#if i read a scene with intensely triggering content without knowing it was there before. 'just closing the book' or 'hitting the back butto

[inactiveshrine]

gonna be real bud if your fic relies so heavily on intense triggering themes and shock value that you're averse to putting warnings on it to "maintain surprise" and "avoid spoilers", then you act like you did nothing wrong when people are upset that you didn't make any effort to turn them away and allow them to protect themselves, while also telling them it's their fault that they read something that upset them when they could have never known it contained specific things that will upset them, i think you are a tar pit

[chocosvt]

HER | part five.

✧✎ synopsis: wonwoo, a heartbroken and burnt out writer nearing the end of his math degree, wants nothing to do with the seemingly perfect, intimidating girl who has everyone under her thumb. you. unfortunately, his literary talent has got him shoved him between a rock and a hard place when you want to write a book and require his expertise. you two are the furthest from compatible. wonwoo can’t see this going well. at all.

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader word count: 23.8k genres/tropes: writer!wonwoo, university!au, plug!vernon + boyfriend!mingyu as prominent side characters, SLOWBURN (i am not fucking around this is my slowest burn yet), relationship drama, soul searching, strong angst/hurt (i’m coming for the jugular), comfort, romance, smut, a smoothie of every emotion on earth.

(!) warnings: drug use (weed, cocaine, ecstasy), wonwoo has anxiety + anxiety attacks + fairly dark thoughts, prescribed medication, gambling, intense language, infidelity, throwing up.

✧✎ a/n: just some quick things i want to make apparent!

the fic is told from wonwoo’s pov, not the reader’s! 

all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates

any smut or potentially triggering scenes are NOT MARKED bc the content is already quite mature, so just plz be aware of that! 

bolded and italicized text implies the characters are conversing in korean, tho it doesn’t happen often!

the fic in its entirety is 140k, so it has been split into 6 parts.

posting a bit earlier tn since i've got work tmo morning! i can't believe there is only one part left after this one!! :o

last chapter was angst up to the eyeballs so hopefully this one mends some of that heartache <3 still, much has yet to happen! this chapter contains one of my fave scenes teehee.

⇢ part one | part two | part three | part four | part six ⇢ soundtrack for those curious! ⇢ read at ur own pace! :)

—AUGUST 3RD.

The last time Wonwoo had been at your apartment to help you write, it was around the evening, into supper. He remembered the scent from the three-wick candles lit up in the kitchen—bonfire and vanilla—which you insisted was a necessity because it was the perfect way to relax your tense mind. Deciding not to cook, you had ordered Chinese takeout instead, and the entirety of the evening was spent sitting criss-cross on the comfortable rug splayed across the living room floor, indulging in warm food, writing, and letting the TV flick through a random season of your favourite drama show.

It was perfect.

Even now, as he sat on the bench across the street from your apartment complex, Wonwoo could still recall all the infinitesimal details—the fried crunch to every vegetable-filled spring roll, how the candles softly crackled when you blew them out at the end of the night, your small and very sleepy voice bidding him goodbye as you walked Wonwoo downstairs into the lobby—each memory sprung alive with such vividness. Wonwoo wished he could be poised outside your apartment knowing everything was the same; undamaged and intact. But that was an outcome too blissful for reality to maintain.

You had a specific nightly routine, particularly on Thursdays, after work: showering, followed by having a quickly thrown together dinner, applying a face mask, and then a movie before bed. He found himself memorizing a lot of your patterns over the months.

Wonwoo hadn’t texted you—he was doing this completely unprompted, without an inkling of his arrival. Maybe that was a terrible idea which should be discarded for something gentler and less likely to explode in his face, but that would only lead to more ruminating and more ruminating meant less doing.

The thing was, it was nearing eight o’clock. Wonwoo had been sitting on the bench for almost a half hour while the sun gradually sank, watching the occasional green leaf flutter down from the chestnut oaks adorning and shading the parkway behind him. The longer he waited, the further the shadows of the trees stretched, until he was completely engulfed and framed alone underneath their dark, cool silhouettes. Light still spilled across the street, igniting the space where everyone else was strolling, each person steadfast in their pace to be somewhere that wasn’t a sunset orange city street.

Breathing out slowly, Wonwoo glanced down at his hands.

It was like the first time he met you.

Just suck it up. Go do it.

He walked between the trimmed hedges that led to the complex door. The lobby area was exactly as he remembered it, though Wonwoo had come to learn those little complimentary desserts and cucumber waters set out the first day he visited you were no longer a thing, which you had vehemently complained to him about during a brief promenade through the park—another one of your palate cleansing ideas.

“Oh! Those pastries, by the way—they stopped doing them! I heard about it from my neighbour when I went down to get the mail. I was pissed, pissed, pissed! Apparently, there’s a lady who made them specifically for our complex because her grandson lived there. Well, he’s moved out now, so we all got fucked! If I don’t get my cute little lemon square with the raspberry on top and the powdered confectionary sugar all placed in a decorative doily, I will legit kill myself. Something has to be done… hey—can you bake, at all?”

Hence your immeasurable disappointment when Wonwoo revealed to you that he wasn’t notably talented at baking. Still, the incident provoked him to spend at least an hour a night researching different recipes for lemon squares that he could manage to pull off if given enough time and a handful of supplemental trial and error.

Wonwoo pushed the button to the elevator.

The heartbeat heavied in his chest while waiting for the doors to pull apart, the anticipation and nervousness coming down hard like thick snow flurries. A commercial ding at last echoed throughout the vacant lobby. Wonwoo immediately stepped into the small, confined space, feeling his breaths begin to drag, becoming almost audible in his desire for more oxygen.

Without a doubt, this was probably the hardest thing Wonwoo had ever done in his life. Even moving away from the comfortability and closeness of his family in Changwon—no matter their disagreements or quarrels—couldn’t compare to the emotion so palpably tugging within him akin to an ocean tide under a full moon.

He felt every twinge, but he was still doing well to maintain his composure, though Wonwoo couldn’t help himself from fearing that the control might leave him in the cold wind of seeing you again.

To look into your eyes could feel quite dissecting and Wonwoo didn’t know if he was yet strong enough to stomach the scrutinization despite how warranted it was. The best he could do was to expect nothing—this wasn’t about gaining closure, or basking in the liberation from righting a wrong—it was about the effort of accepting a profoundly hurtful problem he caused. You were hit front and centre by the shrapnel and you deserved to hear acknowledgement.

At the moment of reaching your floor, he didn't knock straight away.

Wonwoo stood outside the unit for a moment, removing his glasses and pulling at the sleeve to his large black hoodie, massaging away a smudge from the lens. After fitting the frames back to his face, he knocked. Each breath was fluttery. He tried so damn hard to soothe himself because life was unfortunately not a loop of constant aid and permanent reassurance and sometimes there was no other option but to be discomforted. At least he had his own company.

There was no movement from behind the door.

Swallowing very dryly, Wonwoo knocked again.

Nerves twisted in his stomach and turned his complexion pallid, though it was just on the edge of manageable and Wonwoo would have otherwise been quite proud if not for the lock suddenly clicking and the gentle, slow twisting of the doorknob. His fist clenched, the blunt nail on his index finger picking at his scarred cuticle.

Even when he saw you—Her—for the first time in over a month, accompanying the liminal doorway, staring back at him with an expression that he could use an entire pencil detailing, Wonwoo was able to sustain his control. Still, his heart was fucking racing.

Your eyes were wide, glassy, though somewhat veiled by the dip in your brows that began to gradually furl deeper in their recognition of his presence. He felt his stomach drop faster than lightspeed when a frown twitched into your lips, distorting the surprise in your face to anger, while the fingers at your leg curled into a rigid fist. There was a dewiness to your bare cheeks and a sweetened aroma from your skin that suggested you had gotten out from the shower not too long ago.

Wonwoo relaxed his hands.

“Hey.”

Expectantly, you said nothing.

There was a rolling, emotional sea unabashed to your face, continuously morphing between every shade of wrath within the sticky silence. Wonwoo worried you might slam the door shut.

He needed to say something fast.

“I know what you want to do—you want to close me out. I get that. I can see it all over your body. And, believe me, I understand.”

Your hand grabbed the edge of the door. That initial glassiness in your eyes only grew glimmerier; the frown tacked onto your mouth somehow threaded with even more fulgurant rage. He could see that you were going to snuff him into nothing, like grabbing onto a candle wick with your fingers despite the hot wax and flame.

But it couldn’t end so abruptly.

Wonwoo held up his hands, baring his palms in defense.

“Just—okay. Her, I hurt you. Hurt is even too weak of a word to use. I know that. I promise I do. I know what I did… and… and I know that I must have some fucking gal to come here unannounced after everything I said, but I've got an explanation. I swear.”

There was notable uplift in his chest, watching your grip loosen on the door, fall down to the handle, losing the hostility. Wonwoo paused to catch his breath, ensuring his eyes never wavered.

 “And… if you decide to listen to me… and you still really don’t want me in your life… I-I can respect that. If all you want is for me to disappear and never bother you again… I can respect that…” he felt sick just voicing it, like he could faint at the prospect. “It might be such a stupid fucking thing for me to say, considering how I treated you, but I genuinely want to do whatever will make you happiest.”

Was it good enough? Feasible, even marginally?

Wonwoo didn’t know. He could only stand in place and study the metamorphosis of your face—from deep-seeded anger, to something pained and unintelligible, and now, contemplation. The inner monologue in your head was probably running on overdrive.

Your fingernails carved into the door.

He kept quiet, waiting, until you quickly wiped something from your cheek and swallowed the lump in your throat.

“… Fine,” you uttered in a raspy, weak tone.

Relief struck him like a breeze during a heatwave.

“Thank yo—”

“But if I say I want you to leave, then you will leave, and you will not say one word on your way out my door or spare me one glance, even if it’s from the corner of your fucking eye.”

Wonwoo was staring straight into your gaze, then shifting to the pointed finger sticking in his face. You were deadly serious.

He nodded.

Finally, however, you stepped aside to let him in.

Wonwoo didn’t know if he should sit or stand. If he should grab a stool at the marbled kitchen island or come to fit himself at the edge of the cream sofa. The interior was pretty much identical to his previous visit, though he realized that a few potted plants you once kept by the elegant floor-length windows were missing—he’d assumed they’d died—it was probably somehow his fault.

“Um, where should we—where do you want to—”

“Kitchen.”

With your arms folded stiff, you walked behind the island.

He stood on the opposite side, knowing it was likely not a coincidence that you opted to put a barrier between yourselves.

It was a foolish idea and he would certainly not extrapolate, but Wonwoo wanted to ask about you. He wanted to know how your work was going at the beauty salon, if you had any more obnoxious dinner parties with your parents—were you still writing? To even look at you from across the hard countertop, captured in the quiet dimness of your kitchen, with your soft and bare face and those cute silk pyjamas, was enough to stop his heart if he allowed it.

Wonwoo pushed up his glasses, sighing.

“Before I explain anything… I just want to say—”

“I don’t care about that,” you interrupted without hesitation, eyes scalding and sharp, “I know you’re sorry. It’s the least you could feel after everything you said to me. I don’t care.”

“R-Right…” he trailed off, sensing the heat from the overhead lights as though they were shining directly into his face. Wonwoo pulled at the sleeves of his hoodie, gulping, “I guess you want to know—"

“Why. I want to know why you did what you did.”

“Why?” He echoed dumbly.

“Yes, why. Pull out an entire script and apologize—I don’t want that. Acknowledge what you did—good for you. I’m glad you can see how fucked up it was, all while I had to cope with your analysis on why I’m such a god-awful person. People say sorry all the time. I know it can be genuine. I just don’t care. Sorry doesn’t help me understand. Sorry doesn’t take away the weeks I lost, tearing myself apart. Sorry doesn’t mean fucking anything to me if all you’re apologizing for is something I already lived and breathed.”

“No, that—yeah, it makes sense...”

His fingers suddenly gripped the edge of the island, knuckles ivory white. Your intensity was more disorienting than a drug, but Wonwoo knew he needed to stay calm. Breathe. Listen.

“Okay, so?” You shrugged. “Tell me, then.”

“Why I did what I did…” Wonwoo exhaled, staring at his reflection in the marble while his mind twitched into complete blankness. “Well... I-I guess I was feeling… there was a lot I was feeling and... fuck.”

At the last second, he scraped everything he was going to say.

Wonwoo then looked up at you, who was so cold and reluctant.

“You know, um… before I met you, I had a girlfriend. I know I've never mentioned it. But her name was Jeanie. I met her at the university, actually. She worked in the Morrison library—like, the big stone building that looks like a castle, almost. Anyway. I met her because I needed to sign out a textbook for this elective I was taking and she helped me find it… Jeanie. Yeah. I don’t know if you ever saw her or—she was really shy. But I felt like she listened well, no matter what you were saying, or what you were talking about. She would give you her full attention. And… I just remember thinking… I could tell you anything, Jeanie. I could tell you I fucking pushed someone in front of a bus and you would wait and listen and hear me out until the end. She would make you feel… normal… human.

But—the thing is—I’m sort of laughing because I’m saying all this now, but… at the time, even despite my love for her, and how much I trusted her… I just… I kept her out. I didn’t think it was a bad thing. She knew I had anxiety, but never knew how bad. I never told her I stopped taking my pills. I never told her my actual feelings about anything… like, despite having this perfect person in my life, I still couldn’t open up. I didn’t think there was much harm to it, either. It would cause tension. Things would get… uncomfortable… but as long as she was there, I was like—I can get away with this. I don’t need to really discuss anything. She will always be here.

And then… one day… she just… wasn’t… uh—ahem—sorry, just—something in my throat, b-but, uh… yeah. She was gone. All her clothes, all her belongings: toothbrush, makeup, clothes, stuffed toys, notebooks, mugs, house decorations. It was all gone. I remember coming home to an apartment that was stripped bare. Like a skeleton. She took every part of herself from it. And all I could do was dumbly stand there and look at the bones.

Her number was disconnected, too. There was no one I could get a hold of that would tell me anything until I got this weird, vague email from her mom. ‘My daughter won’t be seeing you anymore. She’s safe. No need to worry.’  Those words picked themselves into my brain. I would go to sleep seeing them. I would repeat them in my head all night, and wake up with them still chiming. And I thought to myself, with all the weight in my heart… how could she do this? How could she leave and take everything and erase me without a word? It had to be her and it had to be the world just proving my point: being vulnerable, trusting, expressive—it isn’t worth it.

I really, truly believed it. I mean, I held onto it. I always looked at her as the one with the issue, but—fuck—it was me. I was the fucking issue. I… I must have made her feel so unimportant. I probably confused her, destroyed our trust, fucked up her concept of love. Like… I made her feel so trapped… that she felt the best thing to do was disappear, because there was no other way out… I made her feel that way. Me. It was me the entire time. And… I never really processed that until you were six feet away, screaming at me, cursing me up and down in the same living room I came home to that day, all emptied out. I had it out with you, the way I never had with Jeanie…

And the truth is, Her… I kind of… I always sort of knew I had that problem. I lived without ever wanting to acknowledge it. But I never really… I-I basically… I didn’t care about fixing it until I met you.”

Wonwoo tilted his head and stared at your quivering bottom lip, the shininess to your razor-sharp eyes, the manner in which your fingernails were sinching indents upon the skin of your biceps.

He paused, chuckling.

“I know I already told you… but you used to terrify me. I didn’t think we would ever mesh. Whenever I looked at you, I saw someone who knew herself, and I was so severely the opposite. But miraculously, I guess, you ended up being the person I feel the most comfortable with… when I see someone strong like you unravel, it makes me want to unravel, too. The trust I had for you was infinite.”

From across the island, Wonwoo noted how your eyes momentarily drifted down. A lump was sitting square at the base of your throat and it took a very dense swallow for you to even speak.

“… Had?” You whispered with a sniffle, hugging yourself.

Rolling out his shoulders, Wonwoo frowned.

“It was the party, Her. If you remember us talking in the guest bedroom… I told you that story about my brother and I, about my decision to move from Changwon… you’d nearly grappled Bells down to the ground an hour before. You apologized to me because you thought it ruined my night, but I promised you that it was fine, that I would always be here for you. And then we split ways. And you… you were… well, there’s really no clean way to say it but—”

“I had sex with Mingyu.”

“Uh, well… yeah.”

You shook your head. “He’s my boyfriend, Wonwoo.”

“I know, I know. It makes it sound stupid but—”

“No—wait. You’re pissed at me because I chose to have sex with my boyfriend? Are you—are you hearing yourself?”

“Her, please, listen—”

“I went through all of your bullshit because of that!”

“Can I just—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“It was because I liked you!”

Wonwoo’s heart was thumping almost audibly against his chest while his veins soared with adrenaline. Your fists were sitting, balled, on the kitchen island, though they began to unfurl as the weight cupping his confession—which was a mild version of what he truly meant to say—hung in the air like the plumes from a wildfire.

“I liked you, a lot," he admitted, watching your eyes slim with confusion, "and I’m sorry if that ruins us even more… but it’s true.”

“Wha—what—no. What do you mean you liked me? You liked me as in what? You liked me in a crushy silly way that’s just for fun, o-or you liked me in a serious way, that’s like, you want to… you want…”

Your mouth hung open, shoulders hunching.

His teeth gritted. “I thought I could… I wanted to…”

“Please just spit it out.”

“I wanted to be with you. I wanted to be your boyfriend.”

Flares of heat melted slow across his face. Wonwoo could feel his temperature climatically rising. Still, it wasn’t the entire truth. His likeness wasn’t just that—it was a fully blossomed and unshakeable love. Though, he figured it might be too much, too suddenly.

“O-Oh…” you stuttered, “… and, you thought that…”

“Maybe you felt the way I did. Not that I’m going to ask if you did or didn’t. I mean, this was over a month ago. I’ve had lots of time to myself. I’ve been thinking plenty… the point is, I let those feelings affect my clarity and that’s why I felt so hurt. I felt like I was so open and candour just to kinda have it… thrown back in my face. But it just seems like every relationship I have, I sabotage it somehow… I didn’t go about us in the right way—not at all. It blew up into something terrible. I wish every day that I would have handled it differently. But I didn’t. I kept my mouth shut when I should have just talked to you.”

“Oh… god, Wonwoo.”

“I-I don’t know. It was late, and I was high—you were off a line of coke for fuck’s sake—I just—in that moment, didn’t it feel… like we were something? More than friends? Maybe you don’t remember everything. Some of it’s a blur, even to me. Like some fever dream.”

“No… I do remember some of it. I remember the spare bedroom. I remember how fucking comfortable that bed was. You were there… you were… helping me… and we... I know at some point we were lying down together but I don’t remember what I was thinking or everything I said… it’s just—it’s a lot… too much, almost.”

A groan reverberated from within your deepest cavity and he could only watch through the warm kitchen light as you leaned forward into your hands, your body slumped against the countertop and radiating with agony. Wonwoo didn’t know what to make of the spectacle, though he chose to let you swim in whatever sentiment was swallowing you whole, your head beginning to shake back and forth.

“Wonwoo… listen… I get that—I get what you’re saying, okay? I get that you have this fucking problem with vulnerability, and trust, and the—the, um—the self-sabotaging. I know. I have that, too. And I can understand that it was possible to misinterpret us…”

That word was like a decommissioning punch to his gut—misinterpret—as though it was merely wishful, ditzy thinking and it was him and him alone living inside the delusion despite the fact you were snuggling up against him. However, Wonwoo bit his tongue and simply listened. He didn’t need his bruised heart getting in the way.

“But that night was just—it was irresponsible, okay? On both our parts. I have a boyfriend who I very much l-like, and… and we’re just—you and I, I mean—we’re good at being friends. And you said it yourself that you’ve had time to think and get past it, so…”

“… Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

Wonwoo didn’t need his love to be reciprocated nor did he want to know if you actually harboured any feelings toward him back then. All he desired was for you to get what you had plainly wanted—the why. Perhaps it was unsatisfactory, lacklustre, or maybe it was beyond ridiculous and too inconceivable for words.

He was grateful that he’d even made it this far.

With a heavy, laboured sigh, you managed to push yourself from the marbled counter. A hand then propped onto your hip.

Your nails clicked once against the island.

“So… that’s it, huh?” There was a nasally tone to your voice.

Biting his lip, Wonwoo adjusted his glasses, nodding. “Mmhm.”

Your head tilted straight back, like you were attempting to stop a runny trail of tears from escaping down your cheeks. You suckled in a breath, pressed your lips together firmly.

And then, abruptly, you laughed, pinching at your nose while your eyes squeezed shut. It was an exhausted, humourless laugh.

“Fuck… fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He didn’t exactly know what it was you were cursing, whether it be the realization of what the fight actually meant, or a reaction to his timid, but expired, confession. It could be that the information was too daunting and you were left with no instinct of how to manage it. Wonwoo chewed down on his tongue, keeping silent.

When your eyes opened again, they fell toward the fridge.

“Um… wasn’t it your birthday? Back in July?” You asked with a wet sniffle, brushing a wrist underneath your nose.

“Yeah… July seventeenth.”

Not bothering to speak, you walked over to the fridge and pulled the door open, pale light emanating from inside as you rifled around, moving containers and cartons and fresh produce. It was then that you revealed a cardboard box. Returning to the counter, you set the box in the very centre, and with trembling hands, you began unsticking the corners in order to reveal the surprise inside—a decent sized cupcake, frosted high with thick, white icing.

You sniffed again, turning to grab something from a utensil drawer, and then another item or two out the cupboard.

“It’s from Terra Cotta—it’s just a red velvet cupcake with cream cheese icing—which I ordered as a dessert when I ate out with Princess the other night. But I was too full to eat it after stuffing my face with pasta, unfortunately. So, I got it packaged up. Stuck it in the fridge. Forgot about its existence until now.”

A butter knife fell onto the island, followed by a lighter and a single pink candle. You sighed, eyes turning waterier by the minute, and Wonwoo felt a twinge in his chest that ached like hell.

“Do you like red velvet cake?”

Wonwoo huffed, shrugging. “Um, I’m not sure. Never had it.”

You picked up the candle. “Want to?”

He smiled. “Sure.”

Rather than keeping the cupcake inside the box, you moved the dessert delicately onto a clean porcelain plate and proceeded to shut the lights off. The orange sunset that painted the streets had bled out all its lurid colour. Wonwoo was just beginning to realize how dark it was in the apartment. You propped the pink candle into the expertly piped cream cheese frosting and ignited the tiny wick. A shivering halo of fire reflected in the marble countertop as the flame wriggled and the wax burnt.

Honestly, he didn’t know what the moment signified—if it was a mere gesture of forgiveness, or just a simple means to release all the tension—Wonwoo had not a clue. He thought he should be looking at the cupcake but Wonwoo was looking at you and the lambent glow flickering across your very upset, still face.

Sniffling again, you picked up the butter knife.

“Okay… hurry up and make a wish, please.”

“Really?” Wonwoo chuckled. “You want me to make a wish?”

“Uh… yes. That’s what people do when it’s their birthday.”

“It’s not my birthday.”

“Well—fuck—the spirit of your birthday, then.”

“You're asking a lot of me, you know. All this pressure.”

“Oh my god—it's just one ditsy little wish. I'm not asking you to write out your will, or solve world hunger. It's one stupid, tiny wish. For the sake of the moment. Hurry up before the wax drips on the icing.”

“I think you can just peel the wax off once it hardens—”

“Fuck! I don’t care, Wonwoo! God! Just—” he watched with a satisfactory smirk as you leaned forward and impatiently blew out the candle for him, “—there! Now, you don’t even get the opportunity to make a wish. Hope it was worth it.”

“So, you made a wish in my place, right?”

“Shut up. I’m cutting you the smaller half.”

“You didn't answer my question, though.”

“You didn't answer my question, though.”

“Hey, I don’t sound like that.”

“No, I didn't make a wish in your place—here.”

“Thank you.”

“… How does it taste?”

“Uh, it’s good. A little firm. The icing is really rich, but I suppose that’s typical of cream cheese stuff. But overall, I like it.”

“I really love red velvet. Especially in cupcake form.”

“Hm. Didn’t know that.”

“I wonder if I could get a dozen ordered for my birthday...”

“We’re celebrating my birthday and you’re already thinking of your own? Can you at least wait until I’m out the fucking door?”

“You said it doesn’t matter!”

“Now, that’s not what I said.”

“Don't act like such a smart ass.”

Wonwoo knew he missed your quippy retorts, but he hadn’t realized he’d missed it this much. It was filling a pitted crater within his chest that had remained empty and stone cold ever since the argument.

As you turned the kitchen light back on, Wonwoo stuffed the rest of the frosted cupcake into his mouth and dusted his hands clean.

He didn’t know what was supposed to happen now.

Stubbornly, Wonwoo didn’t want to leave your apartment. It had been too long since he’d last seen your beautiful face, and half his summer was already wasted to lamenting the relationship he’d ungraciously snipped in half like a fresh garden rose. If you wanted him to leave, then he would oblige, because Wonwoo could never go back on his word to abide by the choices that might make you the happiest. That was what he cared about most, anyway.

From the opposite side of the island, you began to cross your arms again, fingers digging tight into your ribs. Wonwoo could see that the hues of grief and melancholy hadn’t really abandoned your face since his arrival, and the tears that had earlier welled up in your eyes were steadily returning, glinting along your bottom lashes as though they were dew droplets. Feeling his throat turn dry and sensing the air become dampened with your sadness, Wonwoo knew what you were going to ask—he braced himself quick.

“So… um…” you began pulling at the short sleeve of your silk-buttoned top, rolling the fabric between uneasy fingers, “it’s getting a little bit late and I just t-think you should go now, Wonwoo…”

He nodded, pushing at his glasses. “Yeah… of course.”

There was such an evident somberness about the way his feet dragged toward the door. You had walked him over, and now that the space between you was significantly less, Wonwoo had never battled so hard with his self-control to keep himself from touching you—even if it was just a slight, chaste brush of his fingers against yours—the simplicity and feel of your strawberry-scented skin would appease his constant aching. He glanced at you, saw that your arms were still crossed and your eyes trained to muse over the floorboards.

Wonwoo scraped against the cuticle of his thumb.

Does he just… leave?

It felt too abrupt.

He smiled at you, keeping it soft and mindful.

“Thank you for listening to me… I mean it… you didn’t have to but you did anyway and… uh, I don’t know. Just—thank you.”

“Mmhm…”

You were squeezing at your ribs even tighter now, pressing in your fingers so unnaturally deep. In fact, Wonwoo was beginning to feel worried, especially when he noticed the quivering in your frame and the hard bite you were sinking into your lower lip—how there were tears streaking one by one down the slope of your cheeks.

Wonwoo’s hand had been lingering on the doorknob, though it slipped off absentmindedly. He wanted to reach for your shoulder and give it a comfortable, warm massage, but he was still too fearful.

“Her… are you alright?”

After a cautious step closer, Wonwoo paused, attempting to peer at your face despite its pointed direction toward the floor. The question was worthless, he realized. You were crying and choking up.

“Do you… should I go?”

God—what an even more stupid question to ask—the thing he wanted to do least was leave when you were this hurt. But Wonwoo needed to know if it was his presence that was disturbing you.

You shook your head, sniffled up all the wet, runny congestion in your nose. He watched the teeth free from your lip as you gasped.

“I-I don’t know… I’m really, really sad, Wonwoo.”

He thought he might panic in the midst of your crumbling, however, there was too much guilt and heartache inside him.

“I know…” he murmured.

Somehow, it felt so criminal to just stand there and watch you weep, hearing every desperate attempt for a breath as you could only clutch onto yourself harder and let the tears helplessly fall.

Wonwoo swallowed, feeling his throat burn.

“Can I comfort you for a bit?”

You hiccupped, and your face pinched up in complete misery, the response struggling to escape through the large sob you cried out.

“Please.”

Immediately, his hands braced against the edges of your very warm, wet face. The heat was radiating like a summer blacktop, and the tears were quick to pool against his fingers as he did his darndest to softly clean and wipe them from your skin—though, Wonwoo came to accept that it might be futile—and he opted to cup your cheeks for just a brief moment, staring into your damp lashes and puffy eyes.

“Still such a gorgeous girl, even when you’re crying.”

You huffed at him, grasping onto his hoodie and tugging it.

“I need you closer, please.”

Waddling into his arms, your face smushed right against his shoulder. In the dim august dusk that meekly glowed through the windows of your downtown, sumptuous apartment, Wonwoo cradled you, coaxing a hand nice and gentle along your trembling head while his arm kept you secured firm into his body. As wonderful as it felt to hold you in the way he always dreamt of, Wonwoo knew that those tears wrinkling his clothes were mostly driven by him.

Your arms dug into his chest. It seemed like you wanted to burrow impossibly closer, into his ribs if you could, but the desire frustratingly couldn’t be fulfilled. To compensate, Wonwoo attempted to squeeze you even more, though he was somewhat afraid of cracking you in half. Maybe that’s what you were craving.

But he liked you very much alive.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into your hair, still damp from the shower and rife with the scent of fragrant blossoms, “I know you don’t want me to apologize, but I have to. Everything I said to you… it was just stupid, pent-up rage from my own shortcomings… so much was building inside me and I made such a dumb fucking mistake—taking our situation and using it as a target—it was all bullshit..." inhaling a breath, Wonwoo sighed. "I shouldn’t have let you walk out that door… but I don’t think you would have wanted to listen, anyway... you probably would have just told me again to go fuck myself… you know, that was actually the first time I’ve ever been told that?”

Your cheek nuzzled against his shoulder. The breath you proceeded to cough out made it sound like you were terribly ill.

“T-That’s hard to believe…”

Wonwoo smiled, smoothing a hand down your back. “You think so?”

Threading your fingers deeper into his hoodie, you nodded.

Stopping to contemplate, Wonwoo ended up agreeing, “hm… yeah... you’re right. There were probably a lot of times in my life where I deserved to hear that. But you’re the first, anyway.”

“Y-You… you deserve to hear it again… I mean, what were you thinking, Wonwoo?” Raising your head from his shoulder and sucking in a much-needed breath, you rubbed at the glisten iridescent to your face. “I didn’t know… I was just trying to t-tal-talk to you…”

Wonwoo unstuck some small, matted hairs from your forehead, guiding them away with the daintiest movements.

“I know you were...” he answered, keeping his voice quiet.

“And then, in the car… I-I just sat there and cried for so long that the sky got dark. I didn’t know what to do—like, I thought I might call Mingyu but he was at work a-and I had no idea what I would even say to him... and then, I called Princess. And she said I could come over and I legit couldn’t get one fucking word out to her.”

Meanwhile focusing on your choked, heavy sentiments, Wonwoo continued to clean the tears from your face. A warm hand had grabbed onto his wrist, not stopping him—just gently holding—as though you needed the contact to ground yourself, even a little bit.

“The shitty part was… even when I was at my angriest… I still couldn’t get myself to hate you. But I wanted it so bad, Wonwoo. I stayed up almost every night, trying to convince myself that you were the worst person I ever met, a-and that I would be better off without you—that you were a poison to me and everything about you is just a ruse to hurt people. No matter what I told myself, nothing would ever work… because I would—I-I don’t fucking know—I would think about how fucking good you make me feel inside. H-How happy I am when I’m with you. You listen to me, a-and you care about my thoughts and my interests and you’re just—you—you fucking live inside me somehow and I want you out so bad but there’s nothing I can do.”

Wonwoo had removed his hands from your face.

They slid down to your hips. He squeezed them tight, digging his thumbs into your flesh and bone over the silken shorts.

“You live inside me, too.”

Rubbing off your nose, you shook your head angrily.

“It can’t be like that.”

His throat twisted up.

“Why?”

“B-Because it—it can’t. You know I have Mingyu…”

“I only think about you. It’s always you. I don’t want it to change.” Wonwoo pleaded, hanging onto every word—trying to search for your eyes despite the adamant refusal to meet his gaze. 

“But I just—I can’t do it.”

“Why?”

“Because!” You pushed at his broad chest, forcing him away as the anguished, grief-stricken shout reverberated between the high ceilings. Gripping at your head, you started to cry again. “I-I’m still so fucking angry at you, Wonwoo. I hate holding onto it and I hate that it’s been over a month and I’m still processing everything, but I can’t just move on from those feelings! I have to see it through. ”

The air was ice cold against him.

He just wanted your perfect body back in his arms.

“O-Okay… okay. I get it.”

“You do? Because I can’t keep reliving this. I just can’t.”

Wonwoo sighed, curling his fingers in and out.

“No, I—I hear you. I promise.”

You still needed time. You weren’t ready to forgive him. That was okay, and he wasn’t the least bit vexated by it. If he had to wait an entire year, then he would wait. Nothing would shake him from you.

Slapping a palm against your cheek, you shoved away the further tears which were seeming to become an annoyance. Wonwoo wanted desperately to be the one to wipe your pretty face and kiss away the salty taste of your sadness, but he knew not to push his luck.

Beyond the windowpanes, the sky was nearly pitch black, pinpricked by all the distant lights from the city buildings.

“I’ll go now, okay?” Wonwoo murmured.

Folding your arms, you sniffled a little, nodding.

“Okay...”

He wanted to say goodnight to you, but then he thought of that rule you had proclaimed during your late-night phone conversation many moons ago—you had to say it first as courtesy.

Except, you were silent.

Nonetheless, Wonwoo had liked to think it was sitting right on the tip of your tongue, just as it was sitting on his.

—SEPTEMBER 8TH.

When he thought back on his summer, Wonwoo couldn’t believe the quickness with which it had flown by, especially considering how nauseously slow some parts moved while he existed, trapped, inside them. Still, it was probably Wonwoo’s most eventful summer since his move from Korea, in more ways than one. Now, it was back to university for his final year as a maths student, and Wonwoo actually couldn’t be happier for the introduction of routine and the opportunity to test all the inner workings he’d accomplished.

Just last week, Vernon had thrown together a small party in the backyard of his friend’s rental home. He was housesitting, and though Wonwoo wasn’t sure why the friend in question would pick a promiscuous drug dealer for hospitality upkeep, the party was apparently approved and Wonwoo had made the effort to attend.

It gave him the chance to reunite with Seungcheol and Seokmin who he’d unintentionally given the cold shoulder. He was just thankful they were relaxed about everything. The night was spent swapping stories from their summer by the makeshift firepit, drinking cold beers, and watching the fireflies twinkle in the dry backyard brush. Vernon had spent all his time sweet-talking some new girl he’d invited from the club, and when they disappeared inside for about half an hour, Wonwoo prayed his bladder could hold out.

Wonwoo had also invited Sierra.

He figured she was just too warm and amicable and he knew she would get along seamlessly with everyone there.

Since they last spoke downstairs in the pottery shop during late July, Sierra had gotten herself a girlfriend—a patron of the Honeymoon who worked up the courage to ask Sierra out after admiring her bartending skills, as he’d heard it—and Wonwoo was more than happy to extend the invite. Seungcheol had predictably brought along Princess, though Wonwoo hadn’t been too worried. They seemed to be on good terms despite the chip in the relationship.

If you had been in town at the time, Wonwoo would have invited you, too. But you weren’t, instead accompanying your mother on a three-day venture outside the city for some publisher’s trip.

But he kept you in mind the entire night. He saw you in the wide, bright moon sitting squarely above the crackling fire, and he felt you in the colder breezes that whispered the beginnings of a soft, fresh autumn. You were everywhere inside him, just like his blood.

Wonwoo had liked to think he’d done it right. All those conversations he shared with you over the phone since the reunion at your apartment seemed promising—even when they flared and ached like a broken bone—Wonwoo had just wanted to hear your voice and know your heart. Though, the conclusion had dipped him in a strange, confusing predicament he still struggled to reason.

“I think we work best as friends… we’ll always be friends.”

The moment was followed by the most intense silence, and then Wonwoo had shifted the phone against his ear, spreading on an audible smile that couldn’t have looked any faker in person.

“Yeah… I see that, too.”

But he didn’t.

He was still in love with you.

And now Wonwoo didn’t know what to do.

You had come to an agreement that he should no longer help you with the book as it had been a point of contention since the start. Plus, you were now confident enough in your skills to finish it.

Surprisingly, Wonwoo was okay with that.

Nonetheless, he did offer his help if you ever needed it.

In fact, as Wonwoo sat in the small auditorium for his newest elective—the continuation to last year’s creative writing—he was scrolling through an old document you had sent him months ago, containing a litany of the same messily written paragraph, just rehashed as you attempted to find the best wording for it. Wonwoo couldn’t help but smile against the palm squishing at his chin.

Your mind always did seem to work in twelve different ways.

Since he’d shown up early to the lecture, Wonwoo was able to pick a good seat in the middle. He recognized a few faces from last year as more students began to trickle in. Wonwoo kept his bookbag on the chair to his right because he liked the extra space, though he began fearing he might have to move it when the lecture hall filled to a degree past his expectations. Since when did all these people take the class last year? Was it because of the new professor? He spun a pen between his fingers, observing everyone rather judgementally.

“Hey—are you saving a seat for your non-existent friend, or are you leaving your bag here to make sure no one else would sit beside you? Not that anyone would want to with the way you’re begrudgingly staring down every single person who walks in here.”

Wonwoo grinned, the pen stilling into his hand.

He knew your attitude like the ducks on his aunt’s shower curtain.

“If it’s such a big deal to you, you can move it.”

“Oh, can I? Do I get the pleasure of moving your bookbag, Wonwoo? Are you really that kind as to save such a life-changing, personal, and intimate experience, just for me?”

Smirking up at you, Wonwoo dropped his bag onto the floor.

He was promptly greeted by a very shiny smile.

“That’s what I thought,” you said matter-of-factly, setting your iconic cream purse onto your lap after sliding into the chair.

“So,” Wonwoo huffed, leaning back and casting you a curious glance, “you didn’t tell me you were going to take creative writing.”

Pulling out some chapstick, you laughed. “Uh—you didn’t tell me, either,” the comment was wry and muttered through the obstacle of moisturizing your lips.

Scratching his temple, Wonwoo chuckled, “fair.”

“Gosh, there’s so many people in here. Way more than I was expecting. I mean, who even are these goddamn people? I hardly recognize any of them—oh my gosh, do you think it’s because of the new professor? I looked her up, you know. She’s published three books—they’ve all got crazy good accolades—and one of them was even made into a movie! That has to be why. Should I try to get face time with her after class? No—actually, I won’t. Then I look totally desperate. I’ll play it cool. I’ll wait until, like, three classes from now.”

“Well, you’re never short of making an impression.”

“Meaning what?”

“Fuck,” Wonwoo laughed, “what the fuck do you think it means? It’s not like I’m talking in morse code. You make an impression.”

You smacked a hand down on his knee. “Well, how do I know if you mean good or bad! And don't curse at me like that.”

“Okay, okay. You're right. I'm sorry.”

“Are you?”

“Yes,” he replied, softening his voice, “I am very extremely sorry.”

That little smile you gave him was enchanting.

Wonwoo cleared his throat. “And I meant good, obviously.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. If you say anything to her, she’ll love you.”

“That’s a bit extreme.”

“She’ll keep you reasonably in her thoughts?”

“Hm. Yes. I like that better,” you agreed.

While you busied yourself with removing the laptop from your purse and taking an extra minute to inspect your face with a small, compact mirror, Wonwoo glanced around the room again. A few people standing by the professor’s podium at the front were looking at you, their mouths moving in conversation, though Wonwoo could hear none of it from the general chatter. He supposed you were used to getting those dissecting, curious, maybe even sometimes hurtful stares. There was always a light shining on you, wanted or not.

As Wonwoo pulled open the class syllabus on his laptop, he felt a tap against his shoulder. Slightly turning his head, he spotted someone shuffling by in the cramped row behind him, waving.

“Hey, Wonwoo,” the stranger said quickly in passing.

Squinting at him through his glasses, Wonwoo nodded. “Uh, hey.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “Who was that?”

He shrugged. “No idea. Someone from last year, I guess.”

“I see. Mr. Popular. Taking names and breaking hearts.”

Wonwoo laughed, shaking his head. “The opposite, actually.”

You giggled so lightly at his response, and for a very slow moment, Wonwoo saw and felt the heat of your eyes stilling in focus upon his face. He squirmed somewhat in his seat, fingers picking at the rough, dark blue material upholstered over the chair’s arm. But then you resumed staring back at yourself in the compact mirror while applying another layer of lip balm, and Wonwoo had to subtly breathe out all the butterflies that fluttered up from his stomach.

With a satisfying snap, you’d shut the mirror, stuffing it back into the purse that was sitting atop his bag on the floor. He wanted to ask you how the book was coming along, how much progress you had made since he last proofread anything, if you were still engaging in those messily long sentences or had you since learned to clean them up.

But it was hard for Wonwoo to ask.

He studied the nervous hands in his lap.

“So… are you free after class?”

You tilted your head in thought. “Uh, I think so? This is my only class today, actually. No more SSA. I’m beyond happy. No one else seemed to take it well but me. I don’t care, though.”

“No, you made the right choice.”

“So, why do you ask?” Angling your body toward him, you smiled, and Wonwoo felt this pool of warmth expand in his chest.

“Do you want to stop at the café on Sunnyside?”

“Maybe. Is it good? I’ve never actually ate there.”

“I think it’s good,” he said, bouncing his knee. “I used to sit in there all the time. I don’t as much anymore, but it’s a cute place to visit. About a ten-minute walk from here. Plus, it’s nice outside.”

You nodded. “I’ll think it over.”

Knowing that class was starting soon, Wonwoo moved the phone sitting on the edge of his tabletop into his back pocket.

“Actually, can I ask you something?”

He stiffened in his seat, hardly managing a nod. That always seemed to be a weighted question, especially in your hands, and the fact that you were biting the skin of your bottom lip only stirred forth more worry. Wonwoo folded his arms and nodded, feeling his heart beat.

“Well, it’s just—there’s no exact date yet, okay? But sometime in very late September my family is having another dinner party.”

Wonwoo’s fingers dug into his arms.  “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah…” you trailed off, continuing to bite your lip, “and, I basically—I-I’ve kind of been blabbing to my mom and stuff. You’ve definitely come up in some conversations. She made a comment that I could invite you and even though I disagree with her on, like, millions of things, I thought it might be a good idea…” your eyes flashed at him doubtfully. “So, like, I’m not gonna force you or anything. I’ve ranted to you about these dinner parties before so I’m sure you know how awful they can be. But… I don’t know… I mean, you don’t even have to stay the entire time. You could just pop by, o-or, or something like that. I just… I think seeing you before will help calm me down.”

Out of everything you could have asked, Wonwoo was least expecting the dinner party question. It seemed to have a very routine structure and Wonwoo couldn’t help but think that his presence there might throw everything off-kilter and the last—the very fucking last—thing he wanted was for your parents to absolutely loathe him. You always complained about them. Even with Mingyu and Seokmin there to accompany you, it seemed never to be enough. However, Wonwoo would hate to leave you hanging so dryly out in the open.

Even if he dreaded it, you mattered more to him than any awkward or nervous sentiments he harboured about the situation.

“Uh… okay. Yeah. I can go.”

You straightened up like a hair standing on end. “Really?!”

He nodded, pushing up his glasses. “Yeah.”

“Oh my gosh! You’re the best!”

Leaning over the chair rest, you bracketed your arms around Wonwoo’s neck, squeezing him into a quick hug that left his heart racing. Your sweet smell lingered in his nose as you slipped away.

“That’s such a relief… and—yes—for as much as I complain about it, I promise I’ll do my absolute best to keep everything on the rails. I’ll get you out of anything awkward or uncomfortable. And if you feel like it’s too much, I’ll be right there. I promise.”

Wonwoo smiled bashfully, shaking his head.

“Don’t put so much pressure on yourself. I can manage a few shit conversations and uncomfortable silences. I’ve got my own problematic parents. I appreciate the thought, though. Means a lot.”

It would be another matter to anxiously dwell over until it actually happened, but Wonwoo was okay with it knowing how receptive you had become to his mood. More than anything, he didn’t know how to deal with Mingyu. The party had been decent. There were multiple people to bounce off and uplift the weight, substances to mellow the tension and distract the mind. But this felt very different. This would be more intimate. Less room for error in the form of lasting, arduous glances and short but gentle touches.

All he hoped for is that it might end better than the party.

—SEPTEMBER 29TH.

“So, I’ll come pick you up, okay? Just gotta text me.”

“… Yeah, that works. Okay.”

“Take a breath, Glasses. If anyone’s got this, it’s you, alright? No negative Nina shit. You’re lookin’ gorgeous, even more than me.”

“It’s Nancy.”

“What?”

“It’s—never mind.”

“Who’s Nancy?”

“I said never mind.”

“Okay, okay. Jeez… make sure you drop the attitude when you get in there. It’s not very cute of you, yeah?”

Wonwoo felt Vernon’s hand grip onto his shoulder, bestowing him a confident shake that somehow only served to reveal how jellied and weak he’d become. But Wonwoo also knew he couldn’t sit inside the mint-scented interior of his friend’s vanilla Camry the entire night, waiting for some lightning bolt to strike him with the energy he blatantly needed. Consequently, his attitude had gotten a bit snappy.

Vernon was right, though. Wonwoo had to find it within himself to relax, take a breath, and realize the time would fly once he was past the initial haze. Besides, you were there. That was all he really cared about. It made the most impossible things possible.

Looking down at the sleek, unwrinkled material of his black suit jacket, Wonwoo gave it a final and deciding tug. He then reached for the gift bag sitting by his feet. Inhaling, his lungs filled deep with air and Wonwoo was clicking his fist against Vernon’s.

“You’ve got this, playboy.”

“See you on the other side, I guess.”

Exiting the vehicle, Wonwoo spared one last hopeful glance at his face-studded friend before slamming the door shut, now caught outside underneath the moon’s shimmer. Late nights in September always seemed to be somewhat dewy and cold, with golden, ruby, and amber leaves slicked against the streets like flowers pressed into paper. Wonwoo shivered, smelling the earthiness in the atmosphere.

After tightening his fingers around the straps of the gift bag, he began making his way up the smoothly paved driveway, toward the welcoming and aglow ambiance that beamed from your family house.

He grabbed the rung at the door, slamming it a few times.

The anxious breath slowly flowed from his mouth as Wonwoo’s mind raced with who would be the one to answer. Feeling his circled glasses slip, Wonwoo pushed them back up using his finger. At the same time, the front door swung open, and in the clarity, relief washed over him like the caress of that autumn wind.

“Fuck! You’re here!”

Before Wonwoo could get a word out, your arms were already thrown around his neck. The hug was fleeting. As quickly as your body was pressed flush against his, it was gone a second later.

“Uh, yeah. Just got dropped off.”

“Oh my gosh. Come in, come in,” you chirped like an excited bird, pulling at his elbow, “I’m legit so happy you’re here. Don’t worry about taking off your shoes. I know I’m barefoot at the moment but I’ve been so freaking scatterbrained that I haven’t even picked out a pair of heels yet. You look amazing. I’ve never seen you dressed up!”

His face began to burn at the compliment.

“I don’t attend many things that require fancy clothes.”

“Well, there’s a first for everything.”

Smiling, Wonwoo realized that he hadn’t really marvelled your dress, but there was something awfully familiar about it—the shiny olive-green colour, the elegant, revealing slit at the right thigh, the thin yet simple straps draped along the open, lowcut back—he then remembered it was the final dress you had tried on from that expensive boutique in the mall. Somehow, the material looked even more stunning on you now than it did before.

His face grew warmer, sizzling almost.

“That dress has always looked perfect on you.”

There was so much more he could spew in the moment, some cloying, sweet thoughts and some very impure ones, too. But Wonwoo wasn’t trying to cross boundaries and he had to respect your wishes of staying as friends, even if it tore him up inside beyond words.

Fiddling with your fingers, you gave him a soft smile. “I’m glad you recognized it.”

The hallway suddenly got very quiet. You were both just standing there, staring at each other, biting lips and scratching skin.

“So, um, I guess I can show you arou—”

“Oh, there they are! Honey, they’re out here!”

Wonwoo’s tender gaze had suddenly snapped toward a woman barging out from an illuminated doorway, a wine glass poised in her hand while the largest, most bedazzled necklace he had ever seen weighed down to her chest. Weathered heels beat the floorboards, echoing between the walls as she stalked toward him.

“You must be Wonwoo!” 

Her hand was gripping onto his wrist and Wonwoo could only prompt a weak smile that was indicative of his racing, feeble heart.

“Yeah, correct. Pleased to finally meet you.”

 “Oh, charmer. Pleasure’s all mine, sunshine. Okay, but—let me get a good look at you. Don’t feel like you have to stand by the doorway, all polite-like. Come a bit more into the light, over here.”

“Mom, don’t pull him,” you warned between clenched teeth.

“Ah, it’s alright, it’s alright. Don’t fret so much. Sheesh.”

Standing beneath the warm and yellow glow from the hallway chandelier, there was notable heaviness in Wonwoo’s chest as your mother’s dilated, intensive gaze wracked along his every feature, as though she were the reading the fine print to one of her catalogues.

“You’re certainly gorgeous,” she complimented, “and that voice! So soothing. How do you not have a lovely lady on your arm?”

Wonwoo’s eyes skipped to you in complete and utter panic.

Grabbing onto her shoulder, you gently guided her away.

“Mom, come on. You’re smothering him, alright? Remember the thing with Mingyu? I told you not to do that anymore. He just got here and I want him to actually enjoy himself. Don’t be so… pouncey.”

“Okay. I got it,” the mom said, lifting her hand and wine glass in submission, seeming serious for no less a few seconds. “The princess of the house, FYI. She always gets what she wants.”

You knocked her touch away as she wriggled your chin, very poorly veiling your annoyance through a grumble, “it’s not like that.”

“Didn’t I call in your father? What’s taking so long?”

“I don’t know. He’s probably hiding in his office.”

“Is that where he is? Really? When I asked him to set the table? Jeez. You spend all day cooking a meal, chopping and dicing and braising and frying, and the man just can’t be bothered to put out some knives and forks. This is why I opened the wine early, y’know.”

Your arms folded, and you appeared so much smaller.

“Seokmin set the table already.”

“Oh! What—he—he did? I didn't even notice!”

“Yes, like an hour ago.”

“Oh my gosh! That boy’s an angel. Raised so well, wasn’t he? You know Seokmin, right, Wonwoo? You’re all friends?”

Awkwardly shifting in his place, Wonwoo nodded. He couldn’t help but wonder where Seokmin or Mingyu were. There was dulled music echoing softly from a distant room in the house. Down the hallway corridor, it seemed to open up into a big living space.

Suddenly, your mom began to wiggle her finger at the bag he was holding limp in his hand, and for a moment, Wonwoo had even forgot it existed. She sipped from her gradually disappearing wine again, her words sounding muffled as they fogged up the glass.

“Is that a gift I spot in your hand, dear?”

“Oh, yeah,” he answered.

Flattening a palm over the intricate jewel necklace glittering down her chest, your mother fawned adoringly, and Wonwoo’s stomach immediately dropped knowing it wasn’t her gift at all.

“Gosh! You shouldn’t’ve!”

“Uh, a-actually, it’s not—it was—I got this for your daughter.”

His gut twisted, watching the excitement and gleam drain from your mother’s face, her smile wiped away like an eraser to a penciled drawing. At least you had brightened up, though it wasn’t without caution, and Wonwoo wasn’t entirely sure what to say.

Straightening her spine, a grin then twitched unnaturally to her mouth. She was directly back into the wine for another drink.

“Well, that’s certainly thoughtful.” Wiping off her lips, she unnervingly held Wonwoo’s gaze for a brief moment, her eyes harder than diamonds. She then turned toward you, proceeding to gesture in a swirling motion with her finger at your face. “Sweetheart, if you don’t mind, could you take a few minutes to just fix your makeup?”

Your expression faltered, shoulders sagging.

“My makeup? What’s wrong with it?”

“Well, the lashes are lifting a bit. It’s not too noticeable in this dusky hallway but out in the proper light, everyone will be able to tell. And I wouldn’t use that shade of lipstick. Remember the tip I gave you? When we take photos that colour is not going to show well.”

“I do remember, yes. But I thought it could match with—”

“No but’s. These dinners are important for us, alright? Go fix.”

Wonwoo held his breath. In all his time spent getting to know you—your likes and dislikes, your pet peeves and oddly specific rules about the way things should work—the one cardinal sin was to never interrupt you. Even when he was fighting tooth and nail against you in his apartment, aching with hurt and bitterness, he didn’t cut you off once to get his word over yours. He doubted Mingyu had ever done it, and he was positive Seokmin hadn’t, either. To actually witness it felt somewhat like a crime requiring swift punishment.

Though, for all that Wonwoo was expecting in response to the rage that had just rippled across your face, there was nothing.

Because you’d choked it down like foul cough syrup.

He watched the fist unclench at your side.

“Okay,” you stated in surprising simplicity, “I’ll go fix it,” still with a sprinkle of attitude that your mother opted to ignore as she announced her trip into the kitchen to check the food.

The second she was obscured from view, a noticeable glisten of tears and exhaustion glimmered in your eyes, though you sucked all the emotions back with a deep, deep breath.

“Do you want to come with me, upstairs for a second?” You asked in a tight, shaky voice. “Unless you want to find Seokmin.”

Wonwoo shook his head. “No, I’ll see him later. Of course I’ll come with you,” he answered, smiling at you with all his tenderness.

He proceeded to follow you up a dimly lit staircase draped in a chocolate brown rug. The house looked quite small from the outside, hidden almost, by the inky night, but as Wonwoo accompanied you at the robust, wooden dresser kept against the corridor wall, he realized just how long the house actually was.

Your lower back pressed against the dresser, hands gripping the edges and fingers scraping the underside of the chestnut.

Wonwoo left the gift bag sitting next to an amorphous, black metallic sculpture that he couldn’t even begin to understand, then dusting off his palms and watching you shake your head.

“I mean, you’ve only been here for five minutes, and I’m already breaking out my seams,” you laughed, dabbing at a tear travelling too far down your cheek. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend for it to be like this so soon and I’m not gonna force you to stay.”

“Stop saying that,” Wonwoo urged, tucking his hands into his pockets, “I told you I would come. I’m not going to abandon you.”

You paused, biting the swollen skin of your bottom lip.

“… Okay.” Looking down at the ground, you wiped your damp face again before hugging yourself. “She always does this… she always has something to point out. Nothing can ever be perfect for her. I’ve spent, like, all day, preparing myself, because that’s what she wants, and it’s still not enough. I don’t get it. I feel—” you sucked in a needy breath, pinching at your nose, “—I feel like I’m just some stupid doll she’s trying to perfect, but I never came perfect in the first place, so it’s all a big waste, and somehow, it’s my fault… I know I’m unloading and I’m sorry for that, too. This day has just been—I hate it. I hate these dinners. I fucking hate everything about them. I want to bang my head against the wall.”

Wonwoo smiled at you.

He untucked a hand from his pocket and reached for the clenched fist at your hip, spreading apart your fingers into his.

“Don’t worry about that. I’m listening, okay?”

Though your eyes were misty with tears and tiredness, you managed to return a frail little grin that was deeply sincere. Your hand tightened in his for a moment, and then you were stepping into him like he was a fresh blanket straight from the laundry. Fingers bunched up his suit jacket and your face was warm against his neck.

“I think it’ll be a little better tonight,” you whispered. “You’re the only one here who doesn’t make me feel like I’m going insane.”

Wonwoo passed up and down your bare back with his hand, admiring the softness to your pampered skin and the luscious scent of your hair, though he knew you had probably hated every moment trapped in the hot shower, exfoliating and shaving and scrubbing your body clean. He felt you squeeze onto him harder.

“Can I see what your gift is?”

“Oh, yeah…” he muttered, pulling apart from your heat, “it’s kind of a two-in-one thing. It’ll make sense once I explain.”

“That seems exciting,” you answered, returning to your lean against the chestnut dresser, folding your arms and smiling.

“So, um—if you remember the poker game—I owed you a pretty big lump of cash,” Wonwoo said, reaching inside the bag to grab a smooth, matte box, “and then there was the day at the museum, of course. Running home in the rain. You lost a shoe.”

“Oh my gosh, yeah…” you giggled fondly at the memory.

“I was at the mall—and, yes, I know. Why would I be at the mall when I hate the place?  But I was getting my laptop fixed at that tech store on the third floor, and I also needed wires for my—okay. Never mind the rambling. Fuck, I’m turning into you now. Anyway, I walked past that one store you love and get pretty much all your clothes from. They had these heels in the window. The white ones, which you said to me are actually not white, but a very specific shade of ivory that I couldn’t see and still fail to see, to be honest. And they had that little bit of gold in the straps… but the point is—I got them for you.”

You glitched for a second, and it wasn’t until Wonwoo was basically pushing the box into your chest that you seemed to realize.

“Wait… you actually went to Rosette?”

He nodded matter-of-factly. “Yes.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Immediately, you flipped the box open and began flicking away the neatly trimmed cover of glittered tissue paper. “You got me the Gold Crystal Rope-Strapped and Ivory Ankle four-inch from Mirabella? Wonwoo! I-I was just talking when I saw them in the mall! I mean, you didn't have to actually get them!”

“I know,” Wonwoo answered, helping you pick the heels out from their imprints, “you’re always just talking, though.”

“Unnecessary.”

“To you.”

He was thankful you were too enraptured by the shoes to bother retaliating. Under regular circumstances, Wonwoo wouldn’t ever have been able to make such an expensive decision, but he still had some leftovers from winning the other poker matches at the party, in addition to a work bonus, and he knew that he still needed to repay you those favours even if they weren’t being held against him.

“They’re so freaking gorgeous,” you fawned, inspecting each heel like a jeweller would to their collection, “I can’t tell if I want to hit you or jump on you in happiness. I love them so much.”

“Well, I’m glad.”

“Oh my gosh, can you help me put them on? Pretty please?”

“Uh—yeah, ‘course.”

You gripped the edges of the dresser, slightly sitting on the surface as Wonwoo squatted down to your bare feet. He collected the first ivory heel and loosened the anklet buckle, proceeding to help slide the shoe on until it was fit perfectly. As he busied himself with loosening the buckle to the other heel, Wonwoo felt the ghost of your fingertips brush through his hair. In a spilt second, he froze, staring up at you, who was grinning back in utmost beauty.

“Just fixing your hair a little,” you stated innocently.

Wonwoo readjusted his glasses, nodding. “O-Okay.”

The action hadn’t felt that innocent, and as Wonwoo swallowed tight and continued sliding your ankle through the heel, he was overwhelmed with the most blaring, vivid, heart-hammering thoughts of smoothing his hands along each your soft thighs, pinning up the slippery silk to your olive-green dress, tugging aside your thin panties, burying his face and tongue so hot and heavy into your—

“Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes!”

“Fuck,” you groaned, lolling your head back while Wonwoo finished settling the heel onto your foot, “just in case you didn’t connect the dots, that means we need to get downstairs.”

He returned to height, straightening out the sleeves to his suit jacket. For some reason, there was such an intense disappointment burning in his chest, as though his carnal thoughts were not just thoughts but an actual intent to pleasure you—which was completely ludacris given your friendship and the fact your boyfriend was probably downstairs—that had now been ripped away from him by the shrill pitch of your mother’s beckoning voice.

“Should I take the box—”

“It doesn’t matter.”

You grabbed onto his hand, tugging him toward the staircase.

“C’mon. Let’s get this shit over with.”

And Wonwoo followed, though he couldn’t help but note how you carefully dropped his hand upon rounding the corner into the kitchen, where Seokmin and Mingyu were standing about.

“Hey!” Seokmin exclaimed, pointing toward him. “Wonwoo!”

Expectantly, Seokmin looked like he belonged in a suit. That dark cherry red colour was rather fitting and only served to amplify the glow of his indestructible enthusiasm. Wonwoo awkwardly sauntered over to them, playing with the threads in his pockets.

Mingyu’s suit was more charcoal in tone, with his hair expertly gelled and combed. He mirrored a suave movie star as he leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping from his partly-filled wine glass.

“Uh, hey guys.”

You were hovering at the stove alongside your mother, talking in a hushed manner, while she stirred a large and bubbling pot of aromatic sauce, smelling like rosemary and perhaps cooked off vodka or some other alcohol. There was food everywhere—warm bread plates and fresh salad bowls and artistically painted casserole dishes covered by tinfoil. A window had been cracked open to help alleviate the heat swarming the kitchen, which Wonwoo could feel a little too uncomfortably in the air.

Seokmin grabbed at a couple crackers and cubed cheese organized onto a charcuterie board behind him.

“Don’t you clean up well?” He complimented with a big grin.

Wonwoo shook his head. “Not that well.”

“Hey—” Seokmin suddenly grabbed onto Wonwoo’s shoulder and pointed a finger at him, “—you’re here, alright? That’s an honour.”

Mingyu brushed the cracker crumbs off Seokmin’s suit.

“Don’t snack too much. She hates when you can’t eat.”

“Uh—I made this stupid board. I get to eat from it whenever I want. I’ll be fine, anyway. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

Mingyu stopped tidying Seokmin’s suit, instead grabbing his wine glass off the countertop, sighing aloud, “that was a stupid idea…”

From the dreariness to his words and the slouch pulling down his shoulders, Mingyu didn’t seem to be all that excited or even half as chipper as Seokmin, though Wonwoo suspected that he knew the dinner parties to be a complete trainwreck. If Mingyu could hardly stomach a night with your parents despite all the stunning food and drink, then Wonwoo had no idea as to how he’d survive.

“So, um…” Seokmin lowered his voice, tipping his head close to Mingyu’s ear, “should we give him the rulebook?”

“Rulebook?” Wonwoo echoed.

“Uh,” Mingyu sipped quickly from his wine, “yeah, guess we can do that. Not in here, though. Let Her talk to her mom.”

“Easy peasy lemon squeezy.” Seokmin smiled, flashing a sly wink at Mingyu. “Hey, we’re gonna give Wonwoo a quick tour, alright!” He then called, his hand wrapping around the boy’s bicep, already beginning to tug him toward the hallway. “It won’t take too long; we’ll just show the bottom floor! Be back in a few!”

“Oh, uh, I guess that’s fine,” your mother replied while grabbing onto the pot handles with two tea towels, moving the sauce from the element, “but please do be quick! And, Seokmin—do you mind fetching the hubby from his office after you’re done?”

“I can do that, for sure,” he answered, smiling bright.

“Thank you, dear. I appreciate you so much.”

He was escorted out the muggy kitchen and down the corridor, flanked by Mingyu and Seokmin until they reached the living area where the piano music had been coming from.

Before he could issue even one question, Wonwoo was pressed down onto the red, very large-cushioned couch. Seokmin sat on the marble coffee table while Mingyu fixed himself onto the arm of a sturdy leather chair, crossing an ankle over his knee. Neither boy spoke for a moment and Wonwoo couldn’t help but feel a bit frightened as he listened to the elegant, soft piano tune fill the space.

“So… what’s the rulebook?”

“Well, it’s not an actual rulebook,” Seokmin corrected, “that was just for dramatics, allure, etcetera. But that’s what we call it.”

“We? You and Mingyu, you mean.”

Shifting in his place, Seokmin nodded, and his voice dropped an octave lower, "play the game long enough, you learn the rules.” 

Mingyu’s chuckle dampened into the wine glass. “And there a lot of fuckin’ rules, that’s for damn sure,” he said with a scary smirk.

“But—we’ll just give you the crash course for now, as to lessen the overwhelmingness of what it takes to endure a dinner party.”

“Um, does Her know—”

“There are three principal rules; I’ll give them to you quick, so listen good,” Seokmin interrupted, leaning further into Wonwoo’s space, speaking quietly. “Rule one: do whatever the mom says, even if she doesn’t say it directly, or scarcely alludes to it. Makes everything ten times smoother, and gets her to like you, which is very important. Rule two: there is a guaranteed argument between Her’s mom and Her every fucking time—you stay out of it—never pick sides.

If you do get roped into whatever petty, passive-aggressive shame-fest they rake up, insert a compliment. Example: this steak is so tender and perfectly cooked! FYI—we’re not eating steak, so think of your own thing—and rule three: Her is like a freshly shaken can of carbonated soda and she can explode at any given moment. As her dear friends, and boyfriend, we have to make sure that doesn’t happen or else you’ll want to axe yourself.”

Wonwoo furrowed his brow heavily at Seokmin, noting a few crumbs left on his cherry suit from the cheese and crackers.

“How do we stop that?” He asked genuinely.

Mingyu proceeded to lower the nearly emptied wine glass against his knee, clearing his throat, “you don’t stop it.”

“But I thought—”

“It happens every time, without fail,” Seokmin answered, shaking his head, “but you can prolong it. You know, like cracking open the cap and letting out some air instead of the bottle fizzling into obliteration right away. The explosion’s not as big then. It’s easy. You just keep the conversation pushing. Don’t leave any space for bickering. Mingyu sometimes takes Her downstairs, or outside. To be fair, you don’t really have to worry about the last part.”

“Yeah,” Mingyu huffed, hardly amused, “lucky you, huh?”

“What happens if that fails?” Wonwoo asked.

Seokmin leaned back, tipping his head to the side. “Last year Her’s mom spent six hours braising these honey-garlic barbeque ribs with asparagus and stuffed potatoes. Guess where the food ended up by the end of the night? Because it wasn’t my starving mouth.”

“I don’t think I want to know,” Wonwoo sighed.

Bobbing his head approvingly, Seokmin smiled. “Exactly.”

“If these dinners are always such a mess, why do they keep happening? I mean, it doesn’t seem like anybody enjoys them.”

Fiddling with the thick folded cuff of his dress shirt, Seokmin shrugged. “I don’t know, to be honest. They used to a be a lot bigger in the past. Way more relatives and family friends. Just get-together's with a lot of food and drink and intoxicatedness. A way to maintain community and repore or something. But it’s shrunk down over the years. I still can’t tell if that makes it better or worse.”

Mingyu rubbed tiresomely down his neck, somewhat wincing as he massaged a sore spot. “It definitely makes it worse.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Seokmin agreed, “it puts more pressure on the rest of us… anyway, I should grab ‘the hubby’ as per request.”

Snickering, Mingyu flashed his pointed canine teeth and raised the wine back to his lips. “Makes your skin crawl, doesn’t it?”

With an uneased laugh, Seokmin smirked. “Every time.”

As the boy disappeared down a dark hallway to the right of the large living area, Wonwoo assumed he and Mingyu might return to the kitchen as it was probably not the best idea—leaving you alone for too long with your nitpicking mother—but when Wonwoo began lifting himself from the plump couch cushions he was sunken into, Mingyu’s hand touched at his shoulder to stop him.

In an instant, trepidation surged throughout his body.

Wonwoo’s face had most certainly gone white, though the lighting in the living room was too warm and orangey to tell.

“I just wanna talk to you about something real quick,” Mingyu said, stretching forward to leave his empty glass on the marbled table.

“Oh—um, okay.”

When he thought about the past few months, Wonwoo realized he hadn’t even spoke to Mingyu since the blowout party back in June. So much had happened since then, good and bad. Wonwoo could only suspect that he was about to hear the worst talking-to in his life, though he attempted to feign the terror for casualness.

Mingyu swooped a hand behind his ear, brushing back his perfectly styled hair, and looked to Wonwoo almost… forgivingly?

“I know you and I haven’t seen each other since the party at Seungcheol’s. I know some shit went down between you and Her and that it really blew up and you guys weren’t talking for a bit. She said, like, it was something to do with the book she’s writing and you were having differences about the direction and it kinda exploded.”

Wonwoo prayed it was imperceptible, the gigantic breath of relief he fought to exhale without too much giveaway, knowing that you hadn’t told Mingyu the truth to the argument. He was happy about your work-around, though he didn’t know if it was… morally right… that you opted not to tell your boyfriend—the person you supposedly trusted most—one of your biggest miseries.

“Oh… yeah,” Wonwoo exhaled, “it got pretty ugly.”

Mingyu nodded. “I honestly don’t even know if she’s still working on it. She doesn’t tell me about it. I don’t get why it’s so fuckin’ important to her but… I digress. Anyway, like Seokmin said, you’re here now, so you two obviously hashed it out. She seems to really appreciate you as a friend. And—hey—it helps takes some of the weight off my shoulders, y’know? Girl’s a fuckin’ handful sometimes.”

Wonwoo swallowed, feeling increasingly uncomfortable with the conversation and the alcohol he was beginning to smell from the boy’s clothes. He understood the situation was stressful for Mingyu, that he might be teetering between things absentmindedly, yet he nonetheless questioned what Mingyu’s intentions even were with you.

“Well, uh… I really enjoy spending time with her, too,” he murmured as Mingyu reclaimed his emptied wine glass.

There was a strong grip on his shoulder, shaking it.

“You’re a good person, man. Seriously.”

Using Wonwoo as a support crutch, Mingyu heaved onto his feet, then proceeded to straighten out his charcoal suit jacket.

“M’kay, I’m going back to the kitchen. We’re probably gonna eat soon so don’t spend too long losing your head out here.”

“Yeah, got it.”

He watched Mingyu amble down the long and subtly aglow corridor, carrying his wine glass low at the hip until reaching the threshold to the kitchen. You had suddenly popped out, stumbling into him with a smile and some hushed words that were impossible to comprehend as Wonwoo sat alone, listening to the jazzy piano tunes from the record player. After nipping a quick kiss against your boyfriend’s lips, you entered the living room with a crooked head.

“What’chya doing out here?” You inquired, pressing a hand against the grand, wooden frame adorning the entry way.

Wonwoo grabbed at his knees while pulling himself up.

“Just a quick pep talk. And a fly-by of some rules.”

“Oh,” you chuckled, “Seokmin’s crash course, was it?”

“Yeah.”

“Sometimes I call him John Green just to piss him off.”

Wonwoo smiled, stepping around the marble coffee table. “I feel like that might serve to stroke Seokmin’s ego above all.”

“No, it starts to irritate him after a while. You should know at this point I can piss off just about anybody. Even Seokmin. It’s a talent. Though I don’t think it’s enough for me anymore. I want to start pushing people to rock bottom or I haven’t done enough.”

There was a teasing sparkle in your eye as Wonwoo approached you. He could smell all that deliciously cooked food from down the corridor and his stomach was certainly responding to it.

“I can get you there,” Wonwoo said. “Don’t stress.”

“Forgot to fix my makeup. Want to come with me?”

He agreed, and you began to guide him across the living room, swathed in all its expensive mahogany fabrics, obtuse looking vases, and jade-green lamp shades that reminded him of late-night study sessions at the campus library. You pulled him past a wide shelf that was organized with much smaller, glazed sculptures that caught his attention as they lowly glimmered in the mellow light.

“Woah,” he gripped at your wrist, stopping your swift walk, “someone in your family loves ceramics, I’m guessing?”

You ricocheted back into his side, then taking a few seconds to adjust some invisible flaws in your hair before responding.

“That’s just some pottery I did when I was younger.”

Wonwoo squinted at you. “Really?”

“Mmhm.”

“You took classes?”

Shrugging, you muttered a simple, “yeah.”

“Is that why you were so interested in that vase back at my apartment?” When you continued to stare at him blankly, Wonwoo cleared his throat and reiterated, “the red one? It was really round at the bottom, but the stem was tall and skinny. You really liked it.”

“Oh—yeah—sorry, it’s been a while since I’ve last been to your apartment. I don’t know if that’s why I liked it. Probably.”

He smiled at you inquisitively. “I’m surprised you never mentioned that to me, considering my landlord is a ceramics teacher. I mean, as you know.”

Your eyes seemed reminiscent and adrift, glancing from sculpture to sculpture—lopsided teapots, poorly shaped toadstools, crooked little spoons—there were a plethora of your small creations laid across the shelf, gathering dust and appearing untended to.

Wonwoo cleared his throat, hands buried in his pockets. “I just didn’t peg you as someone who liked getting their hands dirty. I suppose it’s different when you’re younger, though.”

Pursing your lip, you nodded. “Things are always different when you’re young. My mom used to use the spoons I made to scoop sugar into her coffees. But she doesn’t drink coffee anymore. Just wine.”

“Well, it’s nice she appreciated your effort.”

There was a beat of silence. Your expression twitched.

“I had to beg to take those classes, y’know?”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow at you. “How come?”

Your arms folded, and you shrugged again. “My parents honestly saw it as a distraction. I mean, why let your daughter play with some clay when she can hardly pass her math tests. But there was this super artsy girl in our recreational class who always made the best teacups from the clay, and she would paint them so beautifully… I wanted to be able to do what she did. So I asked my parents again and again and again until they fucking gave up and found a pottery class to enroll me in. Although, I'm pretty sure they supposed I would drop it sooner or later. Like it was just an itch I had to scratch. It was in this little art shop that looked similar to your landlord's.”

He smiled at you. “Was your instructor a polish lady?”

“No, she was not polish,” your head shook as you swept some dust from the black shelf, rubbing your fingers together, “I remember that much, but I don’t remember her name. It was after a flower, though. Something too complicated for my eleven-year-old brain to retain.”

“Probably Chrysanthemum or some shit,” Wonwoo muttered.

You laughed at his comment, “probably.”

“… Well, you must have liked it. You made so much stuff.”

“Oh, I loved it. I mean, looking at some of this stuff now, it’s not that great. But I didn’t really care that much at the time.”

“Considering you were a child, it’s pretty damn good.”

Wonwoo felt your elbow dig shallowly into his ribs. “Don’t try to flatter eleven-year-old me,” you warned him. “If you would have seen the other girl’s creations, mine would turn from pretty damn good to: well, at least she tried something new!”

“No,” Wonwoo chuckled, “that’s dumb.”

“Honestly, there was so much stuff that I made. More than half of it’s not even on this shelf. There wouldn’t be enough space.”

“Shit. What happened to it?”

You pinched at the olive fabric of your dress, massaging the silk between your fingertips for a moment while examining each and every sculpture moulded and grooved by your tiny childhood hands.

“My favourite part was destroying it,” you answered.

Wonwoo narrowed his brow, “I don’t think I could do that to something I spent so much effort and time creating.”

“Yeah, and that’s all good and fine,” you reasoned, adjusting your shoulders, “but I just didn’t see it like that, I guess...”

Intrigued, Wonwoo smiled at you. “How did you see it, then?”

For a moment, you thought, staring off into space.

 “Well, I just don’t understand why people are so afraid of things being ephemeral. When you’re an artist, or a writer, or a musician, I feel like you want to make something that will last forever, transcend eras, touch people for a lifetime, or, I don’t know—you want it to stay preserved, like when they embalm things. But I feel like there’s just as much worth and importance to the things that hardly last at all. I feel like there’s so much freedom and self-assurance in building something up and then crushing it down.

That’s what I loved about it. When the clay would explode from between my fingers and stick into the lines of my palms because I was squeezing it so hard—it just felt good. Like it was supposed to happen. Like I was letting go. It doesn’t have to mean I… failed. It doesn’t have to mean I’m good at it either… I guess I just want to enjoy things without the burden of having to prove I deserve to enjoy them. Why can't I just do it? Why can't it just be between me and myself, you know? Why can't I decide what to take from it?"

Wonwoo nodded at you.

Contrarily, that was the opposite to his own beliefs surrounding his art, and maybe even his life. Wonwoo could never let things go, nor was he sure when that quality had permanently wedged its way into his human nature. For some reason, Wonwoo saw the past memory where his older brother had scampered away into the bushes surrounding the public pool during that game of Lifeguard all those hot summers ago, leaving an adolescent Wonwoo to get dragged from the water and thrown onto the sun-scorched concrete as everyone watched.

He saw the fuzzy, white glow that beamed from his laptop left open in the darkness, sitting still with all those pages he wrote, and yet to be filled with the words that he could never string together.

Unlike you, Wonwoo had never figured out the mechanism to letting things go. Instead, he held everything—between his fingers, across his shoulders, on his tongue, under his skin, deep inside his chest. Hence, for a split second, he was incredibly jealous that it seemed you could live without weight. You were just a breeze.

And just like everyone else, you were still discovering yourself.

“Anyway. That’s my take on it."

"Why'd you stop? This seemed like such a big part of you."

You flicked your eyes around, shrugging. "Things got in the way."

Wonwoo wondered what things, though he didn't ask.

"But we should hurry. Dinner will be ready soon and my mom will flip if we’re not at the table in time. She interprets it as ‘we don’t care’ and that will open a can of worms nobody wants to see.”

You sighed, then grabbing onto Wonwoo’s arm to pull him down another mysterious, long corridor in your maze of a house.

“Oh, Mingyu, that’s brilliant! I’m so glad the interview went well! I had him slip in a good word for you, too. But I’m sure you put the nail in the coffin. Walking straight into a promotion, you know, that’s something so hard to come by. You’ll settle just perfectly.”

“Yeah, thanks. To you as well. That word went a long way.”

“Making the right connections is certainly key.”

“It is. But I’m just lucky, is all. Your daughter is the real key. She’s given me so much—you all have—I just wanna let you know how grateful I am. Seriously. You’re some of the kindest people.”

“Shush! Before I give you a lash from this towel. It’s been sitting under the potato tray so it’s nice and hot… I’m so excited for your future together. A real power-couple! That’s for sure.”

“Hm. Yeah.”

Wonwoo was pressed flush to the wall just outside the kitchen, simultaneously holding his breath while listening to the conversation between your mother and Mingyu as everyone was presumably sat around the dressed table. Your fingers were hurriedly ruffling out some wrinkles in his tie while you repeatedly cursed at both your tardiness, and he simply let you do what you pleased. After a half-second adjustment made to his collar, you wasted not an instant more—Wonwoo was suddenly thrust into the warm kitchen with you impatiently in tow.

As expected, everyone was sat and waiting. Even your father had been at last pulled from his study, and he was positioned at the head of the long dinner table while twiddling a fork around in his fingers.

Your mother had an elbow propped on Mingyu’s chair.

She was the only one standing.

“Quick,” you whispered into Wonwoo’s ear, practically shoving him down into the empty seat beside Seokmin, “sit there.”

Upon the nervous side-eye that his friend shot at Wonwoo, he suspected that he may have just wriggled his way into an unfortunate ticket straight to hell. You held up the flowy, billowing silk of your olive dress while making your way to the seat across from him and beside a very unenthused-looking Mingyu, who was evidently chewing on his inner cheek. Wonwoo caught Mingyu’s stare for no less than a second, and there was nearly enough electricity in the glance to make a crackle.

A few more dishes had been squeezed onto the table since he was last in the kitchen. Despite the fact there was only six people eating, nearly every corner and crevice of the table was occupied. Your mother had cooked enough to feed an entire party, unless she was planning on sending everyone home with tupperwares full of leftovers.

“Looks super delicious,” Seokmin complimented.

Mingyu nodded in agreement. “Smells even better.”

Wonwoo didn’t know if he was also supposed to throw out some off-the-tongue compliment and keep the train chugging. The atmosphere was just so heavy—everything felt like an extreme effort—he could hardly breathe without the sensation of his lungs itching, as though they were adorned in cobwebs. Unconsciously, he’d started picking at his thumb, his appetite disappearing by the second in place of dread.

“You boys are so lovely, thank you,” your mother commented, straightening out the orange tea towel in her hand while continuing to lean into the side of Mingyu’s chair. “This was all a labour of love.”

Seokmin flashed a picturesque smile that Wonwoo had seen many times before. “Well, I’m feeling the love. That’s for sure. Are we ready to dig in all?” Still, there was a bit of anxious haste in his actions. 

“One moment, first,” your mother stated, pausing Seokmin in his reach for a large casserole spoon. Wonwoo clasped his hands together even tighter as she said, “we’re going to wait a few minutes more.”

You had pulled out your chair, but you didn’t sit.

“Mom, I was just fixing my makeup. That’s what you asked me to do. There’s no reason to make everyone keep waiting.” You removed the towel from her hand and laced it through the oven handlebar. “Just take a seat, okay? I’ll start making everyone’s plates if they pass them.”

She smiled at you. “Well, that’s a very sweet gesture. But it doesn’t take long to fix an unstuck lash or change a lipstick. You’ve got yourself a makeup chair. You should know better than anyone, my love.”

Wonwoo hated this—he hated the way your mother’s criticizing was buttered up nice with a practiced, insincere smile and a crooning voice. He hated the way Mingyu was pushing fingers against the knot in his stiff eyebrow like something horrible was about to happen. He hated the way your father was uncomfortably mute, sitting only with a pursed lip and folded arms in complete disinterest, like he’d rather be anywhere else. He hated that Seokmin was continuing to beam his signature-watt smile even though the air was dense enough to crush everyone flat.

You picked up Mingyu’s plate, presumably because it was the closest to you, and started slopping some hot casserole onto it. Every movement was autopilot, thoughtless, as the steam from the breached casserole rolled up into the air and shrouded you.

“I was only trying to make it perfect,” you muttered.

“Make it what?” Your mother questioned, staring you down.

“Perfe—”

“Stop mumbling, my love. I can’t hear you.”

Mingyu’s messy plate was collapsed back onto its placemat with a very loud thud, and you looked to your mother with utmost annoyance.

“I was trying to make it per-fect.”

She quirked her head. “And you needed Wonwoo to do that?”

Just as he ruminated—the universe had a fearsome penchant for whirlpooling him into the centre of everything and anything horrible, like his name was written in the water. Though, Wonwoo couldn’t say he was expecting to survive the dinner party unscathed. He tried to remember the quick spiel of rules Seokmin had relayed to him—was it better to get involved or just shut the fuck up? Wasn’t Mingyu supposed to do something? Wasn’t Seokmin supposed to keep the conversation pushing?

“Mom, please, just—I was showing him around, okay? He’s the guest. He’s never been over before. Wonwoo has nothing to do with us being a few minutes late to dinner. So just leave him be.” You removed the tinfoil from another bowl. Grabbing a wooden spoon, you started slapping creamy mashed potatoes onto Mingyu’s plate. “Trying to make something out of nothing… why can’t we just eat for once?”

“Honey, we could be eating, but you’re choosing to sulk.”

“I’m not sulking! I’m trying to help!”

“No, no, no. Mingyu’s plate looks like an animal that got squashed by a car. If you can’t even properly fix your future husband a nice-looking plate of food without pooling all your anger into it, then there’s an issue, there.” She shook her head. “A very big issue.”

Wonwoo could see your eyes burning.

Mingyu had then sighed, removing the wooden spoon that was clenched up in your hand like a weapon and slipping it back into the mashed potato bowl. The boy tugged a few times at your wrist, keeping his tired voice as soft as possible while imploring you to sit down.

“It’s alright, everything’s fine,” he said, probably to soothe himself more than anything, “all the food goes straight into my mouth, anyway. Same goes for all of us. Sit down, Her, alright? Please?”

“No,” you snapped your wrist free, “I don’t want to sit.”

In a desperate hope to experience some sort of consolidation amongst the tension, Wonwoo angled a glance toward Seokmin. When his friend wouldn’t look back and merely opted to keep biting his blistering lip, Wonwoo quite literally felt a meteor sink into his stomach.

Slicking a hand along his shiny hair, Mingyu sighed even deeper. “Please just sit. You know what’ll happen. Please.”

Again stepping away from Mingyu’s attempted touch, you began to shout, and Wonwoo’s breath froze as your voice echoed around the kitchen in a hauntingly similar manner to the quarrel at his apartment.

“I already said no!”

From the head of the table, your father pushed out his chair. His voice was oddly gruff when he spoke, like he hadn’t said a word all day and his throat was hoarse by consequence.

“Don’t shout,” was all he warned.

Your mother shook her head. “She will raise her voice when she doesn’t get what she wants.”

Wonwoo couldn’t help but feel the cut from her disappointed eyes even though she wasn’t even looking at him.

“I’m raising my voice because you’re not listening! You haven’t listened to me all fucking day! Oh my god! It’s eating me alive!”

In an instant, Mingyu was to his feet, almost trying to court you into the corner by the open window with his hands that you battered away. Wonwoo gripped onto his knees. He couldn’t choke out a damn word and Seokmin seemed to have become stiller than stone.

“Calm down,” Mingyu urged, “take some breaths.”

“You still won’t listen!”

“I’ll listen later, I promise.”

“Mingyu, do you even hear yourself?!”

“Just—you’re blowing this out of proportion again.”

“Stop trying to control me!”

“Calm down and—hey!”

With a frustrated groan, you squirmed away from Mingyu and rushed back to the dinner table where your mother continued to stare at you with such conflict in her expression, as though it was mentally taxing her to compute how such a seemingly perfect, established daughter could simultaneously appear so unraveled and incomplete before her. For a second, Wonwoo thought you might take the mashed potatoes or casserole and just completely drench the wall in their remnants.

But you didn’t do anything. Instead, you looked across the organized table—the vibrant food, sparkling drinking glasses, and expensive, unpopped bottles of alcohol—at Wonwoo, who had admittedly felt pretty useless and paralyzed throughout the ordeal. You looked straight into his eyes and he could see that you were almost physically begging him for an out. And, if he could see himself as an outsider, it was probably the same damn look he was giving you.

Wonwoo hadn’t even noticed the silence in the room.

Your father coughed, retrieving his utensils, ready to sweep the argument and very obvious hostility under the rug—put a small little bandage on a gigantic wound that had been festering for years.

“Same dance every time. Come sit, Mingyu. Let’s just eat.”

That would be nice, if Wonwoo had any appetite.

That would be nice if he wasn’t pushing out his chair, getting up from the table, keeping his gaze level and connected with yours, watching you swallow hard, hold back your tears, anxiously flex your fingers in a momentary contemplation and then—unprompted—run. Just run.

Wonwoo fled into the corridor with you right behind him, your hands kneading against his lower back as he threw open the door to the quiet, dimly lit front porch where that damp and black September night was ready to breathe him in and whisk you two away. He heard the very confused shouting from the kitchen, but there wasn’t any time to waste.

Wonwoo flew down the wood steps and splashed through a shallow puddle reflecting the moonlight, running toward the long street drifted in thinly strewn mist. He continued to run, only stopping for a brief moment to turn around and observe you quickly fling off your heels before scooping them up while everyone crowded onto the porch, yelling.

In your bare feet and a smile so pearlescent, you sprinted straight into Wonwoo’s outstretched arms, giggling aloud while he gripped your body firm and spun you in a circle that saw your dress twirl like a ribbon and your legs brush through the alive air.

Mingyu began stalking down the driveway, visibly angry, his face twisted into a snarl that might see Wonwoo getting split in his nose.

“Fuck, fuck!” You cursed, squeezing your fingers into his. He was suddenly being tugged down the empty, dark street, as though there was some invisible curtain for you to magically disappear behind. “Let’s go!”

Wonwoo didn’t mind one bit. Indefinitely, he would let you tug him over a cliff if it meant you two could fall together. The street was long and wet but the air was so fresh. Every breath he took was pure.

He didn’t know where you were going.

But he didn’t need to.

“Be careful. I don’t want you to step on something sharp.”

“I think I already did.”

Wonwoo pulled tight on your warm hand, stopping you.

“Seriously? Let me look.”

You made a slight huffing noise while sitting down on a large boulder, not caring that the surface was sandy and damp, forming a dark imprint against your olive dress. Wonwoo squatted down, looking at the dirty underside to one bare foot, and then the other, realizing there weren’t any cuts. He then used the cuff to his suit jacket, brushing off the small pieces of grit stuck into the skin in case he missed anything.

In all honesty, Wonwoo had no idea where you two were. After running far down the fancy Hillcrest Street until your family house was completely obscured into mist and memory, you led Wonwoo off onto a separate footpath by the treeline. Your fingers were slotted into each other’s. This was the first time Wonwoo had let go of your hand since running away, and the chilled air felt like prickles on his palm.

Removing the phone from his pocket to shine a light, he wasn’t at all surprised to see the missed calls and texts that had collected minute by minute from Seokmin earlier. You didn’t even have your phone. The only thing you carried was the ivory heels that Wonwoo gifted you at the start of the evening, which were still clutched in your hand.

“No blood. No lacerations. Just dirt,” Wonwoo said. “If you did cut yourself, you might not even feel it with all that adrenaline.”

You smiled at him. “Your phone a graveyard of Seokmin texts?”

He smirked, flicking through them all. “Precisely, yeah.”

Leaning backward on the boulder, you at last let go of the heels and stretched your arms out behind you, staring up at the moonlight patterning between the forest trees, their branches more barren as the autumn leaves came loose in the breeze. They fell down one by one, rustling softly whenever they hit the ground. He heard you sigh.

“Everyone there can go fuck themselves.”

Putting his phone away, Wonwoo smiled. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“That line’s a classic, coming from you.”

He attempted to sit beside you on the boulder, ignoring how uneven and rough it felt under his butt. Wherever you were along the footpath, it was perfectly hushed, almost felt hidden. The tree branches above him had framed the moon akin to a picture—except, he felt like he was the one painted, and that it was the moon who was watching him.

“I’m sorry.”

Wonwoo began to look at you rather than the night sky.

“Don’t apologize.”

You stared at him deeply, licking your lips and shaking your head. His eyes were now well adjusted to the scarce light. Just the silver through the trees was enough to read and inspect your pretty face.

“It went off the rails.”

He shrugged, staring back. “It seemed like it needed to.”

“I made you part of it.”

“I made myself part of it.”

“But, I mean—just—if you… if you never…”

Wonwoo raised his eyebrow. “If I never what? Met you?”

Puffing out a long breath, you looked down, picking at something on the boulder with a manicured nail. “… Yeah.”

“No,” Wonwoo was firm to correct, continuing to stare at you intensely even if you couldn’t face him in the turmoil of processing all the emotion and chaos, “you’re the best thing to ever happen to me.”

You lolled out your tongue, smiling and sheepish. “Blah.”

He laughed, “I mean it.”

Sighing again, you glanced back at Wonwoo, your eyes flickering along his every detail in the dewy night. Your hand reached out to his collar, making another brief, probably unnecessary adjustment to it before sliding the gentle fingers down his chest. Wonwoo’s mouth ran disgustingly dry in that moment, to the point that he was relieved when you removed your hand because you might have felt how fast his heart was beating and thought him to be quite pathetic.

Tightly swallowing, he brushed an itch off his nose and opened his mouth with a question, his gaze catching yours. Although, at the last second, he weened himself from speaking when the doubt found and froze him. A breeze tickled through his hair and Wonwoo shivered.

Your brow furrowed.

“What?” You urged him.

Wonwoo chuckled. “Fuck. Nothing.”

“Not nothing. Please. What is it?”

You were leaning closer into him, enthralling him with those earnest, gleaming eyes. He swore the nighttime wind was pushing your sweet, blossomy scent against him—was pushing you against him—because now your thigh was squished right beside his and your shoulders were warm together. Wonwoo adjusted his glasses, cleared his throat.

“Who are you?” He paused, but didn’t falter. “Actually?”

Your forehead wrinkled. “What do you mean?”

Wonwoo examined every aspect of your face that he had come to know so well over the months—the face he gradually couldn’t stop thinking about, to the point you would appear in his dreams. The face he was once completely disinterested in, because you were not someone that should have any reason to be in his life, just as he had no reason to be in yours. He felt his body move closer into your inviting warmth.

In fact, you two were so close that if he moved even an inch or few forward, then his lips might find themselves pressing to yours and his hand might settle and smooth up along your thigh to your cheek. Then, it would be impossible to leave the footpath without digging into you right then and there, kissing and tasting from you everywhere.

“What’s your name?”

It sounded like an obvious, warranted question that just about anyone would ask given the opportunity. But Wonwoo had never found himself wondering it. The things he wondered about you were much different and more character-driven, yet Wonwoo had come to realize that your name was just as important and precious and intact with your identity as everything else. He almost felt like it was the very last piece of you that he hadn’t shifted into place—his last chapter in a very long, complicated, topsy-turvy, seemingly-never-ending book.

Wonwoo thought you might laugh at him.

Tell him, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” in that very smug tone of voice he’d hear from time to time while smiling hot with your secret.

Instead, however, you just stayed silent.

His hand touched with fragile softness at the edge of your face, a thumb then stroking along the space before your ear as you swallowed.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” he whispered, hearing the leaves rustle above him, “it’s fine either—”

“No, one second.”

Wonwoo bit his tongue, opting to watch you lean back while digging fingers into the cleavage of your dress. From somewhere—he could only surmise—you had pulled out a thin tube with a cherry lid.

“Was that the lip stuff you put on?” He snorted.

“Lip liner. With a sticky patch on it right here. Figured I should keep it close. You know, in case a crumb managed to remove a single spec of it. Can't have my mother passing out from shame.”

“Clever thinking.”

“Give me your hand.”

Stretching out his fingers, he let his hand sit in your lap while you pulled the lid off with your teeth, then gripping his wrist and halfway leaning down to push the tip of the lip applicator against his palm. The sensation was cool and smooth. He felt each letter you traced, though he refused to let himself guess until you were done.

Under the moonlight, Wonwoo raised the calligraphed hand to his face, pushing up his glasses as he realized—at last—the complete gist of who you were. And with your name came the understanding of what you were, in fact, doing in his very meaningless life.

Wonwoo kept staring fondly at his hand. But, as he was staring, you suddenly reached forth and smeared your thumb across the neat letters until they were lost. A memory made, and then covered.

Only between you.

When Wonwoo looked to you again, he saw everything about you so clearly that it was almost shining. Every decision you made, every word you said, the way you walked and dressed and flourished so openly before crashing so hard—Wonwoo could snap all those pieces into place.

“Can I ask you something?” You said.

He blinked at you absentmindedly, too caught up in his daze.

“Wonwoo?”

“Sorry—yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

Pressing your knees together, the wind fluttered the fabric of your silky olive dress, and he could tell you were getting cold.

“When you were at my apartment, apologizing to me about our fight, that was the first and only time I ever heard you mention your ex-girlfriend.” Clicking your nervous feet, you looked over his shadowy face and the moonlight dancing in his glasses, “was she your first love?”

Crushing his hands tight into each other, Wonwoo bit his lip. “Yeah.”

Keeping your eyeline steady, you nodded. “Was she… like… what did you love about her?”

He almost couldn’t breathe. “Everything.”

You frowned. “Even the bad stuff?”

“Yeah…” he mumbled, “even the bad stuff.”

It was very quiet for a moment, with you simply sitting in reflection and staring into the dark silhouettes of the trees. He was sure you already knew the answer to your initial question, although he understood that hearing him say it was different than infinitely assuming about a past that wasn’t yours. Wonwoo had been in love before, and then heartbroken down into little fragments of himself that he spent months soullessly dusting around. And somehow, he was in love again—a new love that felt so much different but still fit him so right.

“Hm…” you hummed.

Wonwoo placed his hand on your bare back, beginning to sweep his fingers up and down, sensing your skin quiver in response.

“It’s late,” he whispered, nudging his knee into yours and warming your ear with his breath, “I know you don’t want to go home, and that’s alright. I get it. But we should figure something out before my phone battery dies, yeah?” He proceeded to grab your hand and squeeze it. “I don’t wanna leave a pretty girl like you out in the cold and wet.”

When you looked at him, you were pouting, exhaustion shining on your face like the dew in the moonlit leaves. “I don’t want to go anywhere without you.” Your fingers gripped his impossibly tighter.

“Do you want to stay the night at my place?”

You snuggled your head into the crook between his jaw and shoulder, wrapping your arms around his elbow to hold him close. “Yes.”

“Well, I’ve got one call,” Wonwoo sighed, fishing out his phone and squinting against its lurid light, “better hope he fucking answers.”

Vernon was confused to say the least, beckoned down a random street at near midnight when he could be in bed with the girl he was happily feeling up just half an hour ago, until a certain phone call ruined it. Wonwoo could tell from the manner in which his friend’s heavily furrowed brow remained creased when he opened the vanilla Camry’s back door, allowing you to slide in first with your heels in hand while Wonwoo followed. Tugging the door shut, Wonwoo could then only smile at poor, disgruntled, face-studded Vernon who was continuing to inquisitively stare him down through the rear-view mirror as though there was something smeared across his cheek or stuck in his hair.

Perhaps it was the patches of dampness and dirt on Wonwoo’s suit and your once very elegant dress, but it didn’t matter anymore.

“So… uh… dinner went well, then?” Vernon asked in a big huff after no one offered to break the silence, slightly turning his head to analyze the backseat using his busted, buzzing ceiling light.

Wonwoo and you were pressed together. Both unreceptive.

“Woah. Stop talking over each other, guys,” he joked dryly.

“Couldn’t have gone better,” Wonwoo decided to say.

“… M’kay…” Vernon replied, still perplexed but probably sensing it was best to save all the questions for later. “Music?”

Wonwoo nodded and turned off the ceiling light. “Sure.”

That was the beginning and end of the conversation.

Vernon pulled out from Hillcrest, keeping his elbow against the half-opened window during the drive, meanwhile you were allowing your heavy eyes to at last flutter shut. Leaning your head against Wonwoo’s broad shoulder, he noticed that your fingers were playing with his—you had gently grabbed his thumb and started rubbing his pigmented scar in absent circles, massaging into all the weathered years spent scratching himself until his anxiety would peddle away. The lip liner was still smudged against his palm in a cherry-tinted blur that he never wanted to wash off.

Smiling, Wonwoo let his cheek sit atop your hair, sensing the delightful breeze from Vernon's window flow into the backseat.

He was glad he went to the dinner party.

“Here are the keys. This copper one here is for the shop. This blue one is my apartment key. Go inside and get warmed up. I’ll join you in a few, alright? Promise… be careful on the steps,” Wonwoo instructed after opening the car door, proceeding to wrap his keychain in your fingers once you had emerged into the wind and sodden air.

With the white heels strung through your arm, you nodded at him sleepily and walked up the three little stairs to the pottery shop.

After you disappeared inside, Wonwoo turned around and opened the passenger seat door, climbing back into his friend’s Camry kept stalled but running at the curb. At first, there was silence between them. They both gazed down through the illumination of the headlights washing out the empty street. Vernon then slid his hand off the steering wheel, letting it cascade through his messy black hair instead.

“Do I even wanna know what fuckin’ happened?” His friend asked, his head clunking back against the upholstered seat.

Wonwoo blinked down at his lap. He started to smile, feeling it creep along his mouth even though he knew how suspect it looked.

Then, Wonwoo chuckled.

“We ran out.”

He finally looked to Vernon, who was staring back with highly quirked eyebrows and a dropped jaw. After exchanging an incredulous glance with each other, the two boys were laughing and ripping apart the silence. Vernon crossed his arms, sunk further down in his seat.

“Never would I picture you doin’ that…” he said through a lazy grin, “runnin’ out with another dude’s girl is insane, can’t lie.”

Wonwoo rubbed a palm along his cheek, still fucking smiling. “Think he’s gonna beat my ass?”

Vernon stared at him, deadpanned in his expression. “Is that even a question, Glasses? I’d beat your ass. I don’t even have a girl.”

“I don’t care.”

“If he beats your ass?”

“Yeah.”

Suddenly, a hand was pushing against Wonwoo’s shoulder. Vernon was smirking at him hard, teething over his bottom lip.

“Damn. She’s got you by the scruff, huh?”

Wonwoo shrugged, beginning to shake his head. “You should see the way he treats her… there’s some weird ties between him and her family. I think he’s playing the long game… getting what we can while he can and then parading her around as a trophy or something. But she's miserable with him.” Running a thumb along his knuckles, Wonwoo grinned. “He can beat my ass if he wants to.”

Vernon clicked his tongue. “Well, just to float the idea, I’m s—”

“No,” quickly laughing away his friend’s questionable response, Wonwoo merely rubbed under his glasses and refused. “I’m not trying to get locked away for first degree murder. And neither are you.”

“I’m just tryin’ to say I’ve got you is all,” Vernon said with his usual nonchalance, as laid back as an ironing board, “but—you’re right. Save that for when I’m an actual drug lord. He’s not gettin’ anything from me. Not even a Flintstone gummy.”

“Well, I appreciate the favour. Sorry to interrupt.”

“Nah, I could tell it was somethin’ important,” Vernon excused, giving Wonwoo a comfortable smile, “s’not like I can’t ever get brain again. Your situation seemed like a once-in-a-lifetime thing.”

Looking back at the pottery shop and the single light within keeping everything aglow, Wonwoo wondered if you made it into his apartment okay. He was worried about leaving you on your own for too long, especially when taking into consideration the extremities of the dinner party (that hadn’t really been a dinner or a party when he thought about it). Rolling out his shoulders, he turned to Vernon again.

“She needs to eat something. I’ll order food. You want any?”

Vernon scrunched his face. “What—you’re askin’ me to come inside with you two? I’m not on real good terms with her, y’know that, right? Just ‘cause she’s fuckin’ with you doesn’t mean that for me."

“It won’t be like that.”

“How do y’know? You guys gossip about me?”

Wonwoo smiled, pushing up his glasses. “I just know.”

Vernon paused to think for a moment, his hand returned back to the steering wheel while sharp teeth pulled at the skin along his bottom lip. With just the edge to his face streaked in yellow light from the outside street lamp, it was difficult to interpret his mindset, although Wonwoo knew it was a done deal when Vernon removed the glittering keys from the ignition and the rumbling car at last went silent along the empty midnight street.

Besides, Wonwoo would pay for it all, anyway.

Vernon quietly trailed behind Wonwoo into the apartment, the front door left unlocked and the living area bathed by the warm-coloured light fixture but absent of your presence. His friend placed the car keys onto the coffee table with an uncharacteristic softness, and Wonwoo figured that Vernon was probably still feeling uncertain about spending time with you—which made sense—the last time Vernon had spoken to you (spoken probably wasn’t an accurate word) was the confrontation at the gas station where he feared you might light his hair on fire.

Though, when Wonwoo poked open his ajar bedroom door, he found you standing near his desk, peering across the walled corkboard and all its pinned photos from his life back in South Korea.

He flicked on the light, pulling out the deep blue darkness from the air, and smiled at you.

“Everything alright?”

With your arms folded, you seemed smaller than usual. “Yeah—sorry that I came in here without permission.”

He was quick to shake his head. “No big deal—you don’t need permission.”

You were silent for a few seconds, grinning to yourself, and then gestured to one of the glossy developed photos stuck to the cork.

“That’s Bohyuk?”

Wonwoo nodded, “yeah.”

He realized you hadn’t spent much time in his room over the months that you’d known each other. For the most part, Wonwoo would always be at your apartment, or some unique location necessary to your story-telling when he was still helping with the book. At one point it would have perturbed him to see you gazing along the finer details of his room so curiously. Now, however, he welcomed it.

Stuffing hands into his pockets, Wonwoo let you observe the corkboard, watching you with a very amorous, kind smile that he hadn’t even processed until his cheeks started flaring with a heated ache.

“Wonwoo?”

“Yeah?”

“… I’m hungry.”

Unable to flatten out his smile, Wonwoo walked over to you and smoothed his hand along the side of your face, then caressing his thumb underneath your twinkling eye and against your cheekbone.

“I know,” he murmured, “I’ll order food.”

“Chinese?”

“If that’s what you want, then I’ll make it happen.”

Delighted to see your expression brighten, Wonwoo at last removed his hand from your skin. He knew he shouldn’t touch you or look so fucking pathetically in-love into your eyes, but he didn’t care.

“Do you think I can shower? I want to take all this makeup off.”

“Yeah, of course. Go for—”

Suddenly, from the living room, there was a loud bang that distinctly sounded like Vernon plowing straight into something heavy.

“What was that?” You asked, covering your mouth.

Wonwoo chuckled, “Vernon. Hey—you alright?!”

“All good!!” His friend shouted back. “Just—how ‘bout don’t keep your fuckin’ weights right beside the couch, yeah? Almost broke my fuckin’ foot!”

“Oops.” Wonwoo shrugged very unapologetically, staring into your amused eyes and giggling together. “He’s gonna eat with us… he did a big favour coming down to get us and everything, you know?”

“That’s okay,” you answered, “I just want to shower.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll give you the room. Wear whatever you want. I’ll just take the keys so I can lock up downstairs.” He was nearly on his way out, but stopped abruptly. “Should we… uh… should I at least text Seokmin and tell him you’re safe? I mean, just in case—”

“Sure,” the response was quick and muttered with little care, “I’m sure they can surmise where I am, but you can do that, too.”

“Yeah, okay… well, I’ll leave you be. Food will probably be here by the time you’re out and dried off. I’ll make sure it doesn’t get cold.”

Finally, Wonwoo clicked his bedroom door shut. Keys in hand, he re-entered the living room to find Vernon plumped down on the couch with a pillow in his lap, all spread out like he owned the damn place, texting away on his phone. Wonwoo laughed as he walked by.

“Writing out your apology letter?”

“Somethin’ like that…” his friend mumbled, clearly more focused on his pixeled screen, “I might not be gettin’ that head after all.”

“Life’s all about sacrifices,” Wonwoo sighed while opening the front door, pausing briefly to mention, “we’re getting Chinese food by the way. She didn’t care that you’re staying. Anything you want?”

Vernon smiled while keeping his eyes trained to the phone. “No way. That’s a relief… n’yeah—I like the chicken balls with the sweet and sour sauce. Pork-fried rice is good, too. I’m not picky.”

“Noted.”

“So—wait—I have to ask, and you can tell me to fuck off if you want, but how did you become a drug dealer? Like, at what point did you even realize that was your… I don’t know… calling?”

Sitting cross-legged on the carpet with a carton of noodles in hand and a napkin splayed upon your bare lap, pointed chopsticks were being angled at Vernon from across the coffee table. He took a sip from his can of bright red soda, placing it back onto the coaster with a thud.

“Uh, fuck,” Vernon coughed, smiling subtly while beginning to pick through his own personal container of pork-fried rice, “well, I can answer it, I guess… do I get to ask a question in return?”

You grabbed the napkin, wiping off the sauce from your mouth.

“I’ll allow it.”

“Fair enough,” his friend answered.

Wonwoo had heard the story only once before during a smoke session on the apartment rooftop, though he doubted Vernon would trudge through all the details. Despite seeming like an open book who couldn't care less, there really were some sweet spots he didn’t like having prodded. Nonetheless, Wonwoo thought it was a good, earnest opening between the two of you, so he opted to stay silent while pulling the meat off his ribs with his teeth.

“Uh, I was a stubborn kid, let’s say that. Tried my hand at school but I could never get the hang of it. Could never keep a job long. My parents caught me usin’ once, weed and ecstasy, and they said if it happened again, I’m out.” Vernon fed himself another forkful of rice, taking a moment to swallow while you listened intently. “I thought I could keep it straight, but no luck. Yeah. They had no tolerance for it. I was out the next day. My mom was the most pissed, but she tries to reach out every now and then. I dunno... I feel done with ‘em, if I'm bein' honest. I’ve got somethin’ that works so I just run with it. The money speaks for itself so I can’t complain.”

As Wonwoo expected, it was the heavily watered-down version of everything that happened between Vernon and his family, however, it was enough to paint the picture. Taking a moment to slurp up some spicy noodles, you soon set the carton down and patted along your gradually swelling lips. The crumpled napkin was placed on the table.

“Yeah, I bet the money speaks for itself. You’ve got a bunch of stupidly rich university students on your roster. They go through just about everything they can get their hands on. It’s fucking insane.”

Vernon propped his elbows onto his knees, gathering more rice onto the plastic white fork while smirking at you knowingly.

“You’ve got that coke sniff, y’know?”

Wonwoo widened his eyes at Vernon, suspecting a wildfire.

But you merely shrugged, quite honest in your response.

“I know. I did it once with Mingyu, some friends, and I thought never again…” with a sigh, you massaged at your shoulder, staring off into a random spot that Wonwoo couldn’t pinpoint. “Mingyu was getting it for me at almost every party we went to. I don’t know. I thought, since he paid for it, since it’s right here, I might as well do it.”

Slipping the fork out from his mouth, Vernon grinned. “Coked-up sex is crazy. Especially when you've got the right cut. It hits.”

“Vernon,” Wonwoo immediately chirped at him while setting down his emptied container of food, his voice sounding particularly stern, like he was scolding a child for making an ignorant comment.

“What?” His friend laughed, raking a tattooed hand through his loose and shiny black hair. “It is. Feels like you’re on another planet.”

“Yeah, whatever. Just think a little before you speak, please.”

Again, Wonwoo was surprised to see your nonchalance.

“It’s okay. I know what you’re saying. I think… like… Mingyu only wanted me to have it for that reason—I’m making it sound like some non-consensual, pressured shit—it’s not,” you muttered, waving around your hand in dismissal, “I just… the thing is I don’t like how I feel afterward. But it was never enough for me to say that I didn’t want it. I liked that it would take me out of my head for a bit. My mind would stop running on overdrive.” Then, you pulled your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. “The last time I did anything like that was the party at Seungcheol’s, though.”

Whenever the party was mentioned, Wonwoo would always bite down on his lip and tightly curl his fingers. He had discussed it with you in the past, beyond the summer evening spent at your apartment with a red velvet cupcake in between you and a painful, aching hug he could still feel all the warmth and regret to.

There were long, long phone conversations. And somewhere, stuffed in his mind, was the memory of you and Mingyu behind the door as he listened to every little sound—skin hitting skin, the desperation in your voice, wood smacking the wall.

“Yeah, is what it is,” Vernon replied. He pulled a toothpick out from his pocket and stuck it in his mouth. “Do I get my question now?”

“Uh… sure.”

Wonwoo had almost missed you staring at him. There was a concernedness to it, but when he smiled back you seemed to breathe.

“Still think I’m a gigantic fuckin’ tool?”

Immediately, you started laughing. Wonwoo followed suit, on the brink of embarrassingly blowing out the soda he just sipped from in a big spray. He was actually quite relived that Vernon had picked a more light-hearted question rather than something intimate. His friend swirled the toothpick around with his tongue, continuing to smirk in confidence.

“Giggle away. I’m curious, is all.”

Kissing your teeth, you held Vernon’s coppery, honey eyes. “You are a tool, one-hundred percent… but, I think you know that about yourself. And, um, you’re a good friend to Wonwoo. So… I guess my opinions about you have shifted. Appearances are deceiving.”

Pleased with your candour, Vernon grabbed his drink, leaned against the recliner behind him, and nodded his head approvingly.

“That tickles my fancy well enough.”

"Don't you think you'll want to settle down eventually?" You asked.

Vernon scrunched his eyebrow. "What?"

"Like, what if you find a girl. A really nice girl who could change your perspective. Do you think you'd want to settle down?"

With a quick laugh, Vernon shook his head. "Nice girls don't use half their last pay check to buy drugs. It's business at the end of the day."

Seeming skeptical, your eyes narrowed. "Right..."

"Vernon has his mind set on very specific things," Wonwoo smiled.

Straightening out the large shirt that draped around your frame—another garment belonging to Wonwoo that you had pulled from his dresser—you glanced between each boy and smiled.

“So... now I'm curious. How did this unlikely pairing meet?”

As Vernon was busy with navigating his toothpick, Wonwoo decided to tell the story, prompting him to sit up straight and alleviate his spine from being crooked against the hard bottom of the couch.

“I was convinced into attending a little New Year’s Eve party thing by these guys I don’t talk to anymore. Spent about half an hour wandering the halls, doing aimless laps, hating every second of it, debating if I should just take off. Not like anyone would notice. Then I bump into this guy—” Wonwoo nodded at Vernon, “—who was all tattooed and pierced up with this girl all over him. She was on the kitchen counter, one hand gripping his bicep while she was laying hickies to his fucking neck from behind.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Who was that?”

Wonwoo shrugged. “Fuck if I know. Vernon?”

“Uh—I don’t know if I remember, honestly. She used to buy poppers off me like every damn week so I called her Poppy. That’s not her real name, though. She’s long gone. Moved cities months ago.”

“Yeah, well, he told me I looked like a lost ghost. Asked if I wanted a swisher. I agreed for some reason, and we went out back.”

Brushing a hand down your neck, you giggled. “A lost ghost?”

Vernon nodded, folding his arms.

“Yeah. Glasses always used to have that look to him. Dead man walkin’ kinda thing. Just wanderin’ around with no purpose.”

Wonwoo hoarsely chuckled at his friend, “jeez—thanks.”

“You can’t deny it.”

“I know. But to be fair, I was fucking going through something.”

“Mmhm, that’s why I took you under my wing,” Vernon sang, his eyes swimming with their usual gold-tinted mischief, “I could just tell you needed some guidance. Gave him the swisher of eternal friendship.”

“Is that what you call it?” Wonwoo huffed sarcastically.

“I call it many different things.”

You smiled sweetly at Wonwoo while your fingers played with the long cuff on the borrowed t-shirt. “Whatever it was, I guess it turned into something pretty good... and, Vernon, I am sorry for how I acted at the gas station. There was just a lot going through my mind.”

True to his casual, untroubled nature, Vernon swung his head dismissively while letting an arm collapse across his knee, the toothpick now in his hand and being spun between his ringed fingers. “No, you’re good. Don't worry 'bout it. It was just ‘cause you care n' shit. I get that.” Quirking his expression in an endearing manner, he proceeded to flash you a solid grin. “You didn’t singe my hair off so, I’ve got no grudge.”

You laughed, “I wouldn’t have actually done anything to you.”

“Eh, it’s hard to tell, isn’t it?” Vernon answered in a smirk.

Reaching for your drink, you sipped from it and then snuggled the can between your criss-crossed legs. Wonwoo examined that very intriguing smile opening its way across your mouth like a spring blossom, wanting to know the exact moment that sparked it.

A quiet pause passed, and then you were sighing with bliss behind it—that relaxed kind of sigh when everything seemed to click.

“It’s nice hanging out with you guys…” you murmured, staring across the coffee table scattered with ripped-open sauce packets, empty cardboard containers, wood chopsticks, and unfurling napkins. “It just feels lighter… I don’t know… making friends has always been so tough for me. The right friends, I mean. Friends that actually feel like friends.”

Wonwoo pinched his lip in his teeth.

“It can take a while before you hit the right people.”

Vernon shrugged, concealing a burp that had him rubbing down his broad chest. “If we’re all friends, then we’ve gotta be the weirdest fuckin’ collaboration of people I’ve ever seen.”

You snickered into your hands while Wonwoo lounged an elbow onto the couch to help prop up his head, rolling his eyes toward Vernon.

Though, Wonwoo could easily understand what Vernon was getting at. You, a popular and high-fashion campus honorary who at first glance seemed to have very little patience for anyone but yourself, followed by the guttural and unbothered drug dealer without a care in the world, beside an anxiety-ridden hermit just trying to exist and somehow not turn to a puddle in the process. Vernon was right—it was a strange grouping of people suckled together despite their completely different paths and choices. Somewhere, somehow, though, there was a connection.

Like a fated string weaving everything into a knot.

Since Wonwoo had already ordered the Chinese food fairly late, it was quite difficult to find an ice cream place in the area that was open past midnight. Vernon and his sudden craving for cookie dough had offered the idea, and you easily caved, which led Wonwoo on a spiral of searching through his phone. Unfortunately, the only ice cream they could order was vanilla soft-serve cones from a twenty-four-hour fast-food chain which arrived to his apartment dripping. But no one really cared, and Wonwoo threw on the television for some background noise.

The conversations lasted until about two in the morning.

Vernon had not so gracefully taken up the entire couch, his face shoved into the embroidered pillow, an arm left dangling limp over the edge, and a smear of soft-serve dried to his cheek. You and Wonwoo were sitting side by side on the floor, a blanket spread around your shoulders with your knee spilled onto his lap, attempting to finish up the random movie that he couldn’t even remember playing. When the credits began rolling, it took him a moment to process that the drama flick was even over. Your head was tucked against his shoulder, eyes shut but still twitching against the dull, meek light flooding from the screen.

He placed his hand on your bare thigh, fingers stretching eager over the warm and soft skin to carefully grip it and give you a squeeze.

Then, with his lips feathering at your forehead, he mumbled your name to get you awake. Wonwoo did feel somewhat guilty about stirring you, but he’d rather you have a comfortable sleep on his bed than the living room floor. He continued to rub your thigh nice and slow, watching your eyelids flicker open and squint at him through the dark room. There was a shallow grin that you gave him, full of contentment.

“You’re all fuzzy…” you yawned, proceeding to rub at your eye.

“It’s late,” he answered quietly, almost whispering, “I think I should get you to bed. You’ll be much comfier in my room.”

“Is Vernon asleep?”

“Mmhm.”

Turning back to glance at the couch, you yawned again.

“… Oh… so, we’re going to your room?”

“Yeah… c’mon, I’ll help you up.”

Wonwoo didn’t turn on the light in his bedroom since there was already a small separation in the curtains, allowing just the right amount of moonlight through to outline everything around him in bluish-silver.

You sat down on his bed, letting your fingers travel along the sheets to feel all the slight rumples and divots, only to look up at Wonwoo with a tired smile and sincere, blinking, gorgeous eyes that felt akin to a gut punch. As much as he wanted it—needed it—Wonwoo knew that he couldn’t sleep next to you. He couldn’t trust himself. He couldn’t fathom having you so fucking close in the intimate, cocooning darkness and not being able to squeeze his cold hands along every perfect part of you.

But you weren’t making it easy.

In fact, you were making it excruciatingly hard.

“Are you not going to lie down with me?”

Wonwoo felt the twig snap in his chest. You wouldn’t stop staring up at him through those wispy eyelashes and nibbling on your lip.

“I’ve got the recliner in the living room…” he could hardly choke it out. There was so much heat in his body that he could melt.

“Why sleep there? The bed is big enough.”

His deep voice twisted into a laugh he couldn’t avoid. “Yeah, the bed’s not the issue… uh, it’s fine, though. The recliner’s nice.”

He took a step back, but then you had grabbed his wrist.

“Wonwoo,” you said his name in a tender, breathy, desperate sort of way that sent his heart shattering to his feet, your eyes glistening through the sparse light like two comets, “I don’t want to sleep alone.”

Fuck—it was all he could think—fuck, fuck, fuck.

With your fingers still wrapped to his wrist, Wonwoo pushed his hand gently against the side of your face. He was closer to you now, applying a soft pressure to angle your head up at him. You were breathing thick per every second that passed, holding his eye contact without one fracture, smiling arch. Wonwoo wanted to drink you.

Leaning into his palm, you swallowed and squeaked, “please?”

His thumb was on your chin. Right under your bottom lip.

“Fuck, you can't look at me like that…” Wonwoo rasped in a low, hushed voice that was struggling not to crack.

Truly, he meant it.

Your hand slid further along his wrist, almost tickling him.

“Ple—”

Immediately, Wonwoo pressed his thumb past your bottom lip and onto the ridge of your lower teeth, stifling that dangerous little word before it could hit his ear the wrong way and render him spineless.

“No more, okay?” He murmured, slowly sliding the digit from your warm, damp mouth, feigning obliviousness to your thighs clamping together and the manner in which your fingernails dug at his skin.

There was another moment of intense, humid silence while he wiped the wetness against the edge of your jaw.

“Seriously,” Wonwoo firmed up his voice, “no more.”

When you at last seemed compliant, nodding, Wonwoo let his hand drift from your heated-up face. You stayed in place, quiet as ever, on the edge of his bed, watching him disappear through the doorway.

As he collapsed onto the recliner and pulled the blanket once pooled on the floor over his body, Wonwoo didn’t even bother shutting his eyes or removing his glasses. Instead, he stared up at the popcorn ceiling, letting his heart thump, thump, thump and his mind wander until he naturally couldn’t fight the imminent feeling of sleep.

It certainly didn’t help that you had wandered into his dreams—dreams that he should probably keep to himself, warped fully by desire and longing.

—END OF PART FIVE.

[smashhed]

|| The King's Gambit ||

🔞 Sukuna x Y/N Minors DNI| TRIGGER WARNING 🔞

Plot: Sukuna in a human world as a mafia boss so things will surely get steamy . Can you handle it ?

Tags- Breast sucking ,killing, mafia ,lust ,revenge ,sex ,plot , fights , gun , gore, action

NOTE : Hey readers,

I just wanted to drop a quick note to let you know that I’m new to the smut genre. Previously, I’ve been writing action fiction novels on other platforms, and now I’m trying to blend some of that action-packed excitement into my new work here. I hope you enjoy the mix of intense action and steamy scenes!

For the love of all things holy, if you're a minor reading this, stop right now. This content is meant for adults only, and I swear to god, if I find out you're reading this, and complaining and crying about it , I'm gonna beat your ass. Stay safe and read responsibly! Divider Credit : @cafekitsune

The city was like a giant maze of metal and glass, full of dark corners and secrets. In the middle of all this, Sukuna, a feared mafia boss, was in charge. His name alone was enough to scare people, and he had a reputation for being tough and powerful.

Tonight, though, things were going to get interesting.

Y/N loved adventure. Her job as a reporter had taken her to some risky places, and this city was no exception. She had heard rumors about Sukuna, the mysterious mafia leader, and she was curious. Wanting to find out more and hoping for a big story, she followed clues that seemed to lead to where he was.

As Y/N navigated the dimly lit streets, her heart pounded with a mix of fear and excitement. She knew this was dangerous, but the potential reward was too tempting to ignore.

Sukuna was sitting in his fancy office high up in a skyscraper, far above the busy, dirty streets of the city. The office was decorated with expensive furniture, making it look very different from the rough streets below. He was looking through some reports when one of his guys came in, looking nervous.

"Boss, we found someone snooping around the warehouse area. What should we do?" the man asked, his voice shaking a bit.

Sukuna's expression turned serious. "Who's brave enough to mess around in my area?" "It's a woman, boss. She seems determined, like some sort of journalist," the man replied, a hint of uncertainty in his tone.

Sukuna's interest was piqued. "Bring her to me. But make sure she's unharmed."

Y/N didn’t expect to be caught so quickly. Suddenly, a few well-dressed but scary-looking men surrounded her. Before she knew it, they grabbed her.

"Let me go!" she demanded, trying to break free.

"The boss wants to see you," one of them told her without any emotion.

They brought her to Sukuna's office. As she was pushed inside, her breath caught in her throat. The man behind the desk was as intimidating as the stories said. His presence filled the room, and his eyes seemed to see right through her.. His penetrating gaze seemed to strip away her defenses, leaving her feeling exposed and vulnerable.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here ?" Sukuna's voice was smooth as silk, yet laced with a subtle threat. "A journalist, nosing around where she shouldn't be."

Y/N squared her shoulders, meeting Sukuna's intense stare with defiance. "I'm Y/N. And I'm here for a story."

Sukuna leaned back, a small smirk appearing on his face. "A story, is it? You must be quite brave or quite foolish to come here for that."

"Perhaps," Y/N replied, her tone unwavering despite the flutter of nerves in her stomach.

Sukuna's eyes gleamed with amusement. He admired her courage, even as he contemplated the implications of her intrusion. "Very well, Y/N. I'll entertain your request for a story. But know that it comes with a price."

Y/N frowned, her curiosity piqued. "What sort of price are we talking about?"

Sukuna leaned forward, his gaze piercing. "You want a story? Then you'll have to play by my rules. You'll have exclusive access to my world, but in return, you'll owe me a debt—one that I will call upon when the time is right."

Y/N hesitated, weighing the risks against the potential reward. But in the end, her thirst for a groundbreaking story outweighed her apprehension. With a nod, she accepted Sukuna's terms, knowing that delving into his world would be a dangerous game—one where the stakes were higher than she could have ever imagined.

Y/N hesitated. It was a dangerous proposition, but the opportunity was too good to pass up. " Fine. I agree."

Sukuna's smile widened. "Good. Let the games begin."

That night, Y/N was given a room in Sukuna's mansion. It was luxurious, but she couldn't shake the feeling of being a prisoner. She lay in bed, thinking about the man she had just met. There was something magnetic about him, something that drew her in despite the danger.

Meanwhile, Sukuna sat in his study, thinking about Y/N. She was different from anyone he had ever met. Fearless, determined, and undeniably attractive. He was intrigued by her, and that was a feeling he wasn't used to.

The next few days were a whirlwind. Y/N followed Sukuna as he conducted his business. She saw the darker side of his world, but also moments of unexpected kindness. He was a complex man, and the more she learned about him, the more fascinated she became.

One evening, after a particularly tense meeting with a rival gang, Sukuna and Y/N found themselves alone in his office.

"You handled that well," Y/N said, breaking the silence.

Sukuna looked at her, his eyes intense. "You surprise me, Y/N. Most people would be terrified in your position."

"I'm not most people," she replied, meeting his gaze.

Sukuna stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. "No, you're not."

There was a charged silence between them. Y/N's heart raced as Sukuna reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

" You should be careful," he murmured, his voice low. "Playing with fire can get you burned."

Y/N's breath hitched. "Maybe I like the heat."

Sukuna's eyes darkened with desire. "You're playing a dangerous game, Y/N."

"And you're enjoying every minute of it," she shot back.

Sukuna's lips curved into a predatory smile. "Maybe I am."

Over the next few days, the tension between Sukuna and Y/N grew. They were like two magnets, drawn together despite the danger. Sukuna was captivated by Y/N's spirit, and she was drawn to his raw power.

One night, Sukuna took Y/N to a high-end club. It was a place where deals were made and alliances formed. As they entered, all eyes were on them. Y/N felt a thrill of excitement and danger.

They danced, the music pulsing around them. Sukuna's hands were possessive on her waist, and Y/N felt a shiver of anticipation. She looked up at him, their faces inches apart.

"This is your world," she said softly. "But it feels like we're in our own little universe."

Sukuna's grip tightened. "As long as you're with me, you're part of it."

Y/N leaned in, her lips brushing his ear. "Then let's make it ours."

Sukuna pulled her closer, their bodies moving in perfect sync. The heat between them was undeniable, and Y/N felt like she was on fire.

Just as they were lost in each other, chaos erupted. Gunshots rang out, and the crowd panicked. Sukuna immediately shielded Y/N, his eyes scanning the room for threats.

"Stay close to me," he ordered, his voice deadly calm.

Y/N nodded, her heart pounding with fear and adrenaline. They moved through the chaos, Sukuna taking down attackers with ruthless efficiency.

When a man with a gun emerged from the shadows, aiming directly at them, Sukuna's response was lightning-fast. He quickly pushed Y/N behind a pillar for safety, then charged the gunman. As he closed the distance, he ducked under a sloppy shot, rolled forward, and sprang up right in front of the attacker. Using his forearm, he blocked another attempted shot and twisted the gunman's arm sharply, forcing him to drop the weapon. With a swift uppercut, Sukuna knocked the gunman out cold.

Another attacker charged at Sukuna, wielding a knife. Sukuna sidestepped, grabbing the attacker's wrist, and delivered a low kick to the assailant’s knee, destabilizing him. As the man stumbled, Sukuna used his grip on the wrist to flip the attacker over his shoulder, sending him crashing to the ground. The knife skittered across the floor, and Sukuna quickly kicked it into a corner.

Y/N, from behind the pillar, watched Sukuna with a mix of fear and awe. His movements were precise and calculated, his expression focused and unyielding.

More attackers rushed towards Sukuna, but he was ready. He swiftly picked up the dropped gun and switched to defensive stance. He fired several controlled shots, each aimed with deadly precision, incapacitating his assailants one by one. The sharp reports of the gun echoed through the club, overshadowing the chaotic screams around them.

Sukuna’s agility and combat prowess were on full display as he ducked a wild swing from another attacker, countered with a jab to the throat, followed by a knee to the stomach, and a powerful palm strike to the chest that sent the man flying backward.

As the last of the attackers fell, the intensity in Sukuna’s eyes faded slightly. He turned back to Y/N, his posture relaxing as he walked over to her.

"Are you okay?" he asked gently, his tone shifting from the commanding fierceness of battle to concerned softness.

Y/N nodded, her voice shaky from adrenaline. " Yes, I’m okay, thanks to you. That was… incredible."

Sukuna cracked a small, confident smile. "Glad to hear that. Stay close to me, it’s not over until we’re out of here."

Back at the mansion, Sukuna and Y/N tended to their wounds. The danger they had just faced brought them even closer.

"Sukuna," Y/N said quietly, breaking the silence. "Why did you bring me into your world?"

Sukuna looked at her, his expression unreadable. "At first, it was curiosity. But now... it's more than that."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean?"

Sukuna took a deep breath. "I've never met anyone like you, Y/N. You challenge me, make me feel things I haven't felt in a long time."

Y/N's eyes softened. " I feel the same way, Sukuna. "

He reached out, taking her hand in his. "This is dangerous, you know that, right?"

Y/N nodded. "I don't care. I'm not afraid."

As their conversation simmered with tension, Sukuna's gaze darkened with desire. "You want to play with danger, Y/N?" he murmured huskily, his voice dripping with seduction. Y/N's pulse quickened as she met his gaze head-on. " I'm not afraid to explore every inch of you," she whispered, her words a challenge. Sukuna smirked, his dominant aura filling the room.

"I want to possess every inch of you, Y/N," he murmured, his voice laced with desire.

Y/N's breath hitched at his words, her body already craving his touch. "Then take me, Sukuna," she whispered, her voice thick with longing. With a growl, Sukuna claimed her lips in a fierce kiss,

Sukuna's eyes darkened with raw desire as he pinned Y/N against the wall, his body pressed flush against hers. " You're mine, Y/N, " he growled, his voice dripping with possessiveness. Y/N gasped at the intensity in his gaze, feeling a rush of heat pooling between her legs. "Claim me, Sukuna," she pleaded, her voice barely a whisper. With a predatory smirk, Sukuna trailed kisses along her neck, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. "I'll make you mine in every way," he vowed, his hands exploring her body with a hunger that sent shivers down her spine .

Sukuna's lips trailed along Y/N's neck, his tongue flicking out to taste her like a predator savoring its prey. Y/N's breath caught in her throat as she surrendered to his dominance, her body arching against his with a desperate need. "You're mine, Y/N," Sukuna growled possessively, his voice sending shivers down her spine. "And tonight, I'm going to show you just how much you belong to me." With a hungry moan, Y/N nodded, her desire burning like wildfire

With a wicked grin, Sukuna's fingers trailed down Y/N's body until they reached her throbbing clit. "You like it when I tease you, don't you, Y/N?" he purred, his voice laced with dominance. Y/N whimpered in response, her hips instinctively pressing against his hand, craving more of his touch. "Please, Sukuna," she begged, her voice thick with desire. Sukuna's smirk widened as he circled her clit with expert precision, driving her to the edge of madness with each teasing touch. " You're so beautiful when you're desperate for me," he whispered, his breath hot against her skin.

Sukuna suddenly stopped, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he looked at Y/N teasingly. "Do you want more, Y/N?" he taunted, his voice dripping with dominance. Y/N's breath hitched as she stared up at him, her body throbbing with need. "Please, Sukuna," she begged, her voice a desperate plea. Sukuna smirked, reveling in her desperation before resuming his ministrations with renewed vigor. "You have to earn it, Y/N," he murmured, his voice low and commanding.

Sukuna's smirk widened as he gazed down at Y/N, his dominance radiating from every inch of his being. " If you want more, Y/N, you'll have to show me how much you want it," he teased, his voice thick with desire. Y/N's heart raced at his command, her need for him burning hotter than ever. "I'll show you, Sukuna," she whispered, her voice trembling with anticipation. With a wicked grin, Sukuna leaned back, his cock throbbing with anticipation as Y/N eagerly took him into her mouth, sucking him like she meant it

Sukuna watched with smug satisfaction as Y/N took him into her mouth like a hungry prey, her lips wrapping around him with eager determination. "That's it, Y/N," he groaned, his voice thick with pleasure. "Show me how much you crave me." Y/N moaned around him, the vibrations sending waves of ecstasy coursing through Sukuna's body. "You're mine to devour, Y/N," he growled, his hands tangling in her hair as he guided her movements.

Sukuna's eyes widened with surprise as Y/N suddenly deepthroated him, her mouth engulfing him with a hunger that left him breathless. "Fuck, Y/N," he gasped, his voice strained with pleasure. "You're even more skilled than I thought." Y/N's eyes sparkled with mischief as she continued, her movements relentless as she took him deeper and deeper. "You like that, Sukuna?" she teased, her voice husky with desire. Sukuna could only nod in response, his mind consumed by the overwhelming sensation of her mouth around him

Sukuna's fingers found their way to Y/N's throbbing clit as she deepthroated him, his touch sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her body. "You like it when I take control, don't you, Y/N?" he murmured, his voice thick with dominance. Y/N moaned around him, her hips bucking against his hand as she surrendered to his touch. "Yes, Sukuna," she gasped, her voice muffled by his length. Sukuna smirked, relishing in the power he held over her as he continued to pleasure her without mercy

With a primal growl, Sukuna seized control, flipping Y/N onto her back as he positioned himself between her thighs. "You're mine to claim, Y/N," he declared, his voice dripping with dominance. Y/N's breath hitched with anticipation as she felt him enter her, his length filling her like never before. "Yes, Sukuna," she moaned, her voice a mix of pleasure and surrender Sukuna's throbbing cock plunged into Y/N's wet pussy, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through her body. "Oh, Sukuna," she moaned, her voice a symphony of ecstasy as he pounded her relentlessly. Sukuna's primal growls filled the room as he claimed her as his own, their bodies moving in perfect harmony. "You like it when I fuck you like this, don't you, Y/N?" he grunted, his voice thick with desire. Y/N could only nod in response, her senses overwhelmed by the intensity of their passion. 

Sukuna's hands eagerly seized Y/N's breasts, and with a swift, decisive motion, he tore apart her top, revealing her pert nipples to his hungry gaze. Y/N's breath caught in her throat as he took her sensitive peaks into his mouth, his lips and tongue working wonders on her flesh, sending electrifying waves of pleasure coursing through her entire being. With each suck and nibble, she felt herself unraveling under his skilled ministrations, her body responding instinctively to his every touch.

"Oh, Sukuna," Y/N moaned, her back arching in pleasure as she surrendered herself to the overwhelming sensations washing over her. Her fingers clawed at his back, urging him closer as she sought to immerse herself fully in the ecstasy of their shared passion. Sukuna groaned in satisfaction, his hunger for her growing with each passing moment, his dominance radiating from every fiber of his being.

"You're mine, Y/N," Sukuna declared, his voice thick with possessiveness as he claimed her with each fervent kiss and caress. Y/N could do nothing but whimper in response, completely lost in the intensity of their connection.

Sukuna shifted Y/N onto her back, his eyes ablaze with desire. "You ready for more, baby?" he growled, his voice thick with lust. Y/N nodded eagerly, her breath coming in short gasps as she braced herself for his next move.

With a primal grunt, Sukuna thrust into her once again, his cock filling her completely. "Oh god, yes!" Y/N cried out, her voice filled with ecstasy as she surrendered to the pleasure of his powerful thrusts. Sukuna's lips crashed down on hers, his kisses hot and urgent as they lost themselves in the heat of the moment.

Their bodies moved together in a frenzied rhythm, each thrust driving them both closer to the edge. "You feel so good, Y/N," Sukuna moaned, his voice rough with desire. Y/N's nails dug into his back, her cries of pleasure mingling with his 

Sukuna's voice was a low, husky whisper against Y/N's ear as he spoke, "I want to make you cum, baby. Let me feel you unravel around me." Y/N's breath hitched at his words, her body quivering with anticipation.

"Please, Sukuna," she begged, her voice dripping with need. "Make me cum hard."

With a predatory grin, Sukuna increased the pace of his thrusts, driving her closer to the edge with each powerful movement. "You're so close, Y/N," he murmured, his hot breath sending shivers down her spine. "Let go for me."

Y/N's fingers clenched the sheets as she surrendered to the pleasure building inside her, her cries of ecstasy filling the room as she finally reached the peak of her pleasure. "Yes, Sukuna, yes!" she screamed, her body convulsing with the force of her release.

Sukuna's cock throbbed with anticipation as Y/N reached the pinnacle of her pleasure, her walls gripping him tightly as she came hard. "Fuck, baby, you're so tight," he groaned, feeling her hot juices coating his dick. With a primal roar, he released himself deep inside her, filling her pussy with his hot, sticky cum.

But Sukuna wasn't satisfied yet. His hunger for her was insatiable, and with a predatory gleam in his eyes, he continued to pound into her relentlessly. "You like that, don't you, Y/N? You want more of my cock?" he growled, his voice dripping with lust.

Y/N could only whimper in response, her body writhing beneath him as she begged for more. With each powerful thrust, Sukuna felt himself getting closer and closer to the edge once again. "I'm gonna cum inside you again, baby," he grunted, his voice thick with desire.

And with one final, powerful thrust, Sukuna emptied himself inside her for a second time, their combined moans filling the room as they surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure of their shared climax.

With a satisfied smirk, Sukuna leaned down to kiss Y/N passionately, his lips claiming hers with a possessiveness that sent shivers down her spine. "You're mine now, Y/N," he murmured against her lips, his voice thick with dominance. "I've claimed you as mine, and there's no going back."

Y/N's heart raced with a mixture of excitement and anticipation as she surrendered herself completely to him. "Yes, Sukuna," she whispered, her voice a breathless affirmation of her submission to him.

Their night was a whirlwind of passion, each moment hotter than the last. They fucked again and again, their bodies moving in perfect harmony as they sought to quench their insatiable desire for each other.

With every thrust, Sukuna claimed Y/N as his own, their moans of pleasure echoing in the darkness as they surrendered themselves completely to the fire of their passion. They explored every inch of each other's bodies, leaving no part untouched as they reveled in the ecstasy of their shared pleasure.

As the first light of dawn began to filter through the window, they finally collapsed in each other's arms, sated and spent from their night of passion. With a contented sigh, Sukuna pulled Y/N close, holding her tightly against him as they drifted off to sleep, their bodies entwined in a blissful embrace.

The next few days were a blur of action and emotion. Sukuna and Y/N grew closer, their bond deepening with each passing moment. They were a formidable team, each pushing the other to new heights.

But the danger was always lurking, and they both knew it was only a matter of time before it caught up to them.

The inevitable showdown arrived with the fury of a storm. A rival gang, determined to dethrone Sukuna, launched a full-scale attack on his mansion under the cover of night. Bullets rained and explosions lit up the dark sky, signaling the start of a merciless battle.

Sukuna and Y/N stood back to back, their resolve steeling them against the onslaught. Sukuna's eyes were ice-cold with focus, his gun firing with the precision of a seasoned warrior, each shot synchronized with his breathing. Beside him, Y/N matched his rhythm, her own gun spitting fire at any figure that dared advance.

One thug tried to look menacing but slipped on his own shoelaces and went flying past them. Sukuna couldn't help but snort.

"Watch this," Sukuna whispered to Y/N as he spotted another group trying to flank them. He waited until they were awkwardly clustered together, then lobbed a smoke grenade. The gang members stumbled around, bumping into each other like characters in a silent film.

Y/N giggled, covering her mouth. "They're like penguins on ice!"

"Cover me," Sukuna said, diving into the fray with a bit more flair than necessary. He rolled, not because he needed to, but because it looked cool. When he came up, his hair was perfectly tousled—somehow it always was, even in a gunfight.

A large, burly thug swung a crowbar at Sukuna, who dodged and quipped, "You need to hit the gym, mate!" before delivering a punch

A thug lunged at him with a knife, slashing wildly. Sukuna dodged to the side, his arm whipping out to catch the man's wrist, twisting it viciously until the knife clattered to the ground. With a swift uppercut, he sent the attacker sprawling.

"Y/N, watch out!" Sukuna yelled as he saw another assailant sneaking behind her. Y/N spun around just in time, her fist connecting with the attacker's jaw in a satisfying crunch.

The air was thick with the smell of gunpowder and blood. Amidst the chaos, a burly figure emerged— the leader of the rival gang. He was flanked by his best men, who moved with lethal intent towards Sukuna and Y/N.

Sukuna met the gang leader's gaze, his expression grim. "This ends tonight," he growled.

The leader smirked, cracking his knuckles. " You're in over your head, Sukuna. "

With a roar, Sukuna charged, ducking as the leader swung a heavy pipe. He countered with a jab to the abdomen, followed by a sharp hook to the face, staggering the larger man.

Meanwhile, Y/N battled two assailants. She ducked a wild swing, pivoting to deliver a kick that knocked the wind out of her opponent. As the second man raised his gun, Y/N grabbed his arm, twisting and using his own body to shield herself as she disarmed him, throwing him over her shoulder onto the ground.

"Y/N!" Sukuna shouted, distracted for a split second as he saw her struggle. That moment was all the leader needed. He landed a heavy blow to Sukuna's side, a knife slicing through his shirt and skin.

"Stay with me, Sukuna," Y/N cried out, dispatching another attacker before rushing to his side. Blood was beginning to stain his shirt, but his eyes burned with an unquenchable fire.

"I'm not going anywhere," Sukuna gritted out, pushing past the pain. With a fierce yell, he launched himself at the gang leader. They traded blows, the sound of flesh and bone meeting echoing above the gunfire. Sukuna's movements were a blur, a ballet of violence, as he parried, dodged, and struck with ruthless efficiency.

Finally, with a powerful combination of strikes, Sukuna landed a devastating blow to the leader’s temple, sending him crashing to the ground, unconscious.

The remaining attackers, seeing their leader defeated, began to falter. Sukuna and Y/N seized the momentum, pushing back with renewed vigor until the last of the attackers fled into the night.

With the last of the attackers gone, the mansion was left in ruins. Smoke and dust hung in the air, and the once luxurious rooms were now a battlefield.

Y/N rushed to Sukuna's side, her heart pounding with fear. "Sukuna, you're hurt."

He smiled, though it was strained. "It's just a scratch."

Y/N's eyes filled with tears as she looked at him, her voice trembling. "Stay with me, Sukuna. Don't you dare leave me."

Sukuna reached out, cupping her face in his blood-stained hand. "I'm not going anywhere," he said softly, his eyes filled with determination.

With a final, desperate push, they managed to defeat the attackers. The mansion was in ruins, but they had survived.

As they stood amidst the wreckage, Y/N looked at Sukuna, her eyes filled with love and determination.

"We did it," she said softly.

Sukuna pulled her into his arms, his lips brushing her ear. "Yes, we did. And as long as we have each other, nothing can stop us."

In the aftermath of the battle, Sukuna and Y/N began to rebuild. Their love had been tested and had emerged stronger than ever. They knew their future would be filled with challenges, but they were ready to face them together.

As they stood on the balcony of their new home, looking out over the city, Sukuna took Y/N's hand in his.

"This is just the beginning," he said, his voice filled with promise.

Y/N smiled, leaning into him. "And I can't wait to see what the future holds."

With their hearts intertwined and their love burning bright, they were ready to take on the world.

Together. THE END { or is it <3 ? }

[lunarthecorvus]

Grisha!Kaz Brekker Alternate Universe fanfiction recommendations

part of Lunar's soc fanficiton rec series

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The Etovost Plague by Spikey44

Wordcount: 139k Chapters: 37/37

Characters: Kaz Brekker, Inej Ghafa, Jesper Fahey, Wylan Van Eck, Nina Zenik, Kuwei Yul-Bo

Tags: Grisha Kaz Brekker, Post-Canon, Dead Matthias Helvar, Sorry, Not KoS/RoW canon compliant, Kaz is a Tidemaker. Sort of, some gore, scenes of plague, Don't worry only characters no one cares about die, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm

Author's summary/notes: Twenty-eight months after Kuwei Yul-Bo was shot dead and the plague sirens sounded throughout Ketterdam a new and terrifying sickness sweeps through the Barrel: a plague with a unique connection to Jurda Parem. But this time it’s not the Grisha who need to fear. It’s everyone else. This becomes that, and like no longer calls to like, forcing old crows to wing back to Ketterdam as chaos unlike anything they have seen before erupts through the Barrel, threatening to destroy all of Ketterdam and plunge the world into war. But it's a more personal fear that haunts Inej, Nina, Jesper and Wylan when Dirtyhands goes missing at the start of the plague outbreak. Now the Crows must grapple with the sorrow that Kaz may be dead and the even greater terror that the Etovost scourge has turned the Barrel's resident monster into a living nightmare hell-bent on destroying them all. Post-canon AU where a new Jurda Parem variant transforms normal people into Grisha. Starting with the Barrel Bosses. Uh-oh! My summary/notes: Having Kaz turn into a grisha is such an intruiging concept and I ate it up, at the same time its tragic because of the way being a tidemaker effects him and triggers his trauma. It will get real intense so be prepared. The villain in this fic is so interesting. An unexpected intersting part of this fic was reading the crows be a team without having Kaz as their leader sometimes. I love Inej in this fic so much. BAMF's Inej and Anika. Inej and Kaz have some cute moments. The ending eeee. My quick summary is the barrel goes to shit when a plague enters.

---------- ☾₊ ⊹

On Black Feathered Wings by @martinakl13

Wordcount: 139k Chapters: 37/37

[this fic is also a grisha!Inej and grisha!Matthias au]

Characters: Kaz Brekker, Inej Ghafa, Jesper Fahey, Wylan Van Eck, Nina Zenik, Matthias Helvar, Jan Van Eck, Alys Van Eck, Pekka Rollins, Jordie Rietveld, Aditi Hilli, Tante Heleen, Councilman Hoede, Imogen, Per Haskell, Doughty, Dregs Ensemble, Dime Lions Ensemble, Kaz Brekker's Father, Original Characters, Inej Ghafa's Mother, Inej Ghafa's Father, Matthias Helvar's Mother (mentioned), Matthias Helvar's Father (mentioned), Matthias Helvar's Sister (mentioned), Anya, Joost Van Poel, Gert Van Verent, Mikka, Kuwei Yul-Bo, Anika, Pim

Tags: Alternate Universe - Character Swap, Grisha Kaz Brekker, Grisha Inej Ghafa, Grisha Wylan Van Eck, Jordie Rietveld Lives, Aged-Up Character(s), Forced Prostitution, Human Trafficking, Misogyny, Racism Violence, Sexual Content, The Menagerie, Flashbacks, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Lovers, Lovers To Enemies, unexpected relationships, Angst, POV Alternating, Jurda Parem, First Meetings, Bad Parent Jan Van Eck, Grisha Matthias Helvar, Abuse, Dyslexia, Rape, Humiliation, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Beating, Heist, Sexual Tension, Kaz constantly giving Inej flowers, Mutual Pining, Soulmates

Author's summary/notes: Inej Ghafa is a talented acrobat, but only her closest family knows that she uses her special power during her performances. Wylan Van Eck was sent to Ravka to be trained as a Grisha, but when he returns years later, his home is no longer his home. Matthias Helvar has powers he never asked for, and his family wants to keep him safe. What is the best way to hide Grisha in Fjerda? Among the drüskelle. Nina Zenik is a soldier of the First Army, gifted with excellent language skills. Jesper Fahey moves with his mother to Ketterdam after the tragic death of his father and the loss of their farm due to debts. Kaz Brekker has powers that no one has seen before. Or? My summary/notes: This fic is part of a series so there is a part 2 that is being regularly updated. Be prepared for this fic to simultaneously destroy and heal you. I live for the use of flower symbolism, its so adorable. I loved learning about the kind of grisha Kaz is, and reading Inej as a grisha is just so cool I need more grisha!Inej. Matthias being a grisha is so interesting, and reading Nina + Jesper as normal is so fascinating. Aditi is queen and this fic has Pim and Anika, I love those two so much.

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The Bastard's Brother by FlatApple

Wordcount: 214k Chapters: 66/66

Characters: Kaz Brekker, Inej Ghafa, Jesper Fahey, Dregs Ensemble, Jordie Rietveld, Wylan Van Eck, Nina Zenik, Matthias Helvar, Jan Van Eck, Original Background Characters, (they're not important don't worry)

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Kaz is a Grisha, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Starvation, Touch-Averse Kaz Brekker, Haphephobia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Organized Crime, Whump, Kaz Brekker is Bad at Feelings, POV Kaz Brekker, (mostly), Paranormal, Graphic Description of Corpses, Kaz Brekker is a feral orphan for large portions of this, Corpsewitch Kaz, Warning for strong language, Gang Violence, Heist, Slow Burn, Kaz Brekker-centric, Canon Rewrite, Ghost Jordie Rietveld, Good Sibling Jordie Rietveld, BAMF Kaz Brekker, Pining, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Sickfic, Hurt Kaz Brekker, Fever Dreams

Author's summary/notes: Kaz Brekker’s Mother was Ketterdam. His Father was profit. But Kaz Brekker’s Brother? That was Death. Or, the one where Kaz has been a Corpsewitch all along. My summary/notes: Reading Jordie as a ghost was so sad, the author managed to write him so well, this fic answers the question of what would Jordie's reactions be to Kaz's ruthless actions. We get to see young struggling feral kaz (it will break your heart) and we get to see Kaz grow. Every dynamic between the crows is explored and its so interesting to read. This fic part of a series and there is more.

---------- ☾₊ ⊹

The Bastard Saint of the Barrel by Spikey44

Wordcount: 152k Chapters: 46/46

Characters: Kaz Brekker, Inej Ghafa, Nina Zenik, Matthias Helvar, Jesper Fahey, Jordie Rietveld, Pekka Rollins, Wylan Van Eck, Jan Van Eck, Kuwei Yul-Bo

Tags: Grisha Kaz Brekker, Jordie Rietveld Lives, Kaz is Corporalnik this makes everything worse, Kaz is a Dime Lion, Pekka Rollins owns Kaz's indenture, Jordie is Dregs, Kaz has a new alias, A Kaz by any other name is still a bastard, Inej remains awesome in all realities, Jordie makes the deal with Jan Van Eck, Matthias is probably gonna live, Elements of Six of Crows reworked with Living Jordie/Grisha Kaz, Canon Disabled Character, Touch-Averse Kaz Brekker, warning for drug use eg: Jurda Parem and its effects, warning for mild depersonalisation and dissociation in ch 8

Author's summary/notes: In a story of star-crossed brothers, where Kaz's grisha powers save Jordie but don't save him from Pekka Rollins, Kaz becomes the Bastard Saint of the Barrel; Rollins personal Healer and the most feared Grisha to haunt Ketterdam's seedier streets. This upsets Jordie quite a bit. In an attempt to pay off Kaz's indenture, and save his brother from the threat of Jurda Parem, Jordie Rietveld, Dregs Lieutenant and confidence man, makes a deal with Jan Van Eck to perform an impossible heist. Naturally, Kaz, busybody extraordinaire, is not about to let his brother screw up in a foreign land alone. He's going to steal his brother's heist and one Bo Yul-Buyur --or his nearest relative, whatever works best --and save his idiot big brother from a Fjerdan prison. And if this means running out on Rollins -well, thirty thousand Kruge should be more than enough money to pay his way out trouble. Right? My summary/notes:

[yakool-foolio]

I know you’ve done the outline for how the Homunculus secret is revealed, but what about Makoto being Yuma’s Homunculus, and to an extension, his memory gap?

I can just imagine as they read the notes by the corpses, there would be mention of the UG having acquired the DNA of someone who had a powerful supernatural presence two-three years ago (I don’t know the specific timeline in your AU if it’s the same as in-game or different), and testing on them before acquiring the perfect Homunculus and erasing the original’s memories. The amount of years lining up to Yuma’s missing memory gap. It would not be painting a pretty picture for both Yakou and Yuma.

Also, side note question relating to the topic, even though Yuma has lost his memories, does he still have unconscious triggers from those times? Like when he enters Amaterasu’s Labs, he starts to get antsy even though he doesn’t exactly know why (though he would probably chalk it up to being on high alert in being in the heart of the enemy’s base)? I could be wrong though, sometimes amnesiacs have different reactions or something in various medias and depending on how they lost their memories.

From what Yuma has told Yakou about his strange gap in memory, it doesn't make things any easier to settle in the chief's mind. Fubuki's note details of a successful capture and experimentation on a human with untrained supernatural powers three and a half years ago, who became the exact candidate the UG needed for the homunculus project. After about half a year's worth of testing, the perfect homunculus was created. However, perfection comes with awareness of the self. The UG's victory proved to be short-lived when the immortal monster escaped the laboratory. Using another six months, they kept the original in captivity to be continuously tested on in hopes of recreating what they lost. In the end, they never succeeded, so they tampered with the person's memories and sent them to the WDO, letting them deal with the poor runt.

After Yakou reads the note and Yuma questions what he read, the chief decides to protect Yuma from the horrid realization and lie about the contents. Shinigami scolds him for hiding the truth, but he remains stubborn. He doesn't want to risk Yuma suffering from the revelation when they need to investigate and put a stop to Makoto's schemes. Unfortunately, he wouldn't be able to tell Yuma himself, as Makoto beats him to it in the mystery labyrinth. Yuma's trust falters as he questions why Yakou didn't tell him, but Yakou is too distraught to explain why as he reels over his own awful epiphany of being an immortal, cannibalistic monster. He's scared of hurting Yuma in more ways than one, terrified he'll become the monster he's been told he is. Makoto uses Yakou's stunted emotions to his advantage, cornering Yuma as he taunts his original and readies to eliminate him. With no one else to turn to, harkening back to chapter 0, he calls out to Yakou for assistance to save him. The chief is pulled out of his stupor, determined to keep Yuma safe from the threat much bigger than him in this labyrinth.

As for how Yuma lived with his year-long memory gap, he could hardly tell he missed a whole year of his life. All he remembered was being kidnapped by scouts and then reawakening right outside the WDO's headquarters. The only way he was able to tell a year passed was a quick look at a calendar. It seemed impossible, but he couldn't deny that he missed something important in that year. He just didn't know what. While a memory wipe from Shinigami completely erases any specific recollection without flaw due to magic, the UG could only rewire the brain, so while it was highly effective, some subtilties may slip through the slim cracks. Yuma gets faint sensations of deja vu and uneasy premonitions when entering Amaterasu's secret lab, but he chalked it up to the already intense situation. Turns out that having a bad feeling about this would be proven right as Yomi enters the scene and spreads chaos across the lab.

[viciousgold]

"Don't chase the rabbit" 👀👀👀

content warning: statutory SA, abuse (basically this is my take of what happened between Marisa and Gerard Bonneville when Marisa was between the ages of seventeen and eighteen based on what we know from LBS and The Collectors so if that is triggering please avoid reading this) (this also includes the scene word for word from LBS where Malcolm tells her Gerard Bonneville is looking for her and how much this visibly shakes her, a usually fearless woman, and her daemon comforting her, a rare sight)

She had never loved Gerard Bonneville, though he had insisted he loved her. It started out as a professional relationship, Gerard being an experimental theologian studying Rusakov particles and Marisa a student at St. Sophia's, studying both experimental theology and metaphysics. Marisa was sixteen when they first met, only briefly, seventeen now. The first few months of them working together, in a sort of mentor/mentee relationship, it was strictly professional. However, slowly, Gerard realized how intensely fascinated Marisa was with his research, and how willing she seemed to do anything to know more. So he took advantage. Of course he did. Marisa learned that it was all men could do, was take advantage.

First, it was kissing between them, kissing and holding Marisa close. Marisa found that he always talked more about his research and showed her things when they were together like this. She soaked all of it up like a sponge, eager to learn more. She soon learned that he wasn't just studying Rusakov particles, he was also studying other worlds. Desperate to know more, their relationship furthered. As he drew her naked on canvas, touching her body as well, he told her all about the Barnard-Stokes Theory. As they lied together, he told her all about his machine that he was developing that could cut through the fabric of reality in order to see these worlds. Upon Marisa turning eighteen, he finished the development of this machine and had an unstable prototype. Still, she was desperate to see how it worked. Gerard agreed to show her if she agreed to try actually going to one of these other worlds. At the time, Marisa saw it as being gifted a wonderous opportunity, though Gerard saw it as testing if his device actually worked without assuming any of the risk. Marisa would be doing that.

She walked into that new world with such fervent curiosity and excitement. The machine had opened a window and was keeping it open, but her excitement soon turned into horror after it closed. She cried out to Gerard, banging on the wall hopelessly where the window had previously been. She had gone to explore this world for a few hours, taking in everything, trying to not panic, and hoped that the window would be open again when she got back. Thankfully when she went back to the spot, it took a few hours of waiting, but the window had opened again. Marisa ran through it and shoved Gerard in anger that he did that to her. That she was worried sick that he abandoned her, left her to die there. First he tried holding her, kissing her again to "try comforting her", but Marisa shoved him away. Told him to stay away from her. That she never wanted to see him again. Gerard told her to calm down, his hyena daemon snarling at hers.

"I mean it," she had said. "I'm leaving. Don't follow me." She had set off, away from his laboratory, though before she could leave, he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back. He gripped at her clothes, tried forcing himself on her, though she fought back. She had kicked, bitten, shoved, clawed, and finally she got free from his grasp and ran away as fast as she could. She ran back to St. Sophia's, back to her dorm room and locked the door, panting, shaking, feeling like she had just escaped with her life. She thought about going to Dame Hannah to tell her what had happened, to ask for her protection, but she felt too much shame to do that. She was about to graduate, she reminded herself. Once she graduated, she could leave Oxford and never return here. Until then, she would stay on the St. Sophia's grounds, stay around people, and hope that Gerard wouldn't come after her.

Upon graduation, she married. Her mother was pressuring her to marry, and she was desperate to get out of Oxford. Edward lived in London, so she married for an escape and stability.

Everything with the affair and the scandal with Asriel happened after that. Soon after, she gained authority and power with the Magisterium. One of the very first things she did with this power was making sure Gerard Bonneville would be behind bars. She had the CCD arrest him, Marisa taking all of his research papers in the process, and was the major prosecution witness in his trial, for the charge of sexually attacking young girls. She had found out before that she hadn't been the only one. Using this, she made sure he was convicted and went to prison.

However, they didn't keep him for long. Soon, he would be released, and a boy would tell her of this.

“Mrs. Coulter,” he said, “I met someone the other day who was a friend of yours.”

Asta could see Jesper’s eyes widen. Mrs. Coulter smiled again, but differently.

“I wonder who that was,” she said.

“I don’t know his name. He came in our pub. He was talking about you. His dæmon’s a hyena with three legs.”

That was a horrible shock for her. Malcolm could see it, and Asta could see it, and Dr. Relf and Jesper could see it too—but all that happened was that the golden monkey leaned forward and put both paws on Mrs. Coulter’s shoulders, and the faint pink left her cheeks.

“What an extraordinary thing,” she said in the calmest tone in the world. “I’m sure I don’t know anyone like that. And what pub is this?”

“The Scrivener’s Arms,” said Malcolm, certain that there was no pub of that name anywhere in the city.

“And what was he saying?”

“Just that he was a friend of yours and he was going to see you soon. I don’t think many people believed him, actually, because he hadn’t been in before and no one really knew him.”

“And do you spend a lot of time chatting in the bar to strangers?” The color had come back to her cheeks, but where it had been a delicate flush before, it was now a small fierce spot on each cheekbone.

“No, I just help out in the evenings,” Malcolm said in his most equable tone. “I hear lots of people saying all sorts of things. If he comes back, shall I tell him I’ve seen you and you don’t know him?”

“You’d better not say anything. You’d better not listen to nonsense either. I’m sure Dr. Relf would agree.”

Malcolm looked at Dr. Relf, who was listening wide-eyed. But she blinked and recovered, and said, “Was there anything else I can help you with, Mrs. Coulter?”

“Not for now,” said Mrs. Coulter. The golden monkey had come to sit on her lap and press his face into her hair, as if he was whispering. She stroked his fur automatically, and he turned his head to glare at Malcolm with those unfathomable eyes.

Marisa had left that room feeling that similar fear for her life again. She clutched onto her daemon, who in turn had his arms wrapped around her so tightly.

"It's alright," he whispered quietly in Marisa's ear. He rarely spoke and when he did, it was only to her. "He won't find us. We're fine now. We're fine."

"We're fine." Marisa whispered.

[alicesaved]

IMPORTANT TO NOTE. i am crafting a whole lore based on fandom interpretations of various sources and alice in wonderland adjacent materials, many of which are from old tiny fandoms i participated in previously...many of these ideas are not entirely unique but the way i am putting them together is. it's important not to assume things based on just the personal knowledge one might have of the alice in wonderland lore, and i'd appreciate it if you could take the time to read through the info i write down on her about and headcanons before jumping in.

I AM SELECTIVE AND PRIVATE that means that i will be selective of who i roleplay with, and will only thread with mutuals.

I AM A PLOT CENTERED BLOG i have too many blogs and there are specific things i want to write on alice's blog. i need to settle on general dynamics and afterwards we can try and wing stuff, it just helps me with motivation and what not.

PLEASE DO NOT ASSUME THINGS ABOUT MY PORTRAYAL as i mentioned previously, there is a lot of things i am making my own, hence why this blog is so plotting focused, i am making my own unique version of alice and while you might have your own idea of her i am not here to replace you reading the books or playing the games.

I SHIP CHEMISTRY and CHEMISTRY ONLY. both ic and ooc there must be chemistry, alice is a very complicated individual and shipping might be somewhat complicated to accomplish here given her extensive trauma and general distrust of people. again it won't happen without intensive plotting and discussion.

THIS BLOG WILL FEATURE HEAVILY TRIGGERING CONTENT since this blog is primarily based on the american mcgee's alice videogames, any trigger warnings on that material may occasionally apply ( triggers will be tagged as cw blood ). given the nature of the material and alice's backstory i encourage you to be cautious of following this blog if your triggers involve the following: family death, mentions of child trafficking, abuse, institutionalization, medical abuse, and hallucinations.

MUN IS 18+ and in line with the above rules, although shipping is possible i am unsure how often will sexual dynamics will occur with alice, i am not entirely rulling it out but just be aware this is not a focus of the blog at all.

PLEASE DO NOT FOLLOW ME IF YOU ARE A MINOR.

ALSO DO NOT FOLLOW ME IF you have no intention of engaging with my portrayal and ideas, i am putting effort in crafting a unique backdrop for this blog so i expect people to engage with it.

I WON’T TOLERATE untagged drama and callout posts, please tag them i don’t care about you reblogging or making them i just hate seeing them on my dash so any posts you do, please make sure it’s tagged so my blacklist catches it.

REGARDING CHARACTERS THAT MAY BE CONSIDER PROBLEMATIC. safe to say i do not condone their actions, but i do not mind interacting with them. if that is a problem for you this is not the blog for you.

IF YOUR CHARACTER HAS COMMITTED R*PE do not follow me this is a big trigger of mine, i will hardblock you. 

SPECIFICALLY REGARDING BUMBY, i do not know how like active the american mcgee's alice scene is but refer to the above rule on the reasoning of why i have no intention of exploring the dynamic any further, i may change my mind but for the time being i will not interact with him as a character .

I CREATED SOME OF THE GRAPHICS i use here and the psd is by 666psds. i commissioned them for the banners, the current promo and the icon border as well as the dividers.

[awwyeah107]

2023 Fic Recs

Hello and welcome to my GIANT fic recs from 2023 post :)

I have been utterly obsessed with Tolkien’s works this entire year, and I’ve read more fanfiction in one year than I ever have before. My primary fandom this year was Tolkien, and I’m honestly rather astonished that it’s held my attention as long as it has, especially considering that this is a “recurring” hyperfixation (aka, this is not the first time I’ve had this hyperfixation).

So buckle up, ‘cause this is going to be a crazy long ride. The vast majority of these fics are Tolkien fics, but I’ve got a couple of non-Tolkien fics at the very end, and overall there's about 90-ish fics here in this bad boy XD

For each fic, I’ll give a one-sentence summary and then my thoughts on the fic!

I’m sorting them into oneshots, multi-chapter fics, series, in-progress stories, and misc & non-Tolkien fics. Within those sections, I'll loosely group them by various qualifiers like characters, time periods, and locations.

Intro: What to Expect & Fics Legend

Expect: Lots of fluff, lots of angst. Mostly genfic. Mostly Silmfics featuring or focused on kidnap fam, Fëanorians, Halenthir, Arafinwëons. Some Lord of the Rings and/or Hobbit characters are featured, so if you aren’t familiar with The Silmarillion, there are definitely fics that include characters a non-Silm reader would know. Most fics are rated T, with a few rated M.

Do not expect: Stories with a focus on romantic!Russingon (or any other first cousins x cousins ships—those really give me the ick), smut, or really gory or dark stories. No E-rated fics (with one *singular* exception where I did not know it was E-rated at first and only has a few E-rated scenes that can be skipped).

Fics Legend/Key These emojis are used to denote any stories that do have the following elements, and I’ll do my best to put appropriate warnings/mentions of certain potentially triggering topics as well, when needed.

🔒 Fic only available to AO3 users

⚠️ Features smut (skippable/not essential to the story or the focus of the story)

*️⃣ Features background/non-primary romantic!Russingon

🩸 Features somewhat graphic violence and/or heavy topics (including abuse and severe trauma or mental illness)

As I said, I’ll do my best to put appropriate warnings. However, a) there’s some stuff that just comes with the territory; Tolkien does not shy away from violence and trauma, and b) this is such a long list that I honestly may not remember if some of them apply to certain stories. Most if not all the stories do have content warnings given by the author as appropriate/necessary, so if I miss something, the author and/or the fic tags should tell you about it. My apologies if I do miss anything.

I will tag authors who are here on Tumblr; I've included multiple fics by the same authors, so I will only tag each author once.

Also, this may go without saying, but I feel like it does need saying: Your mileage may vary with these fics, especially those that are not particularly fluffy. For example, I don’t like romantic!Russingon, but I’m willing to read some stories with them in the background. I also don’t like smut, so I don’t read stories that prominently feature it, but if I’m already enjoying a story and I come across it, I will skip it. Same kind of thing with intense violence—I’ll skip or skim what I need to. So, read what you’re comfortable with, and don’t read or skip what you aren’t.

I want to give a massive thank-you to all of the fic authors, all of the people posting meta, and all of the artists out there. I was inspired to re-read The Silmarillion (for the third time) this year, and I highly doubt I would’ve been able to actually get myself to do that without all of the amazing stories and musings and art out there that drove me back to the canon we all love. So thank you ❤️

Oneshots

Haleth x Caranthir (Halenthir)

She is the Sunlight by @dreamingthroughthenoise (aka Alantie)🔒 - Caranthir and Haleth have a hike and a conversation. When I saw the title of this fic, I immediately thought of the Trading Yesterday song with the same name—and it turns out, the fic was named after the song, which fits Caranthir/Haleth as a ship so well! The fic itself is (bitter)sweet and beautiful, and I really enjoyed it.

easily sever what was never one by vauquelin - Haleth and Finrod have a discussion, and Haleth pays a visit to Caranthir. I loved reading this fic, and I’ve come back to reread it at least once. It was quite amusing at times, and I really enjoyed Haleth’s no-nonsense characteristics. The debates and discussions she has with Finrod and Caranthir are delightful to read—plus, I enjoyed Haleth and Caranthir’s dynamic and the waxing and waning tension between them. (Warnings: The fic outright says that Caranthir and Haleth have had and do have sex, in generally crude/slang terms, and there is one paragraph/section where things are described a little, but it can be easily skipped and I would not consider it explicit.)

Call It What It Is (Whatever It Might Be) by @sweetteaanddragons (aka Drag0nst0rm on AO3) (featuring art from @lidoshka) - Haleth is visited by several elves related to Caranthir, which raises her suspicions. A delightfully fun oneshot that had me grinning a lot! I love Caranthir/Haleth fics, especially when Caranthir’s denying he’s got a crush on her. Not a lot of Caranthir interacting with Haleth directly in this one, but it’s a great fic. The art was fantastic, I absolutely love Lidoshka’s art style!

Kidnap Fam

Enough by dreamingthroughthenoise (aka Alantie) 🔒 - Maglor and Maedhros argue over the twins, but later Maedhros comes to join Maglor and the twins on a picnic. This one’s a bit angsty, but it does have some sweet moments in it! I like the discussions the characters have; they feel thoughtful and well-characterized, especially in terms of how Maglor and Maedhros respond to each other. Both brothers have strong emotions, but they don’t go out of their way to be hurtful to each other.

Nightmares by @brievel - Snapshots of Maedhros experiencing nightmares and how Elrond and Elros respond. This is one of my favorite “Maedhros is having nightmares” fics where it features Elrond and Elros. It’s definitely angsty and tense, but I love seeing how the twins’ responses change over the course of the story. It really shows how their trust of Maedhros and Maglor develops.

Dawn (The Nightmares Remix) by sweetteaanddragons (aka Drag0nst0rm on AO3) - The aftermath of one of Maedhros’ nightmares from “Nightmares.” Good and angsty with relief by the end! I loved Maedhros’ reflections on the past (his memories of how he was trusted in Tirion with little ones are especially painful) and every aspect of Maglor’s interactions with his brother.

Chill in Your Heart, Life in Your Wings by @jaz-the-bard - After the Third Kinslaying, Elrond and Elros are kidnapped by a band of human raiders in Sirion, who decide to bring them to Maedhros and Maglor. I love JaztheBard’s kidnap fam fanfics, and this one is no exception. It’s a lovely oneshot with lots of feels! Features VERY cute Elrond and Elros. I just about died from cuteness during the fish book part, specifically.

Outrun the Storm by @secretlythranduil - Elrond and Elros are scared of the storm. I love a good kidnap fam thunderstorm fic, and I particularly love all the little details in this one: the guards joking about the claps of thunder being Morgoth’s footsteps, the twins thinking about what kind of state they would find Maedhros in, the reminder of how the Fëanorians found them in Sirion, and how Maedhros picks them up like Maglor had.

In Valinor pre-kinslaying #1

Unruly and ill-behaved, downright feral even by @swanhild - Fëanor and Nerdanel wrangle their rowdy, unruly bunch of elflings. This was quite amusing and adorable!!! I love the younger elflings’ antics and the older elflings’ “teen troubles” (so to speak), and Fëanor and Nerdanel parenting all of them.

Lack of All Trades by @darkfrozenabyss - Young Maitimo doubts that he has a trade or a craft. Cute father-son feels! I loveloveLOVE baby Maedhros and I loved getting to see Fëanor comforting him.

In Valinor post-kinslaying #1

The Spirit of the Law by @mynameisjessejk - Caranthir is re-embodied in Valinor. mynameisjessejk is one of my favorite authors who write the genre of “elves dealing with re-embodiment in Valinor.” This oneshot, along with the other re-embodiment fics they’ve written, is super super good. I really liked this take on Caranthir’s return, and I enjoyed the development of the Caranthir-Finrod friendship—one that isn’t usually seen in fic!

The Return of the House of Finwë by mynameisjessejk - The tales of the re-embodiment of five different members of the House of Finwë. Aaaaaa, this was such a heart-wrenching, feels-filled read! And so wonderful. I loved reading about each character coming back and seeing their reactions to those who came to meet them.

Pity Found by brievel and darkfrozenabyss - Fëanor and his sons are re-embodied in Valinor. Such an emotional fic! All the feels were amazing. I really enjoyed the fic, and I liked how the end left it open for the family to work things out further.

Beyond the Western World by thearrogantemu - Finrod and Curufin meet in Valinor. I really enjoyed this reckoning between the two of them! Finrod has such control in this conversation, yet he still has compassion for Curufin in a way. I liked how their conversation flowed and alternated between focusing on the present and the past. I think both of them needed to speak to each other, not only for closure but also to fully realize things about themselves. It was already a detailed story, but all the little reminders that they knew each other so well lent an even greater sense of depth to the story, which was beautiful. (Plus, I love the title.)

Though All Whom Ye Have Slain Should Entreat For You by thearrogantemu *️⃣ - Thingol has a conversation with Maedhros in Valinor. VERY interesting fic. I had never thought about Thingol and Maedhros interacting before, but hey, that’s what fanfiction is for, right? This was an incredible ride. I loved reading their back-and-forth debate and how calculating and emotional both were. Highly recommend if you’re in the mood for unusual character interactions and a very intellectual and emotionally charged discussion.

There Are Fires, There Is Laughter by ithilielthechosenone - Galadriel and Aredhel take a walk and catch up after Aredhel is re-embodied. I really enjoyed this. It is so beautiful and contemplative, and I love reading about the only two female descendants in the 3rd generation of the house of Finwë.

Finwëons in Beleriand/Middle-Earth

Regrets by dreamingthroughthenoise (aka Alantie on AO3) 🔒 - The Ambarussa have a discussion before the Fëanorians attack Sirion. I really like the characterization of Amrod and Amras in this fic! The way they decided to try to take responsibility for leading the attack in order to spare Maglor and Maedhros is heartbreaking but makes so much sense. I also had never considered how the situation with Eluréd and Elurín might have affected them, so it was interesting to read an interpretation of that!

Lands of the March by @cycas (aka bunn on AO3) - Maedhros discusses the lands and duties he has given to each of his brothers with Amrod and Amras. Quite an enjoyable oneshot! Maedhros is logical…but also quite caring, at the end of the day. I found myself smiling reading it!

Oh Makalaurë… by caeciliusestinforo - Maglor’s guilt over never going to find Maedhros in Thangorodrim causes him to neglect his health, which has consequences. I loved this fic. I’m a sucker for Maglor beating himself up over Maedhros’ torment and then coming to accept it, and Maglor’s desperation is depicted very well.

All the scars we can not see by waitingfover - Fingon has a flashback when he visits Himring. Awwww, poor Finno! Felt a lot of sympathy for him. It definitely felt like he didn’t really want to say what was going on, perhaps because it felt so obvious, but he did. Wish I could’ve given him a hug like Maedhros did.

i will not say the day is done by @southfarthing - Fingon and Maedhros avoid the conversation waiting to happen after Fingon rescues Maedhros from Thangorodrim. SO angsty, so intense, and so good!!! Maedhros and Fingon both have such different viewpoints on what happened and the context surrounding it—it pulls on my heartstrings to see them both struggling, but it makes it all the more poignantly beautiful when they can finally face each other.

Mithrim by @warrioreowynofrohan (aka WarriorEowyn on AO3) - Maedhros has three conversations with different people after his rescue from Thangorodrim. Oh my gosh, this fic is so freaking GOOD! Maedhros and Fingon’s first interaction was so intense and so good (“I’m sorry—” “You’re sorry?” was absolutely iconic. I practically shrieked and had to stop reading for a moment to compose myself). The fic also has a good dose of Maglor guilt, which I’m always happy to read!

Non-Finwëons in Beleriand/Middle-Earth

An evening off by earthbound_misfit - Rog enjoys spending an evening with his friend Egalmoth after work. This was such a good oneshot! So refreshing and peaceful. It felt like having a home-cooked meal :) Lovely!

Sharp Things in the Way by @dawnfelagund - A character study of Daeron, of sorts. This fic is a beautiful mosaic of moments in Daeron’s life—it’s all so bittersweet and deep and full of twisting emotions, and I honestly feel a bit of pity for Daeron after reading it. I haven’t read many fics focused on him, but I really like this one. I thought his and Maglor’s dancing around each other and the musical techniques they shared and took from each other were particularly fascinating parts of the story.

Reflections on Injustice by @hwestalas - Túrin sees Beleg heal a march-warden, and he himself later has the chance to help Beleg heal. Sweet, and a little painful! I enjoyed it. Beleg as a healer and a warrior is awesome, and I liked reading Túrin’s shifting emotions.

see it fall, child of war by swanmaiden 🩸 - Elwing says goodbye to her children. If I had to use one word to describe this fic, it would be “heartbreaking.” I expected it to be painful, and it really, truly was. I teared up reading Elwing telling Elrond and Elros she loved them, and I could feel the fear and anguish felt by the elves around Elwing. This fic really made me feel the terrible weight of the Fëanorians attacking Sirion, which was meant to be a refuge, and I think it was meant to do that. Very well-written!

Among the reeds by Adlanth - Elwing, Tuor, and those of Edain heritage spend time together in Sirion. I absolutely LOVED this!!! This is one of the first fics I’ve read that focus on the Edain and their heritage. I feel like they tend to be less appreciated in fandom, in favor of the house of Finwë (although I’ve definitely seen fics and meta about the Númenoreans). In any case, this was a delightful fic; I really liked seeing the small community of humans grow together and share their culture and history (mainly of the house of Bëor). Beautiful.

LOTR/Hobbit Characters

In A Yellow Wood by @lordgrimwing - Modern AU where Thranduil, wife, and young Legolas go on a hike. SUPER super cute oneshot!! Really enjoyed it. I love how Thranduil and his wife play with Legolas!

The Castaway by warrioreowynofrohan (aka WarriorEowyn on AO3) - Legolas and Gimli meet a stranger as they prepare to sail to Valinor. Quite enjoyable! I loved the difference in Legolas and Gimli’s opinions regarding what they should do, and how Gimli’s perspective and compassion helped Legolas to consider his prejudices. The dialogue between all of the characters was excellent!

A Warg in Sheep’s Clothing by @arofili (aka starlightwalking on AO3) - Fíli and Kíli find an injured warg pup in the woods. This was such a wonderfully fun fic to read! There were a few sad moments for sure, but I love reading stories with Fíli and Kíli because their characters have such a youthful joy and hopefulness to them. I loved “Buddy” and dwarflings’ bond with him was so adorable! (Also, I love the title XD)

General/Misc

Shinystarship Has Invited You To Join A Zoom Conference! by jaz-the-bard *️⃣ - Elrond’s father figures make a plan for how they will support Elrond when he sails to Aman (by using modern technology in Arda). THIS IS HILARIOUS. I love it. The Zoom names are perfect. I’ve reread this a couple times and I laugh every time!

Wealth Enough of Joy by StarSpray - Elrond and Celebrían enjoy time with their newborn twins and more family. This was such a sweet, lovely fic. It has the feeling of a summer evening—which is appropriate, since the description is “Elladan and Elrohir are born at twilight in summer.” I actually drew a picture in my little sketchbook of what I thought Elrond and Celebrían’s room would look like!

Mercy by @nothinghereisworking (aka cuarthol) - Snapshots of Celegorm and Finrod. I haven’t read many fics centered on Celegorm and Finrod, and I really like this! Features scenes in Valinor, Beleriand, and then Valinor again. I love how it comes full-circle and how the meaning of mercy changes over the course of the story.

An Unexpected Friendship by StarSpray (featuring art from lidoshka) - Belladonna Took makes a friend. I didn’t realize how much I needed to read about Maglor interacting with hobbits until this fic—and it made me interested in more fics of the same ilk. This particular one was SO much fun, and I loved how much hobbit culture StarSpray got into. I also really enjoyed Maglor’s and the hobbits’ characterization, too. The art of Maglor and Belladonna is adorable!

To Justify Your Existence by jaz-the-bard 🩸 - Maedhros meets his father and brothers in Mandos and braces himself for the worst. Delightfully angsty! Poor, poor Maedhros. The self-blame is off the charts in this one, whew. The emotional climax is so fulfilling!

AUs

stare death in the face (and never back down) by @oopsbirdficced (aka ingenious_spark on AO3) 🔒🩸 - Instead of returning to Gondolin when Sauron lets him go, Maeglin escapes…and runs into some relatives. This is such a cool AU/twist on what happened in canon! Lots of feeeeels—poor Maeglin. However, I love that he found [spoiler] and that they all essentially took one look at him and decided to adopt him XD

Retaliatory Kidnapping by darkfrozenabyss - Elwing decides that kidnapping the re-embodied Fëanorian twins (Amrod and Amras) might let her make a trade with Maglor and Maedhros for her own sons. This may have been the first fic I read by darkfrozenabyss! It’s so enjoyable and engaging. I loved Elwing taking matters into her own hands and being determined to rescue her sons, as well as the reluctant friendship that began to take root between her and the Ambarussa. Great ending, too! An all-around fantastic story.

Less scary than before by waitingfover - Maedhros is feeling homesick at college and receives a package (modern AU). I seriously enjoyed this oneshot! It filled me with so much warmth, and it reminded me of my family sending me things in college :) I love how each member of Maedhros’ family sent him something that showed how they loved him/thought of him, each in their own unique way.

Wayward Son by @thescrapwitch🩸 - After being re-embodied, Fëanor sets out on a mission to find his second son. This was sweet! I really enjoyed it. Fëanor’s dedication to loving and caring for Maglor is wonderful.

Where the Heart Is by mynameisjessejk *️⃣ - Amarië does not let Finrod go to Beleriand without her. A very cool AU where Amarië goes to Beleriand! We love to see it. I really like how it changes things and how the politics are different throughout Beleriand as a result.

Battle of Sudden Song by AeolianSands - Maglor encounters Sauron and recalls his cousin Finrod. I absolutely LOVE how this is written. I am SUCH a fan of Maglor using Song and living up to his name and reputation! This was so deliciously wonderful.

who could ask to be unbroken (or to be brave again) by @piyo13sdoodles - Tauriel meets a lone elf on the plains of Rhovanion and becomes friends with the mysterious singer. I really like reading “Maglor makes friends with people after being on his own” fics, and this one was so sweet! I enjoyed Tauriel’s curiosity and spirit, as well as how Maglor cares for her. Their relationship is wonderful, and I love how they grow into being each others’ family. It’s a beautiful story :)

Tumblr Oneshots

Wet Boots by @amethysttribble - Baby Maedhros is playing, and Uncle Nolofinwë comes to find him. So fluffy and adorable and silly and SWEET! I love baby Maedhros, and this is one of my go-to fluff fics. (There’s also a super cute fanart/comic of this floating around somewhere—I thought I had saved it but I can’t find it. If I ever do, I’ll add it here.)

Finrod and baby Galadriel in Valinor by @actual-bill-potts (aka oswinry on AO3) - Galadriel wakes up Finrod. SO FREAKING CUTE. I LOVED this little oneshot so much. Tiny Galadriel is super adorable and big brother Finrod is just as adorable. Fluff level 3000.

Multi-Chapter Fics

The following multi-chapter fics are all complete (or have not been updated since 2022), and they all have more than one chapter. If any are incomplete, I will note that.

Girl in Middle-Earth & Modern AUs

Pathology by @wild-houseplant (aka appalled.elf on FanFiction.net) ⚠️ 🩸 - A therapist ends up in Middle-Earth and builds a life in Rivendell. This was one of the first fics I read in 2023, and what a wonderful way to start the year!! I absolutely LOVED reading this fic. This was one of those fics that kept me up late and had me glued to my screen whenever I could spare time to read it. I love its central themes of friendship, grieving, and healing. The relationships that develop between Rhodri and the various Middle-Earth characters felt so real and healthy, and it was simply so wonderful to read! The author adds a lot of notes and information about the mental health care that Rhodri, the main character, provides, which is fantastic. Also, the character-lands-in-Middle-Earth plotline is handled quite well, in my opinion; questions that usually arise with that kind of plot were answered and explained in ways that made sense and added to the story.

(Warnings: There is plenty of language/swearing, a bit of violence [not super graphic, to my memory], and a few smut scenes; the author usually warns ahead of time if there will be any smut, and it’s fairly easy to tell when things are going that direction, so you can skip it if you don’t want to read it, like me. Also, the link I have included is to the fic on FanFiction.net, which is much more updated than the fic on AO3; there are 107 chapters on FanFiction.net as opposed to 29 on AO3. However, the version on AO3 is rated as E, while the one on FanFiction.net is rated as M, just so the reader is aware. I first found it on FanFiction.net, which is why I did not realize it was rated E before I read it, and if you skip the E-rated scenes like I did, I believe it would be considered rated M.)

This fic is incomplete—the last time it was updated was in November of 2022—but the reader is not left on a terrible cliffhanger.

Don’t Panic! by boz4PM - A more realistic "girl-falls-into-Middle-Earth" story. Quite entertaining and interesting! This is a spin on the typical “girl gets transported to Middle-Earth and everything is amazing” story, where things are a lot more realistic: there’s a language barrier, there aren’t high standards of cleanliness, there’s no indoor plumbing…the works! I read basically all of it in one night. I love how Penny and Halbarad’s relationship develops, and it’s fun seeing Penny learn to fit in with elves! There’s also a sequel, which is great too. (Warnings: General…gross-ness, I guess, lol! Also, there’s a LOT of swearing, especially in the first several chapters. This does calm down though.)

Ten Weeks of the Terribles by troiaspider - Maglor is forced to babysit his younger brothers while his parents and Maedhros are away for several weeks (modern AU). I really enjoyed this fic! Didn’t want to put it down. It was so fun, and I laughed several times. It also had many touching moments that I didn’t expect, and I found myself smiling at various moments.

In Valinor pre-kinslaying #1

Make You Pretty by @theladyvanya - Vanifinwë, the only daughter and youngest child of Fëanor, likes doing makeovers for her older brothers, which leads to some…interesting results. This fic is SO CUTE!!! I love how the brothers all give in and allow their baby sister to play with them, even if they know they look extremely bizarre by the end. And when [spoiler] is the only one who is actually truly upset by the game, it does get resolved by the end of the story. The fic is quite humorous and sweet!

Trial and Error by waitingfover - Each of the young Finwëons tries to bake something for their family, with varying results. Adorable set of oneshots! I like how the nature of each of the baking incidents matches the elfling or peredhel that is attempting to make something :)

In Valinor post-kinslaying #1

The Host of the West by mynameisjessejk - Finrod is re-embodied in Valinor. Oh my goodness, this was so good. I loved the exploration of Finrod’s emotions (and how being re-embodied affected him physically as well!) after coming back to life. The tension between him and his parents/those who did not know him in Beleriand felt very palpable, and my heart broke for him multiple times throughout the story. The resolution at the end was touching, and I felt reassured that things would look up for the characters as time went on beyond the ending of the story.

Memento Pugna (Remember, You Must Fight) by sweetteaanddragons (aka Drag0nst0rm on AO3) - Fëanor is re-embodied in Valinor, but from the very start, things are bound to go sideways. This was a great read! I loved the characterization and relationship development throughout the story, and I really enjoyed the chaos and shenanigans that happened. The story is quite hilarious at times and touching and angsty at others!

To save a life by waitingfover 🩸 - Fëanor is re-embodied in Valinor, and he has to deal with several hostile family members and other problems. Really great! It’s quite interesting, and I loved how Fëanor’s character developed over the course of the story, and how he comes to prioritize family over his own desires and pride. I also really liked how the plot changed and how various characters were introduced and included! (Warnings: There is a scene with mention of sexual abuse and a traumatized character expecting further abuse, and a brief scene of physical child abuse by a crowd of unnamed characters.)

More than the Stars Above by sweetteaanddragons (aka Drag0nst0rm on AO3) - Elrond visits his father, Eärendil, in Valinor. This is one of my favorite fics centered around Elrond and Eärendil. Their interactions here are so well-written and so spot-on! I like the alternating point of view, and I simply love how their relationship was portrayed.

The Ransom of the House of Fëanor by @eirianerisdar - Elrond petitions the Valar to return Maedhros and Maglor (and their brothers and father) from the Void. Oh my goodness. This fic broke my heart in the best way. SO. MUCH. ANGST. AND. FEELS. AAAAAGHH. I could see a lot of the different emotional situations coming, which made it even more angsty when they finally hit. I kept having to pause and stop reading because TOO MANY FEELS A;SLDKFJALF. Highly recommend if you want Elrond angst (and just angst in general).

The Last Ember by eirianerisdar - Nerdanel and Fëanor begin to reconcile in Valinor (compliant to The Ransom of the House of Fëanor but can be read separately). I absolutely love this Nerdanel-and-Fëanor-work-things-out-in-Valinor fic!!! Nerdanel’s vacillating emotions were so palpable and real, and both her and Fëanor’s characterization was wonderful. The pacing was done quite well, and I love how things ended :)

Rising as if Weightless by StarSpray - Elwing’s brothers return to life in Valinor. This was such a wonderful, feels-y fic! Elwing’s emotions throughout pulled on my heartstrings—and Eluréd and Elurín were so sweet. I loved meeting so many characters who were important to Elwing, and I really enjoyed the storyline. I couldn’t put this fic down!

In Beleriand & Middle-Earth

Family Reunions by Drapa *️⃣ - Finrod brings his human friend Bëor with him to a family reunion. I don’t think I have ever laughed more at a fic than I have at this one. I fondly remember sitting down to a bowl of soup and some bread for dinner and opening this fic because the premise looked promising…and then proceeding to nearly spit out my soup multiple times while reading. Finrod’s over-the-top behavior, the miscommunications and misunderstandings, the hijinks, and the ridiculousness of all of it was just way too funny. Highly recommend if you’re in the mood for some humor (or even if you aren’t).

Refuge by hwestalas - Maglor comes to Maedhros at Himring and does his best to hide that he is injured; this goes unsuccessfully. I absolutely love the interactions between Maglor and Maedhros in this fic. They are so filled with affection and teasing and the gentle kind of pushing between siblings, and it makes me so happy to read, even though they are dealing with war and deaths of their people. The love they have for each other and their siblings—and their people, too—is clear as day. It’s a lovely hurt/comfort fic, and one that I’ve reread a few times. Wonderful read!

This Taste of Shadow (SPECIFICALLY the Caranthir x Haleth chapters) by Mira_Jade - Caranthir and Haleth meet and slowly but surely fall for each other. I didn’t realize how much I needed a fic that took the question “what would it look like if Caranthir and Haleth really truly decided to get married, and not just in the elvish way [aka, through having sex], but to commit to each other until the end?” seriously and chose to explore it. I literally was obsessing over this fic for three to five days after I read it. SO. FREAKING. GOOD. This is one of the most well-written, satisfying, thorough Caranthir x Haleth fics I’ve ever read; the story is deeply emotionally engaging, and I loved it. Mira-Jade is phenomenal at exploring characters and really understanding them on a fundamental level, and how their relationships play out with other characters. And while it’s her interpretation, it feels very real and true-to-text. (Note: This is specifically a rec for the Caranthir x Haleth chapters; the entire work is a series of ficlets and oneshots that largely make up out-of-order story arcs. The link to each chapter can be found in the index/first "chapter" of the fic, which is linked above. I have not read the rest of the work, so I don’t know if there are any warnings I should give for other chapters. The tags do indicate that there is romantic!Russingon in the fic—there’s a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it reference in the Halenthir chapters, but otherwise none. Also, warning for a version of Celegorm who lives up to the epithet “Celegorm the Cruel.”)

Of Bright Stars and Dark Skies by @katinkacassio (aka CassioP on AO3) - The Fëanorians attack Sirion and take the twins, which leads to the twins living at Amon Ereb. This was one of my favorite kidnap fam fics I read this year! The characterization was well done, and I will always enjoy tropes like Elrond and Elros running off and Maedhros and Maglor having to search for them. Elrond and Elros are wonderful, and both parties opening up slowly to each other was heartrending and sweet.

Maglor Plays For His People After Doriath by Himring - Maglor contemplates Doriath and plays a lament for his people. Quite enjoyable—the contemplative nature of this fic is beautiful. I liked how Maglor considers what his people need and what he plays for them, and his memories of meeting Daeron at Mereth Aderthad were amusing and sweet. This fic really conveys deep a sense of wistful mourning.

Generally Interesting Lives by @glorf1ndel - A collection of oneshots for Tolkien Gen Week 2023. I love how unique these are and how each one of them stands out! I really liked the vibe of the stories—they were easy to read and the characters’ “voices” and personalities are strong. I particularly enjoyed the chapters about Maedhros and Lúthien, Huan and Oromë, and Galadriel and Bill the pony!

I need you more than ever right now by @senalishia - Elwing and Eärendil weather Elwing’s pregnancy with their twins. I love how this fic explored Elwing and Eärendil’s relationship, their personalities, and their perspectives on their responsibilities and having children! It’s compelling and well-paced. Also, I really liked the OC healer Curunada’s curious yet brusque nature! (Warnings: Childbirth, which is a little graphic)

General/Misc

Of starlight, s’mores and misadventures by waitingfover - A collection of oneshots about elflings and their adventures. These oneshots are SO CUTE and occasionally come with a serving of angst at the end with a flash-forward. A few of them are angsty in general, but the majority are just adorable, fluffy stories. If you ever need fluff, you will find it here! Also, this fic is how I finally got all of the Quenya names of the House of Finwë ingrained into my mind XD waitingfover uses them a lot in the story and provides lists of the names at the start of chapters, so that was super helpful! (Note: This fic is still being updated, but not on a regular basis, which is why I put it in the multi-chapter fics section instead of the in-progress section.)

As the Tides Flow by @starshipsilmaril 🩸 - The story of Maglor’s life, from start to finish. I loved it! Starshipsilmaril does a great job with Maglor's emotions, and Maglor’s love story and family were so sweet. Telumë is a wonderful character, and she and Maglor fit together quite well, I think. Definitely gets more angsty as the story goes on, which is expected. Great read! (Warnings: Silm-typical violence, not super graphic [to my memory] but it’s there. Also, The fic outright says that Maglor and Telumë have sex, and there are a couple paragraphs where things are described a little, but it can be easily skipped and I would not consider it explicit. It’s also pretty easy to see coming—it’s on the wedding night.)

Some Wild Thing by warrioreowynofrohan (aka WarriorEowyn on AO3)🩸 - Aredhel’s story, from Valinor to Beleriand. I love this exploration of Aredhel’s personality and character. The small snapshots and snatches of dialogue that relate the bigger picture are beautifully written, and Aredhel’s fiery personality shines through so well. I also really liked the depiction of her and Eöl (and Maeglin!)—it felt real and the way things subtly changed for the worse over time was chilling. Great read!

To Safety by jaz-the-bard - Young Elrond and Elros get transported to the Years of the Trees in Valinor and encounter their captors once again. I seriously love this story—I felt so bad for Elrond and Elros, and I felt sympathetic towards a bewildered Maedhros and Maglor (or should I say, Maitimo and Makalaurë). It’s fantastic! I’ve reread this at least 3 times XD

In a Field of Blood and Bone by @theheirofashandfire (aka ScribeofArda on AO3)🩸 - The Battle of the Five Armies, from the point of view of the elves. This was fantastic! It was awesome to read the events from a totally different perspective; the elves (and Bard!) come at the situation with different motivations, needs, and hopes for the future than the dwarves and Bilbo, and I think that ScribeofArda handled that very well. I loved the OCs Belhadron and Rhovaniel; they felt very whole and fleshed out, and it made me wish they were in the actual story so I could read more about them. Also, Legolas and Thranduil’s relationship was so sweet, and I love how much Thranduil loves Legolas even though he doesn’t outright show it much. (Warnings: Battle violence, as can be expected from a fic that’s about the Battle of the Five Armies.)

AUs

What once was mine by waitingfover - Maglor is given a second chance to go back and change things, starting at Losgar. What a great fic! I had the privilege to follow this fic from start to completion, and I loved getting updates. The changes—or lack thereof—were quite fascinating to read! This story features a strong dose of Maglor dealing with guilt and depression, which was heartbreaking but also understandable (and, as per usual, I ate it up with a spoon). This one of my favorite AUs!

The Rescue Party by AeolianSands - Fëanor, Fingolfin, and Finarfin decide to travel to Middle-Earth and save their children before the Doom of Mandos takes them. Really enjoyed this! Quite humorous, with some sweet touches of fluff and some angsty bits. There’s LOTS of chaos and things happening at the same time, and it reminded me of a contemporary fantasy story where all these plotlines are overlapping! There were lots of twists and turns I didn't expect, which was super fun.

Waiting for Dawn by theheirofashandfire (aka ScribeofArda on AO3) 🩸 - The Fellowship of the Ring finds Maedhros alive in the aftermath of the Battle of Pelennor Fields. I love “Maedhros-and-or-Maglor-are-alive-in-the-Third-Age” fics, and this one is quite well-written! I absolutely adore Pippin in this fic; his compassion and sprightliness are so in-character and it’s amazing to read. The rest of the hobbits are delightful as well. There’s also a serving of kidnap fam with a good amount of angst and feels :) Gotta love Maedhros being healed (against his will) and coming to accept that he wants to live! (Warnings: There’s somewhat graphic descriptions of the aftermath of the battle and torture, and there is a very disturbing injury in the first chapter that was done by torture. Additionally, Maedhros is suicidal for a while.)

Say NO To Shiny (And Other Valuable Life Lessons) by @fflewddur-feanorion *️⃣ - Maglor joins the Fellowship of the Ring! As soon as I saw the description of this fic, I immediately knew I had to read it. It is absolutely HILARIOUS. I laughed so much! I enjoyed the more casual, less serious characterization of the Fellowship and felt both amusement and sadness towards Maglor at different moments. The story also features Fëanorion brother shenanigans and some epic Song awesomeness!

Little Bird by darkfrozenabyss - Elwing is lost in the woods of Doriath instead of Eluréd and Elurín, and Amras Fëanorion finds her. Oh my goodness, this one pulls on my heartstrings. It’s beautiful and sad and amazing all at once. I loved Amras as a father, and I felt so much for Elwing, having to be so grown-up so young. I also didn’t expect Eluréd and Elurín’s characterization (though it does make sense) and it made me upset for Elwing. I loved reading about her learning about her birth culture and about her relationship with Eärendil. I also liked how the story ended!

Accidently on Purpose by waitingfover - Curufin accidentally turns Finrod into a younger version of himself. I read this almost all in one sitting and it was delightful. I’ve already reread it once or twice since finding it!! The characterizations and handling of the plot were amazing, and baby Finrod was SUUUUPER cute.

The Ghost of Erebor by @mistergandalf (aka ItalianHobbit on FanFiction.net and AO3) 🩸 - In an “everyone lives” AU, Fíli has intense trauma to work through from the Battle of the Five Armies—but nobody knows what happened to him. *slaps roof of fic* This bad boy can fit so much angst in it. Soooo much angst! Fíli is so traumatized and it’s heartbreaking to read. Kíli and Thorin’s attempts to help Fíli are also heartwrenching; they care about him so much, and their worry is so palpable. And of course, the pressing needs of running a kingdom and having an heir don’t make the situation any better. This kind of story is right in ItalianHobbit’s wheelhouse!

Series

Lengthening Shadows series by waitingfover 🩸 - What if Maglor went to bargain with Morgoth instead of Maedhros? This is a fantastic concept and I loveloveLOVE it! The way things go differently is so interesting, and it opens up a whole new dimension of feelings for the characters to experience (especially Maedhros and Maglor). I really like the inclusion of the other Finwëons in the story too. Go give this series some love, these stories are some of waitingfover’s earliest Tolkien works and they’re great!

Sons of the Star series by brievel (most fics in the series are open to all readers, but a few are locked 🔒) 🩸 - This is the “Sons of Fëanor as a biker gang” AU that you never knew you needed. I certainly didn’t know I needed it. But I LOVE it. Brievel is still writing the series and I’m enjoying it! I love the characterization of the Fëanorians as tough and scrappy criminals, but with generally good hearts (especially Max). I get excited every time a new installment comes out. I also highly recommend Óhchikaape, an in-progress story [at the time of this writing], which is set in (mostly) the same universe. (Warnings: There's a lot of violence, and many of the stories deal with heavy topics.)

Maglor is an Eldritch Horror series by thescrapwitch *️⃣ - Speaking of AUs you never knew you needed, the name says it all: Maglor is an eldritch horror. The vibe is “cozy horror,” which I love; I’m not really a horror fan, but the ‘monster’ is on the good guys’ side, and I think that’s what makes it the good kind of scary. Most of the stories in this series are oneshots of Maglor and various characters living in Rivendell, but other characters come in from time to time. This series is mostly complete, but every so often theScrap_Witch has another idea and I get an update to this series in my inbox (which always gets me flailing with excitement). (Warnings: If you’re particularly squeamish or super sensitive to horror/any scary things, you may want to proceed with caution. However, I will say that I’m fairly sensitive to that, and I could just skim past any things that squicked me out—but there have barely been any.)

Return to Aman series by cycas (aka bunn on AO3) - Maglor sails with Elrond, Bilbo, Frodo, and Gandalf to Valinor. Oh. my. gosh. These were stories. SO well-written!!! I devoured every bit of them, and I think I need to reread them because I inhaled them crazy fast the first time around! (I’ve already reread a few out of order, but they work so well together as an arc and I would love to reread it again fully.) There’s so much that gets explored, the characterization is great, and overall the stories are just absolutely DELIGHTFUL. There are 15 fics in the series, and most are oneshots.

Nossecilmë series by fingonsradharp 🔒🩸*️⃣ - Oneshots of the kidnap fam. These are pretty cute (with a bit of angst from time to time)! I particularly enjoyed Little Stars and Nightingale. (Warnings: 🩸 only applies to the oneshot "Little Stars" for kidnappers physically abusing Elrond & Elros.)

Of Half-elven Children and the Difficulties that Result series by waitingfover - Kidnap fam oneshots. This collection of kidnap fam oneshots is so wonderful! These range from full-on angst to pure fluff, and there’s a whole bunch.

Old Maggie Took series by @tanoraqui (aka NevillesGran on AO3) - “Maggie Took” (aka Maglor) has become a friend to those in the Shire. A delightfully fun and touching series! There’s two works and both are simply fantastic. The first is centered around fighting ‘Sharkey’ when he comes to the Shire; I found myself grinning, cheering for “Maggie,” and alternating between laughing and going “awww” at the hobbits and Gandalf. The second story is about a going-away party held for those sailing west, and it gave me the exact feeling I get from being at a good, fun party with friends: celebratory and joyful in the best way.

In-Progress Stories

These are ones that are unfinished that I've really enjoyed and I hope get updated in 2024!

(Also, for any of the authors who see that I’ve included their in-progress fic, please don’t feel pressured to update—me saying that I'm looking forward to more is simply meant to let you know that I like the story and would love to read more if/when you update.)

Daughters of Therindë by darkfrozenabyss - Nerdanel and her 2 daughter-in-laws go back in time to prevent the kinslayings, but they accidentally bring someone along with them that they weren’t expecting: Haleth. You guys. I am glued to this fic. I get ridiculously excited every time I see an update in my inbox; I love it so much and go back every so often to reread my favorite parts of the chapters (and sometimes just end up rereading most of or the entirety of the fic). The characterization is great, and the plot is super fascinating! The tension between Haleth and Caranthir is highly entertaining, and I eat up every bit of Caranthir’s brothers’ teasing with a spoon like it’s ice cream. You will also find me screeching and grinning like a fool at every emotional moment I come across. I seriously enjoy this fic so much!

Óhchikaape by brievel and The_Anonymous_Coauthor 🩸 - Set in the Sons of the Star universe (read about the Sons of the Star series in the Series section); Riser Way [aka Celegorm, for the uninitiated] wasn’t intending to be a dad…but it seems this scrawny, sassy Native American kid is in need of a parental figure, whether either of them like it or not. I am absolutely LOVING this story and get excited over every update. I’ve stayed up late multiple times to read the newest chapter that’s been posted, and I’m 100% sure that I will do it again, given the chance. I love how Riser and Nikki’s relationship develops over the course of the story. There’s a lot of humor and heartwrenching moments, and some serious and soft moments as well. If you aren’t familiar with Sons of the Star, I definitely suggest you read some or all of the series to get an idea of who the Way brothers are, because they (especially Riser and Ken) are primary characters in Óhchikaape. This story is now one chapter away from being done and I'm super excited for the next installment of the series! (Warnings: The story features violence, and it deals with heavy topics, including trafficking and child abuse.)

if somebody loved you, they'd tell you by now by @aurorapillar (aka auroracode on AO3) - Maeglin escapes Gondolin. I’ve been really enjoying this one! auroracode writes Maeglin so, so well—it breaks my heart to see him so traumatized, but it feels very real, and I feel proud of the progress he’s made so far! I also really love how [spoiler] interacts with him and helps him feel safe. I’m excited to see where this fic goes, and it’s been cool to read it from the beginning.

Identity Theft by waitingfover - Eluréd and Elurín come out of the halls of Mandos and are given to Nerdanel by a Maia who implies that the twins are Celegorm’s children; this most certainly does NOT cause any problems in the future ;) If this fic had an alternate title, I think it should be called something like “Olórin Makes a Habit of Kidnapping Elves” 😂  Because (slight spoiler) it’s something that happens multiple times throughout the story and always causes chaos! Anyway, this bad boy has 80-something chapters and is still going strong. The plot of the fic mutates throughout, but it is largely focused on Celegorm and his adventures, with lots of cameos from various Noldor and Sindar elves. I started reading it back in March, and I’ve really enjoyed seeing Celegorm’s character development as the story has progressed!

The Harrowing by @chthonion 🔒 ⚠️ *️⃣ 🩸- Sauron comes back to life from the Void and brings the Fëanorians with him. This fic has such a cool premise: Sauron being reembodied along with the sons of Fëanor and learning how to Be a Good Person™️ and Do Life™️ with all our favorite characters in Valinor. It does feature Silvergifting (Sauron x Celebrimbor), which I virtually never read because I’m not a fan of them together (in large part because the ship tends to remind me of unwanted stuff from my past); that being said, the fic isn’t just about Sauron and Celebrimbor. It’s mainly about Sauron and the house of Finwë (and Frodo!) learning to coexist with each other and heal from the past. Chthonion’s writing is fantastic, and I love the interactions between the characters. (I particularly enjoyed Finrod and Sauron’s first conversation.) I’ve really enjoyed reading this fic! (Warning: There is a little smut, but only in chapter 16, I believe; I’ve skimmed and/or given a fairly wide berth to most Celebrimbor-Sauron one-on-one interactions to protect my mental health, so there may be more that I’m not aware of.)

Not About Owing by dreamingthroughthenoise (aka Alantie on AO3) 🔒 - Finrod and Amarië come to rescue Maglor on the beach. If there was an alternate title for this fic, I would vote “The One Where Maglor Gets Loved.” All of the characters are determined to make sure Maglor knows that they care about him and want him in their lives, and it’s so delightful. I also love the strong themes of redemption that are woven throughout, and there’s a deliciously dramatic scene with Eärendil that I practically screamed at. Each of the characters and their relationships feel so real and well-fleshed out, and it’s just lovely to read!

The Longest Night by mistergandalf (aka ItalianHobbit on FanFiction.net and AO3) 🩸 - A mysterious creature has attacked a village near Ered Luin, and Thorin Oakenshield and his nephews go to help. I’ve read all of ItalianHobbit’s Tolkien fics, and as I expected, this fic has got lots of whump, even for just 4 chapters so far! ;) It’s so very angsty and I’m eating it up with a spoon. I always enjoy reading Durin family fics—I just love their relationship and I really love how ItalianHobbit writes them. The link to the fic I put above is to the fic on FanFiction.net, but it is also posted on AO3.

When mercy stayed his blade by BarbieBlue - Maglor and Maedhros take Elrond and Elros with them after the Fëanorians attack Sirion. This is one of my favorite multi-chapter kidnap fam fics I’ve found! It’s got a lot of emotion and a fair amount of angst—it’s not super fluffy. I really like Maedhros and Maglor’s characterization in this one; they aren’t totally falling apart, but they’ve definitely got their issues, and BarbieBlue doesn’t shy away from that. I feel a lot for Elrond and Elros, who are certainly quite traumatized. Seeing the trust slowly developing between them and the Fëanorions is sweet, and I enjoy reading the dynamics between all of the characters.

we will make this place our home by @leucisticpuffin - Elrond and Elros get sent to live with their distant relatives Maglor and Maedhros Finuion. This fic is basically ‘The Secret Garden meets kidnap fam’! It is such a lovely story. I devoured most of it one time when I was up late (I had told myself that I really shouldn’t start a fic that had 40-something chapters at 2 am…but then found myself falling asleep at 4:30 am as I was reading. As soon as my eyes were open the next morning, I kept reading until I caught up!). I love the setting and all the little details that make the story work so well, and it’s really fun to read Silm characters in the mode of 1970s England. There’s a few OCs that help fill out the cast, and I enjoy their personalities and how they add to the story.

Less Wise and More Dangerous by DeepWatersWaiting 🩸 - Legolas is mysteriously transported to the First Age and runs into Fëanor and his sons. Great story, compelling and very well-written! I felt a lot of sympathy for Legolas, being plonked down in First Age Beleriand and facing people who he knew would kill his kin in the future. I like the development of the friendships he started forming (especially with Celebrimbor!), and I’ve been rooting for him as he’s been navigating the strange situation he is in. (Side note: anyone remember the AO3 shutdown back in July? This is what I was reading when that happened, lol.) (Warnings: There’s some graphic violence and injury/illness.)

Life After Death by actual-bill-potts (aka oswinry on AO3) 🔒 - Finarfin and his wife welcome Finrod after he returns from Mandos. So so so SO good. Oswinry writes SUCH good Arafinwëan fic. So carefully handled and well-written, and you can truly feel Finarfin’s desperate love and care for his son and his family. It fills a place in my heart I didn’t know was empty until I read the fic. (There have also been a few updates on Tumblr, too! Check out "my writing" and/or "silm fic" tags)

Yet Open Once Again Your Heart by @luteoflorien 🩸 - Maedhros has a breakdown, and Maglor realizes the twins are not as fragile as he thought. This one’s super heartwrenching, and I love it. The way Maglor treats Maedhros when he’s having his panic attack/breakdown/trauma-induced flashback is so well-done, and I really liked how the brothers had learned how to help each other on those bad days. The exchanges between Maglor and the twins (and between just Maglor and Elrond) are so raw and full of emotion, and Elrond himself is so wise and sweet.

What Was Sauron Thinking? by Chisscientist - Sauron is defeated…but it seems that in the process, he turned Gil-Galad into a child. The premise is so fascinating, and smol!Gil-Galad is adorable! I at turns find myself amused by him and want to give him a hug. The characterization is great, and I feel for Gil-Galad, having been unexpectedly turned into a child with memories of his adult self. I’m looking forward to seeing where this goes, and I’m glad Gil-Galad has friends/guardians around him who care for him!

Misc & Non-Tolkien Fics

Tolkien fics that don't fit into other categories:

The Silmarillion Rewrite by Jenavira - A rewrite/summary of The Silmarillion in modern language. Amazing. It was quite an enjoyable read, and it honestly helped me remember a lot of Silm characters! I think this was one of the main fics that inspired me to reread The Silmarillion again this year. I laughed several times, and I often loved the wording or phrasing of certain things that happened. (Warnings: There’s a lot of language/swearing, and there’s Silm-typical violence and trauma that happens.)

Never A Monster He Couldn’t Love by luteoflorien 🩸 - Harry Potter/Silmarillion crossover fic where Newt Scamander finds a new humanoid creature to befriend and care for, and Maglor finds a human who believes he is worthy of care and love. I absolutely adore the friendship that develops between Newt and Maglor. I’ve never read Fantastic Beasts fanfics before, despite being in the Harry Potter fandom, but luteoflorien’s Newt feels so incredibly in-character and it makes me want more. He is so kind and caring and curious, and he is exactly the type of person Maglor needs in his life to start healing from his past. luteoflorien’s writing, characterization, and handling of all the mental/emotional issues the characters go through is phenomenal, and the feels are off the charts. (Warnings: Maglor struggles with his severe trauma, and sometimes self-harms.)

Non-Tolkien fics:

hear you calling from some lost and distant shore by @sighonaraa - Loki meets Thor after the events of Avengers: Endgame (mostly compliant with the Loki TV series). Marvel fandom. This was EXACTLY what I needed after the ending of season 2 of Loki. So, so good. The banter between Thor and Loki, and also Valkyrie/Brunhilde’s character was great—the brothers care SO much about each other, and it's wonderful to read.

Lemon Cake by @afaroffsong 🔒 - Rosalind needs to make a cake for Jane’s birthday. Penderwicks fandom. I seriously enjoyed this fic! It's amazingly well-written—it felt to me like it could've come right out of the books! So lovely.

I mentioned this at the start, but I wanted to reiterate because I truly am very grateful: I want to give a massive thank-you to all of the fic authors, all of the people posting meta, all of the artists out there. I was inspired to re-read The Silmarillion (for the third time) this year, and I highly doubt I would’ve been able to actually get myself to do that without all of the amazing stories and musings and art out there that drove me back to the canon we all love. So thank you ❤️

And thank you to all who read this far XD Hope you enjoy some (or all!) of these fics!

[sincerely-krp]

hey admins, i accidentally sent this ask before with a pretty glaring typo that completely changed what i meant in the sentence, so i'm resending it fixed:

as i watch this MiA story develop (mainly twitter but now here as well) from more of an outsider perspective, eg. i don't care for anyone who's involved, one of the underlying and glaring issues that i feel like has gotten lost in discussions (thanks to it all being so quick to become inflammatory and defensive on either side) is that idols should have known better than to bring it up to their fans. this isn't to excuse or defend anything. with the anime, i ran through it myself to understand and the creepy moments ARE there, but what struck me harder (not because the other stuff is less important, but because of the sheer graphicness and intensity of the scenes) was the gore, violence, and body horror involving these characters who are and are depicted very blatantly as children (you know what i mean-, i guarantee you shows like euphoria and other popular examples would have faced more outrage if they were using actors of actual high school age). but back to MiA, yes, the idols consuming this content doesn't necessarily mean that they support or endorse all of the dark themes in it, and yes, you can defend dark plots all you want, but i don't think it's a responsible choice to bring up something so graphic and heavy to a live full of strangers whose age, triggers, or limits you don't know, regardless of whether you're condemning or endorsing or not even passing an opinion on it. you're giving it a platform, period. imo that already is piss poor judgment and those idols should have known better, that's what i want more recognition of.

because this is coming from somebody who will d*e on the hill of critical consumption and the right to explore dark themes in fiction, i even think that responsible consumption is a 2way street and that no one is forcing you to keep watching if something makes you uncomfortable, but since these are idols with the platform, influence, and fans who would buy a mcd meal because it has their brand on it, i think the heavier onus is on them to be responsible with their platform. there are ways to responsibly recommend dark media, and mentioning it with just a "but it's kind of dark" isn't enough imo. of course, this goes without saying that if the idol did consume these things in bad faith, that's another matter entirely. i'm sending this in for those i see who seem to think that if they can just get everyone to recognize that it's okay to consume dark themes, or if they can just prove that their idol doesn't endorse the content, that it would absolve their idol of the blame entirely. and i don't think it's as simple as that, as others have already pointed out? i can give those idols as many benefits of the doubt as possible- they watched it because it was so popular, it was heavily censored, they didn't know how terrible the author actually is, they didn't read the manga, any other reason getting thrown around -but even if all of those were true, it doesn't change the fact that they did watch it, therefore they knew it had heavy and graphic concepts, and therefore they should have been more careful about bringing it up. that deserves accountability at the very least.

・❥・

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 310: A Tale of Two Kacchans

Previously on BnHA: Flashback!Deku was all, “hey, you know what sounds like a good decision? Abandoning my studies at the safest place in the country so that the bad guy who wants to find me and kill me has literally nothing standing in his way of doing that.” All Might was all, “I fucking knew you were going to say some bullshit like that so whatever, but I’M COMING WITH YOU and I’m also going to invite the Hawksquad to come with us, mostly so that I can steal Jeanist’s car.” Jeanist was all, “okay fine you can borrow my car, All Might, but only if you wear jeans.” All Might was all, “okay sure” and he wore jeans and also sunglasses and a leather jacket and it was pretty rad. Anyway so now they’re out there fighting crime and hunting down the LoV and stuff, and absolutely none of it is going to end well, I’m just letting you know now. But I guess we’ll let them enjoy it while it lasts.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi is all “happy belated Kacchan’s Birthday makeste, here’s the flashback you really wanted at long last,” and proceeds to pull the old vestige flashback out of the kitchen drawer and upend its contents all over my Friday afternoon without the slightest bit of warning. OFA III is all “WHAT’S UP I’M JUST SOME GUY, HELLO,” and okay?? Hello yourself. OFA II, on the other hand, is all, “okay yeah I have different hair and stuff, but I’m like 98% sure I’m either Bakugou or his goddamn twin, I mean look at me.” Which, yeah. I looked, and he really is though you guys. Anyway though, so he and OFA II basically just showed up in the First (who goes by Yoichi now)’s prison cell one day all “HEY THERE, WE’RE HERE TO SAVE YOU, APPARENTLY, ALTHOUGH WE SEEM REAL CONFUSED ABOUT IT TBH BUT HEY.” And so they saved him, and Yoichi was all “hey nice to meet you do you want to join my super-exclusive Saving The World Club”, and so they did, and then the chapter ended lol. I would have said yes too.

oh my sweet lord?? I didn’t realize we were getting a color page this week, but LOOK AT THIS

this could have been a fucking volume cover. I’m almost mad that it wasn’t, lol but I mean fkldjslklk just look at it??! Horikoshi out here spoiling us and making sure we’re well fed since next week the manga is on break for Golden Week. well this will certainly help to tide me over. hot damn look at those colors

so now it’s raining on some dumb building in the middle of somewhere

is this where the Hawksquad has set up camp for the night? or are we actually cutting back to the League? that’d be unexpected (but not unwelcome)

ffff nevermind dammit it’s just more random citizens under attack

feels like this is the third or fourth scene we’ve had of civilians being Under Attack since this arc started. I mean no offense, but I think we get it by this point. it’s the end times, etc. etc. we’re well aware that things have gone to shit

so apparently these two guys are facing off against a girl with a mutant quirk. and she’s telling them that she’s not a monster and she was just scared, oh shit. I believe her btw, you can see it in her face

but these assholes don’t believe her at all and they’re pointing what looks to be some type of support item gun at her

you know what’s interesting, is that this kind of random quirk discrimination is the exact kind of thing PLF and the like were swearing up and down they’d put a stop to with their glorious revolution. it’s almost like those guys were completely full of shit. huh

so yeah, fortunately for this woman someone is stepping in and intervening before she can be blasted to bits by this trigger-happy asshole for absolutely no fucking reason

looks like a hero actually stepped in and saved her?? but no that can’t be, heroes are the ones that ruin everything and make everything worse, or so I understand. lol where did all of this sarcasm come from out of nowhere dlkdsjlk I’m sorry guys I just suddenly got swept up in the hypocrisy of certain people’s philosophies out of the blue idek

anyway so it is of course Deku saving her, and now he’s trying to talk thess jerks down all diplomatically instead of just kicking their asses, which is certainly a choice

MOTHERFUCKER I’M

fucking impossible to miss the real world parallels here. shit. this woman nearly died for her crime of Walking While Having A Mutant Quirk huh. and meanwhile Deku is just letting this guy scurry away and even letting him keep that fucking bazooka of his, like, ????

fucking hell she’s crying!!

lmao this chapter is actively trying to make me mad now huh. that’s some genuine righteous anger I’m feeling on behalf of this fictional ferret lady whom I only met two minutes ago. girl you are not the one who needs to explain herself here!! you didn’t do anything wrong holy fuck. everything about this situation sucks so much

fkKJKLMMMHFGH

“I’m sorry I made you upset, please enjoy this panel of tiny!floating!Deku hefting this lady’s massive beach umbrella up for her like the fucking gentleman he is” well okay then thank you sir

and JUST LIKE THAT the tension is broken and I’m entirely incapable of taking the rest of this conversation seriously because Deku’s trying to be all calming and authoritative, but now the illusion has been broken because I know he only comes up to like her knees

“well thanks again for saving me young man. I’ll leave you to it, I’m sure you’ve got more important things to do like protecting your Lucky Charms cereal from all those greedy children”

oh hey All Might

you wouldn’t have just let that guy with the bazooka just walk away to commit more attempted murders would you?? man

OH MY GOD DEKU IS IMMEDIATELY DITCHING HIM AGAIN

I ~CANNOT STAY HERE~ oh, well, sorry to keep you detained I know you’re busy

dfslkjlk oh my god

fucking told you Deku didn’t pack any food lol. it’s literally all notebooks in that bag you guys. he couldn’t just leave them all in his dorm room when he left, because what if someone tried to read them and came across one of the pages where he absentmindedly doodled Kacchan’s name surrounded by little tiny hearts oh gosh

AWWWWW

I needed this Horikoshi. thank you for this wholesome soul-cleansing interaction after all of that bullshit earlier

so now Deku’s climbing up this tall building to eat his lunchbox more dramatically. Tokoyami would be proud

and Banjou is saying that society right now is just like in The Good Old Days (read: bad old days) when quirk society was even more of a mess than it is now

which is exactly how AFO likes it, no doubt

so now Deku’s having a whole conversation with Banjou seemingly out loud lol, weird. and he’s basically saying that they don’t have any clues as to where TomurAFO and the League are hiding right now, and none of the Tartarus escapees they’ve found knew anything either

mmmmmfmhm, marge simpson noises

but you think you can?? you, alone, by yourself?? you think you stand a chance?? I just need you to think this all through a bit more kid

Deku it is NOT JUST YOUR RESPONSIBILITY ALONE, PLEASE REALIZE THIS ALREADY. YOU MAY BE THE CHOSEN ONE, BUT EVEN THE CHOSEN ONE NEEDS HIS FRIENDS BY HIS SIDE GODDAMMIT

and of course my pleading is all in vain, because he’s a fictional character who can’t fucking hear me, and also because I’m pretty sure there’s only one character who is going to actually be able to get him to hear reason here. I’ve been saying it, and I’ll keep saying it lol. so until then I guess I’ll just have to be patient

anyway so it appears we’re segueing into another flashback??? HORIKOSHI PLEASE GIVE ME SOME BAKUCRUMBS BEFORE THE TWO WEEK BREAK, I BEG YOU

dlKSDJLFKWJELKGHSLGKLEKJLFKHLGK

YES, THANK YOU, I KNOW WHERE THIS FUCKING IS LOL, IT’S NOT LIKE I’VE BEEN OBSESSED WITH FINDING OUT WHAT HAPPENS IN THE REST OF THIS SCENE OR ANYTHING LMAO. BUT ANYWAYS DON’T MIND ME, YOU WERE SAYING??

oh my god oh my god I’m not readyyyyy, but also FUCK YEAH I AM SO FUCKING READY LOL LET’S DO THIS

YOU GUYS

I’M ABOUT TO STEP IN THAT ROOM AND YEET ONE OF THOSE FUCKING CHAIRS AT YOU ALL

NOOOOO

I’M ABOUT TO GRAB BANJOU’S GOGGLES AND STRETCH THEM OUT AND SNAP THEM BACK SO THEY SMACK THE SHIT OUT OF HIS FOREHEAD!!! IT’S WHAT HE DESERVES!!! I’M ABOUT TO MOVE TO JAPAN AND GET A JOB WITH DOORDASH AND FIND OUT WHAT HORIKOSHI LIKES TO ORDER FOR LUNCH SO I CAN BE THE ONE TO DELIVER IT SO THAT WHEN HE OPENS THE DOOR I CAN FINALLY ASK HIM “HEY WHAT THE FUCK” IN PERSON

AHHH NO EVERYBODY SHHHHH STOP TALKING!!!!

SOMEONE PLEASE TELL THAT PERSON SCREAMING AT THE TOP OF THEIR LUNGS IN THE BACKGROUND TO SHUT THE FUCK UP, OH WAIT, THAT’S ME

(」゜ロ゜)」 щ(゜ロ゜щ)

LOL THIS FUCKING ASSHOLE!!! LOOK AT YOU!!! YOU’RE NOT KIRISHIMA OR SHINSOU OR IIDA IN A WIG OR ANYBODY LOL. YOU’RE JUST A DUDE. BROOOOO ABOUT FUCKING TIME, WHAT’S GOOD

I CAN’T SCROLL DOWN AHHHH BUT I HAVE TO BUT IT’S TOO INTENSE AHHHHHHH

I CAN SEE THE TOP OF HIS SPIKY HEAD, IT’S FINALLY THAT TIME AHHHHHHHH OKAY I’M GONNA DO IT HERE GOES

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

IT’S HIM. IT FUCKING REALLY FUCKIGN IS HIM OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. WHY AM I SO SHOCKED LMAO I’M THE ONE WHO’S BEEN SAYING THIS THE WHOLE DAMN TIME LMAO. OH GOD. O H MY FUCKING GOD

well okay then sir. so are you an ~ancestor~ or a Kacchan from another timeline or so what’s your deal then

YOICHI WHO IS YOICHI

YOICHI ALWAYS KNOWS WHAT’S UP. LMAO WHO IS YOICHI

(ETA: I’m going to punch myself in the face lmao. he’s Yoichi. he, the First. that’s his name. name reveal at long last what what!!)

MORE IMPORTANTLY SHOULD I BE IMAGINING NOBU’S VOICE RIGHT NOW BECAUSE LMAO I AM ANYWAY BUT YEAH

(ETA: I actually think he’s going to end up being voiced by Nobuhiko whether he ends up being Kacchan or not, just because it fits right in with the general “identical in almost every way” aesthetic he’s got going on.)

TUMBLR HOW WE LIKING OUR ANGSTY ALTERNATE UNIVERSE KACCHAN?? EVERYONE HATED YOU SO MUCH BEFORE THEY EVEN MET YOU, BUT THEY FORGOT TO CONSIDER THE POSSIBILITY THAT YOU MIGHT BE HOT LMAO WHAT A TWIST

“some bright-eyed brat” oh come on. IT’S GOTTA BE HIM LOL

oh my god you all are probably TIRED AS FUCK of all my screaming but I’M SORRY IMMA HAVE TO DO IT ONE LAST TIME BECAUSE...

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

that face. that expression!! THE FACT THAT HE’S OUT HERE OPENING DOORS WITH HIS FEET, LIKE HOLY SHIT!! JUST ADMIT THE JIG IS UP ALREADY

and so they really are the ones who busted First out of his jail cell huh

so how did they know you were in the room?? why did they come and break you out?? and how, pray tell, did they know to get you to transfer OFA to them?? hmmmMMMMMMMM

oh MY GOD

you guys. oh my god. it’s too much. every last bit of it lines up exactly with the Bakuverse theory sdkjfj I’m short-circuiting. it’s really fucking happening oh my lord

HELLO SEXY ALTERNATE UNIVERSE KACCHAN WITH HIS SEXY FUCKING SCAR, FUCK YEAH WE REALLY ARE EATING GOOD THIS CHAPTER

HELL YEAH WE’RE GOING. WE’RE GOING FULL SPEED YOU GUYS. LMAO I’M SO FUCKING HYPED RIGHT NOW I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH MYSELF WEFKJLDKFFFF

SO, EVERYONE, LET’S RECAP. -- ACTUALLY NO, I STARTED TO WRITE UP A LIST, BUT I IMMEDIATELY REALIZED IT REALLY JUST NEEDS TO GO IN ITS OWN THREAD. SO I MADE IT AND POSTED IT, AND NOW I’M FINISHING UP THIS HOT MESS OF A RECAP POST. SO NOW WE’RE BACK TO THIS ONE FINAL PANEL OF DEKU EATING HIS KATSU ALL SERIOUS

YES SIR. YES SIR, WE GOING, FULL SPEED AHEAD, WHATEVER, IDK WTF IS HAPPENING BUT YES!!

lol, anyways so as I said in my other post, mysterious sexy guys with tragic pasts are what bring us together as a fandom, so whatever your thoughts are on the rest of it, let’s just rejoice in that. it’s what we deserve

[kim-miyeon]

Hell Above- Chapter Fourteen

PAIRINGS: Hwang Hyunjin x Female Reader

WARNINGS: Series contains mature content. read at your own discretion. Mafia!AU, explicit language, sexual scenes, fighting scenes, abuse, pregnancy, family issues, angst, 18+

WORD COUNT: 4.1K

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Fine, Maybe I’ll Pretend Right Now, But I Swear To God I’m Gonna Change The World

 “Y/N”

 Minho looked at you as he saw your eyes grow dark. Orbs blackened and the intense rage had swept over the room. You have had enough. Death is our option.

“Execution?” You whispered, loud enough to be heard and eyes shooting daggers at you grandfather. Minho watched you, still near you trying to watch your every move as you threw your gun to the ground in anger. You jerked Minho’s arm away from you and clenched your jaw. 

“Death? I stand before you now, Grandfather. Without my weapon, fully vulnerable.” 

Your grandfather rose and you watched as the blood from his arm seeped slowly through the dark gray suit he wore. A bullet that couldn’t kill him but made a mark that you were ever so capable to finish him off. Wondering to yourself, if you should but knowing the consequence is you were to kill your own flesh. Because if you were to kill such a man with power, hell would rise above you. He had every ability to strike you down and hide his efforts away . That was the way it was, corrupt and cruel against those who stood no chance. Even as leader, you were nothing because he stood before you as the last remaining Lee from the generation before. He was a previous leader, and until he passed you would not have your rightful place. So killing you had to keep an emerging leader at sea. Minho was a contender and even so was just as powerless. Your grandfather grabbed a slight hold of his weapon and you smirked.

“Why wait another week to bury me, when you could end it all now? Shoot me.” You spoke confidently and saw your grandfather grow hesitant before he raised his weapon. You felt no fear in that moment as the adrenaline ran through your veins. You knew how to dodge a bullet, how to escape harm's way. Minho grew anxious as he watched your grandfather, raising his weapon to aim. You then felt Minho’s arm reach around your front and pull you quickly behind him as he drew his weapon and aimed at your grandfather. Your gaze pulled as you watched both men aim their guns at each other and you grew worried immediately. 

“Minho…” You whispered. 

“Minho. Move.” Your grandfather demanded. Your head began to pound with anxiety. Minho sternly looked back at your grandfather as he held you back when you tried to move.

“No.” Minho gritted.

“Minho stand down.” Your grandfather’s tone rose and Minho cocked back his gun and held it at your grandfather.

“MINHO!” Your grandfather shouted.

“NO!” Minho shot his gun at the ceiling causing you and your grandfather to dodge in fear. You had your hands over your head, crouched down and Minho didn’t move an inch. You looked up and saw Minho breathing deeply and staring at your grandfather in anger, and hatred. It was a sight you had never seen. One that had been long overdue.

“My whole life. I have given you my whole life. I’ve bled and cried because you. You took everything from me. You--” Minho choked up and began to well tears in his eyes as your grandfather rose slowly to stand again, “My mother didn’t deserve to die.”

“Minho-“ Your grandfather softly pleaded.

“Your greed and obsession with being the best has caused you to lose everyone around you and you don’t even care.” Minho then grabbed your hand from behind him and you stood up as he began to slowly shift his way towards the entrance, still aiming his gun at your grandfather.

“I will not partake in your wishes anymore, Grandfather. I have watched you hurt Y/N too many times.” You listened to Minho’s words as he kept shifting you towards the entrance door.

“The Lee family was built to last beyond you two. The Hwang family emerged to strike us down. And you still wish to sleep with your enemy. as long as I live, there will never be peace between the families.” Your grandfather spoke and you caught a glimpse at his eyes, just soulless.

“Come on.” Minho whispered as you two made it to the entrance door and were about to run off before your grandfather yelled out to you as you looked at him.

“You walk out that door, you watch your every turn.” 

You looked at Minho and you two ran off into the dark hallway, you in front and Minho behind as you made your way out of the chamber. Once in the light you searched for HYunjin’s car and Minho approached behind you. 

“Where is Hyunjin?” he asked as you saw a car approach and you two began running towards it. Once Hyunjin pulled up next to you, both of you got in the car and you wasted no time.

‘HYUNJIN DRIVE!” You yelled as he began to accelerate the car and you watched as you guys sped away from the building and where you had just left. YOu leaned your head back against the chair and then realized what had happened. You turned around to Minho in the back seat and you went at it. 

“ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE?” You shouted and he looked at you in shock.

“What is your problem?” He loudly answered.

“What happened?” Hyunjin asked curiously as you continued lashing out at Minho.

“MINHO, DO YOU REALIZE WHAT YOU’VE DONE? WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?” You exclaimed.

“He was GOING TO KILL YOU!” 

“What?” Hyunjin softly said looking at you quickly. 

“YOU SHOULD OF LET HIM! I HAD HIM.” You retorted and felt the car come to a halt.

You felt the car jerk you to the front as Hyunjin stopped and looked at you. 

“You were going to let him kill you?” Hyunjin looked at you in complete dismay. You watched his eyes grow weak and sad as you felt the entire mood changed and you sighed.

“No. Minho protected me.” You softly said.

“I had to.” You heard Minho’s soft voice from the back echo and you looked up and saw him hanging his head low. 

“He didn’t hesitate to pull his trigger. He was going to shoot you. I couldn’t let him hurt you again.” You felt your inner child wanting to cry at his words. Years of feeling put down and helpless were healing. Minho stood over you and defended you. 

“At what cost?” You softly remarked and Minoh looked up at you and you sighed, “He’s going to come for me and you know it.”

“Come for you?” Hyunjin repeated and you looked at him as he continued, “What happened in there?”

*******************************************************************************************

“So he ordered the massacre?” 

It was almost a scene from a movie. Extremely rare and almost sacrilegious watching the table of the conference room filled with those of opposing families. You and Hyunjin stood at the front as Jisung had just summarize the information you gave to the boys. 

“ We always knew it was Chan’s father who carried out the massacre. Uncle took the blame for his little brother because he had too.” Jisung continued and you looked over at Hyunjin who lowered his head.

“He cared for his brother, but it meant nothing.” Changbin stated. 

“Chan has always been very obsessive over the title of leader. He always said it was an honor.” Jisung said back as you grabbed Hyunjin’s wrist and he looked at you. 

“Where is Chan?” You asked and Hyunjin opened his mouth before Changbin interrupted. 

“Compromised.” 

“He helped Yeji to get information on you.” Hyunjin looked at you and you nodded.

“That family line is easy to bribe hmm.” Felix teased, earning a small glare from Jisung. 

“So what’s the plan? What happens now?” Seungmin asked and you sighed looking at Minho quickly. 

“He’s going to come for me, when I least expect it.” 

“What?” Hyunjin gasped, unaware of this new news

“He will take me. I don’t know what he will do but he is going to try and kill me and the baby.” You looked down at the table, earning a worrying sigh from Hyunjin. 

“Baby?” Changbin stated and you looked at him and he shook his head, “Fuck you two really have turned this thing into shit” 

“So what do you think we should do?” Felix questioned. 

“Changbin you’re good with weapons and medicine, no?” You asked and he nodded. 

“I mean I dabble in the art of it. Why?” 

“Faking my death.” You said and Minho dropped his arms.

“Fake your death? Is that your brilliant plan?”  He asked and you looked at him.

“Grandfather won’t quit until he knows I’m dead.” You started and pointed at Minho, “ And he’s going to want you to finish me.” 

“I’m not going to shoot you Y/N.”

“If I’m “dead” grandfather will make you leader and you will be able to infiltrate the network and find out how we can end all this corruption.” You explained and Minho looked at you distressed and you sighed. 

“We need a bullet that won’t enter your body.” Hyunjin said and you looked at him as he started at you in worry. 

“ I can’t create a prototype bullet that won't enter your body.” 

“Then I’ll have to get shot. Can it stimulate me enough to slow my heart rate?”

“Yes it can--.”

“Can it damage the baby?” Hyunjin interjected and Changbin sighed and blew it out his mouth. 

“I can’t confidently say no, I have never used it on pregnant women.”

“I don’t know Y/N.. it’s-” Hyunjin started and you cut him off.

“We are doing it” Everyone grew silent and you groaned in annoyance. 

“Guys if we want to end a war we didn’t start we have to sacrifice.” 

“At what cost?” Felix said and you looked at him as he looked uneasy back at you. 

“Excuse me Y/N” You didn’t realize a soldier had walked in and you looked up at him and nodded.

“Yes”

“There’s a phone call for you” He stood by and waited for your acceptant nod as you stood straight up and looked around the table and then to Hyunjin, who looked the most stressed. His anxiety heightens, his face white. He didn’t feel comfortable with this decision and it broke your heart cause you knew that this was the only viable way. Your grandfather will never quit attacking you and looking for you if he knew a child of both Hwang and Lee blood existed. He had power that you could overthrow if everyone teamed up to let it happen. Minho could infiltrate the corrupted network of leaders who followed your grandfather. 

“We are doing it. It’s my call” You sternly said as you walked towards the exit door and out into the lobby, leaving the men in the room.

*******************************************************************************************

The pounding of your heart was in your ears as you looked at Hyunjin. He stood in front of you, gun pointed at Minho. His eyes were dark, like he craved this. You felt hazy, nothing in that moment felt real. Your knees grew sore from being in the gravel. You looked up to the side of you and saw Minho. His eyes, sad and hurting. You thought he would cry. But how could he in this moment. But the gun in his hand at you didn’t feel staged anymore. Nothing felt right. You were beginning to question your sanity. Had all of this been a lie? Were you once again fooled? Your grandfather’s claps interrupted your thought process as you turned to him as he chuckled.

“All three of you. In one vicinity. How delightful it is to see sucha scene, and how pathetic it is to see the son of Hyun-woo sacrificing his life yet again for a woman.” Hyunjin clenched his jaw as he looked at you and you stared back. He was hard to read, something that never was difficult before. He looked busy in his mind, thinking about something deeply. You turned to Minho and he looked down at you as you tried to read him. Blank. You felt your heart beat quicken and the pit of your stomach felt light. Where were they? Why were the not with you?

“Since I have you three here, I might as well use this to my advantage.” your grandfather stepped closer and looked at Minho.

“Shoot her.” 

“Don’t you dare.”

“Shoot her Minho.” 

“Minho I swear to god, don’t you dare pull that trigger.” 

“No?” Your grandfather looked at Hyunjin and he smiled at him. “ Then you pull it Hyunjin. Pull yours.” 

You looked at the scene and felt tears brim your eyes. Nothing felt right and this was not the plan. You looked to Hyunjin and then Minho. Minho began to shake and you pleaded with your eyes. 

“I don’t care who pulls the trigger, it means nothing to me. One of you has to die anyways…” 

“You heard him Y/N.” Minho said softly and you looked at him in fear as he cocked his gun back and you saw the light escape his eyes, full blown rage. 

“One of us has to die.”

You raised your body straight up from the bed and began to gasp hard and felt your sweat dripping from your forehead. Your lungs felt tight and you couldn’t breathe. You felt the body next to you shoot up and a hand laid on your back. 

“Baby. Baby..” Hyunjin’s voice drowning in the back as you felt your panic attack wash over you and your eyes widened as he clasped his hands on you cheeks and made you face him 

“Baby, breathe. Honey, I need you to breathe.” 

You tried to catch a breath and you couldn’t, then you felt Hyunjin’s thumb stroke over your cheek as you failed to realize tears were falling from your eyes. You gripped his wrists and he placed his forehead on yours and connected your eyes. 

“Inhale... “ He spoke softly and inhaled breath as you stared back into his eyes following his commands. Trying sto intake air at a slow rate. 

“Exhale..” 

You breathe the air out staggering and followed Hyunjin’s breathing as he kept repeating it. Inhale. Exhale. Tears uncontrollably falling from your face and you felt the need to have him closer. You needed his skin and his warmth. You wrapped your arms around him as he began to stroke you mid back and cooed in your ear. 

“I’m here love. I’m right here.”

You cried into his bare shoulder, feeling his fingertips glide across your clothes back, lifting the edge of your shirt intimately. He placed kisses on your neck and shoulder as he comforted you. 

“It was a bad dream. Just a bad dream love.” 

You held him close and felt your breathing begin to sync up with his. He kept shushing you and  rocked you back and forth, his fingertips drawing comforting circles on you skin. He was your rock. This is what it was. You knew that life would be fine without him but to imagine a world where he wasn’t wit you like this made you sick. Through the good the bad, and the ugly. He stood by your side in these moments and never ran away. He always held you close, two hearts as one. Because with him, it was bliss, a piece of heaven. Every moment with him erased what life was , the revolving piece of hell that towered over you.. Suffocating. Hyunjin was your escape, your angel sent from above. You needed him. 

You pulled back and he once again placed his hand over your cheek, thumb stroking over the fallen tears. He leaned in and placed a soft kiss to your lips and you closed your eyes, letting the sensations overtake you, your heart calming down and coming back to normal. 

“You’re stressed out.” He whispered. 

You were. “I’m not.”

“You’re afraid.” He kissed you again and you shook your head. 

You were mortified. “I’m okay.”

“Y/N. That’s the third time this week.” 

You sighed and nodded. He was right. Tomorrow would be the day of the battle. Your execution. He was coming for you somehow, someway. You didn’t know what to expect, what was to come.. 

“I don’t know what he’s going to do to me.” You bit your lip giving up on trying to act tough.

“He won’t lay a hand on you.” Hyunjin grazed his fingertips up your arm as he stroked you. 

“What if I die..” 

“You won’’t.” 

“But what if I do-” 

“Y/N. I have spent my whole life searching for a purpose to live. I have allowed myself to submit to the order of being the leader of a mafia I don’t want. Meeting you, being with you, loving you, gives me purpose. I can not allow this man to put a stop to what is right. From what matters to me.” 

“You will not die tomorrow and I will make sure of it. I will protect you like I always have and I will never let you go.”

This was it. You knew it. This was the last time. The last night you and Hyunjin would have to feel drowned by the lives of those before you. The last time you two will have to live alive created for you. Your chance was now and you were going to take it, regardless of the consequences.

“Hyunjin..” 

He hummed in response and you looked at him.

“Make love to me.” 

Hyunjin stared at you for a moment and you looked into his brown orbs. He was so soft, so small. You trailed your hands up his neck and touched the ends of his soft blonde hair. He leaned forward and kissed your lips ever so softly. You felt every line on his lips as he molded into your mouth. His hands rubbed up your back as he leaned you back against the mattress and towered over you. Hyunjin kissed you with extreme passion, every move sent electricity down your spine. 

Hyunjin grounded his hips against your pelvis and you moaned into his lips as he sucked in air. You felt his member grow hard through the thin material of his boxers and you chuckled. Hyunjin pulled back with lust soaked eyes and smiled softly before playing kissed along your jawline and down your bare neck. His hands reached down to your hips and played with the hem of your shirt. You arched your back into his bare chest as he slowly glided his hands up the skin of your stomach and close to your breasts before his large hands clasped over your breast and rubbed you slowly. You hated the clothes between you so you took the initiative to remove your sleep shirt and have your chest exposed to him. Hyunjin groaned looking at your naked chest and began to pepper kisses around the top of your chest and over your boobs. His tongue extended and slowly licked over your nipple making the tingle shoot up your chest and you arched your back in pleasure again. He smirked against your skin as he began to pepper kisses down your stomach and above the lining of your sleeping shorts. 

“You’re the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” Hyunjin whispered looking at you as he used his hands to slide the shorts down your legs. You bit your lip in anticipation and you watched as Hyunjin was ready to go down on you but you lifted his head and pulled him closer to you for a kiss.

“I want to feel you inside me.” You whispered against his lips and he pulled back in a bit of shock but then agreed.

He pulled his boxers down and you watched as he pushed you gently back down to the bed. Hyunjin spread your legs open and wrapped them around his waist as he glided the head of his cock up and down your slit. He hissed at the warmth and wetness you gave as he coated his head with your juices. Hyunjin looked at you as he inserted himself into you, stretching you out. Your mouth agape as you moaned at the fullness he provided, Hyunjin collapsed his body on yours as you wrapped your arms around his neck pulling him closer. Hyunjin began to thrusts his hips into you slowly, making you feel every vein and rigid ness of his member as he grazed your inner walls. You moaned into his ear as he grunted into you. He pulled himself up to look at you, strands of his blonde locks were taking from his tiny ponytail. He bent down to kiss you still pumping into you, a bit faster but every thrust had a meaningful moment. He wasn’t fucking you, he was giving all of himself to you. This was the most vulnerable and intimate way Hyunjin could show you his love.

You grasped him harder as he began to hit your g spot a few times.  “Fuck Hyun, do that again.” 

“You like that love?” He thrusted harder into you and you whined.

“God damn, Hyunjin.” 

“You feel so good around me, love. You always feel so good around me.”

Hyunjin was so close to you, the way he pounded into you was so hot. Your body temperature rising and your skin grew flush. The tip of his dick and the angle you two were in was enough for him to graze against your sweet spot time after time and you were clawing at his back, be going for release. 

“Oh my god Hyunjin, you’re gonna make me cum.” 

“Hyunjin then buried his lips near your ear as he thrusted at the same speed, your moans frowning louder and more frequent.

“I want you to cum around my dick baby girl. I want you to quiver and shake against me. Tell me how god I make you feel. How good I’ll always make you feel.” 

His words sent chills down your back and near your pussy. You felt yourself begin to clench around him as he whispered to the feeling.

“Ahh. AHH” you screamed and Hyunjin fucked into you harder as your walls tighten against him and squeezed him harder as he picked up the pace. You felt your body give out as Hyunjin kept thrusting into you at the same speed. Your orgasm flushed through you and began to pick right back up as he over stimulated you, chasing his own orgasm. 

“OH MY FUCK-“ you cried out as he pulled you to the side and began to thrust into you at a new angle. You groaned and Hyunjin whimpered. 

“Fuck i wanna cum too.”

“Please daddy, cum inside me.” 

Hyunjin lifted your leg up a bit still thrusting into you an you felt your second orgasm come as your walls began to clench again. You leaned your head back and cried out.

“Hyunjin fuck me oh my god.” 

Hyunjin then began to thrust more sloppily and you felt the spurts of his cum shot into you as he laid his head against your shoulder blade, and your orgasm washed over you. 

You both were breathing heavily and Hyunjin was thrusting into you lazily and slow as he gripped your chin and pulled you in for a soft kiss. You two stayed like that for a moment. This was it.

He wrapped his arm around you pulling you closer than ever before. His heart beating hard against your back and his breath down your neck. You moaned and snuggled closer to him as you closed your eyes and interlocked your hands together.

“This is it.” He said and you smiled and nodded, “This is the last time you and I will ever live like this.” 

“I wouldn’t want to have loved anyone else.”  You smiled and kissed his fingers and heard he smile

“Sorry you fell in love with your enemy.” He laughed and you chucked too at it and turns over to face him. You looked at his eyes and he looked back at you and you smiled.

“Hyunjin, I love you more than anything else in this world. And if something bad happens tomorrow, just know that you have been the most amazing part of my life.” Your words struck a nerve with Hyunjin, he felt compelled to pull you into his chest closer and kiss your forehead. You snuggled close and closed your eyes and he rubbed your naked back.

“Nothing bad is going to happen to you. I promise.”

A/N: Everyone, we have reached the final two chapters of this series. Two more weeks left of this beautiful series. I think I might cry. But I am in the process of thinking about my next move... not sure what to do. But as always thank you for reading, loving, and just giving me the validation as a writer and human I need, I live for you all every week and I am so glad you came on this journey. Until next week loves. 

Taglist:   @hyunfeji @zenzedana @datura-inoxia@minaamhh @ninjaleeknow @beethiin @hyunsxle @hwangful @huntressfrost25 @exonations @p0t4t0don14ll​ @beaann​

[eliemo]

Living in Denial

Janus’s pov in “Waiting Arms”

Summary: Janus had been a careful observer lately, noting with a sort of sad fondness how the other sides treated Virgil. He'd never seen him so content.

TWs: mention of past abuse

Masterpost

Taglist: @self-taught-mess @itawalrus @mygenderisidiot @a-very-gay-raccoon @dawnfire7 @cr4zyart @ray-does-stuff @whydoifeeltheneedtoorganizestuff @bunny222  @the-blue-recluse @bisexualdisaster106 (let me know if you want to be added or if I missed you)

To his own credit, Janus had been piecing things together before Roman even walked in the room.

He’d been a careful observer lately, noting with a sort of sad fondness how the other sides treated Virgil. They were careful around him, but not overly so. The four of them were clearly close, a tight knit “family” as they called it.

It wasn’t Janus’s department, but he could see the love and adoration in their eyes when they looked at each other. He’d never seen Virgil so...content. It was a bittersweet feeling.

So the idea that Roman, Patton, and Logan had been physically abusing Virgil this entire time didn’t quite add up. In fact, it seemed a rather ridiculous conclusion to come to.

If Virgil hadn’t been trembling on the floor, begging him and Remus not to hurt him (hurt him again), and shakily confessing that he had been hurt before, it never would have crossed Janus’s mind as a possibility.

And so, it wasn’t hard to come to the realization that Virgil probably hadn't been talking about to light sides.

By all logical reasoning (Logan would be pleased) he’d been talking about the Others. The less prominent, sometimes cruel parts of Thomas that would never fully manifest. The sides he, Virgil, and Remus had unfortunately spent a lot of time around for quite a few years.

Virgil’s behavior, his words, his panic, the way the light sides acted around him, it all pointed to the glaringly obvious conclusion that Virgil was recovering from the treatment the others had put him through.

Janus put the pieces together in a matter of seconds. He’d then promptly shoved it aside and jumped on board with Remus’s assumption as he stood in front of his brother, keeping Roman away from the anxious side falling deeper and deeper into panic on the kitchen floor.

Maybe it was selfish, but he could blame it on the fact that he wasn’t thinking very clearly at the moment.

He’d snarled at Roman, demanding the Prince explain what he’d done to Virgil, despite being almost entirely convinced at this point that Roman had done nothing but help him feel safe. Possibly for the first time in Anxiety’s life.

He denied the truth, despite how plainly it was laid out in front of him, because it was easier. Because accepting the truth meant accepting the fact that Virgil had undergone horrible treatment and Janus had done nothing.

All the nagging doubts he’d brushed aside, all the little white lies he’d caught onto and ignored, all the shaking hands and wide eyed, haunted looks that he’d chalked up to just another one of Virgil’s eccentricities. (He was Anxiety, after all, he was bound to be a bit jumpy by nature) All of that had been years of abuse, neglect, and mistreatment hidden in plain sight.

That little voice in the back of his head telling him something was wrong had been right. And that...that was terrifying.

So in the moment, he’d denied it. That was what he did best, after all.

But denial would only get a person so far. Denial would only crash and burn and spread into a devastating fire.

Because despite how hard he was trying, very little was going to be able to convince Virgil that Janus’s intent wasn’t to harm him. Not until he calmed down.

And then Virgil was gone, sinking out away from the noise in the kitchen, and Janus couldn’t honestly say he was surprised, alarmed as he was.

“Get off me, you idiot!”

Janus glanced behind him, shoulders sagging at the sight of the brothers. Roman had tried to push past Remus, the Duke grabbing the Prince’s sash and shoving him back, and Deceit knew if it was only a matter of seconds until someone threw a punch.

But in the moment, Janus couldn’t move, the loathsome truth fighting its way to the surface no matter how much he hated it, still kneeled on the kitchen rug.

The rug...the rug that definitely hadn’t always been there. The rug they’d placed beneath the cabinets seemingly out of nowhere one day. The rug that didn’t particularly go with the rest of the room.

Janus had once made a snide comment he didn’t really mean to Logan, offhandedly mentioning that they should get rid of it. He’d never seen the logical side grow so righteously defensive so quickly.

There had been a similar occurrence when he’d brought up the cups the light sides used. The plastic cups…

The truth was piecing itself together, and Janus thought he might be sick.

“What’s going on?”

Patton’s voice, frantic and confused, was flooding the kitchen before Deceit could pull himself together and reign in the chaos, the moral side skidding to a stop in the kitchen doorway.

And before Janus could stop him, Remus was releasing his hold on his brother and whirling around to face Morality.

“What the fuck have you done?”

The moral side paled, eyes going wide, and Janus wondered if anyone had ever had the audacity to swear at Patton before.

“I- what? Remus, calm--”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” Remus was still clutching his Morning Star, and Roman was carefully moving to put himself in between the two sides. “Tell me what the fuck you’ve done to Virgil!”

It was like a string had been cut. Patton’s face dropped, something dangerous hardening in his eyes. His gaze went to Janus on the rug still stained with spilled water, then to Roman shakily hovering in the middle of the chaos.

“Where’s Virgil?” Patton asked, and Janus had never heard Morality sound so cold. “Roman--”

“He sank out,” Janus said, finally finding his voice for the first time since Virgil had disappeared. “I was...attempting to calm him down.”

“Oh god.”

Remus reached for Patton’s arm as the moral side turned away and Janus quickly forced himself to speak again, beyond grateful for the way his words didn’t tremble.

“Let him go, Remus,” he said. “It wasn’t them.”

Remus turned to him, incredulous, but dropped his hand all the same, Morning Star still held tight in the other. Patton threw him a questioning glance, but was hurrying through the doorway without another word.

He nearly ran right into a slightly disheveled Logan’s chest.

“What on earth?” He frowned when Patton didn’t answer, barreling past the logical side and out of the kitchen. “I heard yelling, is--”

“What do you mean it wasn’t them?” Remus was spinning around to face Janus, completely ignoring Logan’s tired confusion. “Virgil just said--”

“You're not listening! ” Roman jumped in, and Janus watched Logan quietly take in the scene. “If you would just calm down and let us explain--”  

“Roman.”

Janus didn’t jump- not quite. He would never allow himself to so visibly lose his composure, never in front of so many people. But Logan’s voice, the look in his eyes, was more than enough to bring silence to the room.

When Deceit looked up at Logan, it was like reading an open book. Janus could pick up on lies, read between lines like a second language, but with the logical side there really was never any need.

Logan, for all the times he claimed not to feel, felt more clearly, more strongly than even Patton. He felt and expressed his emotions more intensely than any of them, all while adamantly denying their existence.

And right now, Janus only needed a single glance to see Logan’s anger.

“What happened?” he asked, eyes on the Prince, voice steely calm. “Where is Virgil?”

There was worry beneath the anger, but not nearly enough at the moment to grant them any mercy.

“He was having an attack,” Roman explained, defenses dropping, and it was clearly a frequent enough event that Logan instantly knew what he meant. “I was trying to help him but they wouldn’t let me!”

Janus would never admit it, and he wondered if Remus felt the same, but something about Roman’s aggression sent a pang of...something though his chest. Something that hurt.

He deserved it, he knew. He wasn’t even close to being one of them. He might never be. But he’d been making strides lately, small as they were.

Now, it was like being back on the outside looking in.

But that didn’t matter right now. What mattered is that Remus was quiet, and Janus needed to keep it that way before someone threw a punch.

“I think it is safe to assume,” Logan was saying before Janus could gather his thoughts. “That Janus and Remus have no knowledge of Virgil’s previous treatment. They were trying to protect him.”

“All I know,” Janus said, the bite to his words the last defense he had left. “Is that Virgil was convinced he was going to be beaten. Again. We were a bit caught off guard, so forgive us for taking initiative, Roman.”

“And look where your initiative got you!”

“So what you’re saying,” Logan snapped, turning back to the twins before Janus could retort. “Is that Virgil had already been triggered into a panic attack, and you two decided to have a shouting match five feet away from him?”

Roman had the decency to look guilty, the fight deflating completely from his stance, but Janus couldn’t find it in him to be relieved. Not when Remus was looking progressively more and more panicked beside him.

“I was- I was just trying to help! I thought you--”

“Living room.” Logan’s voice was cold, and even Janus couldn’t shut the Duke down that easily. “All of you. Now.”

Janus, for once, didn’t argue, and he suddenly realized he still hadn’t moved from his crouch on the kitchen rug.

Regaining what little dignity he had left, Deceit quickly picked himself back up, absently brushed off his clothes like he wasn’t just barely numb enough to avoid breaking down completely, and stalked right past the others, all while ignoring the death glares Roman and Remus were sending each other.

Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately- he really wasn’t in a headspace to have his worst fears confirmed), the dreaded conversation wasn’t yet ready to happen.

“Logan!”

Patton was barreling down the stairs, eyes only on the logical side, trembling and frantic, and Janus felt something uneasy clawing at his tightening throat.

Remus had moved to the couch, perched on the arm with his legs crossed, watching the others uneasily. He kept glancing at Janus, but Deceit couldn’t bring himself to look over.

“He’s not there,” Patton hissed, voice laced with panic as he gripped Logan’s sleeve. “He’s not- he’s not in his room, I can’t find him I can’t--”

“Patton, please attempt to calm yourself.”

“He’s gone again!” Patton’s voice caught, eyes welling with tears, and Janus quickly turned away. “It’s happening again, he...what if he- Logan I can’t let this happen again!”

There it was, once more. Again. It was going to happen again. Virgil didn’t want to be hurt anymore.

All of it. Over and over again for god only knew how long. And Janus, priding himself on being a silent observer, on always knowing more than he let on, had just...he’d just…

Janus was sinking out of the living room before he really had time to wrap his head around where he was going, He tried not to think about the irony of following in Virgil’s footsteps.

But if Virgil wasn’t in his room, something that was clearly alarmingly familiar to the others, then Janus was almost positive he knew where he was.

He’d practically said it himself in his panic, a shred of safety he’d desperately clung onto.

“Hey, you’re ok.”

The words were already filtering in by the time Janus appeared beside the staircase in Thomas’s living room, dread already lessening at the apparent lack of panic in the host’s voice.

“You’re ok, bud. You’re safe. It’ll be ok when you wake up.”

Virgil was on the couch (Janus hadn’t quite expected to feel the relief that strongly, legs threatening to give out beneath him), eyes closed and breathing beginning to slow.

Thomas was kneeling on the floor beside him, one hand carding through Virgil’s hair, the other carefully interlocked with the anxious side’s, speaking soft reassurances as he slowly drifted off.

Thomas was a good person. Janus knew that, despite any arguments he may have made in the past for the sake of proving a point.

Thomas was compassionate. He cared, more than anyone. And yet it still caught Janus off guard to see him act so gentle towards Anxiety.

With theories of what had happened to Virgil in the past forming in his head, Janus decided that was for the best. Virgil needed people to be gentle with him.

He wished he’d been able to offer that.

Janus was taking a step forward before he could stop himself, voice much smaller than he would have liked. “Thomas?”

Thomas froze and fell silent, shoulders tensing slightly, but he didn’t turn away from a now still and quiet Virgil.

For a moment the living room was quiet, and Janus wondered if he should just duck out, hurry and tell the others that Virgil was safe.

But he couldn’t move, completely frozen once again, and Thomas let out a quiet sigh.

“It’s not your fault,” he said, and Janus did not care for being thrown off by his own host. That was his job. But Thomas was continuing before he had the chance to come up with an answer. “Can you grab me a blanket from the closet?”

Janus opened his mouth to respond, something sarcastic and witty automatically at the tip of his tongue, but then his eyes fell back onto Virgil, the guilt flooding back, and any usual snark died in his throat.

“Of course.”

Thomas had a few blankets folded up on the closet shelf, and Janus carefully took the softest one in there- a dark gray comforter he thought he might have seen Virgil use before.

Wordlessly, he handed it over to Thomas and watched as he draped it over Virgil, careful not to wake the anxious side.

“He’ll be ok,” Thomas said, and took a shaky breath. “Did you...did you know?”

“Oh yes.” There was no use in even trying to control his own response. “I was fully aware that Virgil was being horrifically abused every time I had my back turned. I stood there and did absolutely nothing to stop it. Is that what you want to hear?”

Thomas was staring at him, probably watching Deceit with that unbearably gentle gaze, but Janus refused to look. He kept his eyes on Virgil, gloved hands clutching his own sleeve, refusing to acknowledge the fact that he’d started to shake.

As awful as it was, as selfish and cruel as it was, he wished the light sides had been the ones hurting Virgil. He wished this was something recent. He wished there was an excuse for not noticing.

“Janus?”

It took him a moment to realize that wasn’t Thomas speaking, Patton now beside him in front of the couch. Thomas was nowhere in sight, and Janus had no idea how long he’d been standing here.

“Can you head back to the mindscape, please?” Patton asked, a hand coming to rest on Janus’s arm. He didn’t pull away. “The others wanna talk to you.”

Janus scoffed, still frozen in place. “You all must be thrilled. Finally an excuse to send the dark sides back where they came from.”

He didn’t spare Patton anything more than a cautious glance, but it was enough to see his eyes filled with a disgusting amount of sympathy.

“We know you would never hurt Virgil,” Patton said. “Remus wouldn’t either. We all know that. I trust you, Janus.”

Janus shook his head, throat far too tight to form a coherent answer, taking a moment to breathe. “Are you coming?”

“Not yet,” Patton said. “I...think I need to stay with him. Just for right now.”

And Janus supposed he understood that. A part of him wanted so desperately to stay, to never let Virgil out of his sight again just to be absolutely sure he was safe.

But he didn’t have the right to make that request. Not when he’d clearly failed so spectacularly at keeping him out of harm’s way before.

He sank out without another word, trusting Patton to do what he couldn't.

The living room in the mindscape was almost exactly the scene he had expected. Logan and Roman were on the couch, the Prince scowling at Remus who was pacing the floor, whatever rant he was going on falling silent as soon as Janus reappeared.

The Duke’s eyes lit up as soon as he saw him, brimming with unabashed hope and desperation, and Janus’s heart sank when he realized what Remus wanted.

Remus was waiting for a better explanation, for Janus to assure him that what the light sides were saying wasn’t true. That Virgil hadn’t been beaten behind their backs for years.

God, Janus wished he could offer him that.

Instead, he moved over to the empty armchair, sat down with his hands folded in his lap, and steadily met Logan’s gaze.

“Tell me what they did to him.”

He didn’t look away. Not when Remus stormed out of the room and a door slammed somewhere in the mindscape a few seconds later, not when Janus’s gut twisted in anger and disgust when Logan told him details.

He did, however, begin to feel like he might throw up when they explained that Virgil had been taught that it was normal.

“Janus.”

Janus hadn’t realized he’d stood from the chair, already moving towards the stairs until Logan was suddenly following him, voice curt and pained. Deceit forced himself to turn back around.

“I can’t say that I fully trust you yet,” Logan said, and Janus almost laughed at the logical side’s bluntness. “And I have my differences with Remus. But I know you two would never hurt Virgil. I know you would have stopped it if you’d known.”

Of course he would have. If he’d ever caught one of the others in the act, ever seen the abuse in action, it never ever would have happened again. No one would dare.

And they’d known that. So they’d hidden it. And Janus had never thought to look deeper into the little, seemingly meaningless lies. The way sometimes Virgil would be limping…

God, what the fuck was wrong with him? How on earth was anybody willing to accept him when it had all been his fault?

But he didn’t say any of that. There was no excuse, no reason to drag this on any longer than was needed.

“Alright,” he said instead, continuing up the stairs. “Tell me when he wakes up.”

Janus thought briefly about checking in on Remus, but quickly decided he couldn’t bear to see his own guilt mirrored in the Duke’s horror.

Later. They would talk about this later.

Instead he locked himself in his room, doubting anyone would come looking for him but fully prepared to turn them away if they did. He didn’t want to face anyone right now. He didn’t plan on leaving until Virgil was awake.

He stayed there in silence until Patton softly knocked hours later, the sky dark and his head heavy, nervously informing him through the door that Virgil was awake and up for visitors.

And in those hours, if he’d let his walls down and privately lost his carefully upheld composure, well...no one needed to know.

All that was left to do was move forward, and make sure Virgil knew he would never be hurt again. Janus wouldn’t let him. Not again.

[wallwriterstuff]

Obsession ||Yandere!Alec Volturi x Female Reader|| Part 1

Warnings: Yandere!Alec, obsessive behaviour, unhealthy relationships and implied non-con later on. This is possibly one of the darkest fics I have ever written so please be aware if controlling behaviour, gaslighting etc. If this is triggering to you, do not read this fic. This and posts like this one will be tagged under dark themes so please feel free to block that tag if you do not want to see content like this in the future. 

The following link will take you to a Citizen’s Advice Page that have resources regarding Domestic abuse and violence. They detail various organisations offering support, refuge and advice for both women and men in abusive situations, however these only apply to the UK. 

https://www.citizensadvice.org.uk/family/gender-violence/domestic-violence-and-abuse-getting-help/ 

I am from the UK and therefore am not sure about what resources may be available internationally, however I know many of you are from places outwith the UK. If you have any resources you know of that would be useful or helpful to add here then please do! You can reblog this post with link in or message me a link to have me edit it into the original. I will post this link and any that get added in all three parts of this fic that I post. 

Words: 3116

Summary: A request for @tiger-khans-blog Savings your sister’s boyfriend was an act of kindness, something you had done out of the goodness of your heart, but hadn’t they always said the road to hell is paved with good intentions?  Alec is aged up to 16 in this fic.

Part 2: When You’re Lost I’ll Leave My Gaslight On 

Part 3: These Violent Delights 

It had been near constant since you’d entered the room.

His eyes were the most piercing ruby red – until they weren’t. The onyx colour had followed you ever since you’d set foot in the throne room, a sharp inhale being the extent of his communication with you. If he wasn’t so damn creepy he might have been handsome, with his shock of dark hair framing a pale face with all the sharp, angular cheekbones and jawline of a model. He was taller to, definitely taller than you by at least half a head, but his stare was piercing and completely at odds with his otherwise apathetic expression. He showed no emotion at all yet the way he looked at you…it was like the whole world revolved around you and only you. There was hunger and excitement and need and envy and a whole host of other emotions in his eyes. It had made you so uncomfortable you’d gravitated towards Alice as best you could, but the whole plan had gone out of the window when the hulking mass of muscle they called Felix started towards your sister.

Isabella Swan was two years older than yourself, but for most of your life she had been the one taking care of you. Renée hadn’t planned on having a second child but like so many other things in her life, you were a complete accident. As loving as your mother was, she wasn’t necessarily fit to take care of one child, never mind two. Bella was the one who had helped with homework, who had crawled into your bed with you when you had nightmares or were sick. To see Felix coming straight for her was like something straight out of a nightmare and you’d moved without thinking. One minute you were facing the taunting smirk of a mountain man and the next the room had blurred, and your vision was filled with the furious stare of the boy who had been watching you all day.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed. His grip on the tops of your arms tight enough to bruise. You winced, wide eyes filling with tears, and in the next second the boy had released your arms and moved to tenderly cup your face. “Shhh, shhhh sh sh, it’ll all be over soon.” He promised, thumbs stroking your cheeks while you tried to squirm out of his grip. His eyes hardened, clearly unhappy with you trying to escape him. You could only see him, his face the only thing in your vision, but you could hear what sounded like rocks colliding, granite smashing. Your body trembled, anxiety filling you up. It wasn’t clear if the boy was more upset with your trying to get out of his grip than your interference with Bella’s execution, but those coal black eyes never lost their laser focus on you.

“Alec?” the petite blonde beside him sounded thoroughly confused while you fought off a shudder. You hated how his name sounded so appealing. Everything about him was enticing, even his scent, but he terrified you beyond belief with the way he was acting.

“Is it the noise? Would you prefer not to see? To hear?” he asked. In the next second it was all gone, like the world had fallen away around you. You couldn’t see, couldn’t hear; you were left screaming in your own head with absolutely no idea if you were still in that awful, awful room or if your soul had mercifully fled your body before you could feel any pain. There was simultaneously nothing and everything, an endless abyss of silence and the imprecise, ever-shifting image of what you thought you remembered the Volturi’s throne room to look like wavering in your head.

Being left alone with your imagination was somehow worse than seeing the actual thing. In your mind Bella was torn in half, one hand stretched towards you while the other remained in Felix’s grip. Alice was trapped by Demetri, Felix holding Edward by the throat. Then the scene would shift and Bella was limp in his arms with Felix’s mouth attached to her neck, both Cullen’s dead and Alec descending on you with that insane stare of his. There were too many ways to envision what mutilation might have occurred and you were beginning to drive yourself insane with them when suddenly the darkness faded.

You blinked rapidly, unsure if what you were seeing was real since it was so blurred. A gentle hand dabbed rough wool beneath your eye and you realised the world looked so watery because you had been crying. Alec used the sleeves of his jacket to dry your tears. Bella was watching you with horror filled eyes, your trembling body almost giving way as you fought the urge to run – you were sure Alec would just drag you back. You could feel his breath on the side of your face. He clearly didn’t understand the concept of personal space.

“Mesmerising, to see what you have seen before it has happened.” Aro murmured, stroking Alice’s hand before she pulled it back with a clearly forced smile.

“But what will.” She reminded him. He clapped his hands, looking so joyful you were left utterly paralysed with confusion. Did he not understand how terrifying this all was? Had he not seen the sheer crazy that was waiting to burst forth out of the boy holding you back? His behaviour was erratic, completely at odds with the rest of the refined and well disciplined Guard. How could Aro not see?

“Yes, yes it’s quite certain, you are free to leave.” Aro informed them. Your breath escaped you in a rush and you immediately tried to dash for your sister. Bella had opened her arms straight to you and the safe haven was so close, yet so far. Alec didn’t let you take a step, hauling you back against his chest and burying his nose in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply.

“No you don’t, I’ve waited too long.” He grumbled. You struggled frantically, the tears springing to your eyes again as Caius tried to protest his brother’s decision. You had drawn the attention of most of the Guard and the man you knew to be Marcus by now though, the brunette king looking somewhat sympathetic towards you. For a man with no respect for human life to look at you like that could most certainly not be a good thing.  

“What are you doing brother? Let the foolish thing go.” Jane said, reaching for his arm. His head snapped up, a growl rumbling through his chest into your spine. If looks could kill, you had no doubt the petite blonde would have burst into flame then and there, bursting into a thousand pieces with the intensity of the danger in his glare.

“Bella!” you whimpered. His hold was like having an iron beam wrapped around your torso, two strong arms refusing to let you move so much as an inch from his chest. It didn’t make sense, none of it did, why was he so obsessed with keeping you near? Did he want you dead? He couldn’t, he’d had plenty of chance to do so by now and hadn’t taken a single opportunity to hurt you on purpose. So what was his problem with you?  

“Alec, dear one, is something the matter?” Aro asked, eyes glistening.

“Aro.” His brother held a hand out to him and the black haired leader flashed towards him while you continued to struggle, your frustration mounting.

“Let me go!” you cried, You stomped on his foot – nothing. You threw your elbow back into his ribs – nothing except a sore elbow for you. You tried to pry his arms away from your body – nothing.

“No.” he hissed. You squeezed your eyes shut.

“Let me go! Please! Let me go!” you begged.

“I said, no.” he repeated, his voice ice cold. Your heart rabbited in your chest, the nausea in your throat rising until you were sure you were on the verge of throwing up. You could barely breathe and it wasn’t just his tight grip that was the problem. There was a panic attack looming on the horizon for you if he kept this up.

“Please, let her go, she’s done nothing wrong. Aro said we were free to go.” Bella tried. She took a step towards you and with one swift jerk he had turned his back on her. You screamed, your limbs fatigued and losing strength with every hit.

“I’m afraid young Y/N will not be going home with you,” Aro’s voice was soft, “To separate them would clearly only cause harm. Alec cannot leave his mate.” You froze in his grip, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket as you lip trembled. Mate? Mate? What the hell did that even mean? Animals mated, not humans! Was that what he was implying? The boy was so horny for you he wouldn’t let you leave? The fear that gripped you was utterly paralysing as you thought of a thousand different scenarios that made you want to be utterly sick with the horror of them; your choices taken from you, your voice inconsequential as he did things to you you never consented to.

“She’s my sister! Please, I’ve looked after her since she was born, you can’t just-“

“And from this day forth she’ll be looked after by me. She is mine.” Alec snarled quietly. He didn’t seem to notice you’d gone completely rigid in his grip.

“Alec her father will be devastated, she hasn’t even finished school, if you keep her here you’ll just make her unhappy.” Edward tried to reason with him, but he merely tightened his grip on you. You cried out, a sharp pain ripping through your midriff as he almost choked the life from you. The blonde-haired Guard appeared in your line of sight then, his expression somewhat concerned as you struggled to force air into your lungs. If Alec could hear you rasping for air he didn’t show it.

“Alec, old friend look at her,” he coaxed. Alec had done plenty of looking at you, you didn’t want him to look anymore. You shied away from his gaze, head ducking and hair falling between you. Shuddering gasps escaped you as your heart began to roar in your ears, a sure sign there wasn’t enough oxygen getting into your lungs. One arm moved from around your waist but you were too scared to move away from him now, his freezing cold fingers gently brushing your hair back. You flinched.

“She’s mine, Demetri.” He insisted, frowning like a petulant child who was being threatened with their favourite toy being taken from them. Demetri nodded his head.

“She is, and yet she flinches from you. You are scaring her Alec, and she will most definitely bruise if you keep holding her so tight, that’s I she doesn’t suffocate first. Do you want that for your mate? Do you wish to hurt her? To make her fear you?” he questioned. Alec gave a soft wince, immediately loosening his grip.

“I’ve hurt you?” he asked, looking a lot like a wounded puppy now. You swallowed past the lump in your throat, not trusting your voice to remain steady and simply nodding in response. His eyes were still wide with conflicting emotion, but Demetri seemed to be getting through to him at least. You were grateful, and pleaded with your eyes for the man to keep going.

“You cannot simply claim her Alec, she is so young still, would you not prefer her to live a full life and come to you willingly?” Demetri wondered. You felt your stomach drop as Alec’s expression hardened.

“You’re trying to take her from me to.” he growled.

“Alec you are-“

“She, is, not, leaving!” he snarled, a sea of black exploding around him. Your eyes widened, a cool mist swirling about your legs as you finally managed to stumble away from him. Only Bella was still standing, the others having crumpled to the floor until only he, you and Bella remained conscious.

“Y/N!” she cried out. He didn’t stop you running to her this time. You stumbled into her arms, sobbing and shaking. She held you tight to her, her fingers pressing harshly into her skin. It felt like butterfly wings caressing your flesh compared to Alec’s vice like grip. “It’s okay, we’ll figure this out, it’ll be okay, you just have to-“

“Make this quick, say goodbye to your sister. That’s what you want isn’t it? A proper goodbye?” Alec asked, mist still pouring from his hands as his black eyes followed your every move. You shook your head frantically.

“I don’t want to say goodbye, I want to go home! Let me go home!” you begged. Alec hissed.

“What don’t you understand? You are my mate! I’ve waited a thousand years for you, you are mine and you cannot walk away from me!” he snapped. Bella tried to hush you, stroking your hair gently as you collapsed into her.

“Please don’t let him keep me here.” You cried. Bella remained silent, horribly, startlingly silent. Her hands shook as she held you close. Alec approached you, the mist seemingly absorbing back into his body as he walked. The room was in an uproar as soon as everyone was on their feet again, Felix and Demetri forcing him to his knees with furious expressions. He still never took his eyes off of you, his expression devoid of any and all emotion suddenly.

“Are you insane Alec? Using your gift on us? We’re trying to help you!”

“How could you brother? You broke our promise and for a human no less!”

“What insolence is this? Need we remind you of your place boy!”

Alec didn’t respond to any of the accusations, his neck straining so he could keep his eyes on you. Aro only had to touch his hand to know his intentions for you, but you didn’t dare look anymore, choosing instead to bury your face in your sister’s neck as you struggled to calm your breathing and sobbing.

“I would advise you leave now.” Felix huffed.

“We can’t,” Edward’s voice was quiet, apologetic, “Y/N, if we take you, he’ll destroy us all.” Your chest constricted, you felt like you could barely breathe as a lead weight settled in your gut. Destroy them? Alec was a killer, if the red eyes hadn’t told you so then his actions just now had. It wasn’t difficult at all to believe he’d go so far as to kill anyone who stood between you both, but what hurt even more was that you didn’t trust him to be good to you if you stayed either. Why did it have to be you? You’d come to Volterra to do something good, to save someone’s life! So why were you losing yours?

“You ought think on your actions Alec, your mate will be here waiting for you, but for now you need some time to reflect on your position. I think two weeks in the dungeons ought to suffice.” Aro’s voice was ice cold, his fury obvious. Clearly, he had never thought one of his own guard would dare use his powers against him.

“You monster! You fucking monster! Edward I can’t leave her here, she’s my baby sister!” Bella protested. You tightened your grip on her shirt, eyes itchy red and cheeks wet as the terrible weight of hopelessness sank down on your chest. There was no way out. Even if they had tricked Alec and let you leave what then? Did you run from him for the rest of your life? Did you just wait for him to find you? Maybe the dungeon might mellow him out some? It was a bit of a relief really, when the stress just shut your brain and body down, even if the moment of relief was as brief as blinking.

You could almost pretend nothing had ever happened, that perhaps you were at home, as your consciousness dripped back into you. You were on soft sheets, your pillow cradling your head, and you wanted to just burrow away in them. The only thing was, you could feel sunlight warming your skin, and that addictive, woodsy smell was not the lavender your laundry usually came out smelling like. You felt awfully nauseous for a moment when you opened your eyes, your body readjusting to having your brain in control once more, but the red eyes that met yours were far kinder this time than Alec’s aggressively territorial stare. The chestnut brown hair and angular face was familiar to you, and you warily sat up to lean back against the headboard. Demetri let you put the distance between you with an aura of calm that tempted you to relax to. He was alone, no Felix or Jane by his side, but that didn’t mean he was any less dangerous.

“Where’s Bella?” you whispered. She had to be somewhere nearby. Maybe she was in the bathroom? Or had gone to find food and drink? How long had you even been out? Whose room was this?

“She and the Cullen’s departed for their return flight to America not an hour ago.” Demetri informed you. Your stomach dropped, your nausea rising and face paling.

“No…no she – she didn’t leave me here, she didn’t….you’re lying!” Knees curling to your chest, you gripped tightly at your jeans until your knuckles turned as white as your face.

“Not without protest,” he assured you, his voice softer now with sympathy, “But it seems Alec has become unpredictable. His reaction to the mate pull unnerved us all, you are not alone in your fear, though perhaps we fear different things.” His voice was soothing in a way not much else to you was right now. Thoughts swirled in your mind, the bitterness at your abandonment only outweighed by terror at being left behind.

“What is he going to do to me?” you asked, your voice barely more audible than a whisper. Demetri’s head tilted.

“And that is why I am afraid…I truly cannot tell you.” He murmured. He didn’t exactly comfort you when the tears came again, your eyes beyond irritated with all the crying you’d done today, but he didn’t stop you from letting your emotions run away from you instead. He remained close enough to remind you you weren’t alone, but Demetri didn’t hold you as Bella would, or stroke your hair or do anything remotely soothing. His greatest gift to you in that moment was to simply let you be human.

You didn’t know how long that would last.

[chemist-ana]

Book: The Nanny Affair

Series: The Red Room

Title: Mercy

Characters: Sam, Ana Schuyler (MC)

Pairing: Sam Dalton (male) x Ana Schuyler (MC)

Rating: 18+

Content/Series Warning: NSFW, Adult Language, Trigger Warning- BDSM

Word Count: 1600

All characters belong to Pixelberry except for my OCs.

A/N: I was listening to Sickick this morning and I came across one of my favorite songs of his and BOOM this scene started playing in my mind. I guess these two were dying to get back into the red room. If you really want the whole experience, listening to this song on repeat while you read this makes it REAL and so fire. Have fun. A huge thank you for the original fic request from @txemrn for inspiring this series. Without her, the sex would be vanilla.

Listen: GOMD by Sickick

“Red room?” I whisper against his lips as we exit the elevator into the empty penthouse.

“You read my mind.” He takes a step back, bending down to pull the silk dress up and over my head. “You aren’t wearing any panties?” He lifts a brow at me.

I give him a cunning smile and his eyes darken. He steps up to me, expertly unhooking my bra and dropping it to the floor before he grabs my thighs and lifts me up into his arms. I smile against his lips as he effortlessly carries me down the hallway.

He pushes my naked back against the door, pinning me between his body and the solid wood. Our heated and impassioned kisses continue as one of his hands leaves my ass and I hear him pull the key out of his pocket. He quickly and efficiently unlocks the door without our lips breaking.

He puts his hand on my ass again, giving it a hard squeeze as I feel the atmosphere around me change. My arms are wrapped around his neck, my hands running through his thick brown curls as an involuntary moan escapes my lips. I was so incredibly turned on that I could feel the moisture pooling in between my legs.

Suddenly, I feel myself falling and I call out in surprise as my back hits the satin of the bed. My eyes open in surprise and he is standing over me. My eyes trail up his body, lingering at the bulge of his desire evident in his jeans. I bring my lower lip in between my teeth as I clench my thighs together.

“How should we play tonight?” His husky voice breaks my fantasy and my eyes fly up to his. His chocolate brown gaze has darkened to the color of obsidian, hooded and heated as he trails over my naked and exposed body. The intensity of his gaze causes all the air to leave my lungs. “Mmmm, I have an idea. Don’t move. Do you understand?”

I nod, still chewing on my lip.

“Answer me, Anastasia.” He growls.

I take a sharp breath. “Yes, sir.”

A devilish grin spreads across his face and need coils in my body.

He pulls his white t-shirt up and over his head, and I whimper at the sight of his chiseled chest and stomach. He turns around and I watch the sway of his hips and the ripple of the muscles of his back as he walks to the chest of drawers.

“Let’s try something different.” He murmurs as he walks back towards me. My eyes are focused on the intensity of his face and I gulp. “Sit up.”

I instantly comply as he removes a silk blindfold from his pocket and promptly ties it around my eyes, removing one of my senses. “Lie back.” Again, I comply, the sensation of the cool satin sheets heightened by my arousal.

I feel the bed shift under his weight and then he gently takes each of my wrists, buckling them into the leather cuffs that are on each corner of the headboard. I pull at them lightly.

“Now, Ana, I want to do something different. Do you trust me?” He takes my ear lobe between his teeth, biting softly, making my breath hitch.

“Yes.” I whisper breathlessly.

“Good girl. Now if this gets too intense, what is your safeword?”

“Red.” I whisper.

Suddenly the room goes quiet as he places a pair of headphones over my ears, removing another sense.

Not only can I not see him, but now I can’t hear him, I can barely hear the sound of my own erratic breath. I have no doubt that the moisture pooling in between my legs is leaving a mark on the sheets.

The sound of Gomd by Sickick starts playing in my ears, loud. The intense opening chant and beat makes a moan escape my lips. Holy shit. I arch my back as I sense his lips at my navel as he presses a soft kiss to my belly button. His hot breath sent goosebumps shooting across my skin. His fingertips trace across my lips and I moan again.

He trails teasing touches down my body, tracing my nipple then continuing further south. He avoids the apex of my thighs, instead sending his fingertips down the outside of my hips and along the length of my legs. My heart is beating so damn hard as my body threatens to shoot over the edge. I writhe under his delicate touch. I feel his fingers wrap around my ankle, and he buckles a cuff around one, then the other.

Then the beat drops on the song and I feel my legs suddenly spread, wide. The spreader bar. He grabs what I think is the bar and pulls me down, my arms straining above my head at the cuffs. I am completely spread-eagle and at his mercy.

I feel more whimpers escape my lips and his presence on the bed is suddenly gone.

I let my mind get consumed by the music as I anticipate what is next.

Then as if in perfect time with the song, I feel the flogger trail up my leg, across my belly, and up one of my outstretched arms. I instinctively try to close my legs as I desperately try to alleviate the building pulses in between my legs, but the bar prevents me from moving, even a little. Then as quickly as it came, it was gone. The heady combination of the music with my senses being blinded are sending me to a place I have never imagined.

He trails the flogger up the length of my body again, this time he stops and teases at my breasts. My skin tickles at the touch and I arch my back. The flogger is suddenly gone, and as the song reaches a climax, he cracks it down hard across my belly.

I cry out. The sensation of sweet agony sending a fresh wave of desire through my entire body.

He must be listening to the same song.

He does it again, but this time across my breasts. He continues to rain down blows that make me moan and cry out with each beat of the song. My body surrenders to the darkness, as a mixture of pain and pleasure take me to a place of erotic heaven.

The song slows to an end and so does the beat of the leather frondes from the flogger.

I can faintly hear my erratic and wild breathing. The yearning I have is filling every fiber of my being.

The song starts again, and I feel the bed shift next to me. Again with the perfect rhythm of the song, I feel his tongue at my hardened nipple, licking and swirling around one while his fingers tease the other one. I groan as again, the combination of the song and his erotic touches bring me closer and closer to an escape.

I am lost, lost to him, lost to the music.

Completely at your mercy.

The chants continue in my ear as he makes his way lower, kissing and licking his way down my stomach, halting briefly at my navel. I arch my back into his touch and I feel his lips turn up in a smile. Then his mouth is finally where I need it the most. I throw my head back as his tongue finds my clit, he bites it softly, eliciting a deep, throaty, moan. My orgasm is within reach as he laps at my wetness. Then he stops.

I let out a breath.

And the song ends and starts, again.

The bed shifts and I feel his breath against my lips and I feel his rock hard cock teasing at my entrance. In perfect tune with the song I am suddenly filled with him, his cock slamming into me, hard. I cry out. But he doesn’t move.

“God, Sam!” I plead.

He starts to move, slowly. So fucking slow. In perfect time with the song, in and out. I feel his labored breath against my lips and I throw my head back as moan after moan escapes my lips.

As the song climaxes so does the thrust of his hips. He starts moving faster and his lips capture mine. His kisses are heated as our tongues dance together, I can taste my arousal. I cry out as my body falls into the most earth shattering orgasm I have ever experienced. Every single one of my nerve endings are on fire as I feel my release in every single part of my body. I cry out as he continues to pump in and out of me, his unrelenting thrusts only extending the blinding pleasure that is filling me. I feel his release as his warmth spreads into me and he stills.

I feel him collapse on the bed next to me and he gently removes the headphones from my ears and the mask from my eyes. I blink in the dim light into his stormy brown eyes.

“Holy shit.” I whisper and his pure and satisfied smile spreads across his handsome face.

“That’s putting it mildly.” His voice husky as he lets out a small chuckle. He stretches to undo my wrists from the cuffs, and he rubs up and down my arms as he lowers them down to the bed. I watch as he takes such gentle care of my body, removing the spreader bar from my ankles.

My breathing slowly comes back to normal. He spreads his body next to mine and I crawl towards him, resting my cheek on the strong planes of his chest. I listen to the strong and fast beat of his heart.

“That was incredible, Sam.”

“You are incredible, Ana.” He runs his hand through my loose hair.

I close my eyes.

Heaven.

Please let me know if you want to be taken off any NSFW fics in the future- I am just using my fic tag list!

Fic Tag list: @txemrn @secretaryunpaid @pixie88 @thefrenchiemama @sfb123 @mainstreetreader @shewillreadyou @khoicesbyk @lady-calypso @choicesficwriterscreations @somersetmummy @melalicious8383 @chrissythadon @shannonwrote @jerzwriter @kat-tia801 @thefirstcourtesan @shanzay44 @queenrileyrose @forallthatitsworth

[delphinidin4]

“Abominable neglect and unkindness”: Fanny Price and Trauma

I have C-PTSD, and it’s really been on my mind as I’ve been rereading Mansfield Park by Jane Austen: her heroine of Fanny Price is so OBVIOUSLY traumatized that I started making notes upon notes upon notes in my kindle copy on her symptoms and their causes. A couple of my followers said they’d be interested to read my analysis if I wrote it up, and it doesn’t take much to encourage me to put a few thousand words on the page screen! So below is my (probably WAY too long) analysis of Fanny Price’s emotional trauma and complex PTSD (a form of PTSD often caused by long-term emotional abuse/neglect). It’s hella long. sorrynotsorry lol

*unleashes inner academic*

Part 1: How Fanny Price Was Traumatized

Trauma 1: She is taken from family and home. 

Okay, imagine this: You’re ten years old. You grew up in a noisy, lower-middle-class family with multiple little siblings and both your parents. You are the oldest girl, and are important to all the members of your family because you act as “playfellow, instructress, and nurse” to your younger siblings. You are also “exceedingly timid and shy”. And suddenly you find out that your mother is SENDING YOU AWAY--far, far away--to aunts and uncle and cousins you’ve never met before, to be raised by THEM instead of your parents. Leaving everything else out of the equation for a second, that by itself would be ABSOLUTELY DEVASTATING.  You would feel like your parents didn’t love you and didn’t want you. You weren’t important to them. You might wonder what you did wrong to be sent away. And THEN it turns out you’re NEVER COMING BACK. EVER. Fanny doesn’t see her family again until she is, I think nineteen years old. At first, she doesn’t even have the means to write to her brother William, which was to be her ONLY connection to her family: it seems her parents don’t write to her at all over the course of the novel.

All of this would be bad enough. But to come to a place that was entirely alien to everything you had known... I mean, think about it. This is Mansfield Park, an ENORMOUS house with MANY servants, a completely different way of doing things. There’s MONEY. Even the items around you are of a totally different quality than you’re used to: Austen says of Fanny’s initial impression of Mansfield, “The grandeur of the house astonished, but could not console her. The rooms were too large for her to move in with ease: whatever she touched she expected to injure, and she crept about in constant terror of something or other; often retreating towards her own chamber to cry.” The accent people speak with is probably different. The vocabulary is probably different. And everybody DEFINITELY thought she was under-educated (more about this in a bit) because she didn’t have the education of a gentleman’s daughter--because she ISN’T a gentleman’s daughter. It must have caused her intense culture shock.

Trauma 2: William’s absence

It’s clear that in her childhood in Portsmouth, William is the dearest member of Fanny’s family (see below for a discussion of her parents). When Fanny first arrives at Mansfield, Edmund discovers that, 

dear as all these brothers and sisters generally were, there was one among them who ran more in her thoughts than the rest. It was William whom she talked of most, and wanted most to see. William, the eldest, a year older than herself, her constant companion and friend; her advocate with her mother (of whom he was the darling) in every distress. ‘William did not like she should come away; he had told her he should miss her very much indeed.’ 

Fanny’s one really warm and loving connection seems to be with William, and she is parted from him, first by her move to Mansfield, and then by his going to sea:

Once, and once only, in the course of many years, had she the happiness of being with William. Of the rest [of her Portsmouth family] she saw nothing: nobody seemed to think of her ever going amongst them again, even for a visit, nobody at home seemed to want her; but William determining, soon after her removal, to be a sailor, was invited to spend a week with his sister in Northamptonshire before he went to sea. Their eager affection in meeting, their exquisite delight in being together, their hours of happy mirth, and moments of serious conference, may be imagined; as well as ...the misery of the girl when he left her. Luckily the visit happened in the Christmas holidays, when she could directly look for comfort to her cousin Edmund.

Fanny continues a correspondence with William when he is at sea, but it’s clear that his long absence from her life is very difficult for her.

One final note on her being parted from her family for long intervals: I think we might actually see a sign of this trauma in an emotional flashback later in the book.

For those unfamiliar with complex PTSD, flashbacks don’t always mean that you have a sort of hallucination of a traumatic experience. In the case of complex PTSD and PTSD from early childhood trauma, flashbacks often occur in the form of “emotional flashbacks”: instead of re-experiencing the sensory  input of the traumatic experience (seeing and hearing the experience all over again when triggered), emotional flashbacks consist ONLY of the emotional content of the trauma. They result in sudden rushes of negative emotions such as fear, shame, sorrow, despair, embarrassment, anger, etc. This may be partly because the trigger is acting on so many different traumatic memories at once (the brain can’t just pick out one to show to you) and partly because the traumatic memory being triggered is from so early in your childhood that you don’t have a direct memory of it anymore, just the trauma memory. Emotional flashbacks can be identified by comparing the emotional response to the stimulus: If the emotion is inappropriate for the situation or inappropriately intense, it may well be a flashback.

In this scene, Miss Crawford--whom Fanny does not care for at all--is taking her leave of Fanny: I find it to be illuminating.

And embracing her very affectionately, “Good, gentle Fanny! when I think of this being the last time of seeing you for I do not know how long, I feel it quite impossible to do anything but love you.”

Fanny was affected. She had not foreseen anything of this, and her feelings could seldom withstand the melancholy influence of the word “last.” She cried as if she had loved Miss Crawford more than she possibly could.

It sounds to me as if Fanny is having a negative reaction that is out of proportion for and inappropriate to the situation. Miss Crawford is leaving, and Fanny is GLAD that she is leaving. Nonetheless, she is involuntarily emotionally “affected” by Miss Crawford’s goodbye, and cries far more than is actually in keeping with her feelings. It seems like Fanny is triggered by the leave-taking and “the melancholy influence of the word ‘last’.”  Fanny has had traumatic leave-takings from her family and her beloved William; and things like “This is the last time I’ll see you for who knows how long” must have been said to her before in intensely traumatic situations. So it’s no wonder she gets triggered by this situation’s similarity to those and has an out-sized emotional response. Separations from her family and from William were definitely traumatic to her and reminders of them now trigger trauma responses.

Trauma 3: Emotional neglect by parental figures

Fanny might not have been so badly traumatized by leaving her family and being separated from William if she had had emotional support from adult caregivers. Research has shown that if a child has even ONE adult to whom they can talk openly about their feelings, that can insulate them against the effects of trauma.

Fanny doesn’t have this. Both Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram are emotionally neglectful and distant.* Lady Bertram is pleasant, but is entirely self-centered and doesn’t really GAF about anybody or anything that doesn’t directly affect her. While she never abuses or hurts Fanny with unkindness, she also never comforts her, listens to her, or seems to do anything but get Fanny to fetch and carry for her and do half her sewing for her. There is a total lack of emotional  connection between them until considerably later in the story. 

[*Footnote: Miss Lee is surprisingly absent from the narrative and seems to be of no emotional support to Fanny whatsoever.]

Sir Thomas is worse. While he intends to take good care of Fanny--and to his credit, he does make sure she has her material needs met, is well educated, gets exercise, etc--he cannot be said to be NICE to her. Even when she first arrives, when he is trying his hardest to be kind, Austen says, “Sir Thomas, seeing how much she needed encouragement, tried to be all that was conciliating: but he had to work against a most untoward gravity of deportment.” He’s not good with kids, and he seems to be highly critical of Fanny, especially before his return from Antigua. Apparently he used to terrify her in childhood by catechizing her on her lessons in French in English, which implies he constantly found her wanting. His parting words to her on the beginning of his voyage to Antigua are downright scalding:  “If William does come to Mansfield, I hope you may be able to convince him that the many years which have passed since you parted have not been spent on your side entirely without improvement; though, I fear, he must find his sister at sixteen in some respects too much like his sister at ten.”

JFC, Tommy-boy. Throttle back a little, can’t you?

He’s not popular even with his own daughters: Austen says of Maria and Julia, “Their father was no object of love to them; he had never seemed the friend of their pleasures, and his absence was unhappily most welcome. They were relieved by it from all restraint”. Sir Thomas comes across as a bit of a martinet, always finding fault and always saying no. At best, he doesn’t seem to be at all warm and encouraging, and appears to be almost entirely ignorant, not only of what Fanny’s character is like, but also about his own daughters’ characters.

There’s also the problem of his lack of understanding and compassion for Fanny. She describes him as “all that was clever and good,” but both his cleverness and goodness frequently seem to be lacking. He doesn’t understand Fanny’s feelings any more than he understands those of Maria, sending Edmund to sound Fanny out on the subject of Mr. Crawford because he CANNOT understand how a woman might not love a man that was clever, pleasant and rich. While he provided the money to raise Fanny, his disregard of her is clear when he sends her on a long visit to Portsmouth, where her health suffers. Even Crawford recognizes Sir Thomas’s likeliness to neglect her:

I know Mansfield, I know its way, I know its faults towards you. I know the danger of your being so far forgotten, as to have your comforts give way to the imaginary convenience of any single being in the family. I am aware that you may be left here week after week, if Sir Thomas cannot settle everything ... without involving the slightest alteration of the arrangements which he may have laid down for the next quarter of a year.

Sir Thomas, while priding himself (and being praised by others) as being so kind and clever, has low emotional intelligence and too little care for Fanny. Despite his occasional kindnesses, and her claim on his care as his direct dependent, she is not one of his priorities.

Of course, Fanny’s own parents would have had the strongest effects on her earliest years (especially considering the Prices didn’t seem to have a nanny or governess, so Mrs. Price would have been responsible for all her education, as well).  It’s clear that Fanny’s mother didn’t show her much love in her early childhood: Mrs. Price is described as 

“the ‘mama’ who had certainly shewn no remarkable fondness for her formerly; but this [Fanny] could easily suppose to have been her own fault or her own fancy. She had probably alienated love by the helplessness and fretfulness of a fearful temper, or been unreasonable in wanting a larger share than any one among so many could deserve.” 

We can see Fanny here doing what so many emotionally neglected children do, making excuses for their parents and assuming that the emotional neglect and abuse they suffer are somehow THEIR fault. Many emotionally abused or neglected children believe that they’re too loud, too needy, too much, and even ugly, blaming themselves for their parents’ rejecting and disgusted behavior toward them.

It’s proven, however, when Fanny goes home, that her parents are just as neglectful of her as she felt them to be formerly. Her father is “negligent of his family”, and her mother clearly does not really love her:

Mrs. Price was not unkind; but, instead of gaining on her affection and confidence, and becoming more and more dear, her daughter never met with greater kindness from her than on the first day of her arrival. The instinct of nature was soon satisfied, and Mrs. Price’s attachment had no other source. Her heart and her time were already quite full; she had neither leisure nor affection to bestow on Fanny. Her daughters never had been much to her.* She was fond of her sons, especially of William, but Betsey was the first of her girls whom she had ever much regarded. To her she was most injudiciously indulgent. William was her pride; Betsey her darling; and John, Richard, Sam, Tom, and Charles occupied all the rest of her maternal solicitude, alternately her worries and her comforts. These shared her heart: her time was given chiefly to her house and her servants.

[*Footnote: I have to stop here for a moment and mention poor Susan, whom I like better at every reading. With Mrs. Price only loving her sons and Betsy, with Mary dead and Fanny gone, Susan was for years THE ONLY completely unloved child in the house, which must have been pretty awful. It’s clear that Fanny and Susan have suffered rather similar fates in being raised without love, and Susan only responds more with irritation and Fanny more with tears:  “Susan was only acting on the same truths, and pursuing the same system, which [Fanny’s] own judgment acknowledged, but which her more supine and yielding temper would have shrunk from asserting. Susan tried to be useful, where she could only have gone away and cried”. Please tell me somebody’s written a sequel about Susan?]

Again, while Mr. and Mrs. Price are not CRUEL, they’re not KIND, either. They are deeply emotionally neglectful toward Susan and Fanny, and Mrs. Price shows favoritism for the rest of her children, thus hurting her daughters further. Fanny’s probable surmise when she was sent away that she was not loved or wanted by her parents unfortunately appears to be very true. While an adult like Fanny can rationalize such behavior by her parents (even if it pains her), a child cannot do so, and the Prices’ lack of love for their own daughter must have been traumatizing and contributed to her belief that she can never matter to anybody (more on this in a bit).

Trauma 4: Lack of Companionship: Maria and Julia (and Miss Lee)

Fanny’s education when she arrives at Mansfield is not that of a gentlewoman--hardly surprising, given both her family’s socioeconomic position and her mother’s busy-ness with her family and general indolence. Maria and Julia’s education on scholarly subjects is clearly much stronger (they’re also 2-3 years older than her), and we know that their moral education was neglected, so that they only care about whether Fanny is rich and well-educated like themselves:

They could not but hold her cheap on finding that she had but two sashes, and had never learned French; and when they perceived her to be little struck with the duet they were so good as to play, they could do no more than make her a generous present of some of their least valued toys, and leave her to herself, while they adjourned to whatever might be the favourite holiday sport of the moment, making artificial flowers or wasting gold paper.

They’re generous enough to give her presents (though their least-valued belongings), but not generous enough to actually spend time with her, and it appears that this pattern holds throughout Fanny’s time at Mansfield.

At first, Mrs. Norris, Sir Thomas, and Miss Lee all think her actually stupid instead of just ill-educated: we are told that not only did Miss Lee “[wonder] at her ignorance,” but

A mean opinion of her abilities was not confined to [Sir Thomas and Mrs. Norris]. Fanny could read, work [that means “sew”], and write, but she had been taught nothing more; and as her cousins found her ignorant of many things with which they had been long familiar, they thought her prodigiously stupid, and for the first two or three weeks were continually bringing some fresh report of it into the drawing-room.

You would think that the adults at least would realize that Fanny hadn’t had the opportunity of a gentlewoman’s education, but no, they attribute it to natural stupidity instead of opportunity:

“My dear,” their considerate aunt would reply, “it is very bad, but you must not expect everybody to be as forward and quick at learning as yourself.”

It is only Edmund who perceives that Fanny is not only NOT stupid, she’s actually clever:

He knew her to be clever, to have a quick apprehension as well as good sense, and a fondness for reading, which, properly directed, must be an education in itself. Miss Lee taught her French, and heard her read the daily portion of history; but he recommended the books which charmed her leisure hours, he encouraged her taste, and corrected her judgment: he made reading useful by talking to her of what she read, and heightened its attraction by judicious praise.

One wonders, if a sixteen-year-old boy hadn’t decided to undertake part of Fanny’s education himself, how much worse off would she have been?

That Fanny’s companionship fell almost entirely to a teenage boy six years her senior who spends most of the year away at boarding school/university, is a ringing indictment of the behavior of Maria and Julia, and of those who should have been encouraging them to make a friend of their cousin.

Trauma 5: Mrs Norris (who gets a fucking section all her own)

Here we are. We’ve finally come to it. The other four traumas would certainly have been sufficient to cause C-PTSD, but JFC, Mrs. Norris could have caused it all by her lonesome. While she comes across as amusing in Austen’s sardonic style, she is absolutely toxic for Fanny’s mental health.

Mrs. Norris seems to have had an out-sized effect on the three Mansfield girls. Generally, mothers were in charge of the education of their daughters (even if indirectly, through a governess), so while Sir Thomas did examine them on their lessons, it was really supposed to be Lady Bertram’s job to see to their practical and moral education. But Lady Bertram is an absolute zero, a completely passive character, and Austen says directly that, “To the education of her daughters Lady Bertram paid not the smallest attention.” So it seems like the much more active Mrs. Norris stepped in, and her influence was extremely strong with all three of them, despite her being married and having her own house and her own concerns for the first seven or so years of Fanny’s time at Mansfield.

We can see her influence with all three in the fact that all three of the Mansfield girls end up evaluating themselves in almost perfect accordance to how Mrs. Norris evaluated them. Maria, the golden child*, became very spoiled and proud and thought she could do almost whatever she wanted. Fanny, the scapegoat, came to believe that her only worth was in being “useful” (Mrs. Norris’s hobby-horse) and that she could never be of any importance to anybody. And Julia, while closer to Maria’s level of treatment than Fanny’s, also suffers from comparisons to the golden child:

That Julia escaped better than Maria was owing, in some measure, to a favourable difference of disposition and circumstance, but in a greater to her having been less the darling of that very aunt, less flattered and less spoilt. Her beauty and acquirements had held but a second place. She had been always used to think herself a little inferior to Maria.

[*footnote: Treating one child as the golden child and one as the scapegoat is a very common tactic of abusive caregivers. The scapegoat becomes entirely worn down in self-esteem so that she is powerless to fight back against the abuse. The golden child and other children see how the scapegoat is treated and try hard not to rock the boat because they don’t want to end up like that.]

Mrs. Norris teaches Fanny from the beginning to judge and reject her own natural emotions. On her first traumatic separation from her family, Mrs. Norris lectures her incessantly on how she ought to be HAPPY, not sad:

  Mrs. Norris had been talking to her the whole way from Northampton of her wonderful good fortune, and the extraordinary degree of gratitude and good behaviour which it ought to produce, and her consciousness of misery was therefore increased by the idea of its being a wicked thing for her not to be happy.

Fanny is taught to regard her own natural feelings as “wicked”, especially when they are a negative reaction to how the Bertram/Norris family treats her. While she can see some of her own feelings as just--when they have been sanctioned by Edmund’s judgment--any feeling that tends away from perfect gratitude toward the Bertram/Norris family she immediately rejects as an immoral response. She frequently takes herself to task at these moments. Anger and resentment are natural responses meant to help us protect ourselves against mistreatment from others, and this self-defending response is entirely squelched by Mrs. Norris’s behavior to her.

Mrs. Norris’s behavior toward Fanny is not only emotionally abusive; it is also at least physically neglectful, if not physically abusive. Despite the fact that everyone agrees that Fanny “is not strong”, Mrs. Norris makes a lot of difficulties in Edmund’s attempts to make sure Fanny has a horse to ride, and also refuses to allow Fanny a fire in the East Room, even in the middle of winter, a privation that ever Sir Thomas thinks bad enough that he countermands it--though doing so with a little explanatory disclaimer to Fanny explaining why Mrs. Norris MEANS well and why Fanny shouldn’t dare to be angry, or indeed anything but immensely and forever grateful for their neglectful treatment of her:

Your aunt Norris has always been an advocate, and very judiciously, for young people’s being brought up without unnecessary indulgences; but there should be moderation in everything. She is also very hardy herself, which of course will influence her in her opinion of the wants of others. And on another account, too, I can perfectly comprehend. I know what her sentiments have always been. The principle was good in itself, but it may have been, and I believe has been, carried too far in your case. I am aware that there has been sometimes, in some points, a misplaced distinction; but I think too well of you, Fanny, to suppose you will ever harbour resentment on that account. You have an understanding which will prevent you from receiving things only in part, and judging partially by the event. You will take in the whole of the past, you will consider times, persons, and probabilities, and you will feel that they were not least your friends who were educating and preparing you for that mediocrity of condition which seemed to be your lot. Though their caution may prove eventually unnecessary, it was kindly meant; and of this you may be assured, that every advantage of affluence will be doubled by the little privations and restrictions that may have been imposed. I am sure you will not disappoint my opinion of you, by failing at any time to treat your aunt Norris with the respect and attention that are due to her.

~*GAAASSSSS-LIGHTINNNNGGGGGGG*~  

“Oh, shit, you’ve been freezing to death here for years because your aunt’s an abusive asshole. Oh, but there are three million excuses for her, and also you’re SO GOOD AND GRATEFUL that I KNOW you’ll never allow yourself to see it for the abuse it was, and aren’t you so GRATEFUL to us all for everything we’ve done for you? We MEANT well. And being abused was good for you anyway. If you ever get mad at your abusers I’ll treat you with withering criticism.” 

*gagggg* I could write an entire essay explicating the gaslighting in that passage ALONE.

I could go on and on about Mrs. Norris’s abusive behavior toward Fanny, but I think most of it’s perfectly obvious to the reader. I think a very interesting argument might be made on whether Mrs. Norris would count as having a form of narcissistic personality disorder--always worried about her own importance, living through her golden child Maria, taking everything out on her scapegoat, insisting always on associating her own value with that of Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram and insisting on Fanny’s status being lower because her own self-esteem is dependent on being as good as her sister Bertram and better than her sister Price. Might be interesting.

Part 2: Fanny Price’s Trauma Responses

Complex emotional trauma expresses itself in a number of symptoms and behaviors. We’ve already talked about emotional flashbacks, and I’m going to look at four more major aspects of Fanny’s trauma responses.

Anxiety and Hypervigilance

People with PTSD often suffer from hypervigilance, where their body is constantly on high alert for threats in their environment. These threats are not only physical threats (resulting in things like jumping really hard at sudden noises) but also interpersonal threats. For instance, whenever I hear people talking really quietly in my house, I stop whatever I’m doing and listen REALLY HARD because I’m worried they’re talking about me and it’s gonna be bad.

Fanny exhibits this same behavior when she has retreated to the East Room when Crawford is in the house to propose to her:

She sat some time in a good deal of agitation, listening, trembling, and fearing to be sent for every moment; but as no footsteps approached the East room, she grew gradually composed, could sit down, and be able to employ herself, and able to hope that Mr. Crawford had come and would go without her being obliged to know anything of the matter.

Nearly half an hour had passed, and she was growing very comfortable, when suddenly the sound of a step in regular approach was heard; a heavy step, an unusual step in that part of the house: it was her uncle’s; she knew it as well as his voice; she had trembled at it as often, and began to tremble again, at the idea of his coming up to speak to her, whatever might be the subject. It was indeed Sir Thomas who opened the door and asked if she were there, and if he might come in. The terror of his former occasional visits to that room seemed all renewed, and she felt as if he were going to examine her again in French and English.

Her trembling at the sound of her uncle’s footsteps looks like hypervigilance, and the fact of her childhood “terror” being “renewed” sounds like she’s having another flashback, since she so strongly associates the presence of her uncle in the East Room with those painful childhood visits. She reacts with physical symptoms of stress, trembling at his approach.

Fanny’s anxiety and hypervigilance also demonstrates itself in her being constantly convinced that people are going to be angry with her. When she turns Mr. Crawford down, for instance, she is CONVINCED that Miss Crawford is going to be furious with her, and fears to meet with her. Edmund tells her Miss Crawford isn’t REALLY angry with her, but cannot convince her:

The promised visit from “her friend,” as Edmund called Miss Crawford, was a formidable threat to Fanny, and she lived in continual terror of it. As a sister, so partial and so angry, and so little scrupulous of what she said... she was in every way an object of painful alarm. ...The dependence of having others present when they met was Fanny’s only support in looking forward to it. She absented herself as little as possible from Lady Bertram, kept away from the East room, and took no solitary walk in the shrubbery, in her caution to avoid any sudden attack.

Fanny is so terrified of a polite confrontation with Miss Crawford, whom she has never seen angry before, that she spends DAYS trying to never be alone so that she’ll feel protected by the presence of company! Of course, when Miss Crawford DOES visit, she’s nothing but friendly. But Fanny’s PTSD couldn’t allow her to believe that until it happened. Her anxiety is intense, and this sort of thing happens repeatedly over the course of the novel.

Over-accommodation of others / people-pleasing

Childhood emotional trauma frequently leads to people-pleasing behavior: doing what you do not want to do simply because someone else wants you to.  To understand this, you have to put yourself into the point of view of a very young child or an infant. Children depend entirely on their caregivers for survival: they are aware of this on an instinctive level. If the caregiver shows them very conditional love, only appearing pleased with them when the child does things they like and displeased when the child does things that inconvenience them, the child quickly learns that they need to please their caregivers in order to survive. “Mom gets angry when I cry--Mom doesn’t like me to cry--if Mom gets angry at me, I could starve to death--I need to not cry.” Obviously this line of thinking happens on a subconscious rather than a conscious level, but it’s incredibly powerful nonetheless. I have found myself in situations where a person with some kind of power over me--a doctor, for instance--shows displeasure with something I say to them, and I INSTANTLY find myself backing off, making light of it, taking back everything I said, etc, even though I very much meant it and it needed to be said. The people-pleasing instinct is very strong and difficult to overcome.

In Fanny’s case, it isn’t just a matter of her caregivers showing her inconsistent love in early childhood. Even as an adult, she is fully aware that she needs to please the Bertrams, or she--and her family!--are SCREWED. She is entirely financially dependent on the Bertrams. If she displeases them, not only can they make her life at Mansfield even MORE uncomfortable than it already is, but they can send her back to Portsmouth. Even worse, they could stop their financial support of William and the financial support they are periodically sending to the rest of her family. Huge things hang on Fanny’s pleasing the Bertrams, and it’s small wonder she has developed the habit of trying to please everybody constantly (even her un-pleasable Aunt Norris).

Fanny repeatedly does things she doesn’t want to do, simply because someone asks or tells her to, even if there’s likely to be no major consequences if she doesn’t. One example is on Miss Crawford’s last visit to Mansfield, when Fanny is trying her darnedest to avoid speaking with her alone:

[Miss Crawford] was determined to see Fanny alone, and therefore said to her tolerably soon, in a low voice, “I must speak to you for a few minutes somewhere”; words that Fanny felt all over her, in all her pulses and all her nerves. Denial was impossible. Her habits of ready submission, on the contrary, made her almost instantly rise and lead the way out of the room. She did it with wretched feelings, but it was inevitable.

Fanny doesn’t want to talk to Miss Crawford alone. Fanny doesn’t NEED to talk to Miss Crawford alone. Fanny could stall, perhaps until Miss Crawford left. Nonetheless, the MOMENT Miss Crawford asks it of her, Fanny does it--even though she’s clearly terrified, feeling it “in all her pulses and all her nerves” (more on this physical reaction later). She acts almost like Ella Enchanted: she literally can’t say no.

Likewise, she doesn’t take opportunities she is offered to do things that she DOES wish to do. After a very long description of how much she wants to dance one evening, when her only chance of a partner is Tom, the following exchange occurs:

When he had told of his horse, [Tom] took a newspaper from the table, and looking over it, said in a languid way, “If you want to dance, Fanny, I will stand up with you.” With more than equal civility the offer was declined; she did not wish to dance. “I am glad of it,” said he, in a much brisker tone, and throwing down the newspaper again, “for I am tired to death.”

Fanny DOES want to dance, and the way that he worded the question, she could very well have said, “Yes, please,” and gotten up to dance with him. He has made it obvious that he doesn’t want to dance, and she has picked up on this and said--not only that they don’t have to dance, but the LIE that she doesn’t WANT to dance--in order to please him. Later Austen points Tom out as a hypocrite when he complains, “It raises my spleen more than anything, to have the pretence of being asked, of being given a choice, and at the same time addressed in such a way as to oblige one to do the very thing, whatever it be!” But while it is true that Tom left Fanny LITTLE choice in the matter, it is also true that a stronger character, like Miss Crawford, could probably have found a way to say that she DID want to dance, even with such an unencouraging questioner. Fanny cannot do this: she has been conditioned all her life to give in to people--because her very SURVIVAL has depended on it.

In particular, Mrs. Norris has squelched Fanny’s independence of spirit very firmly. At one point she observes, very unfairly,

There is a something about Fanny, I have often observed it before—she likes to go her own way to work; she does not like to be dictated to; she takes her own independent walk whenever she can; she certainly has a little spirit of secrecy, and independence, and nonsense, about her, which I would advise her to get the better of.”

As a general reflection on Fanny, Sir Thomas thought nothing could be more unjust.

Obviously, Mrs. Norris is completely wrong about this. But as long as she can project* the fault of independence on Fanny, and punish Fanny for this false fault, she can prevent her from ever developing it. By picking on the least little supposed sign of independence and harping on it for ages, Mrs. Norris can prevent Fanny from ever developing a will of her own.

[*Footnote: this is another thing narcissists do: they project their own bad behavior on to others. Mrs. Norris is definitely not secretive, but she is very “independent” and has a lot of “nonsense”--instead of consulting with others about what they actually need in any given situation, she TELLS them. She has no spirit of cooperation, and all her “services” to others tend to be officious and useless.]

Low self-esteem

I thought about putting this together with the section on Mrs. Norris, because Fanny’s self-esteem has been so much shaped by her aunt. This is the kind of message Mrs. Norris is constantly drilling into her about the lowness of her importance:

The nonsense and folly of people’s stepping out of their rank and trying to appear above themselves, makes me think it right to give you a hint, Fanny, now that you are going into company without any of us; and I do beseech and entreat you not to be putting yourself forward, and talking and giving your opinion as if you were one of your cousins—as if you were dear Mrs. Rushworth or Julia. That will never do, believe me. Remember, wherever you are, you must be the lowest and last.

This message is so entirely in keeping with the messages Mrs. Norris has been indoctrinating Fanny with over the years that she has fully internalized it. When a primary caregiver tells you over and over again that you do not matter to anyone, you come to believe it:

[Fanny:] “I can never be important to any one.”

[Edmund:] “What is to prevent you?”

“Everything. My situation, my foolishness and awkwardness.”

“As to your foolishness and awkwardness, my dear Fanny, believe me, you never have a shadow of either, but in using the words so improperly. There is no reason in the world why you should not be important where you are known. You have good sense, and a sweet temper, and I am sure you have a grateful heart, that could never receive kindness without wishing to return it. I do not know any better qualifications for a friend and companion.”

“You are too kind,” said Fanny, colouring at such praise; “how shall I ever thank you as I ought, for thinking so well of me.”

Fanny’s “I can never be important to any one” sounds very much like a triggered teenager sobbing, “Nobody will ever love me!” even while friends next to her are demonstrating that they DO love her. The survivor of this kind of abuse comes to a place where their beliefs do not reflect reality because their beliefs instead reflect the intense emotional rejection they have received from their main caregivers*. Fanny is important to Edmund, William, and Lady Bertram, but is convinced that she not only is NOT important to ANYONE, but never CAN be. She also convinced that she is foolish and awkward, probably by the early experiences at Mansfield when she didn’t know all the intricate rules of high society and was far behind Maria and Julia in her education. Fanny, though she is extremely shy, manages to carry off most things with surprising grace, and she is clever and has a wisdom and common sense in some things far beyond her years. Yet she is CERTAIN that she is “foolish and awkward”, because she has been repeatedly called so by authority figures in her life and almost all of her family at Mansfield.

[*Footnote: these extreme beliefs are often couched in “black-and-white” language: “EVERYBODY hates me, NOBODY loves me, I’ll NEVER be able to do it right, I’ll be alone FOREVER”. We can hear this in Fanny’s “I can NEVER be of importance to ANY ONE”.]

Fanny not only thinks very lowly of herself, she also is afraid of being praised or of anything that could possibly raise her self-esteem. For instance, in a discussion with Edmund, she explains why she never wants anybody to notice her:

[Edmund:] “Your uncle is disposed to be pleased with you in every respect; and I only wish you would talk to him more. You are one of those who are too silent in the evening circle.”

[Fanny:] “But I do talk to him more than I used. I am sure I do. Did not you hear me ask him about the slave-trade last night?”

“I did—and was in hopes the question would be followed up by others. It would have pleased your uncle to be inquired of farther.”

“And I longed to do it—but there was such a dead silence! And while my cousins were sitting by without speaking a word, or seeming at all interested in the subject, I did not like—I thought it would appear as if I wanted to set myself off at their expense, by shewing a curiosity and pleasure in his information which he must wish his own daughters to feel.”

“Miss Crawford was very right in what she said of you the other day: that you seemed almost as fearful of notice and praise as other women were of neglect.”

She is literally fearful of notice and praise--because Mrs. Norris has told her repeatedly throughout her life that she must NEVER shine more than Maria or Julia, must NEVER take attention away from them--a sort of vicarious narcissism. And Fanny feels that to receive a compliment, to state her own opinions, or even to TALK much in company is “stepping out of her place”, the high crime and misdemeanor of Mrs. Norris’s upbringing.

I was raised by a narcissistic caretaker, and I am sometimes suddenly overwhelmed with terror that I’m taking too much attention to myself and that I’m therefore BAD somehow. Because a narcissist (or their proxy, the golden child) must always be the center of attention, the scapegoat is emotionally punished for ever taking the spotlight. Mrs. Norris is disposed to be upset when Sir Thomas holds a dance in Fanny’s honor, and is only reconciled to it because SHE will be able to make herself the center of attention in the preparations.*

[*Footnote: I think another argument can be made for Mrs. Norris’s narcissism in her response to Crawford’s proposal to Fanny:

Angry she was: bitterly angry; but she was more angry with Fanny for having received such an offer than for refusing it. It was an injury and affront to Julia, who ought to have been Mr. Crawford’s choice; and, independently of that, she disliked Fanny, because she had neglected her; and she would have grudged such an elevation to one whom she had been always trying to depress.

Mrs. Norris is DETERMINED to put Fanny down, as the scapegoat, and is offended that one of her golden children (her emotional stand-in) is shown less honor in this situation than the scapegoat. For the scapegoat to be elevated and her narcissistic stand-in to be neglected induces a narcissistic rage.] 

“Sensibility” and High Sensitivity

In the 18th century, a theory and “culture of sensibility” grew up in places like Britain, France, Holland, and the British colonies. Encyclopedia.com’s article on sensibility states, “Sensibility (and ‘sensible’ and ‘sentiment’) connoted the operation of the nervous system, the material basis for consciousness.” But the workings of the nervous system, they believed, affected more than just the physical body. Some people, it was held, had greater sensibility than others: their nerves were more easily affected by not only physical but also emotional and moral input, and they responded accordingly--not just in word and in deed, but in tears, blushes, trembling, fainting, etc. It was believed that people’s emotional responses AND physical responses could tell you something about their physical AND moral makeup. A truly modest woman, for instance, would blush and look confused when confronted with something that offended her maidenly modesty. A woman--or indeed, man--who was truly moral and “sensible” would be emotionally affected by something sad, such as a tale of oppression, to the point of openly weeping. A heroine of sensibility would most likely faint if threatened with something she found, not only physically frightening, but morally abhorrent (such as a forced marriage). This is part of the reason for what seems to use like excessive emotional reactions in some 18th-century novels: the writer is demonstrating her characters’ moral superiority through their physical sensibility.*

[*Footnote: Encyclopedia.com adds, “The coexistence of reason and feeling was assumed, but the proportion of each was endlessly debated, above all because of what many saw as the dangers of unleashed feelings... [After the French Revolution,]  The debate over the proportions of reason and feeling in persons of sensibility was politicized, and the need for women to channel their feelings toward moral and domestic goals was reemphasized. The word ‘sentimental,’ which had been used positively, became a label for ‘excessive sensibility’ and self-indulgence.” We can see this conflict clearly in Austen’s Sense and Sensibility!]

There is, in fact, a modern equivalent to the 18th century idea of sensibility: the concept of the Highly Sensitive Person (HSP) or Sensory Processing Sensitivity (SPS). First proposed by Elaine Aron's book The Highly Sensitive Person (1996), the theory suggests that SPS 

is a temperamental or personality trait involving "an increased sensitivity of the central nervous system and a deeper cognitive processing of physical, social and emotional stimuli". The trait is characterized by "a tendency to 'pause to check' in novel situations, greater sensitivity to subtle stimuli, and the engagement of deeper cognitive processing strategies for employing coping actions, all of which is driven by heightened emotional reactivity, both positive and negative". (wikipedia)

While some people have mocked this theory as pseudoscience, Aron is by no means the only researcher to have studied it, and a great many people who suffered from people telling them “You’re too sensitive” when they were hurt have taken comfort in the positive affirmation that high sensitivity is a natural phenomenon and can even at times be regarded as a strength rather than a character flaw.

It seems to me that there is a good deal of overlap between those who self-identify or may be identified as HSPs and those who have C-PTSD. Whether this is because greater emotional sensitivity leads to a greater incidence of traumatic responses to negative experiences, or whether high sensitivity is itself a product of repeated childhood trauma, I can’t say. (Heck, it could even be that the HSP’s belief that they’re over-sensitive comes from childhood gaslighting!)

What I can say is that Fanny Price exhibits, not only hypervigilance, but also what Austen would call “great sensibility” and I would call “SPS”. Fanny has the greatest sensibility of any character in the entire novel, even Edmund: she judges more clearly on moral matters than Edmund or Sir Thomas, and has the strongest physical and emotional reactions to stimuli. She seems to be constantly blushing, trembling, or tearing up. This is not only painful to modern readers (who, if they’re not pained by sympathizing with her, may well be pained by what seems to them a lack of proper 21st-century backbone in a main character) but is clearly highly uncomfortable at times to Fanny herself. She might be able to pride herself on her moral discernment (not that Fanny would EVER pride herself on ANYTHING), and she may be in transports of happiness when something good, like William’s arrival or promotion, occur, but she is often “cast down” as well by things that seem to others like trifles. We see this not only in her hypervigilance but also in the depression and the black-and-white thinking which are often the products of trauma. Edmund observes to her, “It is your disposition to be easily dejected and to fancy difficulties greater than they are.” Fanny’s apparent high sensitivity may be just a natural trait (made worse by trauma) or may itself be a product of trauma.

Conclusions

At the end of all this, I’m really not sure what I think about Fanny’s “happy ending”. On one hand, she gets what she’s always wanted in life: companionate marriage with Edmund, valued by Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram, with Mrs. Norris (and Maria) gone forever, and Julia and Tom chastened and better behaved. It seems perfect for her. But a little voice inside of me keeps saying how very unlikely it is. People rarely change as much as Sir Thomas does in the book--and in fact, we are only assured by Austen that Sir Thomas comes to value Fanny more: we don’t actually SEE it. I can’t help but feel that Fanny must still have been subject to ongoing gaslighting about how she was brought up and about respect toward Mrs. Norris and himself. Fanny got what she thought she wanted, but at the same time, she didn’t get free. Especially considering that Austen goes out of her way to say that things COULD have turned out differently and that Fanny and Crawford COULD have been happy together, I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if Fanny had ended up with the ONLY person in the entire book who truly recognizes how badly she has been treated at Mansfield Park:

[Crawford]: And they will now see their cousin treated as she ought to be, and I wish they may be heartily ashamed of their own abominable neglect and unkindness.

[inkandpen22]

Beautiful Angel of Darkness (7/?)

Pairing: Spike x Female!Reader 

Warnings: Mild swearing 

Word Count: 1.8k

Part Summary: Y/N is starting to improve and live by Angel’s lifestyle. Then, someone pays her a visit. 

Masterlist

Six months later... 

Who would've thought working at the law firm as one of Angel's team members would be so fulfilling? Granted, it took a moment to get settled... more like a month. There was a withdrawal period, not pretty. Angel sort of locked me away in his basement for a few weeks. After that, I bounced right back and started fresh! Now, I'm Angel's assistant, much better than Harmony. I gave her the boot as soon as I got released from the basement cell. 

I step off the elevator to Wolfman & Hart with Angel's usual blood bag in a cup and my iced coffee. I drink my blood bag on the way here. 

I set everything down at my desk in front of the firm's sign. The normalcy of having a daily routine again is nice. When I was with Spike, I thought normalcy would bore me to death. I guess Angel was right, there is some humanity left in me. 

I knock on Angel's office door, blood cup in hand. When he announces for me to enter, I greet him warmly and immediately get into the day's agenda. 

"Morning Boss, we have a busy day ahead of us!" 

As per usual, he wears a crossed expression as he stands behind his desk shuffling through some papers. 

He sighs in frustration, "Y/N, have you seen the-" 

I place his mock coffee cup in his hand so I can grab the case file from under my arm. He glances between me and the file in amazement. 

"You left it on my desk when you were leaving last night," I explain with a light chuckle. 

"You're a lifesaver," he thanks as he eases down in his chair. 

"It's what I'm here for," I shrug and lean against his desk beside him. 

"Sorry for keeping you here late this week. I'm sure you much rather be home," he apologizes as he reviews the contents of the case. "I just... I don't know how to go about this." 

"Maybe a fresh pair of eyes?" I suggest, reaching for the file. 

Angel hesitates to hand it over. He doesn't like me working directly on cases. He believes I'm not ready for the gruesomeness of them and that the blood may trigger me to regress.

"Angel, I'll be fine!" I assure him confidently. 

Reluctantly, he hands over the papers and I begin to skim the crime scene photographs.  The police are involved, believing it to be a violent murder. However, Angel and the others are pinning it with a series of animal attacks the last few days. They suspect a werewolf. Angel wasn't wrong, these images are rather unsettling, but nothing I can't handle. 

"Based on the slashes on the neck, I would agree with you and say it's not cut wounds. There are no signs of forced entry either," I analyze. 

"But all of the damage..." He debates. 

"It's from the attack. If you were being attacked by a werewolf, you'd toss a lamp and vase at it, wouldn't you?" I reason. "The front door is in perfect condition, except for the blood, of course. I suspect the victim knew their attacker," I determine and hand the file back to Angel. 

He leans back in his chair, deep in thought. Humming, he considers my predictions. "That would certainly narrow down the suspect list." 

"Was she single?" I question. 

He frowns in confusion, "I think so, why?" 

"Check her calendar, see who her latest date was with," I suggest as I rise from my leaning position against his desk. 

"You got all of that from looking at one photo?" Angel remarks in astonishment. 

I glance over my shoulder as I head toward the door. "Told you shouldn't let me help sooner," I wink. 

_____________________________________

At noon sharp, Angel likes his second cup of O Neg. It sounds tedious, knowing exactly when my boss likes his blood. If someone told me months ago that I would be fetching Angel everything he needs, I would've killed them. Ironically, I've never felt never more human than when I'm at Wolfman & Hart. I feel like I have a life of my own, my existence. Before...Before Spike, I belonged to my family. Then, I belonged to Spike. Now, I belong to myself. Granted, Angel watches me like a hawk, but he's easing up. 

Angel and the others hold a team meeting at the same time I'm supposed to deliver his refreshment. More and more lately, Angel lets me sit in on the meeting.  It's usually so that I can act as a scribe while they talk, but I still appreciate the invite. 

Carrying my files, notepad, and Angel's drink, I back into his office door as I'm handless at the moment. Right when the door gives, I immediately announce his dinner plans with a major banker to discuss his Greed Demon issue. "Don't forget tonight, the meeting with Stuart Lawrence! You have to be at his residence in Brentwood at seven o'clock sharp and-" 

I stop dead in my tracks as my eyes flicker toward Angel's desk. Instead of just seeing Angel stressing over some papers, as usual, I see a bleach blonde vampire reading over his shoulder. 

The paper coffee cup falls from my hand and spills on the floor by my feet. The substance coats my left heel, staining it crimson. 

"Y/N..." Spike utters my name with his smooth accent. 

"Oh my God..." I whisper breathlessly in awe. 

Angel flies up from his chair and points to the door. "Y/N, get out of here!" 

"Never took you for the lawyer type," Spike smirks mischievously as he slithers toward me. "Gotta admit though, loving the working woman style." He gestures at my body up and down like I'm a mannequin in a store. 

Behind me, the other members of Angel's team enter for their meeting. 

"Lorne, take Y/N home!" Angel instructs. 

"Right away, Boss," Lorne complies.

"Take one step closer to her green goblin and I'll bite your head off!" Spike threatens sharply. 

"Spike, stop it!" Angel barks. 

"Oh come on, Angel," Spike dismisses as he closes in on me. His fingers comb through the ends of my hair. "It isn't like you to ruin a perfectly good reunion!" 

My body tenses under his touch, much to Spike's dismay. It wasn't long ago that his embrace was the only thing that kept me tied down to Earth. Now, it makes me shutter. 

"You shouldn't be here!" Angel growls as he rushes over to us and yanks Spike away from me. "She's been doing great without you!" 

"Have you forgotten? She was mine before she was yours," Spike chuckles wickedly. 

The English vampire turns to me again and caresses my cheek. His eyes continue to linger in my memories late at night staring at me intensely. 

"Did you really think I was going to let you go?" He mumbles to me and the words make my heartache. 

"Get away from her!" Angel hisses warningly, on the verge of throwing Spike through the top floor window.

Spike ignores Angel and continues to admire me. "Did you miss me, My Love?" 

Yes. 

I shake my head while I slip my hand over his to remove it from my cheek. "You hurt me. I can never forgive you for what you did." 

Spike's face falters immensely. "Y/N... Let me explain! I-" 

"No!" I stand my ground, something I never used to do when we were together. "You deceived me, used me, broke me!" I switch my gaze between Spike and Angel frantically until I find myself overwhelmed. "I... I can't do this... I'm sorry Angel, excuse me." 

Thus, I hurry out the door past my coworkers before anyone can stop me. Both Angel and Spike call for me, but I ignore each of them as I gather my things and disappear onto the elevator. 

________________________

After today's cluster of events, a long shower was much needed. I have no doubt Angel will be visiting me once the workday is over, just to check-in. I can't believe Spike is here in Los Angeles. It all felt like a dream or perhaps a nightmare. How dare he come here after half a year and expect me to act as though nothing happened. 

Immediately after my shower, I go to my kitchen to fix myself a cup of tea. I stick the kettle on the stovetop before I get dressed. At first, living alone startled me, but since then I've grown to prefer it. I like the peace. After long days at the office, time alone and space alone is what I need. 

"Y/N," a voice makes itself known. 

My hand flies up to my chest as I pant. "Spike! Jesus and Mary! What the actual fuck?!" 

"A vampire scared of the dark... how ironic," he teases with a smirk. 

"Get out!" I shout, pointing toward the door. "I'm not even dressed you feen!" I start to march back to my bedroom which makes Spike follow. What part of 'get out' doesn't he understand? 

"Oh come on, Love. It's not like I haven't seen anything before," he insinuates. 

"Get out!" I repeat. 

"No, not until you hear what I have to say!" He insists. 

"You love Buffy! Congrats! Now, go be with her!" I urge him away. 

Abruptly, Spike grabs my forearm and yanks me to a halt. His free hand flies up to my chin and forces me to meet him in the eye. I fight him off, prying at his arms, but nothing works. 

"I never loved her!" He barks at me. "Well... maybe a little once... but that was before I met you! That night I didn't cheat on you! I swear it! I went over to her house to kill her and when I got there she was crying! Her mother has been ill! That's why I couldn't come sooner... plus I... I..." 

"You what?" I growl in disdain. 

"I got a soul for you," he remarks calmly, nearly solemnly. 

I frown, how is that possible? 

"You what?" I question. 

"I went to the desert, got my soul back so I could be like Angel..." He explains. "To be like someone you'd want to be with," he adds. 

He softens his grip on my face. To my surprise, I don't pull away. I stare into his blue eyes with astonishment. How could he get back his soul? Is that why it took him so long to come and find me? For months I wondered if he would ever come... but he never did. When I finally started to get settled and moved on he shows up. Spike's hand falls from my face with a sigh.  

"Forget this. Never mind," he starts to back away. "Have a good life, Y/N." 

I stand frozen, speechless, and unsure what to do as Spike struts away toward the door. Thus again, he has disappeared from my life. 

________________

Masterlist 

Tags:  @currently-obsesed-with-spike @mx-pibbles @shy-ginger-in-the-graveyard