the frustration rises within you. The words feel like a plea, a desperate attempt to make him hear the truth, but it seems to vanish into the bitter wind that bites at your skin.

He doesn't turn around. He doesn't need to. The weight of the silence is enough, and you're left alone in the garden, with only the sound of your own pulse hammering in your ears.

You prop your elbow on the table and rest your chin in your hand, staring into the weak morning sun, trying to chase away the thoughts swirling in your mind. After a moment, you reach for the other copy of newspaper, flipping to the art section where the golden maknae's face is pictured. He's allowed to stay a bachelor, why not you? A bachelorette leaves a bad taste in your mouth though. Sounds cringey.

A quiet voice from the door interrupts your focus.

"You'd better look at the wedding dress catalogue instead," your cousin's voice cuts through the air, light with a teasing lilt. You two were never as close as one would say. But that's because you spent the majority of your childhood with Hoseok. Sometimes Namjoon and Yoongi.

You glance up at him, meeting his dark eyes. That man seriously needs to find his own woman. He needs to do it soon, as he is just as annoying when he doesn't get laid. She could put up with it, instead of you.

"I'm all hot!" you retort, a smirk pulling at your lips as you add the bite of irony to your words, hoping he'll catch the sarcasm.

He grins, unbothered. "Can I see for myself?" His playful challenge hangs in the air, and you can't help but roll your eyes.

"Fucking gross, Taehyung!" You splurt out, grimacing.

"Just kidding, Princess," he says, raising his hands in mock surrender. He glances at you with a wry smile. "You should start looking for them though, unless you want to get married in your pajamas." His gaze lingers on your nightwear, and you fight the urge to blush.

"Hoseok already asked Jimin to have one of his designers on it." You murmur, wishing to not acknowledge how beautiful the designs were.

"Dior… fancy," he whistled.

You shake your head and turn your attention back to the newspaper, but then a loud slam comes from the second floor. Your eyes dart to the open glass door, half-expecting Hoseok to walk back in. A few moments later, he does, but this time, he's holding a white box, throwing it onto the table with a sharp gesture.

"What's this?" he asks, his brow furrowed.

You glance at the box and read the label out loud. "Birth control."

Hoseok's expression hardens instantly, and he steps forward, hands on his hips. "I fucking know what it is," he snaps, his voice low and tense. "But why the fuck are you taking it?"

You swallow, trying to keep your composure and play dumb. That it just might have slipped from your mind to put it out. 

"Well, usually, birth control is taken to—"

He cuts you off, his frustration clear. "I fucking know why it's taken, but why the fuck are you still taking it, Y/N?"

You hesitate, unsure of how to answer, but you find the courage to speak. Hoseok would get it out of you nonetheless. Why lie.

"Because I noticed that when you were fucking me—"

"You mean making love," he interrupts, his voice softer now, but still laced with tension.

"Making love,—" you repeat, your lips tight, trying to hide the amusement and disregard the severity of this situation. Him dicking you down until you are nothing but whimpering mess was hardly tender loving. He nods in agreement, and you try not to feel self-conscious.

"—You keep ditching the condom," you add, voice trembling slightly. You're nervous, but you don't back down. “So I just wanted to be careful–” 

"Does that matter?" he asks, an eyebrow quirked in disbelief as he takes a step closer to you.

"Well, considering I don't wanna get pregnant, and I doubt you do—"

He cuts you off again, his words sharp. "What if I want you to get pregnant?"

The shock hits you like a cold wave. You blink, your heart racing, your mind spinning. You want to respond, but the words freeze in your throat.

"It's not only up to you," you finally manage, folding your arms across your chest, trying to steady yourself. But Hoseok isn't backing down.

"No?" he asks, tilting his head slightly, a challenge in his gaze.

Before you can say another word, he grabs your elbow, pulling you toward him with surprising force, his chest pressing against yours. The heat of his body is overwhelming, and you feel your breath catch in your throat. The distance between you is gone, and all you can do is stare at him, unsure of what to do next.

The words feel like they hang in the air, suffocating, as he inspects every inch of your body. His gaze is heavy and possessive, and it crawls under your skin, making you feel exposed in ways you can't quite put into words.

"I think the fuck yeah," he says, a slow smirk pulling at his lips.

"Since the fuck when?" you force the words out, the sigh caught between your teeth, as you try to mask the unease creeping through you.

"Since we made it official," he whispers, his voice dark, lips hovering just above yours, as though he's claiming you in ways that go beyond the physical.

"Hoseok, honey, I don't belong to you, I'm not a bitch that you can breed," you grind out, trying to push back, to assert yourself, but your body betrays you, reacting to his touch.

"Aren't you?" His laugh sends a shiver down your spine, and before you can pull away, his hand moves to your ass, squeezing hard, sending a shock of pain that morphs into something else—something dangerously close to pleasure.

You cock your head, trying to make sense of the rush of conflicting emotions, but Hoseok doesn't wait. He presses his lips to your neck, soft butterfly kisses that leave a trail of heat in their wake.

"You sound different when I'm buried deep down in your pretty cunt."

"Hobi—," you moan his name involuntarily, rather surprised by his blunt behaviour than actual excitement, and your hand instinctively reaching for his chest, as if you could push him away, but instead, you draw him even closer. He likes to test where your boundaries lay. And he likes to do it each time he gets you alone and all to himself.

"Now, that's my name you're moaning, isn't it?" he asks, his voice teasing, fingers now shifting to your breast, kneading it with a possessive grip. You gasp, feeling the tension coil tighter inside you as his lips continue their slow, deliberate journey from your neck to your lips. When his kiss meets yours, it's tender—almost too tender—but it pulls away too soon, leaving you breathless, hungry for more.

His hand still rests on your bottom, and your pulse races as he reaches for the white box on the table. You know what it is, and your heart drops into your stomach.

"You know what we're going to do with this?" he asks, his eyes dark, unreadable.

"Hobi, no, please," you beg, your voice weak, desperate, trying to hold onto the last shred of control you have.

"Not this time, Princess," he replies, as though he's trying to convince himself more than you.

"Please Hobi, we have time for that" you clutch his hand, the one holding the box, your grip tight as if you could keep it from happening.

"We ain't little kids anymore," he mutters, his voice cold as he pulls you toward the door, but you resist, shaking your head as he drags you toward the living room.

“Just because we skipped the whole girlfriend-boyfriend phase, it doesn’t mean that–” you trailed behind him, trying to plead with him, but when you see the fireplace you panic.

"NO, DON'T DO THIS, PLEASE!" you shout, panic rising in your chest, but the sounds of Yoongi's and Taehyung's voices drift from the dining room, too far away to help, but close enough to hear.

Hoseok doesn't listen, doesn't stop. He moves as if this is inevitable. He opens the fireplace door, adding wood and paper into the flames with mechanical precision. The white box sits on the hearth, waiting for its fate. You know what's coming, but you can't stop it.

Before he can pick up the box, you do, clutching it to your chest, your pulse pounding in your ears.

Hoseok stops, eyes narrowing, his voice low and controlled. "Y/N, give me the box," he says, his hand extended toward you, his patience wearing thin. You hide the box behind your back, shaking your head, the desperation pooling in your chest.

"Don't do it," you plead, but your voice shakes, and you know it won't be enough to change his mind. It never is. Your heart pounds and the sound fills your ears as you fight to breathe through the rising panic.

“No need for dramatics, I can fucking buy new one, Hobi–” 

You hear Yoongi and Taehyung murmur in the background, they're talking, oblivious to the tension in the room, distracted by the box, by its contents. They must have missed the giant label that clearly states so, but the realization hits you too late. In the corner of your eye you can see Yoongi bring his hand to the bridge of his nose and sigh very loudly before he readies himself to speak on your behalf. It's already too late.

"You always know how to piss me off like that!" Hoseok snaps, frustration boiling over. "You're such a brat! Why can't you just do what I ask for once?" For once? He throws his hands up, fury in his eyes.

“Well you didn’t really bother to discuss it with me, why should I?” You snap and Hoseok’s face momentary shows guilt.

"Hoseok—" Yoongi begins to step over to his younger brother, trying to intervene, but Hoseok's swift hand movement stops him in his tracks, his frustration too raw for anyone to touch.

"Don't, fucking, don't!—" he screams his way. Hoseok is fuming.

"How dare you take this from me!" His hands fly up in the air, his chest heaving with the intensity of his words. The heat of his anger crashes over you, and you feel yourself shrinking under the force of it, knowing that nothing will calm him down now. When did he become such a lunatic? Over this?

"You fucking prescribed that shit to her!" He throws his hands up, fury in his eyes. As if Yoongi had any jurisdiction over you.

"You did that!" His eyes are wide, furious, and filled with an undeniable betrayal. And with that accusation, the room feels like it's closing in on you, the weight of everything sinking in deeper.

"Hoseok, I was taking that, years prior, it's not that easy to just stop—" Your voice trembles as you try to find the words, but they're heavy as if the room itself is pressing against your chest. You know it won't make a difference. You know that nothing you say will ever be enough to calm the storm he's become. Hoseok's eyes widen with disbelief, the fury in them turning almost desperate. He steps closer, his breath coming in quick, ragged gasps.

"She was supposed to be off the pill, Hyung! You said she is!" Hoseok's voice cracks as he turns to Yoongi, his anger now laced with something else—desperation, hurt. His words are jagged, the tension in the air so thick you can feel it pressing against your skin.

Yoongi freezes, his eyes flicking between the two of you, the reality of the situation settling in. His hand stays on the bridge of his nose, massaging it as though he can physically take the tension away. But there's no escaping it now, no way to undo what's been said.

"Yoongi-hyung," Hoseok snaps, his voice raw, pleading for an explanation he knows isn't coming. "What the fuck is going on? Why is she still on it?"

You can feel the weight of Hoseok's gaze on you, the accusation in his eyes piercing through the space between you. The betrayal is there, raw and unrelenting, and it stings, more than you ever thought it would. You want to scream, to lash out, but the words don't come. Instead, you're frozen, caught in the quiet storm of their confrontation.

"I didn't know," Yoongi's voice is quieter now, regret creeping in. He looks at you, his expression softening, but it doesn't help. The damage is done. "I withdrew that prescription. I thought she stopped."

Now he turned back to your petite form and the box in question that was the last resort of your independence here. It's just a symbol now, a trigger, a reminder of how everything has shattered in the blink of an eye.

"And why exactly did her highness not listen to her doctor?!"

You try to step back, but you can't. There's nowhere to go. "I didn't think it mattered," you whisper, your hands trembling at your sides. A lie and the weight of the lie you've been carrying sits on your shoulders like a thousand tons.

"I never thought it was something you'd need to know or cared for, at least not for a while."

Hoseok stares at you, his gaze burning through you like a hot brand. "It fucking matters," he spits, his voice sharp and cruel "and I fucking care." Yoongi threw an apologetic look your way when he sensed that this was only going to get uglier, and it would be more humiliating for you if they remained in the room.

"You think I don't care? You think I don't have a right to know? Clean slate from everything, remember?" His voice rises again, and the room seems to shrink around you. 

“Hobi–” you attempted to speak to him.

"Each time we made love, I hoped you'd eventually come to tell me I'm going to be a daddy,"

Hoseok's voice trembles with raw emotion, and you feel the weight of his hopes crashing down on you. The air in the room feels thick, suffocating, as his gaze pierces you, demanding an answer you don't know how to give.

"But you were hiding this from me. You were keeping it from me, Y/N. How could you?" His voice breaks on the last words, and for a brief moment, he looks like he might collapse under the weight of his own feelings.

"I thought… I thought it wasn't important now. That we had time."

Hoseok's eyes narrow, his lips curling into a bitter smile. "Time? Time for what, Y/N? Time to keep me in the dark while you do whatever the hell you want? To fucking run again?" His voice rises, thick with frustration. So this is it, he wanted you tied to him beyond marriage.

"I trusted you. I trusted us. It's just you and me for eternity, Y/N."

“It’s not even about that fucking birth control, it’s about you keeping things from me.” 

You swallow hard, your throat tight. You never imagined things would escalate like this. The silence in the room is unbearable, and the weight of Hoseok's words crushes any attempt at defence.

“You are supposed to confide in me. I’m your person.” 

"I wanted this, Y/N," he continues, his voice a raw whisper, filled with a kind of hurt you never thought he was capable of showing. "I want to build a future with you."

His words feel like daggers, piercing straight through your chest, and you feel the walls around you closing in.

"You should have talk to me about that." You want to scream, to fight back, but all that comes out is a weak, strangled sob.

"Do you even know what you've done?" he whispers, almost to himself, as if the weight of it all is just now sinking in. "Do you even know what this means?"

You want to explain, but you can't find the words. The room is too small, the air too thick with the unspoken truths hanging between you all. And in that moment, you realize that nothing you say will ever undo what's been done.

"I was not feeling ready, Hobi–"

Hoseok's eyes burn with a mixture of frustration and desperation as he steps closer, his hand still extended toward you, demanding the box. You know what he's going to do, but that knowledge does nothing to ease the dread that grips you.

“We could have discuss this–” but he was not listening anymore.

"Give it to me," he commands, his voice low, filled with an edge that makes your heart race. The space between you two is closing, and there's nowhere left to retreat.

You grip the box tighter, pressing it against your chest as if it's the only thing keeping you anchored. "No, Hoseok," you breathe, but your voice is weak, trembling under the weight of the moment. "You don't understand."

His gaze sharpens, and in an instant, he's on you, his hands grasping at yours, trying to pry the box from your fingers. You stumble back, but he's faster and stronger, and you feel the heat of his body as he presses you against the wall. You gasp for breath, your heart pounding in your throat.

"No!" you cry out, but your words are drowned by his relentless grip, pulling at your hands, forcing you to let go. The box is slipping, and before you can stop it, Hoseok has it in his hands, clutching it like it's the last thing that matters.

You try to push him away, your palms meeting his chest with a desperate shove, but he's unfazed. With a low growl of frustration, he jerks his head toward the fireplace, his expression wild.

Without a second thought, Hoseok strides over to the fire, the box gripped tightly in his hands. You lunge forward, but it's too late. He reaches the hearth, throws the box into the flames, and it disappears with a soft crackle.

"No!" you scream, your voice raw, the loss of control hitting you like a punch to the gut. You're too late to stop him.

Hoseok stands there for a moment, his back to you, his shoulders rigid with anger. The firelight flickers in his eyes as he watches the box burn. "You wanted to hide this from me," he says, his voice harsh, filled with finality. "Well, now, it's hidden better."

You're frozen, watching the box slowly disintegrate into ash. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, the realization settling heavily in your chest. It's done. There's no taking it back now. Everything you tried to keep from him, it's all out in the open.

You open your mouth, but no words come. There's nothing to say. You didn't expect this—didn't expect him to take the box and throw it into the flames like it meant nothing to him. But it does. It means everything to him.

"If you think you can go and get another one, think again—" Hoseok turns to face you, his expression unreadable, his jaw clenched tight.

"Because you ain't leaving this fucking house anymore."

A tear escapes down your cheek before you can stop it, and you wipe it away hastily, still trapped in the suffocating silence of the room. Everything feels wrong, everything feels too much, and you don't know how to make it right. You want to scream, to tell him how unfair this is, but you can't find your voice anymore.

Hoseok's gaze softens just slightly, but it doesn't bring comfort. If anything, it only makes the storm raging within you feel even more intense.

What a good start of 1996.

It was quite a few silent weeks, and although the poetics of “never go to bed angry” was quite overrated, Hoseok seemed to cling to it. You wish you could speak again. It was enough that you were apparently and are under house arrest. The moment you tried to step out of the front door, you were turned on your heel immediately. So you got the memo rather quickly.

Now yes, you are exaggerating a little. Rightfully so, you almost went to fucking knit a sweater being cooped up in here. Even the enormous sunroom full of flowers of every kind felt small after you spent the majority of the days there.

Hoseok’s father keeps himself at his side of the lovely and vast Jung manor and you find yourself not wanting to be in his company for majority of the time. But after weeks of silent breakfasts, lunches and dinners, you found yourself in his quarters to plead to give Hoseok some wisdom. He cannot be mad at you for keeping something to yourself. You were being responsible, and this is what you got in return. It was okay until there wasn’t a ring on your finger and the one fucking you, Hoseok. 

Yet, as you stood in the dimly lit hallway of the east wing, the heavy scent of cigar smoke clinging to the air, responsibility felt like a frail excuse. Especially in this family. You neared the slightly open mahogany door of his office when you heard their voices. You halted. Listening. 

“The boy’s still angry,” came the rasp of Hoseok’s grandfather. 

You hadn’t realized he was in the estate today, now nestled in one of the armchairs, a relic of another era draped in a thick wool blanket. His voice was softer, but the words carried weight. 

“Wouldn’t blame him. He did what was necessary, and she went and questioned him for it.”

You frowned. Hoseok cannot be seriously this angry over something so… so fixable, right? 

You should have stepped inside. You should have asked what they meant. Instead, your mind spun in circles, grasping at the words and the meaning hidden between them.

“That runaway little gangster decided to fuck his way into this world, so he paid the price.”  

Your breath hitched.

Paid the price?

Your grip tightened on the doorframe, pulse hammering against your ribs. The words settled uneasily in your chest, a slow-burning fuse winding its way toward something you weren’t sure you wanted to understand.

“Tuan made his choice when stole from her.”

Mark.

Your stomach twisted. The name struck like the lash of a whip, sharp and stinging because it had been weeks since you’d allowed yourself to even think about him. You can’t reopen the wound. You forced yourself to stay rooted in place, to not stumble backwards as the realization clawed at your skin.

Your hands trembled at your sides, nails digging into your palms, your body urging you to move—to burst into that room and demand the truth. But something held you back. A small, fragile piece of you that was terrified of the confirmation.

Hoseok swore to you he has nothing to do with it nor he knows who it might be. So you opted to believe that perhaps it was one of the family heads, or maybe someone from outside who wanted to make an example that you are not untouchable. Maybe it was someone who you openly declined to purchase their booze and serve it in Anubis. Maybe, just maybe, he did kill himself. 

But that’s not the Mark you knew, and after years of seeing this family stage murders, you knew better than to think it was a suicide. Nor did you want believe that, as the recounting of books showed, he or someone was stealing from you. But the only person that would manage to steal from you without your immediate knowing, was him. So you tried to hate him instead of grieving his death for a while. It did not work out. But it did sure opened doors for Hoseok.

Hoseok and his family, your family, had a motive but you refused to let yourself think he is dead because of you. Why did you not urge the police to investigate further? It would put you on the radar. You would have to hand out those incredibly illegal books over at some point. You were not a saint. Obviously you were not as far down as Hoseok or Namjoon and certainly not Taehyung. Your role was a bit cleaner, but not holy at all.

If all those demons that you’ve sent to their death while carefully watching and listening in over the years did not come to hunt you, why now, why Mark? Why’d they speak about him now.

“It was the right decision to eliminate him.” 

Your body felt cold, your fingers numb as you forced yourself to step away, away from the door, away from the truth you had just heard spill so carelessly from their lips. Your mind raced. If he lied about this, what else had he lied about?

You needed to leave.

“For her own good.”

Even just for a moment. 

You needed to get out, away from this house. You could figure out the rest later, but right now, the walls were closing in, and you couldn’t breathe. You had never wanted to leave, leave before. Not really. Not permanently. But that didn’t mean you didn’t know how. 

The question is, though, do you want to?

When you were younger, you had your ways—slipping through unnoticed places, sneaking past locked doors, bending rules until they cracked just enough to let you through. You hadn’t used those skills in years, but desperation was an excellent teacher.

So you ran.

Slipping through the estate grounds, through a route you remembered from your teenage years, your heart pounded louder than your footsteps against the pavement.

A taxi to the downtown. A subway later to get to 59 Street Columbus Circle. 

Central Park was quiet at this hour, the city humming in the distance. You walked, your breath fogging in the cool air, your mind spinning in endless circles. You weren’t stupid—Hoseok would know soon enough that you were gone. And when he did, you knew exactly what would happen.

You could almost picture it. The calls. The orders. The silent, well-oiled machine of his influence clicking into place, mobilizing to track you down. It wasn’t fear that kept you moving. It was inevitable. Because you knew one truth above all else: Hoseok never let anything that belonged to him get away. But you wanted to make a point. That you can be gone if you want to.

Right now, you weren’t sure if you were running from him… or to him.

You sat down on a cold bench, eyeing the Plaza that you realised you never stayed in, your whole life. Why would you, right? No, that’s where he would track you down when you had your tour de bar short lived era, counting in Anubis. 

You did not want to abandon Anubis, nor did you want to give Namjoon to boss it around. You pleaded hard enough to have something in this family other than pussy between your legs that would throw up heirs. Women in this family do not work. Not usually. But you, growing up with the mighty seven, knew a bit more about how this world functions, thus when you proposed to be the eyes and ears, they considered it. When you proposed you wanted a bar, a place where lips could go loose with the right booze, they considered a bit more. 

And that’s how you got to be the owner of Anubis on the borders of Manhattan and the Bronx. 

Everyone who entered was watched, catalogued, and, when necessary, reported and the threat eliminated. It had always been a place of control. Yours. But now, standing outside in the cold, you realized how little of it you truly had anymore.

A god of the afterlife, guardian of lost souls. 

Poetic, you always were.

But it was your place, and you wanted it back. You made it what it is now and it made you. You did not want to be a housewife or an arm candy for Hoseok. Nor your desire was to leave the syndicate.

No. 

You grew up here. This was who you were. And you would not abandon it again because Jung Hoseok decided to step into different shoes in your life or that Mark was now dead. He wasn't with you from the start, you handled it just well without him.

No.

If you have to go through this fucking marriage, you’ll do it your way. 

You returned before sunset, slipping back onto the estate grounds just as the first hints of dusk kissed the horizon. But the moment you stepped inside, the air was different. Tense. Hushed conversations snapped into silence the second they saw you. Guards were stationed at the exits. Hoseok’s men were in motion immediately. 

“Namjoon?-” He echoed to the flip phone when his eyes met yours on the edge of the living room. “Abort the mission, she’s home.” 

He shut the flip phone down and motioned with his free hand to send the soldiers to their original posts. Only then hew threw it on the plush of the white sofa.

“Where the hell have you been, Princess.” He gritted through his teeth, still standing by the conference table, keeping his distance even though he wanted to close it, and cradle your face and kiss your full lips. To reward you for your comeback. 

Your pulse pounded, your breath shallow, but your voice—your voice was steady.

“Tell me, Hoseok.”

You took a step forward, the distance between you closing like the pages of a book snapping shut. 

“Say it to my face and swear that you did not kill him, and-” he pulled his tall built body slightly back at your straightforwardness and his eyes reflected a little wave of shock that was quickly exchanged with understanding. 

Hoseok understood why you ran from this house now. You could have done it before, as it did not take you long to slip out. But he also was glad that after all, you did not want to. 

“And?” He urged you to continue. To finish what you started. 

“-and I’ll fucking marry you.”

And you needed him to tell you that you were wrong.

And you needed him to lie, just this once, so you could keep pretending.

And you needed him to be the man you had loved before all of this. Before Mark. 

His eyes flickered, something dark passing through them before his expression smoothed over. His lips parted slightly, but no words came. This is what he wanted? You on a silver platter. You accepting this union. 

Your chest tightened, the air punched from your lungs as you searched his face, desperate for something—anything—to grasp onto. A lie. A denial. Even anger would have been better than this.

You have to bury Mark for good to be with Hoseok.

Hoseok stared at you, his jaw tight, his lips slightly parted as if he was weighing something—choosing something. You could see the war in his eyes, a storm threatening to break, but then…

Then he exhaled, slow and steady, before stepping closer.

His hand lifted to your face, fingers ghosting over your jaw, his touch light but grounding. 

“I didn’t kill him,” he said, the words deliberate, carefully measured. “I swear it.”

Your breath caught.

There it was. The answer you needed. The answer you had demanded.

And yet…

It was too perfect. Too clean. The kind of lie that had been rehearsed in the mirror, the kind that fit too well in a mouth that had learned to bend the truth into something beautiful.

But you wanted to believe him. Believe that he did not push the trigger. You’d rather live without the knowledge of who exactly had done it and under whose command. 

It does not matter anymore. It’s in the past and Hoseok is your present and future.

You needed to believe him as Mark is never coming to save you from this horseshit you got yourself into right now and whatever reason he had to steal from you doesn’t matter anymore. He is not coming back and it is Hoseok’s arms you’re in this time.

His lips brushed against yours, hesitant at first—like he was giving you a chance to change your mind, to turn away before the lie settled between you. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

You kissed him back, hard and fast, your fingers twisting into his shirt as if anchoring yourself to him would somehow make it real. That if you kissed him deep enough, long enough, it would drown out the whisper in the back of your mind that said this isn’t the truth.

Hoseok groaned against your mouth, his grip tightening, his body pressing into yours like he could make you forget. Like he could mould the lie into something tangible, something that felt like love instead of deception.

You let him.

Because believing was easier than knowing.

"I love you."

You sway to the beat of Material Girl as you make coffee in the kitchen, the rhythm of the music pulling you deeper into your thoughts. Suddenly, you feel his arms wrap around your waist, his head resting on your shoulder. His lips brush your neck lightly, sending a shiver down your spine.

"There is a charity gala tonight," he murmurs, his voice low, warm against your skin. You frown, your movements slowing as confusion clouds your mind. You were allowed to leave occasionally under his strong supervision, which meant that your hand was sweaty in his when he held you for dear life, whenever, wherever. Especially after you went for the little walk in Central Park and did not show up until the sunset.

"What does that have to do with me?" you ask, turning slightly to face him. You were back to being you, at least a little. Step by step. His touch tightens around your waist, a subtle reassurance that he's still there. Even though your little emotional exchange, a few months ago, you were still determined to play this game your way. He wants something? You want something too. 

"Well, as my lovely bride, you're going with me," he says, a playful glint in his eyes. He presses a soft kiss to your neck, but you don't feel it this time—not in the way you usually do. Keeping you here like mother hen turned you and your cheeks waiting to be clapped each time Hoseok finished his work day. And if not, your hands wandered around your body while you read a book that had some spice inside. Out of boredom yes. You were just a girl after all.

"Terminate the house arrest, first." You smiled sweetly. Step one, have free reign where and when you leave this house. 

"No–" you did not even let him start when you interrupted him.

"Would you like some too?" you ask, ignoring him, You continue making the coffee, your hands suddenly trembling. 

"Aren't you listening to me?" His voice is sharp now, a mix of frustration and confusion. He pulls away, the distance between you suddenly feeling cold.

"I'm listening, you were talking about an event," you respond, your eyes not meeting his as you pour hot water into the cup.

"I bought you the Versace dress you liked," he adds, trying again, his tone softening. You let out a breath, the bitterness of it mixing with the heat of the coffee.

"But I cannot go out myself, can I?" you ask, your voice quieter now. The smell of fresh coffee fills the air, but it does nothing to calm the tension between you.

"Are you not listening to me at all?" His voice rises again, this time you can feel the anger building. You don't respond right away, the silence thickening. 

"Are you listening?" You retort, smiling wickedly. 

You walk to the living room, coffee in hand, the distant hum of the television buzzing in the background. The controller feels cold in your hand as you press the red button to turn on the TV, trying to drown out the noise inside your head.

"I'm sorry your highness, I forgot you love to negotiate," he says, his voice laced with irritation.

You glance at him. His hands shake as he gestures vaguely in the air, trying to explain himself. You roll your eyes, frustration bubbling in your chest.

"You’ve put me under house arrest," you mutter, shaking your head, and taking a sip of the coffee. But before you can savour it, he raises his voice again, and the hot liquid splashes over your denim jeans, soaking into the fabric. You wince, the sting of the coffee mixing with the burn of his words.

"You!-" He started but rather opted to bite his inner cheek than to admit that indeed he could've lifted the house arrest, the moment you said you will marry him. He only lets you go out when it benefits him. But you trusted the process.

"Me?" your hand shot to your heart, acting surprised. 

"You're going to put that dress on and come with me at six," he demands, his tone sharp, commanding. He turns on his heel, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the room. You want to smash something, anything, just to get the frustration out.

"Oh so now I can go outside of this house?!"

The tension from the earlier fight still lingers between you. Hoseok's hand rests on your thigh, his touch possessive, but it doesn't bring comfort.

"Did I tell you you're stunning?" Hoseok's voice is soft, low, as he leans closer, his breath warm against your ear. You did put on the dress he bought for you, they were too pretty to leave on the hanger. The sleek, satin slip dress in a light lavender shade. Parade in front of him and threatened to not leave if he does not lift the house arrest first. And you maybe played him dirty when you declared you won’t let him get this dress off you tonight. I have to punish you somehow. You told him. Of course he obliged. Men. 

The dress is form-fitting, featuring thin spaghetti straps and a deep, elegant neckline. It drapes smoothly over your figure, exuding an air of sophistication and effortless glamour. As fitted for today’s spring charity gala. Scratch that. Old money rich shitty man gala. Nothing to do with charity, they just needed a reason to throw a party every year.

"Today or since you decided you want to play husband and wife with me instead of being my best friend?" you dare to tease him, even though you already settled that matter, at least partially,  your voice edged with sarcasm, knowing he doesn't care about your answer as much as he cares about drawing you in with his touch. The atipique black dress shirt he’s wearing under the suit jacket reveal the his torso to your wondering eyes.

“I’m still your best friend, baby.” 

You feel him smile against your skin as he nuzzles your neck, his hand slipping up to rest on your waist. His touch is gentle at first, but it soon deepens into something more—something possessive. 

“Sure you are, especially when you bend me over tables.” You whispered, trying to tease him. His tongue slides into your mouth, tasting you, claiming you in a way that makes your heart race.

“Do I really need to listen to that–”

"--Can't you save that drama for when you get home? It's giving old news already—" a voice interrupts, cutting through the moment. The dark-haired handsome man across from you, Kim Seokjin, looks at the two of you with a raised brow.

"Don't be jealous, Jin-hyung," Hoseok cuts him off, but it's clear he's irritated. "You'll find someone one day to match your narcissistic ass. How's that wannabe Nancy Drew doing?"

You shift slightly, pulling away from Hoseok, but his hand remains firm on your thigh.

"Still working on it," Seokjin mutters, giving Hoseok a dirty look. You knew who they were talking about, but Hoseok said he won't intertwine with the media unless it will be a direct threat. That's why above mentioned she was roaming around trying to dig and dig but nowhere near to find the bottom of the pit.

The car stops suddenly, jolting you from your thoughts, and you blink as if waking up from a dream. The flash of cameras outside the car window hits you like a wave, sharp and blinding, and you feel Hoseok's grip tighten around you as he pulls you closer, as though trying to shield you from it all.

The car stopped and we started to make our way out. The first thing that hit you was the flashes of the cameras. Hoseok pulled you close to him and together with Seokjin and the security guard you walked inside.

You step out of the car, the air thick with flashes and the pressure of eyes on you. His hand doesn't leave your back as the two of you walk inside, and though you want to resist, you can't help but feel the pull of his presence, like gravity, like you're being drawn into his orbit.

He's in his element here, greeting people with a smile, his charm effortlessly lighting up the room. He makes you smile, too, almost involuntarily, as he introduces you to yet another guest. 

"This is my significant other, Y/N," he says, his voice carrying the weight of ownership, and something in your chest tightens, a mix of emotions—anger, confusion, and something else, something darker you don't want to name. You lost a trace of Seokjin some time ago and a part of you wishes for him to be here, you would not feel as thrown to the wolves as you do now. You don't blame him though, you used to do exactly the same thing when you were not what you are now. Take a bottle and vanish for an hour or two. 

“What is it?” Hoseok asked you after few rounds of dances to some forties jazz music after he could not get a word out of you. He leaned in, close enough for you to feel his breath against your skin, a whisper in the midst of the music. Hoseok noticed the way your gaze kept flickering around the room, the way your smile was distant, almost mechanical. 

After the rounds of dancing and mingling, he couldn't take it anymore. Your silence, your unspoken thoughts gnawing at the edges of the night, it made him uneasy. This wasn’t how you were supposed to be. You were supposed to be laughing, teasing, maybe even teasing him, not retreating into yourself like you were doing now. Again.

He was used to the strong, confident woman who had a sharp tongue and a sharper mind, but now… this? This wasn’t you. And he did not want to lose you again.

“You know what it is,” you breathed out, a soft exhale, but it felt like a sigh of surrender. His hand, warm against your back, seemed to hold you in place as you turned your face slightly towards him. 

He raised an eyebrow, leaning closer, his grip tightening, but not in a way that felt possessive—more like an invitation. He wanted to know.

"I don’t," he replied, his voice as calm as ever, but with an edge of urgency now. "I can’t help if you don’t let me in, Y/N."

You swallowed hard, pulling away just a fraction, as if the distance between you and him could somehow ease the tightness in your chest. Now it was time to ask. Step two.

“I want Anubis back,” you said quietly, the words hanging in the air, heavy with meaning. Hoseok's eyes flickered for a moment, but his composure didn’t waver. 

“Alright.” Hoseok’s lips quivered at the edges, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. His response—so simple, so nonchalant—sent a strange shiver down your spine. 

“What?” You blinked. 

“Alright,” he repeated, as though you’d asked for something as trivial as a cup of coffee. You blinked again, caught in the dissonance of the moment.

That was it? Alright? It felt like the words didn’t align with the gravity of what you had just confessed.

You leaned back slightly, studying him as though searching for any hint of a hidden agenda, but all you found was the same carefully crafted calm. The calm of a man who was too used to getting what he wanted without asking for it.

"That's it?" you finally whispered, voice sharp despite the confusion swirling in your gut. "You just... agree?"

“If Anubis is what will make you my extravagantly beautiful Princess happy again, I’ll give it back–” 

You looked up at him, the confusion, the anger, and the uncertainty swirling in your chest, but underneath it all… there was something else. Something you didn’t want to acknowledge.

The night drags on, each introduction another reminder of what you've become. The people you meet seem to glide around you, asking about your upcoming wedding, about your plans, your future. You almost laugh at the irony of it all hanging in the air like a thick fog. You're a trophy in a glass case, and everyone's looking at you, poking and prodding, but no one seems to care to really see you. But him.

Then, an older woman turns to you, and you surely met her once or twice at these sorts of events but you never paid attention to those old snobs enough to know her name. Her gaze sharp as she asks,

"Are you with child my dear?" You freeze, almost choking on the juice, the question slicing through the air. Before you can even respond, Hoseok cuts in, his voice smooth but diplomatic.

"We have just recently started to try, Misses Kang." She was a fucking busybody. Too curious. You can feel the weight of the room shift, all eyes on you now, judging, whispering. You want to run, to scream, but you hold it in, even as your fingers tighten around your drink, your knuckles white. The grey-haired gentleman beside the woman snorts under his breath, a comment you don't hear, but you don't need to.

"Men like us Mister Jung, we need strong lineage—" It doesn't matter. You've already checked out, retreating into your mind again, thinking about how Hoseok just handed Anubis to you without thinking twice. Your brain screamed that this is not just because he had some sort of epiphany but a part of something bigger. Does he perhaps know…? Know that you cannot leave him anymore. You were ready to wield that to have your way. But he just gave it back. 

"I need some air," you mutter, standing up abruptly, and leaving the table behind. You don't look back as you walk out of the room, the hallway stretching out before you. You take the stairs two at a time, the sound of your heels echoing in the otherwise silent space.

You find a door, and a balcony, and step outside, your breath catching in the cold night air. Your dress flares around you as you lean against the railing, the weight of the night pressing down on you. You stare out into the distance, the tears you've been holding back finally spilling over, rolling down your cheeks.

A voice interrupts your thoughts, rough and grating against the wind, "Are you going to jump?"

You turn sharply, startled by the sudden presence. The man before you is in his twenties, with longer brown hair and a stubbled jaw. His Australian accent is as clear as the night sky above you.

"What?" you stammer, confusion swirling with all the confused emotions in your chest.

"I asked if you were going to jump," he says, his hands shoved casually into his black slacks. He lifts his head slightly, waiting for an answer, as though he's seen this all before.

You scoff, bitterness creeping into your voice. "What's it to you?"

"I'd jump after you," he says casually, his eyes never leaving you. You give him a look, incredulous.

"This isn't some fucking rom-com," you snap, your voice sharp, trying to push him away with words.

He raises an eyebrow, unbothered. "No, but the situation is very similar," he argues. "I'm not saying you're about to jump off a boat, but there's a pool down there. You'd survive."

Your gaze drifts back to the darkness below, the tears still falling. You don't want to talk to this stranger. You just want to be alone, but his words, his strange calmness, begin to settle into your mind.

And then, like a physical force, strong arms wrap around you, pulling you back from the railing you were almost ready to mount. You gasp in shock, struggling at first, but the man's grip is firm.

"What are you doing?" you ask, panic rising in your chest. You try to push his hands away, but he doesn't let go.

"I'm saving you, and your very very expensive Versace dress," he murmurs calmly, his voice soft but insistent.

You stop fighting then, your body slumping against him, exhaustion settling into your bones. He holds you for a moment longer, then whispers in your ear, "How about you tell me why you wanted to do it?"

There's something about the way he says it that makes your body go still, something in his voice that makes you want to open up, to speak the words you've been choking on for so long.

“I wasn’t, it just went through my mind for a moment.” 

You sit down on the cold tiles, your tears finally slowing as you tell him everything—the fear, the suffocation, the way Hoseok's love feels different now. That you’re scared to admit your feelings like you could before. 

When you're finished, you feel raw and exposed, but somehow lighter. You don't expect him to understand, but his quiet sympathy soothes something in you.

"Please, just don't tell anyone," you beg, the weight of your vulnerability heavy on your chest.

He nods, his eyes soft as he glances at the balcony door.

He doesn't seem to share your fear. Instead, he looks at you with understanding. "He's a friend," He says, "and he talked about a woman he wanted to marry...a lot. But I can't say I'd agree with everything he's ever done to achieve it."

You look at him, eyes wide with confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I'm can’t help you escape this feelings," he adds gently, his tone softening, "but I can be a friend when he no longer can be one." You don’t want to escape do you? 

"You did not tell me your name—"

His eyes scanned your face with something that almost resembled concern. But the fleeting moment of solace shattered like glass the moment the door swung open.

Hoseok stood there, framed in the balcony doorway. The soft light from the hallway illuminated him in a way that made him look almost angelic, but the glint of steel in his hand told a different story.

You froze. What is going on?

"Step away from her," Hoseok's voice was quiet, deadly, his grip steady on the gun pointed directly at the other male.

He leaned back at the railing, his hands raising slowly in a display of mock surrender.

"Easy there, mate," he said, his voice unnervingly calm. "Didn't mean to step on anyone's toes. Just having a little chat."

Hoseok motioned for you to stand up and run to him, his eyes pleading for you to understand through his firm gaze on you two. What is going on?

Hoseok ignored him, his eyes locked onto yours. "Are you alright?"

You nodded slowly, your throat too tight to speak. The tension in the air was palpable and you did not know what to think. Where is the danger in here if he's griping the gun, not letting it down?

"I should put a bullet in your head right the fuck now," Hoseok seethed. What for? You were utterly confused and when Hoseok motioned for you to get the fuck up, you hesitated but did in the end. If anything, you trusted his gut more than you did yours over the years.

His smirk didn't waver when he gripped your hand and pulled you back. Your eyes widening with shock. His touch lacked the warmth you felt before and his next words sounded utterly different than before.

"See, that's the thing, Jung. You're all about control, but I don't think you have as much of it as you think." He flicked his gaze toward you, his eyes gleaming with something dangerous. "She looks tired. Must be exhausting being your pretty little bird in a cage."

Hoseok took a step forward, his gun aimed directly at his head now, his lips curling into something dark.

"You think I don't know what you're doing? Trying to get close to her, take what's mine, use her as leverage?" He didn't flinch or let you go. And you stood frozen. Without any explanation.

"Wasn't too hard. Seems like she's already looking for a way out." He provoked, knowing what it will make Hoseok to think. Inflitrate his thoughts. Homewrecker.

Your breath hitched, and Hoseok's gaze snapped to you for a split second—long enough for him to make his move. In a flash, he grabbed your other wrist, yanking you toward him, using your body as a shield between him and the gun. You gasped, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

"Put the gun down," he said, his tone dangerously low, his grip firm but not painful. "We both know you're not going to risk her."

Hoseok's face darkened, his finger twitching over the trigger. "You're making a grave mistake right now, Luen."

Luen.

Your blood ran cold. The Luen family. You'd heard whispers of them—new money with old grudges, climbing the ranks with ruthless efficiency. But you never encountered one. They avoided press, they avoided public outings. They operated from shadows. No wonder you did not know him, if he’d ever show his face in your circles, you’d know.

While your clan rebuilt their empire on this continent through generations of calculated business moves and deeply rooted alliances, the Luens were a wildfire—spreading fast, consuming everything in their path with ruthless efficiency. Your families used to be closer in the past. The times before World Wars and you yourself did not know exactly when their connection severed.

As you later got to know, this particular Luen man was a ghost from the past, one Hoseok had thought buried overseas while he studied abroad for some time. But now he was here, standing in front of you with his cocky smirk and calculating eyes. It was no coincidence. The Luens were patient and hidden hunters, and it was clear that he had been sent for a reason—to sink his claws into Hoseok's most vulnerable spot.

You.

"Am I?" his lips brushed against your ear, and you shivered involuntarily. "I just wanted to talk, but now... now I think I might just take her with me. Seems like she'd like that rather than being with you."

No. No. No.

He felt so wrong suddenly. Everything felt wrong. 

Hoseok's knuckles turned white around the gun, his eyes burning with fury.

"Let. Her. Go."

"Give me what I want, Jung. A slice of your market and territory, and she walks free. Easy trade, yeah?"

Hoseok's lips curled into a humourless smile, his eyes narrowing. "You must be dumber than I thought. You think I'd ever let you walk away with anything?"

Before he could respond, Hoseok moved—fast. In one fluid motion, he slammed the butt of his gun into his side, forcing him to loosen the grip he had on you. You stumbled forward, gasping for air as Hoseok yanked you away and shoved you behind him, his body a solid wall between you and him. 

Well that was strangely easy.

He groaned, clutching his ribs, but that infuriating smirk was still there. "Right… your choice."

"Get the fuck out," Hoseok growled, his voice low and menacing. "Before I change my mind and wash the floor with your brain."

He held up his hands in surrender, circling you to get to the balcony door.

"This was fun. We should do it again sometime." He glanced at you one last time, a knowing glint in his eyes before disappearing out the door.

"Goodbye, Princess." He winked at you and you felt the disgust bubbling inside of you.

Hoseok turned to you, his expression dark, stormy but worried. Too worried. He might have lost you right here and right now if he didn't decide to check on you.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. "I... I didn't know who he was. I just needed to breathe."

"Did he hurt you? Did he threaten you?" He blurted those questions fast while he scanned your smaller physique for any signs of injuries.

"No, we just talked, I didn't—"

Hoseok stared at you for a long moment before sighing and dragging a hand through his hair.

"You're not leaving my sight again."

You wanted to argue, but the words died on your tongue. The look in his eyes told you there would be no room for negotiation this time. You were not even sure whether you wanted to argue with him. Not after this.

"How come I don't know that Luen's revisited their feud with us?" You ask Hoseok the moment you step into his room. Or yours now. Can't seem to get used to saying that.

Hoseok shut the door behind him with a quiet click, his jaw tightening as he shed down his suit jacket and went to get rid of his dress shirt too. 

"You weren't supposed to know," he said finally, his voice quieter now, but no less firm. "Because I handled it." Shirt down, point taken. 

You scoffed, crossing your arms as you turned to face him. "Handled it? Right. And that's why that Luen—which disgusting brother was he again— had his hands on me"

His gaze darkened. "Jinsoo—"

Hoseok exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "The Luens made their first move a few months ago. Small things. Disrupting shipments, trying to flip some of our lower-level guys. I let them play their little games because I didn't think they had the balls to escalate." His eyes flicked to you, sharp and assessing.

"Clearly, I was wrong."

You swallowed, trying to ignore the way his words sent a shiver down your spine.

"Now we have to kill him, Hoseok—" Hoseok's eyes flickered, something unreadable flashing through them before he let out a low, humourless chuckle. You held your ground, ignoring the way your pulse spiked at the weight of his gaze.

"Why? What could you possibly tell him?" He knew you were not a rookie, and that whatever you revealed from now and then to anyone who's not in your inside circle, was an oblique and vague angle of events. This was non-negotiable. This clan did not even allow its members to have a doctor, therapist, lawyer, even fucking plumber outside of the ties this syndicate had.

And suddenly, the room felt smaller, the air tighter, the weight in your chest no longer just from adrenaline.

"Baby?" His sharp eyes flicked back to yours, his fingers still curled loosely under your chin.

"I'm sure it cannot be that bad, you've been taught well—"

Your breath hitched, your fingers tightening around the fabric of your sleeve.

"He might have figured it out—"

Hoseok's entire body went rigid. The silence that followed was deafening.

"Figure out what, love?" You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. Your pulse pounded, but you refused to look away.

You hesitated for a moment. You should have told him before.

You glanced at your engagement ring that was set under your new addition to your vast jewellery collection thanks to Hoseok— a wedding band. A matching gold one wrapped around his ring finger mocking you now. It was barely a month and half since you tied the knot.

You should have told him that day. Maybe that way he would now fall down to his knees and hug your below and murmur every single word that expressed gratefulness and admiration. This is what he wanted. But you were not sure if this is what you wanted, that’s why you gave yourself time to think how you want to do this. It takes people years to have this but God has chosen you. Or listened to Hoseok’s prayers. You can't seem to undo it now. It would not fly in this family. This was even more permanent than marriage in this clan.

And now, because of this little detail, Luen Jinsoo was as good as dead.

And now, the smile Hoseok flashed you with, told you everything you needed.

Of course he knew. 

"I'm pregnant."

I N T E R L O G U E

The ceremony itself was something out of a dream, a carefully curated illusion of romance to mask the reality beneath.

Beneath the glinting chandeliers, the whispered toasts, and the weight of Hoseok's gaze as he slid the ring onto your finger, there was something else. And you were not sure what.

But once you were sitting on the closed lid of toilet in the bridal suite, wedding dress bunched around your thighs, clutching the piece of plastic in your french manicured nails, the room around you was suffocatingly silent, save for the faint echo of music filtering through the heavy doors.

The test in your hand made everything spin, the two pink lines staring back at you with finality. People were trying for months or even years and here God decided to bless you. Or Hoseok.

Too soon, it happened oddly soon. You should have bought another box. You should not get distracted but other things to forget about this. You thought you counted your ovulation correctly, you could have taken ovulation tests to ensure it won't happen. You could have done so many things to avoid this, but here you are with a new life under your heart.

A knock on the door made you jump.

"Baby?" Hoseok's voice was low, muffled through the wood but unmistakably laced with something—concern? Possessiveness? You couldn't tell. 

"You okay?"

You swallowed, staring at your reflection in the mirror across from you. What interior designer would bask in your dismay when placing a wall-tall mirror right across the toilet? Your veil was still clipped into your hair, and your makeup was still perfect. But your eyes—your eyes—looked different now. Wiser. More terrified than they had ever been.

Another knock. More insistent this time.

"Y/N." His voice was sharper. "Open the door."

He was scared. Of course he was. Even though there is no way you could vanish, he was scared that you would change your mind, that you would flee the first chance you got. He was not stupid, he knew that you staying by his side was his choice but also yours. He would not underestimate what you can do. After all, you were you.

You exhaled shakily and forced yourself to move, tucking the test under the tissues in the bin like a terrible, wonderful secret, and you straightened the folds of your dress. Your hands trembled as you reached for the door handle and turned it.

Hoseok stood there, still in his wedding suit, tie loosened just enough to reveal the column of his throat. His dark eyes flickered over you, assessing, reading you the way he always did. His fingers twitched at his side like he wanted to reach for you but wasn't sure why you looked so shaken.

"What's wrong?" he asked, stepping closer, his warmth seeping into you. "Talk to me."

You opened your mouth. Hesitated.

"I think the shrimp cocktail was not a good appetizer."

.

.

.

.

©pennyellee. please do not repost

tag list: @iveivory - @tea4sykes - @btspurplesky - @hecateslittlewitchling - @fancypeacepersona - @bambii111 - @babygirlskz98

Don't be a silent reader, let's be friends chummers! ♥ 𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡.

lots of love, p.

[hencheri]

— guilty pleasure

▸ 18+ mdni.

| pairing. yuta x fem!reader

| warnings. religious themes & mention of religious guilt, dubcon, corruption kink, manipulation, perv!yuta.

| wc. 2.8k

| a.n.: this is part 1 of a series of 2 oneshots. part 2 won't come so soon, but will be much darker with more plot.. i swear.

you’ve never thought you would lose yourself so fast in the hands of a man you barely knew. it goes against so many of your values and morals, goes against all the promises you made to yourself all those years ago when you were just a teenage girl. 

the very thing you’ve always told yourself, always knew you would follow, is now your biggest sin. 

you swore to yourself that you would not fall into lust with a boy that wouldn’t be your husband, or at the very least, your boyfriend. 

you’ve never been the slightest interested in sex; it didn’t bother you to not know certain things, or how it felt. didn’t bother you either to be the inexperienced one amongst all of your friends who are very much sexually active. 

your studies have always been more important than all of that teenage rebellion stuff. your parents are proud of you, they see a successful girl with a big future in you, and that’s all you need right now. 

until he came in and ruined you to the core. nakamoto yuta. 

he represents everything your parents are scared of. everything they’re against. 

before that, you couldn’t remember a time you interacted with him. you weren’t interested in knowing him, even though your friends sure would have liked to know him in plenty of different ways. 

yuta has always been the rebellious emo guy from your highschool that grew up to be every girl’s wet dream. he smokes, he does drugs, he drinks; any illicit substance you mention, he has done. and this was just one of the many reasons why you didn’t want and couldn’t be with him. 

because yuta is the definition of sin itself. 

he’s laying in your bed, shirtless, while your eyes are fixated on him, not knowing what to do. your heat is pulsing, your panties always soaked whenever he’s around, something that really never happened to you before. 

he’s corrupted your mind, implanted thoughts in your brain that you’re so embarrassed to even acknowledge. if before a half-naked yuta in your room would have made you cringe, now it has you eager to take all of his clothes off and play with his cock until you’re covered in his cum. 

you weren’t that down bad at the beginning, on the contrary; you were absolutely scared. you didn’t want this, didn’t want him in such a foul and perverted way. 

but you think he’s corrupted you right after the first time. 

it was in the library, somewhere you’re sure he’s never stepped foot before until he learned it’s where you’re hidden most of the time. at the far back end of the library, back against the bookshelves and trapped between yuta’s arms, he had whispered “do you ever touch yourself? you know, down there.”

his hand had deliberately brushed over your clothed core, sneaking under your skirt without your permission, but all you did was watch him with big, rounded eyes. 

the answer was obviously that you didn’t. again, you weren’t interested, never had the time to really think about it. 

“i can show you what you’re missing out on, angel,” was what he said next, and that’s exactly what he did.

fingers pressing tight and low circles on your clit until you came, spasms of your orgasm bringing you to tears. 

you couldn’t even see him without thinking about what had happened, couldn’t bring yourself to look at his right hand without remembering where it had been. to say you were embarrassed was an understatement. 

he passes a hand through his long brown hair, eyeing you up and down. “come, i’m gonna show you something,” he softly says. 

he shows you the spot between his legs, and as you take it, you feel your stomach churning and face heating up. you sit down on your knees and he spreads his legs further apart to make space for you. 

 “you remember last time, right?” he asks and you shyly nod your head, recalling perfectly what you did. “well, instead of using our hands, i want us to use our mouths.” 

your brows raise up, staring at yuta like he just said the filthiest thing ever — and quite frankly, he did. 

“yuta, i don’t- i don’t know… that’s nasty,” you wince. 

“i don’t think it is,” he replies, slightly shaking his head from side to side. he lets his eyes travel down your body, looking at your cotton shirt hugging your perfectly shaped tits — that he knows fit just right in the palm of his hands — then back up to your face. 

he takes your hips and pulls you closer, “don’t you wanna know how my tongue would feel like, hm?” he’s so close to you his nose nudges you, his lips hovering over yours. “i know you wanna,” he breathes out, his mouth staying ajar, tempting you. 

just to confirm his words, he slips a hand into your shorts and panties, not even surprised to find you dripping wet. he grins, satisfied that your little mind is running wild on itself, not even needing yuta’s help for that. 

“see?” he retrieves his fingers, putting them right in front of your face where you can see your arousal sticking to them. “open up for me.”

as expected, you pull your eyebrows together, thinking there’s no way he will make you lick it. you were already grossed out when he did it himself the last time you were together, his two fingers entirely coated in your wetness. 

seeing that you’re doing nothing, he clasps his other hand around your jaw, pulling your mouth open and pushing his wet fingers past your pretty lips. 

his hand slides down to your neck, “there you go, angel. suck on them,” he instructs, his eyes focused on the movements of your mouth, warm tongue licking yuta’s digits clean. 

you scrunch your eyes shut, feeling embarrassed in so many ways. but you like it. you like it a lot. 

he slips his fingers out, now even wetter than before. he smiles at you, “it isn’t so bad, don’t you think?” he wipes his fingers across his chest, movement that you follow closely until he lays his hands back on your hips. 

yuta leans further back onto your pillows, “what about we start slow, yeah?” he suggests, his hand hovering over his crotch, your eyes glancing down at it.

you look back up, trapping your bottom lip between your teeth. “okay…” you breathe out.

he then sweetly smiles at you, one that doesn’t fit at all with what he’s thinking about right now. satisfied with your answer, yuta helps you by parting his legs as you lie down on your stomach, hands on his thighs. 

“perfect…” he lowly groans, making himself comfortable on your bed. “now, you can just undo my jeans,” he watches you executing yourself, dragging his zipper down and unbuttoning his pants. he passes his tongue over his bottom teeth, already turned on by your overly innocent face. “and pull my underwear down.”

your breath quickens when he says that, looking up at him with frown eyebrows and a pout. how cute. 

he lets out a light chuckle and joins his hands to yours, thumbs hooking under his boxers. “need some help?” 

you don’t respond to his teasing, only shifting your gaze down to his crotch again, tugging down both his pair of briefs and jeans. he lifts his hips up for you, and you can’t help the little gasp of surprise that escapes you when yuta’s cock springs out, resting over his stomach. 

your eyes immediately roam over his body, looking at the few tattoos decorating his skin that you know your parents would disapprove of. you can’t lie that they are magnificent, especially on him. he has a butterfly on his hip and a feather on the other, placed just on his hip bones. 

yuta also has a navel piercing, a detail that really makes him so much hotter than he already is. if you’d ever come home with one of these, you’re certain your parents would kick you out without a second thought. 

“are you done staring?” you hear him laughing, distracting you from your thoughts. 

“sorry,” you bashfully mumble under your breath, blood creeping up to your face. 

“spit in my hand,” he suddenly demands, presenting you his open palm. 

you’re taken aback a little, still finding it gross. “yuta-” you begin to complain, but he rapidly cuts you off.

“you’ve agreed, baby. come on, do as i say.”

you collect the saliva in your mouth, looking directly into yuta’s eyes as you let a globe of spit fall from your mouth to his palm. he then takes his cock with the same hand, stroking himself and spreading your saliva all over his length. 

he grabs one of your wrists and gently wraps your hand around himself, sucking in breath through his teeth when you tighten your hold. 

“now what?” you curiously ask. 

“can you… can you take just the tip in your mouth?” 

you try to not look repulsed by his demand, inhaling before bending down to his hard cock, parting your lips and entering the tip into your mouth. 

“oh, fuck-” yuta throws his head back onto the cushions of your fluffy pillows, relishing into the feeling of your warm, inexperienced mouth on him. “yeah, just like that, angel,” he chokes out, gulping down. “suck it…”

you gaze briefly at yuta before deciding yourself to follow his instructions. swirling your tongue around his head, you go a little further down, him watching you with his mouth agape, entranced by the sight in front of him. 

you have the unfamiliar taste of his precum in your mouth. it’s neither good nor unpleasant, but it’s still weird to think that you’re tasting him. 

you suck like yuta told you to do, slightly bobbing your head as you figure it might procure him more pleasure and you’re right; he almost immediately moans out loud, hand coming directly to hold your hair in his fist. 

you gaze up at him and your eyes connect. he’s gritting his teeth, sucking his bottom lip in. his cross pendant is sitting right on his naked chest, as if taunting you, cruelly reminding you of what you’re actually doing. you scrunch your eyes shut, breaking eye contact with yuta, and move your head up and down more vigorously, eliciting melodious moans out of him. 

“oh, fuck, baby…” yuta croaks out, his head lolling back on his shoulders. he squints his eyes, watching his cock entering and exiting your mouth, traces of your red lipstick remaining on him. “you’re doing such a good job, continue like that,” he praises.

hearing that somehow makes you more embarrassed than you already are. you shouldn’t be good at this — you’ve never done this before, never even thought about doing it. but yuta’s moans and groans sounding through your bedroom make you so much wetter as the minutes pass. his sounds make you believe you want to do this everyday just to hear them, just to know that you’re the reason he’s feeling good. 

it’s like the sexual desire you have for yuta is stronger than the guilt you feel for having those said desires in the first place. 

his hand suddenly pushes you further down his engorged cock, forcing you to take more than you’re ready for. he fists your hair, pulling harshly and making your scalp sting. 

you whine around him, pleading eyes looking up at him. “it’s fine, baby, it’s fine… you can handle it, my little slut,” he groans out the last words, very much pleased with the idea of you being his own pretty little fucktoy. 

on the other hand, you don’t like it at all. it makes your stomach twist in a tight knot, eyes starting to water whether because of the lack of air entering your lungs or because of the unbearing guilt that you feel, it’s not important.

all that matters is that yuta doesn’t let you suffocate around his dick. 

you reach up to grab his hand that is holding your head down, trying to unlock his fingers from around your hair to no avail. 

but then he pulls your head up, cock slipping out of your mouth and slapping down against his stomach in a wet thud. you gasp, taking in big puffs of air, chest heaving up and down rapidly. you gulp down multiple times and wipe the drool that fell out of your mouth earlier off of your chin. 

“shit,” yuta curses under his breath and it’s now that you notice he’s rapidly fisting his cock, all your saliva sticking to his hand and making squelching noises. 

he finishes quickly after, his cum spurting out of his tip and dripping down over his hand. his pace slows down as he empties himself completely, little white beads falling over his black painted nails. 

“gonna help me clean this little mess,” he says softly, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a smirk as he gently pats your hair. 

you agree, getting up on your knees and extending your arm to your nightstand where the tissue box is, but yuta grabs your hand, bringing you back in your initial position. 

“you have a mouth, baby. good girls don’t let anything go to waste.”

you wince in confusion. does he really want you to lick all of it?

“yuta, please, i don’t… want to,” you refuse, glimpsing down at his cock softening in his hand. 

your disobedience clearly starts to irritate him a little. “you’re okay with sucking me off, but not eating my cum?” he snickers, “stop being so difficult.”

he forcefully pulls you down toward his crotch and with no other option, you stick your tongue out and begin to lick his cum off of him, including his cock and hand. you’re surprised that it tastes nothing, but you’re still not very fond of it. it’s quite humiliating, to be honest. 

when you’re done, yuta doesn’t waste any time before pushing you on your back, getting on top of you. 

“it’s my turn now. i promise to be gentle,” he grins, lowering himself until his head is in between your thighs. he gets your shorts and panties off of you, greeted with the sight of your aching, wet pussy. “aw, look at this… my baby really wants me, doesn’t she?”

your cheeks heat up again, feeling so not at ease with your bare cunt at the mercy of yuta. especially when he looks at you like you’re his prey, about to eat you alive. 

despite all of your conflicted feelings, you can’t ignore the pulse in your clit and the urge to just clench your thighs for some relief. watching yuta cum is surely an image you will have in your mind for a long time. it’ll haunt your thoughts, you’re certain of it. 

he licks his lips and asks, “ready?”

you simply nod your head as a yes, taking in a big breath, nervous.

he dives in, his lips finding your clit and sucking on it as soon as he gets his mouth on you. you squeal, hands gripping his hair as if to get him away, involuntarily jerking your hips upward and onto his face. 

you’re incredibly sensitive, and the pleasure in your stomach builds up so rapidly, even faster than when yuta gave you your first orgasm. you were already so turned on, that the quickness of his tongue is enough to bring you over the edge. 

“yuta, i’m- i’m gonna…” you stutter, but you’re so ashamed of what’s happening, you can’t get the words out. 

he doesn’t need to do more until you’re cumming in his mouth, legs shaking on each side of his head, tightly gripping his hair in your fists. his tongue laps at your clit a few more times, driving you through your orgasm. 

he withdraws his head away from your cunt, smiling at you, “that was quick. if i knew you were this horny, i’d have taken care of you sooner, baby.” you don’t answer, but accept the kiss he gives you on the lips.

after this, you know you can’t go back. how could you possibly when he tore away the last bits of innocence you had?

[joequiinn]

The Dos & Don'ts of Fake Dating | E.M. x reader | pt. 2

[chap one] | [all chapters here] | [chap three]

Summary | You propose a crazy idea to the resident freak of Hawkins, Eddie Munson. But maybe he was even crazier for agreeing to it…

Warnings & Notes | fem reader, faking dating, opposites attract, bratty rich bitch reader, minor revenge plot, not-quite-enemies-to-lovers

Author's Note | Oooh I'm excited for this chapter! Would love to hear what everyone thinks about Eddie's characterization! And, after editing this chapter about half a dozen times, I feel like I'm still just not quite conveying the motivations of the character well, so let me know if her thoughts/feelings could be more clear!

Taglist | @daisyridleyss @munsonssweets @marrowfrog00 @lotrefcp @rach5ive

WC | 4.0k

Chapter Two

Getting away on Sunday afternoon to meet Eddie was easy. You’d celebrated your birthday on Saturday, with your friends dragging you along on plans that they put together weeks in advance before you returned home for a far too formal dinner with your parents. You probably could have - and should have - been more excited considering that you were toasting your legal adulthood, but if anything, it just stirred even more desire for change and rebellion in you. What good was being a legal adult if you were still trapped in high school, if you were still just following the status quo?

You told your parents as you were leaving the house that afternoon that you were going to the ice rink - your dad grunted in acknowledgement, too caught up in his reading to really hear you, and your mom commended you for how dedicated you were to skating. To both responses, you rolled your eyes, leaving without saying goodbye.

You knew exactly which picnic table Eddie referred to in his note, as you weren’t the first person to meet him there for a drug deal, nor would you be the last. It was a well-known spot for students to meet with the metalhead - although it seemed like no one actually talked about it, probably because they themselves didn’t want to admit to any interaction with him, somehow everyone knew exactly where Eddie made his deals.

There were trails running through a lot of the forest that made it easy to find your destination; you left your car on a neighborhood street not far from the school, and trekked your way into the woods. It was still pretty in late September - leaves weren’t falling to the ground quite yet, and the sounds of wildlife could still be heard up in the trees and low on the ground. Not that you were one to appreciate nature much at all. But it was hard not to at least notice it as you walked quietly along the trail, going over exactly how you might propose this crazy idea of yours while trying your best not to trip over rocks or step in mud puddles.

When you arrived at the picnic area, Eddie was nowhere to be found, which was actually a relief to you. It gave you more time to think, to calm down and find the best means of conveying this idea to him. You felt stupid, having this strange and foreign anxiety in your chest, but it couldn’t be helped. Best you could do was relax and put on a cool face whenever the delinquent did finally show up.

You were about to sit at the picnic table, but quickly decided against it once you took a closer look at the rotting wood - it was disgusting and dirty, and you weren’t going to risk ruining one of your favorite skirts or catching some nasty disease. So, instead, you paced, keeping your mind busy as you waited, taking in your surroundings with an air of boredom as the hour hit 4 and you were still here alone. Eddie better show, or you weren’t going to be happy.

Eventually, the sound of footsteps crunching on twigs and brush caused you to look around, not quite sure which direction the sound was coming from at first. But it didn’t take long for you to spot Eddie hiking his way to you, surprised amusement on his face as he approached. He cocked his head, lips tugged back in a grin, as your heart skipped nervously; god, you felt so stupid being edgy like this, it was so unwarranted.

“Well, well…” He drawled, crossing his arms as he walked closer to you, “I’ve seen a lot, but the ice princess wants something from me? Now I really have seen everything.”

The way he said “ice princess” was jarring, almost as if it was both an insult and an inarguable fact. Yes, you’d heard people call you that before, but never with the gusto that Eddie Munson added to it - you briefly wondered if the nickname was more common than you originally thought, and then you wondered who it was that first came up with it. Was it Eddie? No, if anything it was probably someone in your own circle that started that stupid nickname, maybe even Duncan - you didn’t think Eddie cared enough to come up with a nickname for some popular kid who he’d never even spoken to before.

It’s as if his use of the derogatory nickname immediately reminded you that there was no reason to be nervous, because you could feel your usually cool demeanor coming back to you.

“Don’t cream your pants, Munson.” You replied bluntly, crossing your arms as if to mimic Eddie’s posture. His brows went up in surprise - it briefly crossed your mind that he might not have known what your voice sounded like, let alone how you talked. Well, now he knew.

Eddie tilted his head down slightly as if speaking to you conspiratorially, “I wasn’t expecting a chick like you to be so vulgar.”

You rolled your eyes. Okay, maybe this discussion would be more challenging than you had anticipated. Having never actually interacted with Eddie before today, you couldn’t have predicted what your dynamic together would be. From what you could tell after only this one minute of interacting, your personalities were bound to clash, making your impossible plan all the more impossible.

“I guess I’m full of surprises.” You replied plainly, your tone disinterested. Without thinking, you leaned your rear on the picnic table, but quickly jumped away when you remembered how dirty it was, an affronted sound escaping your lips. As you tried to wipe dirt from your ass, Eddie chuckled. To that, you shot him a cold glare.

“Alright, what are you looking for, princess?” Eddie asked while sitting on the filthy bench - that felt intentional, as if he was mocking your disgust at the grime and muck on the table, “Ask and you shall receive.”

You raised a critical brow at his theatrical tone, at the way he said ‘princess,’ at his entire demeanor. Yup, this was going to be impossible. You were certain that your judgmental expression was clear as day, because you could see the cogs turning behind Eddie’s eyes, how he was analyzing you just as much as you were him.

You stared at him with your arms crossed, your hip jutting out to the side as you briefly considered him, considered what you wanted to ask of him. You made a bit of a harsh face as you responded, “That’s a bold claim, considering that you don’t know what I’m going to ask.”

You met Eddie’s dark eyes as if to make a point, his brow furrowing in curious response. His gaze was mocking as he held your stare, “You think anything you ask for will shock me? Snobby rich kids always want the same stuff.”

“‘Snobby?’” You nearly snapped, glaring smally in offense. To that, Eddie pointed his hand at the empty bench across from him, a defiant look on his face.

“Take a seat then.” He challenged, the corner of his mouth curling up. You make another grossed out face, to which he gives a half-hearted shrug, giving him all the confirmation that he needed, “That’s what I thought.”

You scoffed, turning your back while grumbling, “God, I knew this was a stupid idea…”

You started to walk off in annoyance, trying your best not to trip over rocks or sticks in your haste, but only made it a few steps before Eddie called after you, “Wait, wait, come back…”

You spun back around, but remained planted where you stood, raising an eyebrow and crossing your arms as if prompting him to continue, to grovel and earn your trust.

“I’m just joking,” Eddie raised his hands in a lazy surender, his face growing surprisingly sincere after a moment, although that sincerity was also laced with a hint of judgment, “What are you gonna ask for, then?”

He’s patient, watching you as you deliberate what to do. Was it worth it? Did you really need Eddie to make this plan work? Should you call this off while you still had the chance?

No. This plan was stupid as all hell, but you were going to do it. With a determined little stomp of your foot - Eddie smirking in amusement at the mildly childish action - you approached the picnic table, bracing your hands against it as you tried to ignore the feeling of dirt getting under your nails.

“If you laugh at me, I’ll ruin you.” You threatened while meeting his eyes. Again, Eddie grinned, but he otherwise kept his mouth shut, which seemed to be his way of agreeing to your terms, “I don’t need drugs, I need a favor. It’s gonna sound… honestly ridiculous.”

“Okay…” Eddie leaned forward so that your faces were only a foot apart; his expression was one of neutral attentiveness, however, you could see the sparkle of intrigue in his eyes. You don’t pull back from the close proximity he created, studying one another’s faces; it felt strange to be observed by him so closely, as Eddie had a way of scrutinizing you that felt different from those you knew, different from the way people normally looked at you. You tried to find the best way of proposing your dumb idea, but nothing would make your request sound less crazy than it already is.

Finally, you gave up with a sigh and just blurted it out, “I need you to date me.”

Despite your earlier threat, an unexpected bark of a laugh jumped out of Eddie’s mouth. He raised his fist in front of his lips and pretended to cough, as if that would do anything to hide his very clear amusement. Your eyes widened in intense warning. To his credit, Eddie composed himself quickly, acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, although you could still see a little twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“Can you repeat that for me?” He prompts, fighting off his laughter and confusion.

Again, you roll your eyes - god, you were going to be doing that a lot with this guy, weren’t you? You were already getting tired of it.

“I don’t want to actually date you,” You said as if it should be the most obvious thing in the world, “Just pretend. You know, like one of your dumb games.”

Eddie’s eyes darkened a little at the insult, but instead of retaliating he simply pulled back, putting a bit of distance between you. He looks you up and down in consideration, his mind racing to understand your unexpected request.

“Care to elaborate?” He questioned, his tone mildly critical.

You purse your lips in annoyance as you consider where to start, eyeing Eddie closely - how the hell did you explain to someone that you wanted them to be your fake boyfriend? You sighed, pulling back from the table, starting to walk in a slow circle around it. The motion was vaguely like skating around a rink, so in an odd way it helped you think.

“I hate literally everything about my life,” You paused, half expecting Eddie to mock your pathetic woes, but he remained silent, “It’s my senior year and I’m only now realizing that nothing in my life is up to me, that I don’t have any control over anything - everything is decided by someone else. And I’m fucking tired of it.”

You could see mild surprise on Eddie’s face, and you wondered if it was because of your foul language - it always seemed to surprise people to hear the way you could talk considering how nice and well-behaved you appeared, although you’d always been anything but.

You continued, “I want to do something stupid, something that’ll piss off my parents, that’ll get everyone to stop treating me like some untouchable, perfect princess.” You chose the word deliberately, looking Eddie dead in the eye, “And what stupider than to date Eddie freaking Munson?”

Now, it was Eddie’s turn to look somewhat offended, “Gee, thanks.”

Maybe it wasn’t the most effective tactic to keep insulting the man you were trying to bribe, but you just couldn’t seem to help yourself. You didn’t exactly know how to be nice to anyone. Eddie’s eyes considered you for a moment before something of a mean look flickered across his face.

“This has something to do with that boyfriend of yours, doesn’t it? What, you break up or something?” And then an almost mirthful realization flashed across his eyes, obviously seeing some change in your demeanor that you didn’t intend for him to notice, “Ooh, I get it. He broke up with you, didn’t he? You trying to win him back?”

You brace yourself against the table again as you glare at him, but otherwise you maintain your composure, your tone condescending and mean as you reply, “I do not want him back. He could drive off a bridge for all I care. I want to get under his skin. I want to get under everyone’s skin.”

You could tell that Eddie didn’t get it - he still didn’t understand why you needed his help in this ridiculous plan of yours, and he didn’t understand why you were feeling the way you did. With a sigh, you try to calm down and unclench your tight jaw.

“Look, Munson,” You caved in and stiffly took a seat on the opposite bench as if to bolster your argument, to make him take you a little more seriously, “I know it sounds crazy, but I just know nothing else will work.”

“And how do you know that?” He urged - you couldn’t tell if he thought you were an idiot or if he was actually interested in hearing you out.

You stared at Eddie for a long moment, trying to find the easiest way to make him understand. He stared back, again showing far more patience than you would have expected from him, especially with the likes of you. As you study his face in thought, you finally sigh, shaking your head as you look away with a vague annoyance set on your features.

“I don’t actually know, okay?” You start, eyeing him out of the corner of your eye for a few moments, “What I want is complete and utter… social suicide. To just stop worrying about my reputation or what people think. I’m sick and tired of expectations and status quos and doing what I’m told or what people expect. I want to piss everyone off. I want to piss Duncan off. I just… it feels like I need to change, you know?”

“Nope, I have no idea what you mean.” Eddie says plainly, and as you glare at him, you realize he’s joking once he finally cracks a smile. His eyes are surprisingly kind as he leans forward on his elbows, parroting your words, “When have I ever subscribed to expectations and status quos and doing what I’m told?”

At that rhetorical response, your face relaxed for the first time this entire conversation. Hell, you even felt a mild excitement wash over you as you consider what his words were implying, “So… you’ll do it?”

Eddie makes a face as if he’s still mulling over the idea, still trying to figure out what exactly your motivations were, “I mean, you’re bratty and rude and this plan is kind of stupid, but I might do it.”

“Might?” You ask, trying not to sound too pushy or annoyed by his casual insults. If this was going to happen, you both had to learn to stop prodding at each other like this, learn to stop picking on each other just because you could. That might prove to be the most challenging part of all of this, though.

Eddie smirks, rising back to his feet as he contemplates, “What do I get out of this? And don’t say money - that’ll make me feel like a prostitute.”

As you pulled a face, Eddie grinned at his own comment, obviously finding that idea amusing in some way. And like a teenage mimicry of a business person, you sat up straighter, looking at him plainly as you presented your offer, “No, but I do have one idea. But if you think of something better…?”

Eddie nods in confirmation, urging you to continue.

“Well, my uncle’s a cop--”

At that, Eddie chuckles abruptly while cutting you off, “Oh, trust me, I know exactly who your uncle is.”

Aside from shooting him a small look, you continue as if he hadn’t said anything, focused on getting this plan hatched, “I think I can help you. You can’t get in trouble with them anymore if I’m the one taking the fall.”

Eddie’s brows rose in surprise at your words, his arms crossing as he studied you, “What, you think your pretty little ass can handle a night in lock up?”

“No, genius,” You roll your eyes for what felt like the hundredth time, “If it falls on me, there will be no jail, no arrest, nothing. The minute I tell someone who my uncle is, they won’t even think about putting a hand on me, that would be stupid. I’m effectively untouchable.”

Eddie nods, rubbing his chin, “But doesn’t that go out the window if you commit… What did you call it? ‘Social suicide?’”

You shrug, “Maybe. Maybe not. But I can probably keep them off your ass for the rest of the school year so long as you don’t do something too stupid.”

“You want to date me until graduation?” Eddie makes a dramatic show of placing his hand to his chest as if he’s flattered.

“Jesus…” You mutter to yourself with a sigh, “We’ll see where it goes.”

Eddie, again, nodded while humming in consideration. You sat quietly, waiting for him to add something to the conversation. You could tell that he was drawing it out, though, milking the moment just for the hell of it, to put you on edge. Suddenly, he slaps his hand down firmly on the table, causing you to jump in your seat.

“We have a deal.” His eyes glint as he smirks at you, “We play happy little couple, we destroy your reputation, piss off all your friends, and you keep me out of trouble. What could possibly go wrong?”

It suddenly felt like he jinxed everything by saying that, ruined it before you could even begin, but you ignored that feeling as you gave him a slight smile, actually pleased with how the conversation had gone. Of course, there was still that strange sense of disbelief at the entire situation - it was the most ridiculous thing you’d ever thought of or done, but that also made it kind of exhilarating in its odd way.

Eddie walked around the table, leisurely sliding onto the bench beside you, intentionally leaning over to bump your shoulder playfully. It was unexpected, causing you to make a slight face at him, but that only seemed to amuse him more.

“Look, princess, you gotta start being nicer to me if you want to convince anyone that we’re a couple.” Although his tone was teasing, you knew what Eddie said was true. Even you, known for your bitchiness, couldn’t be too mean to the man that you were supposedly dating, especially if you wanted to get under Duncan’s skin - the nicer you were to Eddie, the more it would annoy Duncan that you were never that nice to him.

“Fine.” You say plainly, looking him in the eye, “If that’s the case, no more ‘princess.’”

Eddie made a teasing face, “Then what do I call you? It would look strange if your boyfriend didn’t have any pet names for you, right?”

You sighed, but he did make a good point - it made you realize that you needed to lay out some ground rules for this whole fake dating thing, something that you hadn’t accounted for during your planning stage.

“When we’re around other people, just call me something nice. I don’t care what it is.”

Eddie’s playful expression was still in place, “Oh, you’ll regret that…”

You rolled your eyes, and yet this time the corner of your mouth pulled up into an amused grin despite yourself, “Just be nice to me and I’ll be nice to you. Can’t be too hard, right? And don’t touch me unless it’s in front of people.”

You looked him up and down critically with that comment. It's not that you were worried about him being gross or anything like that, you just hated people touching you unnecessarily.

“Any other commands, my liege?”

“What, you want me to write this down for you or something?”

Eddie pretended to consider the idea, “If only I knew how to read, princess.”

You made a face, knowing that Eddie kept calling you that dumb nickname quite intentionally, that he kept testing you with deliberate aim. Trying to resist rising to the tempting bait, you continued explaining the dos and don’ts of fake dating. 

“Okay,” You started, raising your pointer finger. Eddie made a show of paying close attention, surely just to mock you, as you raised another finger with each new rule you stated, “One: we have to try to be nice to each other. Two: no unnecessary touching if no one’s around. Three: we have to spend a lot of time together, like, not just at school - we have to go out sometimes, especially to places where people will see us. Four: we have to be extra obnoxious when Duncan’s around. Five: … I’m in charge.”

At the last instruction, Eddie laughed right in your face, “You’re in charge? I thought this was a relationship, not a dictatorship.”

You had a response ready to leave your lips, but you let it go - practice for the inevitable niceties to come, you supposed. Eddie studied you for a moment while half smiling, seemingly aware that you were doing your best to bite your tongue.

“Alright, alright, you’re in charge…” He rose to his feet, which seemed to signal that the conversation was coming to an end, “So, what, starting tomorrow I’m your boyfriend?”

“I mean… Should we build up to it first?” The question sounded ridiculous, you knew it sounded juvenile and naive in its way, but it had to be asked. And yet again, Eddie chuckled.

“Sure, we’ll ‘build up to it.’” His tone was teasing, but not quite so mean as before. Eddie studied the look on your face, trying to learn how to read you considering the amount of time you were surely about to start spending together, “Don’t worry, princess, I’ve got this in the bag. Relinquish some of that control a little, okay?”

He slowly began to walk backwards towards the trail, waiting for you to join him, so you stood to walk alongside him. You almost neurotically began dusting yourself, trying in vain to get the dirt and the mud and the dead leaves off of your skirt, out from under your nails.

You caught up to Eddie easily enough, continuing to pick at your well manicured nails, “I’m serious, Munson, please don’t fuck this up.”

Eddie threw his arm around your shoulder, once again disregarding one of your rules without a single care. He looked down at you with a teasing look on his face, confirming that he did that on purpose, confirming that he was sure to keep doing it on purpose, “Relax. I’ll flirt with you tomorrow, I’ll flirt some more throughout the week, I’ll start hanging around your locker or talking to you at lunch, and then by the end of the week I’ll ask you on a date. Deal?”

You stared into Eddie’s eyes a moment before lifting his arm off your shoulders, stepping just out of reach with a mild sneer on your lips, “Okay, deal.”

His smile is wide as he walks alongside you back to your cars. This was going to be one hell of a time, and he, frankly, was all too curious to see how it would turn out.

[eurydicees]

re what they are saying about fiyero on twitter - gosh there is too much stuff. they talk about how uninteresting he is, how his presence has no effect on the leads, how he shouldn’t be elphaba’s endgame and doesnt deserve to be, how they want to delete him from the plot (somewhere along those line), how they want to block anyone making any fiyeraba or fiyero tweets or content and much, much, MUCH more like i genuinely do not understand the obsession?

i of course get not liking him, thats normal about any character lol but the way they just cannot shut up about how they dislike him is so….. like really no one is challenging your gelphie content 😭 we really are not interested to challenge your ship. you really dont need to focus on this guy 24/7 but ig you do you i hope they remain sane amidst all the apparent misery lol

well. you know. disappointed by not surprised. a partial fiyero ted talk under the cut. sorry.

it's like. it's just so frustrating to write him off as uninteresting and as having no effect on either elphaba (or glinda). like guys why is the media literacy not happening right now. also how the fuck would you delete him from the plot???? guys his plan is literally how elphaba escapes dorothy. he's the one who saves her from the gale force, TWICE. he literally sacrifices himself for her escape and its his sacrifice that makes her spiral into "wickedness" during no good deed.

also, fiyero is elphaba's endgame in part because he does what glinda cannot bring herself to do. WHICH IS SO VITAL TO THE ENDING. fiyero is the one who makes all of the sacrifices for elphaba that glinda refused, and he both pays the price for it and reaps the reward of it.

glinda and elphaba have a profound effect on each other, obviously, but it's not like fiyero is left unchanged by elphaba. i dont get where this idea that fiyero and elphaba have no dynamic because like??? that's just not true?????

fiyero goes from refusing to confront the difficulties of life to choosing the more difficult path for the sake of morality and loyalty and love because of elphaba (which is also really interesting given how he's, like, kind of a casualty of war in the book more than he is an actual rebel....mostly fiyero's book to musical adapation is #Rough but that's a cool parallel i hadn't noticed before).

glinda begins to see the flaws in the wizard's society, but she actively chooses to be a part of the system anyway. and she regrets it. that's the whole thing abt thank goodness!!!

fiyero, on the other hand, begins to see the flaws in this society and he chooses elphaba--and the life of rebellion that she's chosen--over everything that glinda admits to being unable to resist.

and GOD. guys that's so interesting. HES SO INTERESTING!!! how are you not interested by all of this!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

wicked is such a cool study on morality and what the "right" thing to do in such a world is, and what it means to make the decision to do the right thing vs the comfortable thing. fiyero chooses to follow elphaba and he pays the price, but he also doesn't regret it. glinda chooses the "safe" option--but in the end, even if she chooses good then, she's entirely alone in it all.

and that's SO INTERESTING!!!!!!!!! god. whatever. twitter just doesn't get him like you and me get him, anon.

just. it's totally fine to dislike him! i'm not refuting people's right to dislike him. the nature of fictional characters is that sometimes people will dislike them. like that's fine.

but being incapable of shutting up about how much you hate a character just...it stops being "harmlessly disliking a fictional character" and starts being "you are insufferable to talk to." like sorry you're so miserable about fiyeraba but i'm gonna be over here just having fun because that's what fandom is supposed to be about :)

(also, just a major issue with breaking this movie up into two films released a year apart is that any movie-only fans just don't get the point of fiyero's character. it's kind of devastating. ik not all of the people saying that stuff are movie-only but man. the people who are...im BEGGING you to give him a chance in part 2. literally BEGGING you. fiyero is such a good character. he has so many good moments. let the green girl go lives in my head rent free and if they cut that i'll riot.)

tldr; fiyero is SO neat and twitter is just full of cowards.

[himehomu]

With Walpurgisnacht Rising coming in 2024, I want to talk about something that has been bothering me since Rebellion. It was never the “plot twist” of Homura separating Madoka from her godhood nor her taking those godlike powers for herself thus becoming the devil. It was always people's reactions to Homura doing this and the way they based her entire character around this specific moment that really rubbed me the wrong way. Saying she's a selfish monster who's trapping Madoka in a fake world for her own personal gain or that she's taking Madoka's agency away from her and making decisions for her that directly rebel against what Madoka wants... And, to that, I just want to know.... do literally any of you know what Madoka actually wants or are you just basing her character around her sacrifice?

Yes, it was for the benefit of all Magical Girls and yes it freed them from their cycle of selling their souls in the name of hope just to die at the hands of their own grief and despair, but Madoka didn't plan to abruptly cease to exist at the cost of it?? She didn't want to be stuck between life and death only existing as a deity meant to eradicate Witches for all of time. Madoka wished to erase Witches before they are born from the past, present, and future. Going back years upon years in time, destroying Witches and mercy killing Magical Girls; fighting forever, past and future, for all time. Ceasing to exist as an individual, only able to materialize and interact with someone when they're dying of grief and sadness and pain; relieving them of that pain so that their last moments won't be in agony, so they can die in peace, but there's none of that for Madoka. There's no death, no closure, no release, no freedom from this hell of being a weapon and nothing more.

But, Madoka would never voice these struggles and frustrations. Because Madoka isn't that kind of girl. She's the kind of girl who shoves all of her problems down and bases all of her self worth on how much she can do for others, how happy she can make others, and how useful she can be. She forces a smile and masks her pain because she doesn't want to burden anyone with her problems. She puts herself down constantly, risking her life trying to help others because she cares so little for herself. Without being useful, she believes her life has no value. And Homura knows this. Because Homura knows her. I feel like most people take Madoka's bright pink colors and smile at face value and don't realize she's chronically depressed. That's why in the first timeline, she and Homura naturally got along so well: they were both girls who hated themselves and based their self worth on how they made others around them feel, both self-loathing girls who deem themselves worthless if they're not useful in some way. Madoka was just better at hiding it than Homura was. And she still is by the 100th loop.

But, in Rebellion, when her memories of being a god are taken away from her, and she's given a hypothetical scenario of her fate, she says "wow that sounds awful and scary and lonely and I would never do something like that." The Flower Field scene is one of the most brilliant and misunderstood scenes in all of anime. Majority still to this day argue that, since Madoka doesn't have her memories, her words hold little to no weight, and Homura is simply hearing what she wants to hear. So, naturally, they disregard what Madoka is saying, assuming it's just Homura being selfish. And that's where they mess up. Because, the fact that Madoka doesn't have her memories here is the whole point! Homura is already well-aware that if Madoka had her memories, her self loathing would result in her caring so little for herself that she sacrifices herself every time which is why immediately after Madoka's words, she assures Madoka that she is indeed "strong enough to make that decision." Homura just wanted to confirm if Madoka would still miss her life pre-godhood in spite of that, which she outright says she does.

There are also arguments that Homura was somehow influencing Madoka in the labyrinth aside from just not remembering becoming a god, but Shinbou already stated in an interview that this wasn't the case, and that these were Madoka's honest words. In fact, Madoka's true feelings regarding her godhood are revealed for the first time within the lyrics of Madoka's character song (sung by her VA Aoi Yuuki) that played as the ep 1-2 ED titled “Mata Ashita”. The song is about Madoka post-series which consists of Madoka wandering around aimlessly, quietly observing as humanity resumes without her, lamenting on the life she lost after becoming a god and wishing she could have been more honest about her feelings to Homura in ep 12, asking her to realize she's lonely.

[I'm pretending that I'm used to being alone, but I'm not really that strong.

The scenery is the same as always, the city is the same as always.

Even though I think everything will stay unchanged.

I still feel like I'm the only one who's tiny. Instead of "See you later."

I should've said, "I'll stay for a little longer."

I wanted and hoped that you would realize it.

But with the words "See you later,"

I lie to myself again.

And hide my true feelings beneath my usual smile. Saying, "See you later," I wave my hand.

Cracking a smile, yet I'm feeling lonely.

The truth is, I still have more to talk about.

But even my voice saying, "See you later"

is so near yet far from you that it can't reach you.

So let me say this like I always do, just once more: "See you tomorrow"]

This is definitive proof that even BEFORE Rebellion, this was already confirmed to be Madoka's true feelings.

The second time Madoka's true feelings post-godhood are adressed is via Madoka and Homura's concept movie quotes explaining that the God (Madoka) is clearly suffering in her “heaven”, which is more like a prison of isolation. The lizard girl (Homura) takes pity on her and separates her humanity from her godhood, thus making her human once more. Here are also some direct quotes from Magia Record which provides even more context for what Madokami is experiencing:

All of this, with the addition of Madoka's words in the Flower Field scene being confirmed to be her real and honest feelings, puts the whole “pulling madokami down from heaven” scene into a different perspective. Considering the entire reason why Madoka even became powerful enough to become God in the first place was because Homura's 100+ time loops linked multiple parallel universes together with Madoka at their center, and it's confirmed Madoka was suffering as a god, I would think people would be happy to see Homura reverting Madoka back to a human being and rewriting the entire universe to be a world where Madoka is happy and free, surrounded by her friends and family???

The fact that Homura's love for Madoka was so strong throughout 12 years of 100+ time loops, it turned Madoka into a goddess but when Homura was able to see just how isolating and lonely godhood was for her, she took her godlike powers for herself because she loved her and was willing to take on the exhaustion and isolation of immortality as the devil to spare her of anymore pain and sadness. Homura freed Madoka from a nonexistential purgatory prison and a decade later she's still demonized for it, how insane is that??

[maybeiwasjustjade]

Tempted to write a Nyx x Hewn City OC, because cauldron knows Feysand would never fix the CoN out of the goodness of their hearts. Now, if Nyx forces them to face their issues? Maybe the Hewn City has a chance.

Imagine a Hewn City sort of masquerade ball for Nyx’s birthday, because this is the first time they’re introducing him after a lifetime in Velaris. And Nyx…isn’t what most expects a HL’s heir to be. He’s tall and lithe like his parents, handsome with his mother’s eyes. But that’s it. He’s not muscular or built or with a wingspan to rival his father. His skin is smooth from a lifetime sheltered and pampered, no callouses line his hands and feet. He has exactly one siphon on his chest, and his Night magic is average at best. He’s not even a Daemati.

An only child, Nyx grew up lonely with only books to keep him company. He has no cousins, or even friends really outside of the Inner Circle, because enemies are everywhere. Illyria and Hewn City are just stories to him—far, far out of his reach. A little socially awkward but well-meaning kid, he escapes his own debutante ball to mingle with the masses. That’s where he runs into her: a Hewn City noble, the daughter of a Darkbringer General.

She’s not hideous under her masks like he expects. In fact, she’s far more beautiful than anyone he’s ever met, with her red-gold hair and strange eyes. A quietly, sad thing, but there’s a fire to her that shines almost as brightly as her mercy. Because there is kindness and mercy still at the heart of the Court of Nightmares. One just needs to be brave enough to look, and they all know the High Lord’s circle are made up of cowards.

She’s brave and almost blinding in her subtle fury, and Nyx falls. Even when his parents find out and try to humiliate her for trying to ‘seduce’ him, this Hewn City trash doesn’t bow or bend. She stands tall like the mountain she was raised under. And Nyx would do anything to give her the sky and stars. Even disobey his parents. Even turn a blind eye to the seeds of rebellion being stirred right in front of him. He’s no warrior—his built too frail, his magic too fraught—he cannot fight for her, but he’ll stand with her when the gallows swing and the mountain cracks open with their anger.

And maybe then, the High Lord and Lady will understand what happens when you abandon a third of your people to uncertain death.

And at the very end, when Feysand rage about the rebellion shifting on their borders, and the son that chose to fight against them, I want them to find out it was Elain all along.

The innocent fawn they all underestimated, who they left unattended to in Velaris. But a cage is still a cage, no matter how golden and gilded the bars are. Elain who hated black, with a mate far away in a Court she could never follow him to, and a sister banished for daring to choose herself. Elain who sees everything, every version of every reality possible. Who knew what would happen if the Hewn City was left unchecked, if Rhysand’s greed knew no bounds. If Nyx never fell for a girl with fire in her veins.

So she plotted. Maneuvered all the pieces in the game until there was exactly one future left. Only a single path. All she had to do was make sure Nyx was ready for it. Not the Nyx his parents would try to raise, but the Nyx the Hewn City needed to be free.

No one ever notices a drop of Faebane, if served with every meal.

[dragonfly0808]

TimeBomb (Fix-It?) Fic with a side of Zaun Revolution

The inspiration really hit today, I feel like I blinked and all of a sudden I had 7k of a new fic.

what is it about? Well…

Whilst I really enjoyed s2 of Arcane and I loved almost everything about it, I will admit there was one specific plot point I was really disapointed didn’t go anywhere and one character decision that I just couldn’t get behind.

First off; watching Arc 1/2 and especially episode 4 I was fucking pumped at the idea of a Zaun revolution plotline, and, since i watched the seasons back to back, I’ll be honest, watching episode 4 combined with the fact that in the opening credits we see Jinx waving a flag, my immediate thoughts were OH MY FUCKING GOD JINX IS GONNA LEAD A REVOLUTION AND FULLFILL SILCO’S DREAM OF AN INDEPENDENT ZAUN…

Obviously I felt like a clown when that did not happen

and then for the character decision… I’m not really a fan of the ‘you’re too far gone the only thing you can do now is sacrifice yourself for the greater good/to save someone’ character arc. Especially because I really wanted to see Jinx get better since, at the end of s1 her identity crisis is over, she choses Jinx and then I thought that maybe we could get maybe not a redemption arc but at least see her get better whilst staying partially chaotic

A part of me really likes what they did (up until her sacrifice) but a greater part of me is just- disappointed. Especially after the whole ‘No matter what happened in the past it’s never too late to build something new’ bit. It just felt a little cruel.

And i know of the Jinx is alive theory and I believe it but still- I just don’t like that this was the end for Jinx in Arcane, I would’ve loved to see her and Cait having to come to terms with both their crimes and what they allowed their respective grief to turn them into.

also Ekko didn’t deserve to end the series alone, not after everything he did and everything he gave up.

and so, with these two specific things in mind, pondering on it I found myself writing a little smth.

A fic that takes place right after the Stillwater breakout BUT- Jinx, Sevika and Isha escape before the Beast gets there AND Ekko returns from the alternate timeline early, pushing Jinx along with Sevika to convince her to be a part of the rebellion.

So far, I’ve got 7k words on this and I’m thinking on how to involve Vi (another thing is that I felt we should’ve gotten a bit more time with her) since, in my mind, the revolution of Zaun should’ve been led by Vi, Ekko and Jinx.

Ekko to represent the fight for the future and as the face of the Firelights.

Jinx to represent the fight for the present (since her arc would involve starting to heal and finding smth worth fighting for) and of course to also represent Silco and his dream

And Vi to represent the past (since a big part of her character is being stuck in the past) and Vander

Jinx and Vi get to right the wrongs of the past and join forces like Silco and Vander never got to! (Because why include that letter if nothing really came from it?) also, as a sister who’s had a lot of ups and downs with her big sister, I would’ve KILLED to get to see more of their new dynamic ‘Here’s to the new us’.

Also Isha lives because she deserved better and also Ekko gets to be her dad.

still unsure on how/if I incorporate Cait cause I LOVE her arc and would love to write her and Jinx/Ekko interacting

but yeah basically, this is a Timebomb fic with a heavy focus on Jinx becoming the leader of a revolution (since at first it’s more, Jinx is the symbol, Ekko is the brains. And maybe at some point it’s more like; Ekko is the heart, Jinx is the symbol/leader and Vi is the strength OR Ekko is the leader/brains, Jinx is the symbol/leader/face and Vi is the heart, you know cause- YOU HAVE A GOOD HEART DON’T EVER LOSE IT)

Also a big part of chapter 2 somehow wound up being a look into Sevika’s mindset and why she’s lowkey the biggest supporter of Zaun? So if you like Sevika I got you!

so uhh… yeah.

i’m thinking on the name and just to know what yall think, knowing what the focus would be what title do you think would work best?

Will prob start posting once I’ve got 5 chapters, which, if I keep up the pace will prob be in 2 or 3 days

also, should i tag it as Fix-It? Not sure if I should tbh

Here’s a few little peaks! A tiny part of Ekko convincing Jinx to be a symbol (that was a LONG scene)/Part of the speech that starts it all/Isha being adorable in the Firelight’s base

Ekko adjusted his coat on her, she hadn’t really noticed him getting close enough to do so, “I fought so long to make the undercity a better place, or to at least create a safe place in it, but I got so wrapped up in all the ways that we’ve been screwed over, failed, in all the ways that it wasn’t even half of what I’d dreamed of no matter how hard I tried that I was starting to lose hope. But seeing that world… it helped me realize that… no matter what happened in the past, it’s never too late to build something new.” 

Jinx forced herself to met his eyes, unsure of what to do under the weight of his soft eyes and the careful way he’d somehow gotten his hands in hers, stopping her from digging her nails into her palms.

“…someone worth building it for.”

Jinx felt something in her starting to crack, “I don’t know if I know how to build anything.”

“That’s alright,” he quickly assured her, his own eyes glittering with tears, “we can learn. This right here Jinx… this is our chance. I saw the murals, the posters, what you said back in the airshaft- if Piltover is targeting us… then maybe- just maybe, this could be our chance to bring all of the undercity together. To stand against Piltover, make them finally see us. I’m not saying we burn them to the ground but- we can fight back, fight for respect, for a seat at the table.”

Jinx took a step back, shaking her head, “I can’t- I’m not like you- I’m not a leader or- or some inspirational figure. They’re just desperate for anything to believe in. I’m not- I don’t deserve their faith.”

“But you’re the first to take a real stand in a long time. Sure it was an… explosive stand but a stand regardless. Directly against the Council, the people who have passed all the laws to try and make us less than them in the past. Who have had no trouble ignoring our struggles and claiming blissful ignorance when they screw us over. You have the chance to help bring people together. If we can stop killing each other over Piltover’s scraps and for territory… we can stand our ground. This could be the start of a rebellion. A revolution.”

“…I’ll screw it up. I always do.”

“You won’t… and if it does go wrong… it won’t be on you. We can do this Jinx, together.”

Jinx looked back out to the city line.

It’d been Silco’s dream.

To be recognized by Piltover. 

He hadn’t been able to bring Zaun together, sure, but everything he’d done had forced Zaun into progress… even if it wasn’t always in the best of ways. His biggest dream had always been of Zaun being it’s own nation.

It was the dream that’d been within his grasp, close enough to touch but that he had meant to reject in the end.

For her.

She’d bombed the Council as a way to honor him.

To finally show them all.

Everything had gone to shit the moment he was gone.

But now… now all of Zaun had a common enemy. 

There had been no singular group in Stillwater. Instead a coglamoration of Jinxers and Firelights and members from every gang Jinx knew of.

That meant that there had been no division at Sevika’s rally.

That for once, every part of Zaun had been open to the possibility of fighting for the same cause and had been promptly punished for it.

Jinx slowly turned back to Ekko.

Building something knew… he’d said Powder used her abilities to create instead of destroying… could she do the same?

Someone worth building it for… she thought of the hopeful look in Ekko’s eyes. Of the way the people of Zaun had, for a moment, embraced her, wrapping her in gratitude and misplaced but real hope as they passed by her. And of course, she thought of Isha, who deserved so much more than… this.

“I’m not saying I’ll be good at it… but I suppose I could give it a shot.”

Ekko reached out quickly, Jinx barely having time to flinch before he was tugging at her and-

Pulling her into a hug, all but crushing her against him, arms wrapped tightly against him.

She exhaled, falling against him, hiding her face against his chest.

They stayed like that for what was possibly an embarrassingly long time.

When she eventually managed to pull back, she turned away to wipe away her tears.

“So… how exactly does one start a revolution?”

—————————

“This is the time to stand together!” Ekko’s voice came as he stepped out from the crowd, wearing his firelight mask, going to take it off as he went to stand next to Sevika, “To leave aside the labels and separation and to work together, it’s the only way we’ll survive what’s coming next. Piltover wants us divided. They have always benefited from us killing each other, being at each other’s throats, fighting for territory and for their scraps. Not anymore! We need to stand together! To show them that we will not backdown! That they can’t invade our streets, our homes and expect us to just lay down and take it! That-”

“Where is Jinx?!” Demanded a voice, thought she couldn’t tell exactly where it came from.

Ekko sighed, casting a glance her way, waiting.

Jinx took a deep breath.

“Right here!” She called out as she went to take off her cloak, the people around her quickly going to clear a path as she sauntered on forwards, stopping next to Ekko for a moment before going to stand on the metal box Sevika had left on the floor, “You wanted to see me? Well here I am!”

Most of the crowd gathered around her, after a moment of stunned silence, started applauding, whilst some other looked like they wanted nothing more than to shake her and ask her what exactly her plan was.

Jinx glanced to Ekko, who gave her a quiet encouraging nod.

Welp, she didn’t really have anything to lose.

“Now… I don’t know much about leading, or about being some- revolutionary… but I do know about fighting. And I know about Piltover’s crimes.”

She recalled all of Silco’s sermones and every story and complaint he ever told her about all Piltover had and constantly took for granted.

This had never been her dream. But it had been her dad’s. And maybe it had started becoming her own the moment Isha had dropped into her life.

“I know that Enforcers have killed hundreds of us, a lot of times, for no good reason other than to show us that we are lesser than them, for us daring to stand up for ourselves, for doing what we gotta do to survive. That they have thrown dozens of us in cells without a trial just because they can. But the second we lay our hands on a single one of their precious Council members they suddenly have the right to invade our streets? To cry for justice to be delivered? It’s bullshit!”

A lot of them started nodding along, she could see the anger rising up in them.

——————————

Jinx took a deep breath before gently placing Isha on the railing, keeping a hand on the back of her vest, “Look at that kid. You like it?”

Isha’s eyes widened in a way that would’ve been comical if it weren’t heartbreaking. This was probably the first proper tree she’d ever seen.

Jinx set her down on the floor and the girl started jumping from foot to foot, clearly thrilled.

Ekko chuckled as he went to crouch down, “You see that platform to the right?” He asked as he pointed, Isha following before nodding, “That’s where the kids we have here play. We even managed to get our hands on some Piltover toys if you wanna go check it out. Jinx and I will be by the base of the tree if you need us.”

Isha hesitated, going to grab Jinx’s leg.

The girl had gotten a lot more confident since Jinx had first met her but it was obvious she had some anxiety about being apart.

Jinx went to crouch as well, gently running her thumb over Isha’s eyebrow before playfully pinching her cheek, Isha trying to act annoyed and push her away but smiling, “You should go kiddo. See if they got any good stuff. I’ll be right down there, I’m not going anywhere without you.”

Isha inspected her for a long moment before nodding along, adjusting her metal helmet as though it were armor before starting to make her way towards the platform.

“She seems like a good kid.” Ekko said.

“She is. She’s the best.”

[numenoria]

The Rings of Power Season 1 Ep 1-4 thoughts/observations/commentary ✨

EP1:

RIP Finrod 😥

Galadriel is a badass consumed by vengeance. I'm sure this WILL NOT come back to bite her.

Galadriel girl you're on your own!!

Young Elrond's hair is quite interesting...

Your honor, I'm convinced this Gil-Galad person wants to fuck Elrond

Evidence:

Arondir the beautiful elf that you are!

Bronwyn is gorgeous and level-headed.

Lil boy put that evil trinket back where it came from oh so help me!!!

These proto-hobbits are adorable and scruffy. I like Nori, she's spunky. I wasn't feeling the Hartfoots hair choices at first but it grew on me.

Galadriel being literally shipped off. Yeah this is def a coverup for something

The blond masc elf REALLY wants Galadriel to stay on the boat

Galadriel: 🤸🏻‍♀️🌊

Who the fuck just fell from the sky?? Naked??

EP2:

Nori is definitely a "run towards the danger" kind of gal

Is that GANDALF?? It's Gandalf right?

Feanor mention!! Simarils?? 👀

"True creation requires sacrifice" Yeah that's not the last time we're going to hear that phrase.

I've been saying Celebrimbor's name wrong this entire time. 😶

YAY Dwarves!!

Elrond is besties with a Dwarf! Durin IV?

Durin why are you showing out!? Elrond just wants to say hi :(

Oh...

20 years!!? Elrond you missed his wedding and the birth of his babies?? I'd show out too!! Trash friend behavior!

Disa! The dwarf queen that you are! She's so inviting and warm. OMG her hair is gorgeous! Durin IV I will fight you for her hand in marriage!

I haaateeee Durin's Hair/Beard combo. They lowkey did him dirty imo.

Why are these people on this raft?? Galadriel do not trust that man!

I'm not sold on the Halbrand thirst yet..

ORCS UNDER THE HOUSE??

I bet yall believe Bronwyn now!

Bro killed the Fireflies oop :(

EP3:

The Elves are slaves?? prisoners?? I don't like this

Who is Adar??

Galadriel and Halbrand are on a bigger boat.

Elendil you ruggedly handsome man. The genes are strong in that bloodline.

Numenor is breathtaking.

These people do not like elves

Galadriel does not know how to talk to people

Queen Tar-Miriel *I AM LOOKING RESPECFULLY*

I thought Pharazon was being played by Jack Black. Like a cleaned up Jack Black. I'm Sorry to both actors.

The Numenorians are very stylish.

Isildur??

Oh no he's dissociating at sea (trauma perhaps?)

I prefer look of these orcs over PJ's orcs.

Some losers are interrogating Halbrand.

Oh shit these guys are about to get curbed stomped to hell!

Halbrand's locked up

OH NO HE'S HOT!!

Evidence:

Why did he look at her like that??? . They def have some simmering sexual tension

"I am not the hero you seek." FORESHADOWING!! Galadriel do not trust this man!

An unsuccessful Elf rebellion. Arondir was giving action hero vibes

Wtf is that?? A warg? An orc dog??

Blurry Adar

EP4:

Miriel holding a baby. She loves her people

It was all a dream

Pharazon is plotting something!! He's very much a Brutus type.

Arondir meets Adar

I am slightly turned on and disgusted

Theo is attached to the evil trinket almost bound to it...

Arondir saves the Theo (I think that's his son?? But they don't know it yet)

Disa is a bad liar 😂

Mithril???

Galadriel locked up.

Halbrand teaching Galadriel about playing mind games. Yeah girl don't trust him!

Galadriel is free

Miriel and Galadriel bond. Do people ship them? Should I ship them? 🤔

The King's health is failing. Poor Miriel.

A Palantir? That's not good. Six more? Like dragon balls?

The crystal nerd in me thinks the Palantir is composed of lapis lazuli (the stone of visions/psychic powers)

Galadriel's getting the boot from Numenor

Arondir to Theo's rescue!

The orcs are ashy and they hate the sun

Disa you better sang to those rocks!!

This scene was very touching.

I love Dwarves!

Durin/Disa/Elrond warms my heart

The Dwarf King knows something is up

Theo do not trust that creepy old man.

Sir unhand that boy! 🔪

The darkness has consumed this old man

Galadriel is shipped off again!

The petals of the White Tree fall.

Galadriel is back w/Queen Miriel's support

Me thinks the people will not take this well

Overall the show is visually pleasing (aside from some styling choices). The cast is strong and very talented. The music is excellent. There's a lot of characters being introduced but that's typical of anything Tolkien related. Thanks for getting this far! I'll continue episodes 5-8 in a separate post ✨🩷

-Davi ☽︎♡︎☾︎

Edit: Not sure what happened, but NONE of the pics/memes I put in the post saved on tumblr mobile! I edited it on desktop so they should show up now. ^^

[constantfragmentation]

Arcane S2 Thoughts

I've had a week to digest this season and well, I guess I have the unpopular opinion of being very disappointed. After the initial flash of gorgeous animation and some ooo's and awe's.... I was left with a bitter aftertaste. I can rewatch S1 loads of time. I don't think I can watch S2 again.

I'm happy for the fans that loved it and got what they wanted or the shippers that got what they wanted. I'm happy for you. Do your thing.

Me? Not so much. Even as a Silco fan (and I admit to squeeing for any footage of him at first), I'm not pleased. Yeah, my young Silco is a nerd, man-bun hottie, but that's where it ended for me. His entire characterization was nothing like the character I fell head over heels for in S1.

Vander's Flashback: I honestly don't find Felicia's inclusion necessary at all. In fact, I think it waters down everything between Silco and Vander. Their knowing her and the kids creates more questions, plotholes, and problems than it supposedly solves.

Why is Vander only in those memories with the kids? It's before the fallout with Silco. Why don't the kids know or remember nice Silco? Why do they only fear him (obv that's from Vander and Benzo, yes?)?

Why doesn't Silco seem to know Powder at Vander's dead body? Why would he kill Felicia's kids? None of it makes any fucking sense if he cared about Felicia. He hates Vander so much, he hates the kids too because he adopted them?

How the hell does S2 Young Silco turn into S1 Silco? Riot really messed this one up. Vander's attempted murder didn't change his entire personality.

It was a rebellion battle. People were going to get hurt and killed. They had to know this. So, whether Silco accidentally killed Felicia (as some fans are debating) or she died, is so damn dumb for Vander to solely blame Silco. Takes the kids, becomes a pacifist FIRST and then decides to (shave and grow younger) kill his brother for the greater good. Doesn't make one lick of sense narratively.

The narrative, characterization and animation inconsistencies don't help from S1 either. The drowning scene doesn't fit the S2 explanation. They're too young. Vander had a beard and appears much older on the bridge. Hell, S2 Young!Silco looks older than S1 Young!Silco. Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy. If people want to kiss Riot's ass, fine, but there was too much that was straight up lazy writing.

Silco's death is just glossed over considering how important he is. Silco did what Vander couldn't. Even without Shimmer, the Underground was thriving. Cait's mother's death/burial/statue gets more screen time and Silco gets dumped in the river. No one seems to question his death or what happened? Yeah, ok.

I'll use this moment to complain about the excessive music video montages this season too. I watched S1 again and the writing and use of music worked in unison and enhanced scenes. S2 felt like scenes in between music videos and it was irritating.

There was so much screentime wasted that could have been good dialogue heavy scenes that S1 was great at. Instead, time wasted on poorly executed plotlines that needed way more time to flesh out (Mel, Ekko and Viktor) and we have slowmo music videos and MCU fight scenes. Hermie's guitar song and Mission Impossible jokster crap was laughable and not in a good way.

Riot tried to pack too much into one season, and it was a mess. This season felt like watching a Marvel movie. Cool action sequences with little to no substance. All the nuance and grit from last season were gone in favor of the 'good vs. bad' trope. All the political-societal issues in S1 were abandoned that were far more fascinating to explore.

Mel has superpowers now? It feels all out of place. Her, Ambessa, and the Black Rose plot have zero time to make it interesting and plausible. She was introduced as this master manipulator/politician and her sage persona feels so forced.

Jesus Demigod Viktor was too much. I was excited for the Machine Herald and the psychedelic Arcane magical multiverse took me out. Making him to be the big baddie and timeloop it around to Jayce felt like a big cop out. Viktor deserved better. Hell, Jayce deserved better.

So much was sacrificed to make the whole Arcane magic THE point of the series when it was one of the least interesting aspects of the show. Hextech for weapons and the continuing problems between Piltover and Zaun was RIPE for storytelling. It seems each act needed several episodes to cover.

Ekko sure as fuck deserved better than that half assed time warp with Hermie. The AU really bothered me. Everything felt wrong. EVERYTHING. Nothing was explained well at all. It felt like complete fan service at the expense of the characters. Before people rip me saying "well duh! It was an AU!". You don't assassinate characters and plot to have a happy ending that insults your viewers.

They turned Zaun (its own cool character) into the bargain basement of Piltover. How is it sunny and pretty? Really? Mirror tricks? Everyone just forgave Piltover after years of oppression?

You're telling me Vi's death saved humanity? Fuck that shit right now. Piltover just stopped because a kid died? Suddenly everything became better? What happened to Jayce? Viktor? Hell, Hermie after decades didn't give two shits about Zaun, so what changed with the Council? Where's Singed? I don't buy it.

I don't buy Jinx/Powder being super normal smart girl. I LOVE JInx, but I believe she had mental issues prior breaking into Jayce's apartment. I don't think Vi's death made that go away (as I don't believe Silco's death did either). As someone who battles with mental health, this is insulting to me as a viewer.

I hated AU Silco. There. I said it. He just forgave Vander? Really? Bullshit. The reason Vander tried to kill him is stupid. A simple letter changed Silco? That fluffy-haired softy is not Silco. I can't imagine that Silco being the one who fought a rebellion. He probably would not have become a mob boss peddling drugs but this AU softboi dad feels so wrong. I never would have stanned AU Silco. Not in a million years.

S1 Silco's traits didn't magically appear because Vander betrayed him. The young S1 Silco had to be similar in many ways to older S1 Silco. Drive, ambition, ruthlessness, willing to die for a cause. I don't see Felicia's death changing that. I certainly don't see Vi's death changing that.

If Vander needed to kill Silco to stop the violence, etc, it's because he saw Silco as a threat to him or society as a whole. S1 Vander is known as The Hound. So, he seems to be violent as well. He takes credit for building the Underground when Felicia credits both 'bozos' for it. So Vander being upset she died and blaming Silco to the point of murder is a slap in the face to fans' intelligence.

I do hate that by Vi's death, everything is magically better. I can't express how much I hate that. AU Powder was irritating and was nothing like my Jinx that I love. Again so much wasted time that could have been better spent on good character driven scenes that actually advance the plot.

Pointless characters. Introduce Isha (who I adored). Make her seem important to Jinx. Kill her and never mention her again. So what was the point of her inclusion this season? Just to make Jinx suicidal? I hated that also. Again WASTED SCREENTIME.

Oh, and Caitvi was a disgrace. I think shippers deserved better here, too. Caitlyn goes crazy dictator because of guilt over her mom. Granted, Caitvi only knew each other for a week-ish? Not a lot of time to make their relationship serious past an infatuation. Cait turns from all her good points last season to Ambessa's padawan.

Don't get me started on that side piece Maddie. Really? Cait you were that hard up? And that long awaited sex scene was a big eye roll. Vi goes to her sister, and shit goes to hell, and a few minutes later, she's fucking Cait in the same cell. Vi was reduced to shit this season.

I mean, these characters just got shafted in every way for a high speed train wreck ending that we've seen a million times in Disneyfied stories. Action sequences were more important than actual character development and plot.

You can't make me believe that one speech from Jayce 'seeing a possible future' suddenly got Zaun to work with and dress up as Piltover soldiers? Really?

I had high hopes for Sevika, and the girl got shit nothing to do except in two episodes. Her seat on the Council feels like a last-minute decision and not worthy enough to expand on.

What made S1 so great was the class divide between Zaun and Piltover and how it affected the characters. S2 decided to scrap that and go with the easy good vs evil trope instead. Even the parallels didn't have the same hit as last season.

I did like Jinx talking to her 'ghost' Silco in the jail cell. He was calming to her in contrast to Milo/Claggor except the implication that she should die (that's what I got out of that).

We didn't even get much from Singed. Yeah, he got his daughter back (in some form) but his story was so blah. We didn't get nearly enough of him and Warwick and what made Warwick.

I guessed a few years ago it was going to be Vander but I didn't like how it was handled.

Too many plotlines all rushed together without getting any decent screentime and explanations that don't confuse or insult viewers intelligence. OR you have to be a LOL fan/player to understand. I never played LOL before S1 and wasn't confused as to the main plot.

I loved all the characters in S1 and felt they were pretty much watered down or assassinated in S2 for an apocalyptical Demigod villain vs humanity battle done to death finale.

The Zaun/Piltover political-societal problems, parallels, corruption, science going wrong, pathway to hell paved with good intentions themes from S1 was so much better in every single aspect.

I'm still a fan of S1 and the characters and frankly, I'm going to ignore 95% of S2.

[literary-illuminati]

2025 Book Review #11 – Deadhouse Gates by Steven Erikson

Introduction

One of my reading goals for 2025 is to get through the entire Malazan series at a rate of one a month or so (a commitment I made thinking Gardens of the Moon was representative and not the shortest in the set, but I digress). I went into Deadhouse Gates knowing almost nothing about the plot, but having had it talked up to me relentlessly as the point where the series hits its stride and gets really properly good. On one level I can absolutely see this – Erikson’s craft absolutely improved immensely between writing Gardens and Gates, and the characterization work is (on the whole) so much better the returning characters barely even seem like the same people. But – while it’s certainly an excellent book overall – it had some weaknesses and irritating ticks that had me wishing it was more like Gardens at several points.

The novel is set on the (sub-)continent of Seven Cities, a rich and ancient land lately conquered by the Malazan Empire, and now a restive project afflicted with moments prophecies and on the very edge of rebellion. With a decadent and incompetent governor uninterested in preparations or an organized response, the rebellion will see colonists and officials slaughtered wholesale across the land, with only the capital city of Aren itself able to hold out and await the relief of an imperial punitive expedition from the metropole. By cosmic coincidence, just as things come to a head the wastelands in the continents heart are overrun with shapeshifters of all kind – mages and skinchangers driven rabid with lust for power, seeking the mythical Path of Hands and it’s promise of Ascension and dominion over all their kind as a new god of beasts.

Amid the anarchy and bloodshed, the book follows five different points of view, each on their own variably ill-fated journey across the continent. By far the most detailed – and the one acting as a spine for the whole book – is the imperial historian Duiker, acting as witness and chronicler to the epic death-march of the 7th Army and the tens of thousands of refugees it protects across the continent, to hoped-for sanctuary beneath Aren’s walls. He’s a window rather than a protagonist, allowing the reader a close and personal view of the imperial general Coltaine and the 7th ‘s struggles and valour fighting the impossible odds arrayed against them.

Around the edges of that narrative (and, to my mind, in the main far more interesting) are our other points of view – a disgraced noble heiress-turned-penal-slave and her fellow escapees from a brutal imperial mine, an itinerant warrior walking the earth alongside his immortal friend in his quest for his lost memories, an outlawed legionary and assassin on his way back to the capital to kill the Empress for her crimes, and a similarly outlawed sapper and his ragtag band of travelers caught up in the plots and whims of gods they want absolutely nothing to do with.

Across just under a thousand pages, they give first-hand views of the rebellion’s initial stages and hints of what seem likely to be the actual plot of this whole ten-volume saga. And suffer. Mostly the suffering, really.

History and Worldbuilding

The very first thing anyone ever talks about with Malazan is the setting, and the real sense of depth and history that Erikson brings to it. Which is pretty much entirely deserved – this is a series where the setting and metaphysics came first, and the actual plot is at least kind of mostly just an excuse to explore and share it with people. Whether you find this interesting or charming or think it sounds like the most tedious reading experience imaginable is probably the first filter on whether you will actually enjoy this book (and the series as a whole) or not.

Now, that was always the promise of the series, but this is an area where Deadhouse Gates lives up to it far better than Gardens did. Erikson is, I’m told, an archaeologist and anthropologist by training and of but you can tell. Not always for the better with the anthropology bit, but the sheer enthusiasm with which the book regards broken shards of pottery and the impact of prehistoric tells on geography is really incredibly charming.

The book manages the effect a lot of fantasy tries for but very few succeed at – a sense of real deep, mythic history, of layers of ruined cities and dead gods whose memory still weighs upon and affects the world of the living and whose tragedies and dramas can be seen in the shape of the world wherever you might look. Very nearly every single one of the book’s most affecting passages and pieces of imagery are from a point of view exploring (or at least wondering through) some ancient ruin of a fallen or forgotten civilization, or else being haunted by their ghosts and the ways the present now rhymes with the past.

Far more than Gardens, Gates really does sell the feeling of a vast, wondrous, terrible world – full of unseen actors and only barely glimpsed conflicts that nonetheless shape the field of play our actual protagonists are acting upon. This is probably best expressed with the whole shapeshifter highlander that’s happening slightly off to the side of the plot for 90% of the book but still causes absolutely no end of problems for all the most interacting characters, as well as the sheer number of bizarre and near-lethal encounters with strange and ancient creatures the different traveling parties have by apparently random chance.

The less commendable expression of this is the sheer number of dei (and diaboli) ex machina Erikson keeps throwing into the plot whenever he’s not quite sure where to go or how to get a specific beat he wants to. The sudden appearance of a never-before-mentioned magical courier company crashing through dimensions to give Coltaine and (separately) Fiddler’s party exactly the resupply they needed to lift their spirits on behalf of interested parties on a literal different continent who had apparently somehow been following the drama of this remote death march with baited breath very nearly made me throw the book down in exasperation (and it’s hardly unique here).

Nuance and Characterization

All that said, by far the biggest improvement between Gardens and Gates is the quality of character-writing. Not necessarily in terms of giving distinct internal monologues (there are more than a few passages of Kalam’s narration you could put in Duiker’s mouth and no one one would blink), but the arcs and internal conflicts of every point of view character are far, far better written and more compelling than in the previous installment (not least because the book is far less likely to outright explain what that arc or internal conflict is in pseudo-objective monologue). Most (with a few very notable exceptions I’ll get to later) of the major supporting characters are similarly improved, seeming far more like people and less like the plot mechanisms or broad fantasy archetypes a decent chunk of Gardens secondary cast tended to default to.

The love and quality are admittedly a bit unevenly distributed, though. Felisin is by far the most psychologically interesting and nuanced character we spend any time in the head of – basically entirely because of her complete and total lack of self-knowledge as she tries (badly) to cope with all the horrible, life-ruining trauma. The fact that her sections lacked any sort of moral authority figure – there’s no character whose ever signposted as being uniquely enlightened or perfectly informed or even just usually right, everyone is a massive asshole in one way or another – too.

Though if Felisin’s is the best narrative running through the book, Mappo and Icorium get an easy second place. Again, in large part off the strength of their characterization – their relationship is really compelling! Their friendship feels real and sincere, and the genuine tragedy underlying it all both works and adds real poignancy (though frankly, having the destroyed village used to motivate Mappo be a false flag feels like an immense and unneeded cop-out here). It also helps that the pair of them are so thoroughly part of the setting’s deep history and still affected by and chained to the world’s ancient past in a way none of the others are – in a way they like the most purely Malazan characters, the arc that mostly perfectly expresses the series’ strengths.

As for the others – Fiddler is generally inoffensive as a point of view to the plot, though deeply generic and uninteresting as a character in his own right. But he gets partial credit for all the screen-time Pust gets, whose just a delightful cartoon character on the page and the only genuine comic relief the book has to break up the grim monotony (Apsular is also a good character with interesting ties to the wider setting. Crokus feels like the thinly sketched generic kid hero you kill off at the end of chapter one in a satire or deconstruction). Kalam is a decent action-adventure hero, and much more engaging for the fact that he’s genuinely makes mistakes and falls for tricks compared to a lot of the series’ legendary badasses, but crippled by a) a complete lack of internal reckoning or rumination over the fact that he literally kicked off the rebellion he spends most of the book wading through the atrocities of and b) an incredibly unsatisfying and bathetic where his book-long revenge quest is entirely resolved by five minutes of unconvincing platitudes from the women he was trying to kill.

Duiker, meanwhile – Well, as a character he was great. The two best passages in the whole book are him philosophizing. The issue is-

The Chain of Dogs

I have a rather limited tolerance for straight-faced heroic military chronicles, and the spine of this book was a story that for most of its length felt like it was making it a mission to hit every tired cliche in the genre I can think of. Or okay, that’s harsh. It isn’t all bad – the lead-up to the rebellion was full of intrigue and promise, the side-plot with the Senk god was very good, the ending was (if a bit clumsy and extremely bluntly done) compelling tragedy. As for everything else – well, let’s say there were a lot of time where resisting the urge to skim down to the next POV was a downright heroic effort.

The biggest issue is Coltaine. He, far more than Duiker, is the actual protagonist of the plot thread, the character whose efforts and struggles determine the plot and who virtues define the whole tragedy it ends up being. Which is unfortunate, because he only barely escapes being a complete cliche right out of central casting. For basically the entire book, he’s nothing but a caricature – the grim, taciturn military genius, the stoic badass who wins the undying loyalty of his troops speeches or grandstanding because he’s just the good, the strategic savant whose victory against impossible odds is assured unless he is undercut by treachery or incompetence from those around him. His plans always work, his gut calls always turn out for the best, his harsh sacrifices are always in the end perfectly justified.

God but he is one of the most boring characters I’ve ever had to sit through however many hundreds of pages trying to convince me of how impressive he is. The only historical figures that come close are the ones only remembered through their own propaganda. Which would be not great but fine if he was a secondary character or a plot device, but again he really is the functional protagonist of the entire narrative. Did we really need two different chapter-long battle scenes where Duiker is sure they’re all doomed but Coltaine’s clever plan that was never communicated to any of his subordinates works perfectly and the legendary valor of the Malazan army defeats impossible odds? Did they have to both be river crossings?

Which also does a lot to drain the tension and interest out of the politics and interpersonal drama that is the actually interesting part of war – with basically no exceptions of any consequence, Coltaine is right and whoever is arguing against him (especially if they aren’t also a hard-bitten professional soldier) is wrong. For a story ostensibly about the heroic effort to protect this chain of refugees, the only actual refugee characters who get names and lines are a trio of nobles – of whom one dies early and the other two are portrayed as some of the most thoroughly contemptible characters in the whole story. You could have replaced the entire refugee host with an equally large and ungainly herd of sacred cattle and lost remarkably little.

The High Fist comes off even worse, of course – as the single and ultimate cause of every fuckup the Malazan forces make through the entire book, really. It undermines the whole trap and destruction of the army at the very end of the book when it seems less due to any particularly clever stratagems on the rebels part and more because he’s a blithering idiot who can be relied upon to make the single worst decision in literally every situation. I kept waiting for the book to give him some bit of interiority, some hidden depths or even self-serving justifications for his actions – and it just never arrived.

And then there’s the matter of the opposition.

Conflict and Culture

I give D&D-inspired fantasy a lot of leeway for having some, let’s say unfortunate subtext. It’s buried deep into the bones of the genre and digging out is not a project that will at all fit a lot of stories. But a) this is a thousand-page-long tome that’s incredibly interested in invented culture and sociology and b) my god every bit of the book’s description of Seven Cities and the rebellion feels like its from a 19th century London tabloid competing to have the most lurid and exaggerated ‘true tales of the outrages in the colonies’. Seven Cities is obviously and deliberately patterned off west/south Asia (the rebel messiah is almost literally named Sheik, there are nearly as many talwars as potsherds), but it feels less inspired by any actual culture or history than by colonial propaganda and 1001 Arabian Nights. (The Wickans are not nearly as bad – they do feel like a real culture with texture and internal divisions and tradition. But everything about them is just entirely in thrall to what Brett Devereaux calls the Fremen Mirage – more based off the mythology of the terrifying and masterful nomadic warrior-civilization than any particular historical referent.)

It is not that I have any objection to depicting the brutality and atrocities of (especially civil) warfare but like c’mon – the book literally contrives to have fanatical child soldiers forcing the 7th to slaughter them to protect the refugees. Functionally every rebel we see at any point is either a bloodthirsty religious zealot or a child-raping murderous bandit pretending to be one. Their only halfway competent general in a traitorous Malazan commander who ‘went native’ - and in any event in battle they’re all bloodthirsty savages whose only hope of victory is sheer weight of numbers of shocking brutality and treachery. I’d say they might as well all be orcs, but I legitimately think orcs in LOTR might have been depicted with more nuance and more moments of humanization.

And it’s not like there’s any nuance here – the book is quite explicit that with one exception the Malzann conquest of the continent was humane and restrained. Which entirely tracks with the functionally-inhumane discipline the 7th Army shows throughout the book. On one hand an endless horde of decadent, treacherous city-dwellers and bloodthirsty horse nomads, on the other the least predatory- or -atrocity inclined premodern army in the history of creation. For a book that everyone talks about the grimness and moral ambiguity of, it seems incredibly and exhaustingly one-sided – like Duiker has already gone through and edited out all the awful shit Malzan soldiers did to captives and the refugees under their charge to make the story sufficiently edifying for posterity.

What Gardens had, and Gates very much does not,is a conflict with humanized, compelling characters on both sides, a sense of the horror and brutality war inflicts – the quirky, likeable and heroic band of misfits stopped from leveling half a city and slaughtering thousands to enable an easy occupation by nothing but chance and circumstance. Maybe I’m coming in with my expectations set too high, but the series is always talked about in the same breath as A Song of Ice and Fire – it’s disappointing to see it so totally lacking Martin’s signature strength (though I suppose given all the foreshadowing I’ll just need to wait for the next book and a punitive expedition full of less inexplicably paladin-like Malazan soldiers for that).

Length and Breadth

I wouldn’t even mention a lot of the above if it was a shorter book, honestly. But it’s literally almost a thousand pages, you cannot possibly say there wasn’t space for these things (see also: it was I think literally 700 pages in when two women with names spoke to each other for the first time).

At a certain point, the book’s sheer length becomes a core part of the experience of reading it. I’m really fairly sure that a sufficiently mean editor could have cut this down to the same length as Gardens without dramatically changing the plot – but that’s kind of missing the point. The sheer weight of the thing – the amount of time you spending in characters heads, and just marinating in the world – is a key part of the appeal in its own right.

It’s an appeal I do absolutely get, too. The lengthy tangents about (literal) ancient history and abstract metaphysics or theology, the loving descriptions of monsters that show up for two or three scenes at most, the whole episodes where some weird magical shit intrudes on the plot and the protagonists just have to deal with it for a bit – these are by far some of the best parts of the books, and not ones that could possibly be justified through any strict economizing of word count.

Still, though. The book is basically a cube. A hardcover edition would be a worryingly practical murder weapon.

Death, Legacy and Vengeance

For my money the best passage in the book is not actually the one monologue from Duiker about children dying that everyone always quotes (though it is very good, to be fair) – it’s one a bit later on, as he (if I remember right) considers the ancient Jaghut graves they are passing and hopes that when he dies, he is unmourned and forgotten. It’s a fascinating sentiment to hear from a man who so thoroughly identifies with his role as a historian, first of all, but it’s also the purest expression of what is for me easily the most interesting theme running through the book.

Seven Cities is oppressed by the past, and so are very nearly everyone we spend any time with at all. The Seventh Army marches past the memorials of a myriad-old genocide against the Jaghut and feels the touch of its ghosts and half-buried collateral damage (which is entirely unrelated to the much more recent slaughter they rouse the victims of to fight for them), Mappo and Icorium’s whole friendship is (at least at the outset) instrumental, a way to keep Icorium ignorant of what he’s done and unable to do it again, Felisin Kalan and Fiddler all spend most of the book suffering for the sake of machinations that predate and will outlast them, and seeking blood vengeance for the sake of what they’ve lost. And there’s an undercurrent running through the entire story that every atrocity inflicted by the rebels is a bloody debt that the coming punitive expedition will repay ten times of, and the cycle will only ever grow more and more dire.

And through it all there’s the sense that it’s the remembering that’s the problem. That if Icorium gave up his obsessive search for his path (and through it his father) he really could be happy. That all the souls still trapped in the mortal world to bear witness to some ancient tragedy are suffering for no real reason. A tragic sense that forgetting all the vicious prophecies and vendettas and starting with a clean slate is the only way to possibly fix things

It’s hardly the story’s biggest or most consistent theme – it’s outright contradicted more than once – but for a book that dwells on the past with such loving detail, it’s probably the one that struck me most.

In Summation

I’d apologize for how incredibly long and meandering this review is, but given the subject it really just seems appropriate. Deadhouse Gates is a mammoth of a book, big enough to include more both good and bad than I could hope to recount in detail. Despite finding the most prominent and largest plot thread more than a little tiresome, and wishing dearly for a bit for nuance and complexity in the presentation of the overarching conflict, on balance I definitely enjoyed it. The character work is far better than Gardens, and the worldbuilding (and presentation thereof) is an absolute delight. I am now incredibly invested in where Felisin and Mappo & Icorium’s stories go from here.

Recommended if you find any appeal in sprawling multi-POV dark/epic fantasy Tomes (much have a high tolerance for both exposition and extended battle scenes).

[skeisiwwnrjr]

I don't understand the fight between hayffie shippers and anti-hayffies.

First of all, I don't speak English, so I use a translator to post. I hope you realize that if something is weird, it's the translator's fault, not mine. But if there's a really weird sentence (like a complete contradiction of what I'm trying to say), I'd appreciate it if you let me know.

As a hayffie shipper who has lived and breathed their fanfics for the past few years, I feel sad that Haymitch didn't get over Lenore in the epilogue of SOTR. I'll be honest. But that's no reason for us not to honor her. No matter what we do, she will always be Haymitch's true love, and that doesn't change. We have to accept that. We can't deny her.

We can support hayffie without denying it, and let's be honest, that makes it all the more delicious. How sweet it is that Haymitch loses Lenore and thinks he'll never love again, but ends up opening up to Effie.

According to our hayffie headcanon built up over the past decade, Haymitch's love for his girl leads him to deny his feelings for Effie, push her away, and hurt her again. It's only after the rebellion begins and he loses her that he regrets it and realizes his love for her. We've been Haymitch's love for Lenore as the essential precondition. So his love for Lenore in SOTR doesn't destroy hayffie, it just solidifies the headcanon we've created.

(For the record, I'm not suggesting that we use his love for Lenore as a tool for hayffie, I'm just saying that we should honor his and Lenore's past relationship instead of denying it and vilifying it.)

And it's not fair to criticize Suzanne for not putting scenes in the epilogue that allude to the hayffie. They were never official canon, and even if the hayffie is THG's 3rd most popular ship (according to ao3), she's not obligated to live up to that expectation and make them official canon. I don't think a writer who changes things because of reader opinion is a good writer, and Suzanne is just a good writer. (I'm talking about going beyond fanservice and making changes to the plot itself.) We shouldn't be upset that there wasn't an epilogue, we should be imagining the infinite stories that could be told after that. Fifteen years is a long time. (In my country, we have a saying: "Ten years is enough time for a river and mountain to change", which is enough time for Haymitch and Effie to change.)

Secondly, I don't understand the anti-hayffie people either. They say it's impossible to be hayffie. Why? There's no reason why it can't be. Just like in SOTR, Haymitch said Louella would be the only sweetheart, but in THG, he calls Katniss his sweetheart. It's not going to change that Lenore is his true love, but that doesn't mean he can't find a new one. I'm not saying Effie pushes her away and becomes his true love, I'm saying he can bury her deep in his heart and move on with his life.

A man stays single for the rest of his life in memory of a lover he lost when he was 16. Yes, it's very touching and romantic. But Haymitch has suffered too much for that, and I can't get it out of my head that his end is just cirrhosis of the liver from alcoholism, and even death won't be comfortable. Is it wrong for him to want to forgive himself for his guilt over Lenore and his family, to finally find peace in his heart, and to heal slowly? And I don't think it's wrong for him to want Effie by his side as he slowly moves forward. After all, she's been watching his rise and fall for 25 years.

He could sometimes lie in his bedroom and get bitter thinking about Lenore and his family, and then go to his new family (TEAM 12) waiting for him in the living room. On days when he misses them terribly, he can cry a little bit, and then be comforted by Effie or Katniss or Peeta, who enter his room discreetly. As a hayffie Shipper and a reader who loves Haymitch, I want him to be happy. I want him to be able to laugh at the simplest things, to laugh out loud sometimes, and then time I want him to have Effie by his side. He deserves that.

And then someone talks about Effie's age and makes it sound like hayffie shippers are idiots for supporting a relationship between a minor and an adult, which is absolutely ridiculous, and if you've read any hayffie fanfic at all, you know how ridiculous it is. In most fanfics, Haymitch and Effie don't meet until after the 60th Hunger Games, and they don't start using each other to get over the loss of their tributes until two to four years after they meet, by which time Haymitch is about 30 years old and it doesn't matter. Yes, I was surprised that Effie was older than Haymitch, but what difference does it make? At most, there's a six-year age difference, and that just makes it more interesting.

And then someone else says that Suzanne hates Haymitch and Effie's relationship, or that she doesn't care about Effie.... This is honestly not even worth discussing. To say this after watching their interactions in SOTR is... It's as ridiculous as denying Lenore and Haymitch's relationship, pass.

I'm rambling, but I'll summarize,

Please don't deny Haymitch and Lenore's relationship. You have to respect Lenore Dove. I know that the majority of hayffie shippers respect her and don't deny their relationship, but it's upsetting that all hayffie shippers are being made out to be a bunch of jerks who don't respect her because of a few people's videos (ex TikTok). We need to accept that she's the love of his life and that doesn't change.

And please don't make us hayffie shippers out to be stupid, who only care their ship, instead of grasp the essence of what Suzanne was trying to say in her book. We're just people who love Haymitch and want him to be happy. Is it so wrong to wish TEAM 12 peace and happiness?

+) Incidentally, Remember there is no any mention of Haymitch's girl when hayffie first set sail (THG), and the only mention of her afterward was in a single sentence.(CF) We didn't realize the extent of Haymitch's love for Lenore.

I know it's presumptuous of me to write this, but as someone who has been immersed in the headcanon and fanfic created by hayffie shippers over the years, and who has found great happiness in it, I can't help but feel really upset that hayffie is being denigrated now. I'm sure this discussion will be reignited when the new movie comes out in 2026 (probably on a bigger scale than it is now), and hopefully by then we'll all be respectful and considerate of each other's opinions.

I don't want to force anti-hayffie people to accept hayffie, and I don't want to tell hayffie shippers that Effie is second best. I just want us to understand each other's positions and stop judging. Younger Haymitch for Lenore, older Haymitch for Effie. Haydove and Hayffie can coexist.

I really hope that our ship, which has been cruising for the past 10 years, will continue to cruise for many more. I want to love them for as long as I can. A big, big thank you to all the hayffie shippers and fanfic writers. You guys made my day, my month, my year.

Finally, sending love to all The Hunger Game fans out there who may disagree with me, but want the same thing for TEAM12: happiness.

And to Suzanne, the biggest thanks and love of all to you.

[miserymet]

Tragedy - Reploid Bass AU

Was digging through my old WIPs and found this bad boy. It’s technically unfinished (because I didn’t know how to end it) but it gets the main point across and establishes the where the plot is at post MMX7. Thought it might be interesting to those who want more details on the AU.

(quick timeline context; Bass gets his memories back post mmx6, disappears off the face of the earth and shows back up again halfway through mmx7)

Summary: Zero and Bass talk about one of Bass’ many regrets. In the process, Zero tries to connect the brother he knew as Forte to the stranger wearing his face.

“I wasn’t supposed to be here.”

The words are quiet. Not soft, as nothing Zero’s brother does is soft anymore, but they lack the usual bite. It’s enough to draw Zero’s attention to where Bass now sits. 

The chair holding him is old, a mundane relic of the furniture that was commonplace over a hundred years ago. It’s a miracle that it hasn’t crumbled under the weight of its occupant, but Bass had mentioned that the entire base was designed around its mechanical residents. Perhaps its creator imagined one of his robots might need to use a chair. Even if there’s not much of a difference between sitting and standing for them.

Zero’s surprised to see that Bass has his back turned to him. His brother isn’t too keen on letting Zero out of his sight nowadays, but his gaze is firmly fixed upon the screen in front of him now. Another uncharacteristic behavior. Zero sets aside the spare parts he was examining, all interest gone, and approaches the screen that has his brother so transfixed. It casts a dim light even in the darkness of the base, but the image is clear enough.

It’s an old contact log. A few lines of text sit at the bottom of the screen and for some reason, Zero feels the need to read them aloud.

“Bass. I made a mistake. I created something that I can’t control. You’re the only robot strong enough to stop it. Please help me.” He furrows his brow as he speaks the final line. “I’m sorry.”

“Six lines. Twenty six words. A hundred and fifteen characters.” Bass mutters.

“What does it mean?” 

It’s a genuine question, and maybe that’s why Bass laughs as though it’s the stupidest thing he could have asked. Zero waits with bitter patience for his brother to finish. This is typical of Bass’ new personality. Brash, abrasive, rude, all of these words and more fit the new image Zero’s brother has made for himself. Even his name is new. “Bass.” It’s been a bit of an adjustment to say the least.

Eventually, Bass manages to pull himself out of his laughing fit. His next words are the last thing Zero expects to hear.

“These are the words that killed me.”

“…I thought I did that.” Is all Zero can say to that. Bass laughs, much quieter this time.

“In the end, yeah.” His brother leans back in his seat. “But fighting you wasn’t-, I didn’t…”

“You ‘weren’t supposed’ to?” Zero volunteers.

“…I shouldn’t have.”

Bass goes quiet, lost in whatever old memories are haunting him today. Zero can’t help but feel frustrated. He used to know what to do when Bass…when Forte was upset. Whether it was about his lost memories, his weakness, his outdated code, Zero could always help. It’s different now.

Everything’s different now.

“Do you remember what I told you about our creator? How we didn’t really get along?” Bass starts, gaze still stuck on that old log.

“Because of your penchant for rebellion, yes.”

“That was only half of it. Yeah, I disobeyed him whenever I felt like it, but he wasn’t some doting father.” His brother turns to glare at him. “He was the most selfish, stubborn, stupid old man I ever met. Full of himself, too. You would have hated him.”

“That sounds a lot like you.” Zero can’t help the bite to his words. Maybe X was right. Maybe all this is getting to him. “Where are you going with this?”

“I was loyal at first. The old man had a lot of expectations for me, and I was determined to meet them. I didn’t. No matter how hard I tried, how strong I was, it was never going to be good enough if I couldn’t beat-,”

He stops abruptly, almost letting something slip. Something important. Bass is always vague about his old memories. He’s hiding something, but Zero can’t tell if it’s because it’s too risky or because he’s hoarding all that’s left of his past. It could really be either one. Zero isn’t sure he knows Bass all that well anymore.

“The point is, I was a failure to him. So he tried to move on. Build something else.” Bass shakes his head. “I couldn’t accept that. We fought. First it was just arguments, but it escalated. Before I knew it we were trying to kill each other.”

“What did you do?” Zero asks, though he’s not sure he wants to hear the answer.

“I left.”

Oh. Zero wasn’t expecting that.

“It sounds obvious, right?” His brother rests his head against his hand, expression flat. “But I wasn’t a reploid. I didn’t have the programming X or Axl did. It wasn’t as simple as changing my career. I was leaving my creator.”

“Bass…”

He doesn’t let Zero get a word in. “I agonized over it for days. What was I if not his robot? What could I even do without him? I was practically one foot out the door already, but I couldn’t move the other one. I…cared about him.”

Zero tries to imagine it. Bass, in his original body, standing beside a vague figure. His gaze sweeps across the room and Zero sees Bass sitting on a table full of junk, swinging his legs as he speaks to his creator. What did his face look like? Was it flat and cold, speaking in an even tone about plans or progress or whatever a man like that saw fit to discuss with his creation? Or was he annoyed, brow furrowed with one dipping lower than the other and mouth pulled into a small pout? Maybe it was a face Zero had never seen before, a soft smile, a wry grin that so clearly spelled out his amusement. 

He can only imagine. When he turns back to his brother, Bass wears the grimace he’s grown so used to.

“That was how I convinced myself to leave, in the end.” He breathes an empty sigh. “If I stayed, I might have hurt him. Might have let my anger take me to far and…”

His hands move in front of him, digits curled tightly around an invisible enemy. They hang in the air for a moment and shake. Then they fall. Bass lets his head follow them.

“You came back.” Zero speaks softly, trying for a gentleness he’s never been good at. “Why?”

Bass doesn’t pick up his head. “Same reason. I cared.”

“He made a robot, couldn’t control it and called you for help.” It feels both more and less real when he says it aloud. “He called you to your death.”

“And I came. I came because I am a fucking idiot.”

Zero blinks at the harsh language. Bass is far from the composed brother he knew, but even he didn’t use that language regularly. It feels strange. Forte would never, but Bass…it fits him a little more.

“He didn’t even have to apologize. The moment he came to me for help, the moment he called me strong-,” Bass grips his head in his hands. “All my conviction disappeared. I walked into that lab, this lab-!” He throws out his hands, nearly hitting Zero, “and I died for the man that tried to kill me!”

Zero doesn’t know what to say. What can he say? This is something he’s just learned, a grief he can only imagine. Bass has lived with this knowledge since the day he got his memories back. How did he feel, waking up and knowing that he lost everything to a man long gone? How do you live with that burden? How do you keep fighting?

Bass shoots up from his chair, gaze now fixed on Zero. There’s so much behind his eyes that Zero can’t see. A world no one alive has any hope of understanding.

“I was so close to being happy! To having something other than a worthless creator who only tolerated me as long as he could use me!”

His brother takes a step forward, the light of the screen illuminating every tear that falls from his face.

“And he took that from me! You took that from me!”

“I’m sorry-“

Zero sees the punch coming. He almost dodges. It’s what every self-preservation program in him begs him to do. He doesn’t. He takes it. The punch is hard, snapping his head to the side quite painfully. He doesn’t flinch. Not even when Bass’ fist splits the synthetic skin of his cheek. All he does is look back at his brother.

Bass stands there, eyes wide and mouth open. His arm hangs in the air. He can see the grime left on his hands. Can see the tension in every part of his body. Then, it shifts. Bass drops his hand and closes his mouth. That glare returns, fierce as ever.

“Don’t pity me. It’s too late for that.”

Zero tries to find his words. “I don’t-,”

“That hit only landed because you let it.” Bass casts his gaze to the side. “Everything I do to you is because you let me. Even in this body, I’m not strong enough.”

[yanderes-galore]

I'm almost afraid to request him because he's bad enough in canon without being yandere, but... yandere! Roose Bolton (ASOIAF/GOT, I don't mind if you mix book and show canon) romantic concept? I think you'll have fun with this if you want to get really dark >:)

Oml... I may not have finished GOT yet, but I am fully aware that this man and his illegitimate son are horrible. You're mentioned to be a Stark in this for the plot I came up with.

Yandere! Roose Bolton Concept

(FT. Stark! Darling)

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Possessive behavior, Controlling behavior, Grotesque descriptions, Blood/Blood drinking, Murder, Violence, Forced marriage, Angst, Sadism, Mature themes, Trauma, Forced relationship.

Ah, yes, Roose Bolton... an opportunistic traitor who has an odd association with blood.

Not only that, but the Bolton house is infamous for what they do to their enemies.

Flaying.

They're known for it to the point of their House banner being a flayed man.

That alone is terrifying and I haven't even made this man a Yandere yet.

Just by what I've said so far, I can confidently say you will be seeing blood.

So much blood.

When it comes to Roose Bolton, I imagine his obsession would be a Stark or any House supporting Robb.

For example, maybe you are one of the oldest Stark children.

You were adamant on following your mother and brother into this war.

You even offered advice to Robb the best you can.

Which occasionally irritated Roose, as Robb would listen to you more than him at times.

You never really trusted Roose.

He was always too quiet and cruel for you, but you held respect for him because he was one of Robb's generals.

You have good reasons to not trust him, honestly.

We don't talk about how Ramsay came to be.

I personally feel a Stark obsession would create the most drama in this situation.

Roose originally doesn't pay you much mind, just another Stark blindly following their family through rebellion.

It's not like he hates you, really.

Robb gets on his nerves at times due to not listening to his advice.

Yet you're a... behaved wolf pup.

You may not enjoy his presence, but at least you listen to orders.

You may not be as cruel as him, yet you try to find a middle ground with your brother.

You've admittedly caught his interest.

Granted... Courting barely exists when it comes to Roose Bolton.

He's a cruel man who cares little for honor.

He just cares for strengthening his House and his own needs.

You're cautious of him, yet still naive.

In that sense, you remind him of your brother.

Your brother, Robb, is too trusting.

Roose noticed this as a rift began to form between them.

He trusts him enough to be his general... but won't listen to Roose's advice.

Roose finds your loyalty to the older wolf amusing.

You think he's going to succeed in his little rebellion.

Roose doesn't feel bad when he speaks with the Lannisters about betraying the Starks.

No, in fact, he has plans for you.

But before then, Roose tries to make a connection with you.

He can practically smell your discomfort when you two speak.

You're a smart wolf, sensing inevitable danger within Roose.

He commends that... A useful and cute trait to have.

Although... Too bad none of your fellow Starks have it.

The Red Wedding is one of your worst days in Roose's obsession... yet it's Roose's best day.

You're the only one spared that night, by Roose's order.

Everyone knows you shouldn't piss off a Bolton, meaning you're left unharmed...

Physically, that is.

The Red Wedding is a night you're forced to watch your mother and brother die.

In fact, you witness Roose stab your brother in the heart, a grin on his face.

You even see a Frey slice your mother's throat.

You're too frightened to scream or cry.

There's so much blood.

The sight is pleasant for Roose's eyes, many know of his love for blood and torture.

You can't find the words to speak....

The blood of your mother, your brother, and so many others covers your clothes and skin...

It covers Roose too, you swore you saw him take a lick or two.

You're only snapped out of it when Roose approaches, ordering those who follow him to tie your wrists in chains.

You're the only survivor of The Red Wedding.

By this point, you're clueless as to why Roose kept you alive.

But you have your ideas.

The Freys find it curious that Roose Bolton kept you alive, a hound leashed like a proper dog.

However, they don't bother pushing your execution.

If Roose wants you as a prize, so be it.

Instead of Lady Walda as his chosen partner... He picks you.

Or maybe, he has Lady Walda as his own for politics... and you for sadistic desire.

It would not surprise me if he simply took two partners.

You despise the idea... but how can you fight?

By the time you're brought to the Dreadfort, you've seen flayed men.

You don't want to end up like them, do you?

Roose makes you his loyal little lap dog.

All other Starks shall die, but you're his hound.

He's taken a liking to you, and while he beds his new wife for heirs, he attends to you for other reasons.

Roose may even tease you, saying you'll go home to Winterfell soon.

Except, Winterfell will be under Bolton rule by then.

Soon you're forced to witness Ramsay Bolton become Lord of Winterfell... While Roose becomes Warden of The North.

What do you get?

To be a dog to Roose.

Roose even seems cruel enough to taunt you once Winterfell is under Bolton rule.

He asks if it feels good to be home.

All the while he rubs your head, petting you like you really are a dog.

Winterfell may have once been your home... but it's been a long time since then.

With Roose Bolton keeping you close, it feels even less like home.

You are not the only Stark forced to listen to the Boltons.

Depending on the media you choose... You'll see either Sansa or "Arya" (Who isn't really Arya).

But since I'm more versed in the show currently, you see Sansa.

You're two Starks stuck in similar troubles.

She's forced to wed Ramsay, while you're meant to entertain Roose.

However... It appears you're better off, based on how Roose treats you compared to Ramsay and Sansa.

Roose is possessive and controlling, often giving you commands to follow.

Since The Red Wedding... It feels like you've been on autopilot.

You keep seeing the deaths of your brother and mother.

Now you're forced to watch Sansa be mistreated by Ramsay.

Meanwhile, Roose makes you sleep in the same bed as him.

His wife refuses to protest, she already knows what a Bolton can do.

It's often an awkward event when you sleep... Roose's wife facing away from Roose as Roose faces you and holds you close.

When his wife isn't around, Roose is biting your flesh until he draws your blood.

He enjoys lapping at the substance, all while you disassociate from the situation.

However, there's times he'll hold you in his lap and display what seems like affection.

You can never tell if it's true.

Is it really even a mercy when Roose is killed by Ramsay?

Now Sansa and you have to deal with Ramsay.

It scares you more when you witness Ramsay kill Roose's wife and child.

Yet another family torn apart by a Bolton in your eyes.

Honestly, when Sansa kills Ramsay, it's only then you feel free.

You only feel free when you hug Sansa close and reunite with your surviving family... The Boltons may be gone now...

But you'll never be the same... You'll always remember what the Boltons did to you and your family.

[zetalial]

You know it's really cool how the FMA 03 anime like obviously started with following early FMA manga canon and then going in its own direction. And do something completely different with it!

For instance....Okay so early in the anime we learn about the Ishval war and how it started when a soldier accidentally shot an ishval child after tensions arose because the Ishvalans hated alchemy.

Then a rebellion kicks off and the soldiers are sent in, then the State alchemists are sent in to massacre the Ishvalans and end the conflict.

So yeah, 03 takes this from the manga! I think this is told to us through Marcoh in this version but the plot point is the same!

...Or is it?

Later, Hughes is researching and finds out the Solider who shot the kid was called Juliet Douglas... the same name shared by the fuhrer's secretary who it will be revealed is a homunculus. Hughes speculates at the time that she is taking advantage of the paperwork and stealing an identity to infiltrate the military and control things via her role working under the fuhrer as this woman has in truth only worked in the military for a short time. There's a coverup. (And the homunculi, to hide all this he's discovered, decided to kill him.)

But wait... there's more!

We meet Marta, a chimera and she reveals that she was part of an elite group of specially trained soldier. They were the soldiers that didn't officially exist. She explains that there was no child and it wasn't some convenient story of Ishavalans and their dislike of alchemy creating tension and then rebelling when the child was killed. That was all a lie.

The truth was that the military just wanted to massacre the ishvalans, tensions broke out because the secret division were ordered to start killing them until they eventually started retaliating. The story was all a fabrication to make the military sound a little fairer, like it was all this one off mistake that escalated, not a premediated decision. (We see this happening again in the present when the military send in kimblee to start blowing up liorans in order to get them to fight back to justify the military going in to crush them for good). Marta and her team were then betrayed naturally by the military they served and taken to be experimented on in lab 5 where they become chimeras.

Yeah. So the whole thing becomes this fascinating mix of miliary, corruption, truth, lies, war and propaganda. It's a natural part of the anime.

...

Then you go into the Manga itself and the child being killed by a soldier happens too of course but this time it isn't a lie. It's actually what happened. And it's Envy who did it. Envy is actually very proud of this and gloats about it. (Again it wasn't an accident but everything else it basically true xD.)

Heh, it's just wild that we get this story in both but the first anime decides to subvert it only for the later content to mostly play it straight. I love that things like this just exist and as usual I love how bold 03 is with it's choices.