#i truly can write one (1) thing. and that thing is “character is having a rough time and cannot sleep and someone tries to help them

[kittykatninja321]

I can’t get into 90% of “Dark (Character X)” fics because I find that it usually means that the character in question is behaving less like themselves and more like a stereotypical evil seme/mustache twirling villain and often just being used as a prop to whump on Character Y. But every once in I do come across that 10% that feels real and beautiful and true and makes me go “while I don’t think that they would do something that fucked up if they did that’s exactly how they would do it”

[savage-rhi]

Fuschia/Magenta?

[nulltune]

forever grateful for the ccc english patch (tho i can't play it myself /sobs) bc THIS. this sums up the true route so well and i write my hakuno before she really develops as a character (cuz i wanna flesh her out thru ic interactions 😤✨️) but i love her growth in canon and can't wait to flesh her out in writing so she can come to understand love like thisss 😭💕

ccc really is all about love and how the characters act based on how perceive that concept and there's a talk about the difference between ai (愛) and koi (恋) but tl;dr hakuno and sakura have koi, which andersen describes as a "dreaming heart" that's more associated with like longing and yearning,,,, IT FITS THEM SO WELL I SOBB

[thedevotionaltour]

people will hate to heart it but i love 60s matt like so sincerely he's so so so funny. infinitely charming. i like him.

[tinycatharsis]

this was hauntingly beautiful.

indulgence

pairing ↠ serial killer!sunghoon x (f) professor!reader

genre .. warnings ↠ smut, graphic depictions of murder, graphic depictions of violence, noncon, mentions of pregnancy, sunghoon is 43 (set in 2023)

summary ↠ you're an accomplished detective in the detroit area and park sunghoon is a prolific serial killer. when your department sends you on its behalf to pull back his layers, you attempt to convince sunghoon to recount his experiences and unravel the mystery once and for all.

wc ↠ 10.3k

a/n ↠ originally posted on my blog revehae, i am not plagiarizing myself. sunghoon’s american for the plot. part 3/3 of the in my blood series. as always, feedback is appreciated!

don’t like it, don’t read.

the deepest prick of unease settled through you and you shuddered from its nipping cold. 

killers were your forte, but none like this. never in your life had you ever met a killer who’d been at their craft for over a decade. they typically got sloppy after the first half, which insinuated that this sunghoon park guy, whoever he was, was far from an ameteur. 

“gate twelve,” came the guard’s voice, speaking into a transmitter. he was to escort you to sunghoon’s holding room.

the gate lifted. behind it, you clocked the riveting face of detroit’s worst nightmare, hands cuffed at his back as he sat facing you. there was a sort of twisted grin on his face, not as if he was excited to have a visitor, but excited his visitor had been you.

“good luck with this guy. officers tried to get him to budge. he didn’t take the fifth, but the bastard’s damn good at talking in circles,” the guard whispered in your ear.

“duly noted,” you replied quietly, stepping further and taking the seat across from sunghoon. 

the guard left you to your devices, shutting the door behind you and leaving through the passage that led to the gate. complete and total privacy was the only way sunghoon agreed to talk. your department initially refused, insisting there should at least be one or two other officers monitoring the interview, but you let him have his way.

if you wanted to get this man to talk, that was your only option.

“hello, sunghoon. i’m detective ___ from the detroit police department,” you introduced yourself coolly, cloaking your nerves with confidence. never would you show a guy like this any fear.

sunghoon hadn’t stopped grinning since he made eye contact with you. you’d seen pictures at most and he was devilishly handsome, even more so in person, but it didn’t compensate for his unsettling aura. “that’s a beautiful name, detective.”

“flattery will get you nowhere, park.”

“it’s gotten me here,” sunghoon quipped. 

“yes, it has. and i suppose you already know why i’m here.”

“yes, i do,” sunghoon said, pleasant thus far. “you want me to tell you about the murders.”

you bobbed your head. “i do. you see, you’re an enigma to me, sunghoon. you turn yourself in, get fingerprinted, and all of the sudden our datsbase’s going off because your prints are connected to three other crimes over the past twenty-five years.”

sunghoon feigned surprise. “wow, it’s been that long?”

“it has,” you replied, in spite of knowing he couldn’t have not been aware. “martina mortes in 1998, sabrina lee in 2005, christine dalton in 2013, and dr. lee this year.”

sunghoon leaned back in his chair. “i’m familiar with those names.”

“you should be. you sexually assaulted and murdered these women,” you spat, none too tender. “except for martina mortes. you only strangled her. do you want to tell me why that it is?”

“what’s the weather like today? i haven’t been outside, but summer has been kind to detroit.”

ignoring him, you persisted, “let me guess. she was your first victim and that kill, unlike the others, was spontaneous. her being dead defeated the purpose of the sex act, didn’t it?”

“well, do you like your partners warm or cold, detective?” sunghoon asked, deflecting. 

you were heeding the guard’s warning. it seemed this guy liked to answer questions with questions, your least favorite type of offender. “that’s why when you subsequently added the sex act to part of your crimes, you kept your victims much longer, because you like to see them suffer. until you got bored. then, you killed them and dumped their bodies like trash.”

as if he was disinterested, sunghoon glanced to the side and yawned. 

the audacity on this guy was astounding. “am i boring you, park?”

sunghoon replied with total indifference, “if you think you know everything, then why are we here?”

you answered without hesitation, “because i think you’ve wanted to tell someone about what you’ve done for a long time, sunghoon. but you realize that you’re not like other people. i’m giving you the opportunity to get it all off of your chest.”

sunghoon cocked his head to the side, as if he was contemplating your offer. his face was borderline inscrutable. it was difficult, if not impossible, to decipher what he was thinking.

you restrained from heaving a breath. there was a crushing weight on your shoulders, the expectation to get this guy to crack. if you couldn’t do it, nobody would - ever. “how many victims do you have?”

“four.” sunghoon’s answer was quick, automatic. like he didn’t even have to think about it for a second.

folding your arms on the table, you shook your head. “no, i just don’t think that’s true. see, we’re pretty sure martina mortes, your high school girlfriend, was your first victim, and the college professor was your last.”

sunghoon cocked a brow. “but?”

“but there’s no way someone like you could’ve resisted your urges between four kills over the past two decades and then some.”

there was no point in denying the four victims, because you already had substantial proof. nor did sunghoon deny that martina was his first victim, because given the decomposition of the bodies, she died long before the other three. admitting that she wasn’t would be admitting that there were unfound others.

and sunghoon had no intention of implicating himself more than he already had. the only reason he turned himself in was because he didn’t want to prolong the inevitable, for whatever reason. he pulled his lips into a mock frown. “your assumptions about my self-restraint are hurtful,” he replied.

whatever, moron, you thought irritability. “i think they’re more than just assumptions.”

sunghoon teased, “then, let me know when you know something.”

you narrowed your eyes, groaning, “oh, come on. i know and you know that you can’t ignore your desires for a month, let alone over ten years. you have a compulsion. killing makes you feel powerful, it makes you feel in control, and you can’t live without the high it gives you.”

“you make me sound like an addict,” sunghoon remarked, pretending to be offended.

“it wouldn’t be so far from the truth,” you said, glancing over the file at your end of the table. “the first two kills were seven years apart. the second two kills were ten. full offense, i don’t see how you could control yourself for so long.”

“you can believe what you want, detective. i didn’t kill anyone else,” sunghoon lied, not that you ever needed to know. 

of course, he couldn’t control himself. the second he took someone’s life, it became a part of him, and his purpose in this world became clear to him. for the first time in his life, he felt as if he had something that made living worthwhile.

you surrendered. it was obvious sunghoon was intelligent and he wouldn’t be easily tricked into confessing. “okay, fine. let’s talk about the victims we know of. tell me about martina mortes.”

“what is there to tell?” sunghoon asked, brow cocked. “we met in junior high. then, in eleventh grade, we got together.”

“tell me about why you killed her,” you insisted, painfully curious. “it happened in chicago, before you moved to detroit over the summer. you killed her in the heat of the moment.”

sunghoon gave the impression that he would take a minute to crack, so you were surprised when he said in response to your prodding, “we got into a wrangle, if you will.”

that much was obvious. “what kind of wrangle?”

the garage was hot and the air was stuffy, making it difficult to breathe. to say nothing of the frustration scorching sunghoon’s skin, his face tensed into an irritated glower.

there was something about women he never liked, the seemingly inherent ability to blow almost anything out of proportion, as exhibited now as his girlfriend screamed in his face. his stepmother was the same, never not coming up with a reason to fuss at him. he was always walking on eggshells around that woman. 

martina was bristling. “you always fucking do this, sunghoon.”

sunghoon heaved a breath, sighing, “what - what do i always do, martina?”

“you trivialize everything i go through. you make me feel like i’m overreacting when i’m not, you just refuse to hold yourself accountable,” she spat. 

“martina, we’re about to go to college, for fuck’s sake! you can’t focus on your academics and a goddamn child. i don’t get why you won’t just have an abortion and call it a day,” sunghoon roared, heating up a thousand degrees.

“god, do you listen to a word that comes out of my mouth? my parents will kill me, sunghoon. if not for being pregnant at eighteen, then for killing it.”

sunghoon sighed. “i don’t see the part where that’s my problem.”

tears blurred martina’s eyes. she came up to him, shattered by his carelessness and embraced by isolation, and bellowed, “you want to know what your problem is? your problem is that you’re an incompetent bastard with no regard for other people!”

sunghoon’s body was engulfed in flames but his shoulders were cold, and he lost control of his emotions, grabbing martina by the throat. he effortlessly lifted her with a single hand and smashed her against the closest wall none too gently, watching her eyes wince closed.

“you wanna say that again?” sunghoon asked, nothing short of belligerent.

ache spread out through the back of martina’s head, a ceaseless throbbing worse than any hungover. her feet dangled off of the ground, waving and kicking, fingers weakly prying at the ones pressing down on her windpipe. until she was completely still, legs dropping, hands going limp at her sides.

“i didn’t even realize how long i spent standing there, until she felt… empty, and i knew she was gone,” sunghoon confessed, but his tone was far from sympathetic. “she scratched me. you know, when she was trying to pry my hands off. i didn’t know until hours later.”

you shook your head, disdainful. “you killed your pregnant girlfriend?”

sunghoon groaned, “oh, please. i was eighteen. i would’ve been a terrible father.”

“i would be slightly more inclined to accept that as an excuse if it weren’t for the fact that you had a son by sabrina lee only two years later,” you said viciously.

“a lot can change in two years.”

“i’m sure it did.” your eyes flickered over the file again, but nothing would allow you to familiarize yourself with this killer more than talking to him yourself. “for example, you realized just how much you liked killing.”

if sunghoon could’ve raised his hands, he would’ve. “your words, not mine.”

you leaned over the table, unrelenting. “tell me about it, sunghoon. how did it feel when you strangled her with your bare hands? what was it like?”

sunghoon chuckled. “is that what you wanna hear?”

you nodded. 

sunghoon leaned in too, getting closer to you, and whispered in your ear, “i squeezed every last breath out of her, one by one, until there was nothing left for her brain and she went slack in my arms. and when i was done, i felt elated. i felt free. it woke up this dormant sensation inside of me that i swore to never repress again, because it made me feel alive.”

your lungs started to feel shallower, like no breath could reach the bottom, and you sensed your heart come to a halt for a minute. sunghoon pulled back, grinning from ear to ear, as if he was proud of himself. 

“detective, did i startle you?” sunghoon asked, tilting his head ever so slightly. 

your face hardened. “why would you ever think that?”

“you’re not as good at feigning indifference as you think you are, detective. full offense,” he mimicked, mocking.

he’s just a fragile man that kills women to make him feel better about himself, because he needs to be in control. don’t give him power over you. that’s what he wants, you said to yourself, shutting any and all other thoughts. “so, you killed martina, nobody could connect her disappearance to you, and by the time they discovered her body you were already studying for college two states over.”

sunghoon ignored you, at least for a little. he was taking a liking to making you feel uneasy around him. “has anyone ever told you how gorgeous you are?” he asked out of nowhere.

“you aren’t my type. i don’t fool around with serial killers,” you replied sharply.

sunghoon didn’t seem to be offended, but you didn’t expect him to. “really now? it feels like we’re on a date right now. after all, we are getting to know each other.”

you asked, “have you always had such a distorted perception of normal human interaction?”

sunghoon shot with no hesitation, “have you always had such a sharp mouth?”

you pulled yourself together. the only way you would get anywhere with this guy was by establishing that you were the one in control. “okay, enough. this is my interview, park. you answer my questions, not vice versa.”

“that’s not any fair,” sunghoon told you, that unnerving smile still on his lips. “i don’t have to tell you anything, you know. and without me, you lose the only key to those answers you want so badly.”

“you shutting up doesn’t make much of a difference, considering you’re already dodging my questions,” you replied.

“let’s play a game,” sunghoon suggested.

you weren’t in the mood for any games, but that was sunghoon’s method of operation. “i don’t like games.”

“you’ll like this one,” sunghoon insisted, laughing. “twenty questions.”

your shoulders dropped. “am i supposed to be guessing something?”

sunghoon shook his head, something sinister about him. “no, it’s much easier than that. we take turns asking each other questions until i’ve answered ten and you’ve unanswered ten.”

you stared into his eyes, willing yourself not to break contact. he was just as relentless, silently cocking a brow at you, as if to challenge. and you weren’t an idiot. that’s exactly what it was. you asserted, “i go first, you can only ask me yes or no questions, and if i don’t like your final answer i get to press you for another.”

sunghoon slightly lifted his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. “yes, ma’am.”

“okay,” you started. “what made you move from illinois to michigan?”

“i was kicked out of the house. didn’t have anywhere else to go. but i had a buddy here whose family took me in,” sunghoon answered frankly.

you pondered those words, wondering if his aforementioned buddy knew about his secret indulgences. or if he asked why sunghoon’s parents kicked him out of their home. it would’ve been the question scratching at your mind, itching to be answered.

sunghoon’s lips parted. “what kind of perfume are you wearing - honey lavender?”

“yes,” you said, focusing your attention on anything but the possibilities of how he could’ve known that. he’d been with so many people to the point where he just knew. “why did you get kicked out of the house?”

“my dad always thought there was something different about me, ever since i was a child. he was a nasty piece of work. he found my journal, read a couple of things i wrote, and decided there was no hope for me in the house,” sunghoon ranted.

that piqued your curiosity. “what did you write about?”

“wait your turn,” sunghoon sang. “your hair smells just as lovely as the rest of you. do you match scents all the time?”

you were mildly uncomfortable, but given the type of dude he was, you stifled it. “yes. you don’t have to be such a pervert all the time, you know?”

again, sunghoon rolled his shoulders, chirping, “you call it perverse. i call it amusing.”

you almost cursed under your breath when you realize you’d asked him a question. “wait, i didn’t mean to ask…”

sunghoon cut you off, “that’s too bad. it’s my turn again. do you like necklaces?”

“not ones made out of fingers,” you retorted. it was meant to be a joke to hide how unsettled you were, hyper aware of the necklace dangling around your neck. you could feel invisible pressure on your throat.

sunghoon snickered. “i’ll admit that was funny.”

you pressed, “what did you write about in the journal?”

“my dreams,” he admitted vaguely, though in reality, he wrote endlessly about his corrupt fantasies of abusing women. some pages were about his stepsister, and there was a few about what he’d done to martina, though not explicitly. “you have the most beautiful eyes. they’re the perfect shade.”

you were certain he had told many other girls those same words and were not flattered in the slightest. the glare you were giving him was ferocious. “i’m not sure if there’s a question in there somewhere.”

“do you think your eyes are pretty?”

“i haven’t really thought about it,” you told him, quick to change the topic. you’d encountered your fair share of stranglers and it was no secret why he was so interested in your eyes. “was your relationship with your father estranged?”

“nothing was enough for that man. i had the top grades in my class and the highest gpa, and he took my door off its hinges and seized my privacy,” sunghoon told you, words harsh, but his tone plain. “he was obsessed with being the perfect family, something that was ruined the second my mother destroyed everything, and rather than embrace me, he turned me away.”

your eyes flickered. there was something about his language that stood out to you. courtesy of the research you’d done on him beforehand, you were aware that his father was divorced then remarried his stepmother, who already had a daughter sunghoon’s age. but rather than describe his parent’s separation as a divorce, he said his mother destroyed everything.

what a hostile view towards women, you mused, repulsed. but given the nature of his crimes, it adds up. and it might’ve been the origin of his hatred.

his family was twisted. you couldn’t fathom how his father, aware of just how unwell his son was, clocked his abusive fantasies towards women, and instead of getting him the help he needed, he left him to his own devices to slaughter them as he pleased.

you blinked when sunghoon leaned, craning his face towards yours, and snapped out of your reverie when you jolted back. 

“there you are,” sunghoon said, chuckling at your surprise. it was all over your face. “i’ve been talking to myself all this time. you must’ve been thinking about me.”

“no, not really. i was wondering if i forgot to feed my dog last night.” it was an obvious lie, but you would never encourage this guy to feel more important than he was.

amusement gleamed in sunghoon’s eyes. he was having a wonderful time, truth be told. had you not been so pretty, he would’ve clamped up like a crab, but you were so pleasing to the eye that he didn’t mind confessing a couple of truths. “a dog. that’s interesting. i myself have always wanted a pet - a snake. the constricting kind are my favorite.”

“you don’t say,” you droned, voice dripping with crisp irony.

your sarcasm was chucklesome to sunghoon, but his words were the truth. he remembered, all those years ago, asking his father for a pet snake. and when he refused, sunghoon, in turn, killed the family dog. he added, “they don’t just suffocate their prey. they coil around them, almost like a straitjacket, and cut off its blood supply.”

you replied, “yeah, but animals hunt to survive. you hunted because you had nothing better to do with your life.”

“in my humble opinion, we’re all animals of nature, and creatures of sin,” sunghoon told you in a whisper, as if he were telling you a secret of some kind. “anyways, it’s my turn now.”

you resisted a disgruntled exhale. 

like his questions couldn’t get any more absurd and strangely perverse, sunghoon asked, “when you shower, what do you use - a washcloth or a loofah?”

“that’s not a yes or no question,” you replied with total disinterest. 

“it’s hardly any less simple.”

“a washcloth,” you replied, though only because you needed to ask him your questions and resisting an answer would only waste valuable time. “why did you wait so long before killing sabrina lee?”

sunghoon smiled at the mention of his son’s mother, but the grin on his lips was distinguishable from the others. like he didn’t even realize he was smiling. “she was special. i loved her.”

“no, you didn’t. you don’t hurt people that you love.”

“maybe that’s true for you, but you’ve called me everything but a child of god and it’s clear you don’t think you and i are alike,” sunghoon said. “i don’t miss her, though, because she left a better print on this world. a world that was never made for her in the first place.”

a better print on this world. your brows furrowed, until you remembered the child they shared together. “you know what i think? i think whatever you felt for your son’s mother was the closest thing to love you’ll ever be able to pull from your ugly black heart.”

“you’re very strongly opinionated,” sunghoon responded, ever so unbothered. maybe some decades ago, it would’ve irked him to the point of breaking, but he was much more in charge of his impulses now.

you lifted your shoulders, gazing at him with the most discerning of eyes. all he could think about was how nice it would’ve been to seize you by the throat and watch the light dull from them.

to your surprise, sunghoon’s next question was not as a deviant as you assumed it would be, asking, “what made you decide you wanted to become a detective?”

“because of the people i used to know that aren’t around to tell you why,” you answered distantly, before pressing, “how was sabrina different, sunghoon?”

sunghoon perched over the table again, an uncomfortable distance close to you, made worse by his whispers. “because unlike the others, she didn’t beg me to stop - she begged me to finish. for it to be over. and when i wouldn’t, she begged me to kill her.”

the mental picture you got was cruel. your heart hurt for these women that had no idea what hit them until it was too late. 

“i put these women out of their misery,” sunghoon continued. 

you spat in a heartbeat, “the misery that you forced them to endure.”

sunghoon winced. “no, these women were miserable long before they met me. they were just ignorant of it. impressionability is a weakness.”

“either you have one hell of a god complex or you are working overtime to justify your sick actions.”

sunghoon merely shrugged, vicious and ominous and everything in between. there was something so dark about his spirit. you could feel it just from sitting within a couple of feet of him. 

sunghoon’s memories were triggered. he was reminiscing about the times he shared with his son’s mother, how perfect she was. there were no other women like her. she was his favorite victim, someone he took his sweet time with, while the others were disposed of in a few months time. 

midnight loomed, riding on the tail of dusk. sunghoon was counting down the minutes until the clock struck twelve, a self-imposed rule to gauge his willpower. the second the hour came, he bolted from the crackling sound of the cabin’s fireplace to a bedroom, anticipation like a stimulant.

the wooden floorboards creaked the closer sunghoon crept to the door. save for himself and the woman chained to the bedpost, the cabin was void of life. it belonged to the parents of a close friend who ensured it was vacant whenever sunghoon needed a place to indulge his twisted fantasies.

which was basically all of the time.

he meandered inside with a crisp bottle of water in hand, droplets condensing at its sides. sabrina laid right where he left her, just as broken, dreading her next breath. tape adhered to the flesh over her mouth, muffling her whimpers. there was nobody around for miles, the cabin was totally isolated, but it was a safety measure.

the chains were used likewise. when sunghoon was not there, the restraints kept her prisoner. sunghoon, reckless as he could be back then, was many things and stupid was not one of them. the chains stretched long enough to reach the bathroom but no further and he had his loyal friend help him test it after each victim.

“can you go further?” sunghoon called out.

heeseung’s lower limbs were shackled, ceasing his footsteps just shy of the hallway as he came to a total standstill. “not if i want my legs to follow me,” he’d retorted.

sunghoon had snickered. “good.”

had sunghoon been there, though, he would take the chains off. none of this was fair, even sunghoon didn’t believe that, but not giving them the chance to fight was too unfair. he needed not to chain them when he had the gift of his big, burly arms.

sunghoon waltzed over with a lighthearted and carefree gait, as if this was just another wednesday afternoon to him. and in some sick, despicable way, that wasn’t too far from the truth. he ripped the tape from sabrina’s lips, watching her face tense with pain.

“sunghoon,” sabrina rasped, voice croaking. he could tell from her flushed face and misty eyes that she’d been crying. “i’m thirsty.”

sunghoon cocked a brow, glancing to his hand. he had an irritating knack for playing dumb. it used to be endearing. now, with everything she knew to be true torn from her bare hands, sabrina didn’t know what to think. “what - you want this?”

sabrina nodded.

“yeah?” he popped off the top, throwing back a few gulps just before releasing a satisfied, “ah.”

sabrina’s lips trembled. “please.”

had she been anybody else, sunghoon probably would’ve dangled the water in her face just to snatch it away, but there was something about sabrina that made him gravitate towards her. in a rare moment of benevolence, sunghoon handed her the water, letting her drink.

she didn’t drink in short sips, but in giant gulps as if she’d known for some time that they’d be her last. when her thirst was satiated, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, handing the bottle back, and whispered, “thank you.”

sunghoon set the drink aside before returning to her, unshackling her limbs. sabrina’s breath quickened the moment the chains clacked harshly against the floor and nearly stilled when he brought his hand to her flushed face, tracing her chapped lips with a calloused thumb.

his thoughts rushed with unbridled exhilaration, ablaze with suspense, but he slowed for a moment to marvel at her loveliness. sunghoon’s hand touched her hair, touch tender in ways it would never be again, because he would never again know a woman as great as her.

he brought his lips to her ear, nibbling at the shell before asking, “do you know what i want you to do?”

sabrina bobbed her head, starting to halfheartedly peel off her clothes without needing to be told. with so many days held prisoner in this hell hole, it became routine. like she’d already resigned herself to her fate and knew sunghoon getting his way was inevitable. he always got what he wanted.

to be frank, it came out of nowhere. she never saw this twisted side of him coming. all she knew was that she became suspicious of his lack of family presence and it was too late when she saw him for the monster that he was, and then she woke here.

it had to have been months ago, although sabrina couldn’t have been sure how many. everyday started to bleed into the static hopelessness of another. sometimes sunghoon wouldn’t show for days, leaving her to live antsily, dreading his unavoidable return. other times, he would spend a day or two in the cabin, fucking her into kingdom come. 

as if she couldn’t be any more faultless. sunghoon smirked. “smart girl,” he purred. he would never deny her wit, given that she’d caught onto him, but her lack of strength was her only vice.

sunghoon restlessly tossed his own shirt over his naked shoulder and came to step out of his boxers. there was mischief on his plush lips. he knew something sabrina only knew from the unkind churn of her gut.

the end was more than near. it loomed over her, relentless and remorseless, and all she could like it to was dark and leaden clouds in a somber sky. even then, there was almost nothing she wouldn’t give to see the world again, but she’d long kissed that hope goodbye.

“down,” sunghoon told her, tone dark and stern.

she pliantly did as told, bare back meeting the mattress. sunghoon crept over her, hard cock twitching at the sight of her so meek. typically, he liked when they put up a fight, but sabrina knew better.

sunghoon could tell she was fighting back tears, willing herself not to cry with a stabilized breath, but her endeavors were in vain the second he started to force his way inside her. they escaped her eyes and dampened her cheeks, unable to overlook the agony of the stretch. 

“shh, baby,” sunghoon crooned in her ear, the weight of his body bearing down onto hers. “what’s the matter? you used to beg me to fuck you.”

sabrina shook her head, silently pleading for a mercy she knew deep down that sunghoon wasn’t capable of. “please make it quick.”

sunghoon’s tone was almost sweet. “but baby, you told me you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me, remember?” 

sunghoon knew that his words weren’t reassuring and he didn’t intend for them to be. there was a reason why he loved how she tried to hold herself together. he got to push her limits, find her breaking point. in the end, she would get her wish, and in a way, sunghoon thought that that was love.

her walls were just as tight and vice-like as they’d been all those times he’d taken her before. if sunghoon got close enough to her, let his hands wander and tease as they never not had done, sabrina would still involuntarily gush around his cock. like her body knew she was forever a slave to his touch. 

just looking at her face as she wept sent shock waves of pleasure rippling through his dick and chest. sabrina didn’t cry in noisy, gasping sobs. her tears dripped from her thick lashes quietly, mouth parting in the most silent of whimpers.

and she orgasmed the same way, sunghoon remembered. back when things were normal between them, when she begged for him to fuck her, as he called it, her release was marked by a volatile shudder, but a silent cry of ecstasy.

sunghoon pushed sabrina’s lips into an upward curling with his thumb and index finger. “smile for the camera, sabrina,” he whispered.

sabrina’s brows furrowed, painfully oblivious to the camera tracking her every emote. sunghoon couldn’t not document his deeds. there was something about being able to play them over, immersing himself back in that moment over and over, even when the life itself could not be so easily brought back.

but for sunghoon, they could be. when he rewatched these videos again and again, it was like he could feel their pulses thump in their neck, resuscitating.

sunghoon’s hands were everywhere, fingertips traipsing towards sabrina’s neck where marks lingered from all the times he’d strangled her, only to slacken his grip when she was just shy of passing out. the bruises were different colors, indicative of different healing stages. sabrina tensed, startled, and wondered when it would all be over.

“sunghoon.” sabrina was overcome with defeat. her voice cracked as she asked, “sunghoon, please just cum.”

sunghoon’s face tensed with pleasure. “fuck, babe, when you say it like that…”

he stood at the brink of climax, threatening to teeter over, and there was only one thing that could knock him over quicker than anything else. it wouldn’t be anything she said, anything she did, but only a weakness sunghoon had the power to wield against himself.

“you want me to finish?”

sabrina nodded. 

sunghoon chuckled darkly. “then, in that case, it’s time for you to get your wish, baby.”

he watched her shoulders slump, releasing all hope of ever knowing anything different again and accepting that this was where things ended. thinking about the feeling he remembered none too distantly, one that almost seemed to keep his blood pumping through him, in a way, sunghoon’s fingers itched.

sunghoon lifted his hands, bringing them to sabrina’s face, but before he could touch her, she exclaimed, “wait, sunghoon!”

his brow cocked. 

sabrina’s lips trembled. “can you tell me what today is? please?”

“wednesday,” sunghoon replied, holding his hands around her neck, but keeping his grip slack. for now.

“wednesday,” sabrina said, pulling her lips into the faintest of smiles as tears blurred her vision. “will you tell jake that i hope he has an amazing thursday?”

“that can be arranged,” sunghoon said, grinning.

sabrina nodded, setting her mind at ease. she’d already made peace with this day some months ago. she never knew when it come, but she saw it as something bound to happen. “thank you,” she whispered. 

those were her last words. because when sunghoon tightened his grip at her throat, almost like tightening a noose, he couldn’t bring himself to stop in spite of the agonized gleam in her stare. and then her stare was empty, and sunghoon had already emptied his load inside of her.

to describe the sensation he got from killing in a way that captured its essence would be impossible. it was more than feeling the life leave her. it was more than watching her eyes become soulless. it was a release, a way of relinquishing all of the vacantness he harbored, and knowing that his heart was still there.

it would always return, sometimes as soon as the next day, but for a minute, sunghoon was whole and no drug could replicate that kind of contentedness.

sunghoon did tell jake what sabrina said. he wasn’t all too sure why, maybe it was because she was his mother and jake was her son that they’d created together, and sunghoon would never have it any other way. for her to be the one to give him a child, he couldn’t imagine any other woman in her place.

it was almost unfortunate that she had to go so soon. even sunghoon thought that her demise was premature. had she not grown so suspicious of him, sunghoon could imagine making her his wife, maybe even spending the rest of his life with her.

their marriage wouldn’t have been without his secret dark life, but sabrina wouldn’t’ve been a victim. alas, loose ends needed to be tied. sunghoon couldn’t trust that she would’ve kept quiet, and even then, she was in a much more fitting place for an angel like herself.

there was much of this memory that would be abridged. never would sunghoon reveal anything about the cabin or the dear friend that helped him commit his indulgences, or even the existence of the tapes. if they found those videos, that was proof of murder with a grand total of 106 women.

the air around you was heavy and the words you’d just been fed weren’t easily take in. “what you’re just told me is really sad.”

but sunghoon didn’t look sad. whether or not he ever truly cared for sabrina would perpetually be a mystery. “maybe,” he started. “but tell me that you wouldn’t hurt the person you loved most if it was what was best for them.”

“i did. but what i had to do is different from what you were.”

sunghoon’s interest was piqued. “how come?”

“it was my responsibility to decide whether or not to take my sister off of the ventilator. there was no hope for her,” you confessed, though brushed over it quickly. “what happened to your ex-wife?”

“not that interesting of a story,” sunghoon said. “she wasn’t sabrina, i got tired of her, here we are.”

“and yet she wasn’t a one-off like martina mortes.”

“had she been a one-off, my body count would be one number higher. that was a favor,” sunghoon told you, grinning as if you actually had something to be grateful for.

you didn’t waste a second to accuse, “because you need to keep your victims to extract all the relief that you can from them, right?”

“i’m afraid it’s not your turn to ask questions,” sunghoon replied tauntingly. “what was your sister like - did she have long hair? what color were her eyes? how long were her lashes?”

sick son of a bitch, bellowed the voice in your head, though you willed yourself to remain composed. it was plain on his face that sunghoon didn’t want an answer - he wanted a reaction. and as furious as that made you, you couldn’t let him provoke you. “that’s none of your business,” you said, but there was a loophole. “but she was beloved.”

that qualified as an answer. sunghoon glanced at you in a way that made you feel see-through, as if he knew that you were threatening to come apart at the seams and didn’t buy your nonchalance for a minute. 

sated, he went on to feed you bullshit about his ex-wife’s death, though there were only four people who knew what truly happened to her and one of them was dead.

sunghoon remembered that day like it happened yesterday. it was a thursday evening when he’d come home from work. christine had picked jake up from school hours ago and sunghoon wholly expected to come home to her in the kitchen.

it was dark outside. the moon was a mere sliver and the stars were duller than they typically were, almost like they had witnessed something that drained their spirits. sunghoon remembered struggling to identify his house key, trying each of them until the door clicked open.

“i’m home,” sunghoon’s voice thundered as he turned to lock the door. 

there were quick footsteps from upstairs. jake, sunghoon thought, more than familiarized with the sound. but there was none of christine’s usual voice.

“dad, i’m hungry,” came jake’s voice from the stairs, coming down them one by one.

that in itself should’ve been suspicious, but instead, all sunghoon could think about was how sabrina would’ve already fed her son. “hasn’t christine made dinner by now?” sunghoon asked, irritated.

jake shook his head, though sunghoon couldn’t see. he was hanging his coat on the rack, like he always did after he locked the door. “she can’t right now.”

“why not?”

“because i think she’s dead,” jake replied, nonchalant as ever.

that was the very second that sunghoon turned around and noticed that jake was stained with blood. it was all over his face and the spots would probably never come out of his clothes, not that they would be kept.

for half a minute, sunghoon was genuinely stunned.

jake didn’t say what happened, and there was no need to. “the blood won’t come off,” was all he said, showing his father the pair of hands that he’d washed with vigor.

sunghoon heaved a breath. he should’ve seen this coming. jake took after his father and he never liked christine. to say the least, sunghoon couldn’t blame him. “where is she?”

“where they all go,” jake replied, as if it was the most normal and natural thing in the world to him. 

sunghoon headed for the basement with quick footsteps, jake following behind. if somebody were to come down there, they wouldn’t suspect a thing. not only was it decorated to look like one, but it was used as a man cave. behind a soundproof wall, though, was a dungeon for his prisoners. 

in this case, there was a trail of blood leading to the wall, proof that jake had somehow brought christine there after he hurt her. sunghoon entered the cell and saw her there behind the bars, coming to her side to check her pulse. 

pressing his thumb to her wrist and neck, sunghoon sensed a pulse, though it was weakening. “she’s not dead,” he said, wresting his phone out of his pocket.

jake didn’t look so relieved, but he didn’t voice his dissatisfaction. “are you mad?”

sunghoon glanced down at christine. jake had used a kitchen knife, attacking her in the heat of the moment. she was butchered and blood-splattered, on the verge of slaughter, and yet sunghoon couldn’t find it in him to offer any compassion. “that you hurt her? no. that you made a mess? a little.”

now that was a relief. to jake, at least back then, his dad was the coolest guy that he knew.

there was quite the scene in front of him and sunghoon didn’t have a thing for blood. he shook his head in reproach, chastising, “i’m going to teach you the right way to get rid of a woman when you’re sick of her.”

that piqued jake’s curiosity. 

sunghoon was quick to dial heeseung’s number. he had medical experience and that was what he needed right now. when the call connected, he said, “i’m in calling in a favor.”

heeseung patched her up again. at least for a few months, sunghoon still needed her breathing. they scrubbed the floors free of blood, burned jake’s bloodied clothes, and it was as if nothing ever happened.

what sunghoon had told you was only a fraction of the truth, but still enough to make you want to grimace. it bemused you how he got away with murdering his ex-wife and nobody thought to suspect her husband with a track record of disappearing partners.

“you want to know what’s really amazing?” you started, though it was more like disgusting. “how three of the women you’ve killed were your significant others, and somehow, you’ve only now been incriminated.”

sunghoon looked proud of himself. had it not been for jake, he probably would’ve never been caught. “sabrina never told anyone that we dated, or that she had a baby by me. her parents wanted her to focus on her education. if they knew she’d gotten pregnant, she would’ve been the black sheep.”

“and you took advantage of that,” you hissed. 

“so what if i did?” sunghoon asked, careless. “not to mention that dozens of teenage girls in chicago were going missing at the time. they added martina to that number and called it a day. is that sad? maybe. but that’s how it works.”

“and as for your co-worker?” you asked sharply. the boldness of his crimes astounded you. “her husband grieves her. were you having an affair?”

the thought of her made sunghoon chuckle. oh, were we, he reminisced. it was a misfortune that he didn’t get the chance to have his way with her the way that he wanted. and for that reason, he couldn’t regale you in a truthful account of her death.

what happened that day, the day his co-worker died, challenged his fate and was the reason that he only now knew the imprisonment he thrusted upon others.

sunghoon knew when he spotted her that he would revel in her vulnerability. married, but she hardly wore her ring. her kind was the most naive - the kind that believed ecstasy was without costly sin. one way or another, she had to reap what she sowed.

he worked his way inside her pants, but it was hardly any work; she was on a desperate pursuit for pleasure and when sunghoon promised it to her, offering content on a silver platter, she thought less with her brain and more with the throbbing between her legs.

for months, sunghoon slept with her, which was far from typical. if she were anybody else, sunghoon would have pursued her for a couple of weeks time, then banished her to the underground prison. though considering he already had a victim down there at the time, he had some time to spare.

it was no secret that she had grown fond of sunghoon in ways she hadn’t been of her husband in a very long time, and though sunghoon found her to be special, in a way, he could not reciprocate her feelings. when sunghoon saw her, all he felt was the overwhelming urge to use her with a lick of remorse, and squeeze those panting breaths out of her.

it was a shame that he never got the opportunity. sunghoon already tested the bounds of his self-restraint when it came to her, each of their encounters consensual with her oblivious to his deepest, darkest desires. sometimes, his fingers would wander to her neck, but even that was wanted.

what was not wanted was the tyranny over her body that preceded her death. it bemused sunghoon to learn that his son, along with two of his friends that he thought of like brothers and sunghoon thought of like sons, ravaged her to the brink of being unrecognizable.

had sunghoon held control over the situation, he wouldn’t have cared what happened to her and would have even permitted them to go to town. but what happened was somehow darker. when he got a call from the professor late that day, hearing her broken sobs over the phone, he told her to meet him at his house.

that was his first mistake. 

it wasn’t that she didn’t come. she made it there, hopeful to confide in sunghoon about the nightmare that tore her apart, but it was jake that opened the front door. and when she entered, there was no hope out of her coming out breathing.

jake had been a downward spiral ever since a month ago when he stumbled upon the tape of his mother. ever since he was a boy, jake watched every tape he could find of his father’s dark life, even sharing them with his friends as if they were movies and not snuff.

but this was not like those. this was his mother. and watching her suffer, listening to her final request before her untimely death, broke jake in ways which he would never recover.

jake had known since he was little that his mother was dead and his father was to blame, but his understanding of what happened to her was skewed. if he’d known eighteen years ago what he knew today, when sunghoon had his own son aid him in his mother’s demise, none of it would have ever happened.

to say nothing of the fact that what sunghoon had jake do was only a mere fraction of his mother’s suffering. jake would fetch things from the other side of the cabin he vaguely remembered visiting every now and then for three months. when he was not there, which was often, he would lie to his neighbors about her whereabouts.

even though when she died he was only a kid being taken advantage of, jake hated himself for letting it happen right under his nose. he wished he would’ve told his neighbors the truth. maybe if he had, his mother would still be alive and kicking, and he would know the only woman he ever cared for.

that was why he went after his professor that he knew his father had also been eyeing closely and having an affair with. her fate was obvious. sunghoon would entertain her for a while, somehow charm and woo his way into her pants like he did every other woman, kidnap her and keep her downstairs for three months, then kill her and identify the next victim.

but sunghoon’s liking of her was also hopelessly discernable. she was living too long. and that was a telltale sign that sunghoon took a special interest in his son’s professor, something that jake feared would rival the affection (if it existed) for his mother.

jake was not keen on having his mother replaced. the last time it happened, he snapped and maimed his stepmother. and he was not afraid of doing so again.

when jake exacted revenge, it felt like nothing he had ever done before. vengeance tasted like heaven. his professor tasted elysian. and he had never felt so good about himself, but then the high wore off, comparable to the fading release sunghoon got after strangling his victims, and familiar pain seared through him once further. 

vindictiveness was a lethal venom, festering quickly upon injection. after jake got what he wanted, there was a greed to replicate that feeling, in spite of the fact that nothing would compare to that first blow. in his own way, unlike his father’s but similar nonetheless, he was pivoting towards release.

jake was on the brink of something like psychosis when he heard those knocks on his front door. and when he peered outside, spotting the professor, his recklessness got the better of him.

she was dead before she even stepped inside the house. jake yanked her inside, brought her downstairs, and forced himself onto her for a second time that day. when she wept for sunghoon, wishing he would come home, jake almost pitied her naïveté.

if jake hadn’t killed her, wrapping his hands around her throat the way that he knew his father had been yearning to, sunghoon would have.

the look on his professor’s face was pitiful. “sorry,” jake said, though he clasped his hands around her throat harder. “but i have to make a statement.”

it was not particularly a difficult thing to do, at least not to stomach, but killing her was merely just a means to an end. he didn’t get off to it like his father would’ve, jake’s interest lay inflicting psychological damage, but he did it because he knew how much it pleasured sunghoon to squeeze the life out of his victims.

and if jake couldn’t have what he wanted, then as long as he lived, neither would his dad for tearing it away.

sunghoon came home moments too late. jake left his professor in the cellar for his father to find, eyes wide and face pale.

sunghoon glanced around. he saw her car parked outside, but no sign of her. when jake came from his bedroom on the upper floor, a creeping feeling of deja vu flooded sunghoon’s chest, but he asked, “where is she?”

jake’s face was expressionless. “she’s dead,” he replied, confident. “i mean it this time.”

sunghoon shook his head. “you killed her?”

“wasn’t it you that said you were going to teach me the proper way to dispose of a woman when i’m sick of her?” jake asked, approaching his father as he crept down the stairs.

though sunghoon wasn’t pleased, he willed himself to calm down. “did you strangle her?”

“yes.”

sunghoon figured, from the lack of blood staining his house this time around. “will you tell me about it?”

that caught jake off-guard. he expected his father to be angry, to let loose. he had to have been dreaming of choking her since the day he laid eyes on her. “you sick fuck,” jake sneered.

sunghoon snickered, unbothered. that’s rich. “who do you think you got it from?”

obviously, from the face jake was making, he didn’t like that. his nonchalant attitude dissipated. “i’m not like you!”

“keep telling yourself that. maybe one day you’ll delude yourself into believing it,” sunghoon replied, hanging his coat on the rack in spite of knowing he would be leaving again soon.

“i’m not like you - i mean that.”

sunghoon, miffed, rolled his eyes and said, “come on, son. you think i don’t know you and your friends have been watching my tapes for the past decade and then some like they’re cartoons?”

“but not mom’s,” jake spat, loathing fizzing in his stare. 

sunghoon froze, then spun around. “is that what this is all about?”

jake nodded, pleased his father was finally getting the picture. “i found it in your study. you hid it more carefully than the others, because she was special or you didn’t want me to find it, i don’t know.”

sunghoon heaved a breath. “you were never supposed to see that.”

“but i did,” jake replied. “and i’ve suffered every day for the past month because of that.”

sunghoon shot without hesitation, “a suffering you brought upon yourself. nobody asked you to go snooping around in my things.”

jake’s lips were twisted into the meanest snarl sunghoon had ever seen. emotion wrecked through him in its totality. “is that what’s important to you? i shouldn’t be surprised. you couldn’t even spare your own son’s mother from your heartlessness.”

sunghoon massaged his temple, summoning all of his willpower. “please,” he groaned, sensing an incoming headache. “women are weak, cheating whores. just look at your professor. maybe your mother wasn’t, but she was a liability.”

if that was supposed to console jake, it had the complete opposite effect. “are you saying she deserved it?”

“i’m saying that you’ve always been too soft,” sunghoon said, not bothering to sugarcoat his chastising. “just like your mother. even when you were a child. that’s why i had you help me, i hoped you would harden up a little.”

jake scoffed. “unbelievable.”

“your mother went quietly. she didn’t even fight it, jake. so, why are you?”

“because of that,” jake told him, vitriol in his voice. “she didn’t ask you to stop one time. she just asked you to get it over with.”

sunghoon tipped his head back. “ah, yes. she really was perfect, wasn’t she?”

that was all it took to kindle an unforgiving rage within jake and in a moment of fury, flickering through him in a flash, jake lifted his hand to smack his father.

sunghoon caught his wrist, as if this weren’t the first time this had happened and it was wholeheartedly expected. his voice lowered to a mere hiss, “i’ve never laid a hand on you. ever in your life. don’t make today be the day i start.”

jake glared, but wrested his way out of his father’s grip and backed away.

sunghoon smoothed down his shirt and headed for the kitchen, knowing jake would follow. this conversation was far from over. “now, if you excuse me, i have to clean up your mess,” he said, pulling a burner phone out of a drawer. “if you don’t mind.”

“i can clean up my own mess,” jake replied, scowling. 

setting the phone on the counter, sunghoon reached for a glass. “no, you can’t. not without digging your own grave. unless you want to go to prison, pack your shit, ask one of your buddies if you can stay with them for a few days, and take the tapes with you. hide them.”

jake made a face. “what are you talking about?”

sunghoon sighed. “we can’t get away with this one, son. her car’s parked outside. there’s too many loose ends.”

“we can get rid of the car. you don’t have to go to jail!” jake shouted.

“it’s either you or me. frankly, i’m doing you a favor. you wouldn’t last two seconds behind bars,” sunghoon hissed. he grabbed another glass, sliding it across the counter, then said, “now, wine? you know, to celebrate your old man going away? i believe that’s what you want.”

jake shook his head. never in his life had he been so conflicted. his father that he’d been so bent on despising until he the day he died was voluntarily confessing to a crime he didn’t commit, just so that his son wouldn’t have to suffer in prison.

“why are you doing this?” jake asked, bristling with emotion. 

sunghoon sighed. “because i love you, son. even if you don’t think so. and because your mother would be turning in her grave if she knew you were in prison.”

jake blew out a breath. then, after a moment of reluctance, he grabbed the glass on the counter and reached for the wine bottle. 

sunghoon snickered. “atta boy.”

“i wonder how your son reacted when he learned you were going to prison for murder,” you said, pondering. “you live in the same house. i wonder how he didn’t know.”

sunghoon lied, “he was at a friend’s house when i killed her. doesn’t like that it was his favorite professor.”

you nodded along, buying his lies. “that is a lot to take in. i mean, imagine your dad was having an affair with your favorite science professor. then, he kills her, like how he killed your mom.”

sunghoon shrugged his shoulders. “have you never heard the phrase ‘the heart wants what it wants?’”

“i have,” you replied. “and i guess your heart wanted to stop the function of others.”

sunghoon laughed at his own expense. “oh, please. you give me too much credit. you shouldn’t make me out to be more romantic than i am.”

you shook your head in disappointment. “you make these women want you, and then you undo everything. that has to be part of the amusement to you.”

“it gets a chuckle or two out of me.”

your lips were tempted to curl into a frown for the umpteenth time that day alone. “why?”

sunghoon leaned up in his chair, exclaiming, “because it’s fun!”

you were going to say something, but he didn’t give you the chance. 

sunghoon continued, “everyday, as adults, we do the same job for hours and come home. people want excitement in their lives. women get exhausted of coming home to their husbands or nobody at all.”

your stare was blank. “and your point is?”

“i didn’t just make those women want me, baby. i made them need me,” sunghoon told you smugly. “i brought a spark to their lives, and i took it away just as fast. and i do it… because i can.”

“because you could,” you corrected, confident he would never be free of this place for as long as he lived. “you’re going to be in here a very, very long time.”

sunghoon grinned. “i wouldn’t be so sure.”

you cocked your brow. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“wouldn’t you like to know?” sunghoon teased. you hated the smugness in his tone. like he knew something that you didn’t.

the door opened, and the guard from earlier returned. “i hate to interrupt, but it’s time for the count,” he said, coming behind sunghoon to undo his cuffs.

it all happened in a blink. sunghoon’s weight was pressed flush against yours, roughly thrusting you into the table. your body screamed, agony spreading through your side, but your gun was in a lockbox outside the room.

sunghoon knew from your conversations alone that you weren’t the type to go quietly. your first instinct was to fight back. naturally, you struggled against his hold, refusing to bend to his will even as panic shot through your chest. your whole body was on guard, aiming for survival.

but to your misfortune, your might was no match for sunghoon’s. you glanced to the guard for assistance, but when he only stood there as if he was waiting for it to end, the most unsettling feeling of realization washed over you.

“don’t fight him,” the guard said, arms crossed. “you won’t win.”

sunghoon snickered when he noticed your eyes widen in shock. you hadn’t seen that coming. though you tried to resist, it was over once his slender fingers came to your throat, and you genuinely feared for your life. 

you didn’t realize how good you had it just being able to breathe until you couldn’t anymore. your breaths wouldn’t come. it felt as if your bones were being crushed. your whole body was on fight mode, but it was like sunghoon had the reins, shutting down your senses one by one.

“you put up a good fight, detective,” sunghoon whispered darkly in your ear, admiring your struggle.

your lips parted, but you couldn’t speak no matter how hard you tried. your self-preservation instincts were no match against him. all you could do was meet sunghoon’s stare. the pressure on your neck was too much to handle, and in seconds, you were out.

“lights out,” sunghoon said. he released your throat, having no intention of killing you and leading you for dead, but knowing that you would likely regain consciousness in a matter of seconds, he grabbed you by the hair, smashing your head flat against the table to subdue you.

heeseung winced, but he did nothing to step in. “poor girl,” he mumbled under his breath, pitying you. “had enough?”

“for now,” sunghoon replied. “let’s go.”

heeseung gave sunghoon a uniform to wear so that he would blend in amongst the uniforms like heeseung had and when he was ready, the two of them fled before they could be deterred.

when they had successfully gotten away, heeseung asked with his hand on a steering wheel, “you know that i don’t agree with this, right?”

sunghoon snickered. it had absolutely been said. “you haven’t agreed with my lifestyle for the past twenty-five years, yet you still help me. why?”

heeseung frowned. sometimes, he asked himself the same question, but deep down inside, he knew the answer. “because we may not share blood, but we’re brothers,” heeseung replied. “and for my brother, i’ll do anything you need.”

sunghoon quipped, “like smuggle me across the border?”

“like smuggle you across the border,” heeseung said, chuckling. “when we get there, there’s gonna be this dude named sunoo. he’s gonna help you out. i’ll be in touch.”

sunghoon nodded. “i can’t thank you enough, man.”

“just lay low and stay out of trouble,” heeseung said, shaking his head. 

sunghoon grinned with mischief. he was already thinking about all of the beautiful women he couldn’t wait to get his hands on. “no promises,” he answered, sighing contentedly.

taglist: @ribbioniki, @yunakj, @vvenusoncasual, @lovingvoidgoatee, @iloveu-143, @bigwforjay, @hooniehon, @adoredbyjay, @cloud-lyy, @firstclassjaylee, @captainsaposts, @tinycatharsis, @511rkive , @sangiewife

[a-comedy-of-errors]

Writing another fic because I was originally going to make this a comic, but I am feeling bad about my drawings lately. These lads have fully rotten my brain.

[hbatfam98]

I refuse to accept that Bruce being mad at Jason for killing is canon. It makes no sense.

Batman can't kill. Sure partially because he never wants anyone to lose family like he did even if that family is criminal. But that doesn't apply to people like the Joker. Who's going to miss Joker? The people who he mentally broke? No, the reason batman doesn't kill people like the joker - truly purely vile and evil human beings is because than vengeance will swallow him and he knows it. He knows that if he crosses that line, he may not return. He'll want to kill every criminal who hurts someone. So, for the safety of Gotham, so that he doesn't become an overlord, he doesn't kill.

But that doesn't mean no one else can. So as far as I am concerned the canon version is:

Batman:*concerned that his son is killing and might lose himself and default to killing instead of trying to save* Don't kill the joker

Red hood:*kills Joker*

Batman:...

Red hood:...*doesn't just go around killing redeemable characters. Employs low level criminals and treats them fairly. Takes care of children in crime Alley.*

Batman:...ok. Alfred is making lasagna, wanna come home for dinner son?

Edit: I love the discussions about this for the most part but just to clarify - the dialogue but is mostly crack. Obviously things aren't going to be quite so simple.

In fact, if u want my more serious take on this I think what frustrates me more than anything with people making Batman so 1D in my opinion when it comes to the killing rule is 1. Inconsistent, others in the DCU have killed/wanted or willing to kill and Batman didn't have that much of a problem with all of them. But 2. and more Jason specific is I don't think killing Joker is the crux of their issue. If I (woefully unskilled as I am) was allowed to write Jason, sure he would be mad at Bruce for not killing the Joker initially but the real problem he has with Bruce, whether he realises or not, is that Bruce moved on. Sure everyone did but, Bruce was the one who chose him - how could he move on? And that will be the real center of why the two of them can't go back to being the way they were no matter what. While Jason was going through being resurrected and every horror of rebirth and the pit, he also realises that the world just .. moved on without him. He comes back and every trace of the his own world seems to be gone. Even worse - how did they move on? By branding him as a rash, foolish Robin and all he hears is that they all think he deserved to die that's why they accepted it and moved on.

(Might come and rewrite this better with Bruce's side and how every step he took in 'moving on' was actually so warped by his unending grief but more importantly - yes the dialogue was lighthearted, I am aware it can never be that simple for Bruce and Jason)

[gusdeservedbetter]

You know what isn't a crime, but definitely should be one? The casual mischaracterization of Sentry in fan content. I'm so done😭

1. I hate how he's often depicted as cruel, he's not, look at him, fucking look? And when Ava asks about the hair dye, what does he do? He looks to Val for an answer, he's constantly fidgeting, trying to find an out for the bunch of misfits who previously helped him in the vault.

2. I hate how people try to turn it into a Marc Spector, Steven Grant and Jake Lockley situation when it's. Like. Not?? This is such a disservice to both Moon Knight and The Sentry, and real people who relate to the two characters' (very distinct very different) mental health issues. Bob doesn't have DID, if anything, the movie leans towards him being bipolar. Sentry is Bob, the guy literally tells Yelena in the vault that he has high highs and low lows, the high is Sentry, the low is the Void, that's it. Bob is both Sentry and The Void. What's so hard to understand? It's the mania (Sentry), followed by depression (Void) then he forgets. That's how Bob describes it in the first act of the film, that's how it happens in the third act.

3. This is not a contradiction to point 1, but Sentry is unhinged. He is awkward and somehow soft spoken? But he is unhinged, and invincible, and fucking terrifying. I'm tired of the stoic depictions in fics like🙂‍↔️ idc if you wanna write fics for comic Sentry, just don't tag them as mcu stuff. (WHO AM I KIDDING COMIC SENTRY IS FUCKING SCARYYY STOP THE BABYFICATION)

4. He is not evil (the fact that we have to spell this out... media literacy is truly dead huh), no shit the Thunderbolts* will be scared of him, of course they will be– he kicked the ever-living shit out of them. But he's not malicious, he doesn't use unnecessary force. Call it condescending, but he's going easy on them, toying with them, and deals arguably softer blows to Yelena, John and Ava, the trio he already met at the vault (because he's the same person, yk? jesus)

5. Prespective is a thing, the team wasn't there to see Sentry tell Val he doesn't want to kill them (they're no threat to him), it's the root cause of their disagreement, it leads to the New York Blackout TM, but we, the audience, were. So tell me why the fuck do I see stuff with this guy terrorizing that team for no reason? 😭 bfr guys.

6. So what? So while I can buy you showing me Ava or John or Alexei or Bucky or Yelena being fearful of the Sentry, or Val (hahaha eat shit Val), I simply can't get behind him actually being a threat to them, on purpose and beyond swatting them like flies, because hi hello have you seen the movie? Yeah.

7. Have I mentioned Sentry is unhinged? Yeah. Yeah. We got glimpses of it with Val before Mel pressed the kill switch but!! Sentry!! Is!! Unhinged!!

8. Find a middle ground, he doesn't have to be uwu or straight up satan or stoic as a rock, he is Bob in mania, so that's inherently Bob with high levels of energy and a higher self esteem (more like a GODLY EGO) and impulsivness and dillusions of grandeur (except they're not dellusions anymore? So rip), so do with that what you will.

Fingers crossed for more in-character Sentry content, at least the Sentry depicted by Lewis Pullman, who put his all into this performance but whose character is still somehow misunderstood? Anyways.

Thanks for coming to my TED Talk.

[23xfgg]

YANDERE! BATFAM x DRUG USER/SOBER! READER

Ch. 1 <-

(Ch. 2)

(Ch. 3)

(Ch. 3.o5)

AN// Fist time writing something like this so excuse the grammar errors and the lack of sense :))))

I also image the reader to be a black fem!reader but race or gender isn’t mention I just wanted them to be black

Also TW// death, drugs, depression, self harm

As always, the reader watched their mom die at a very young age and since then their whole view on the world changed for the worst. They were given to their biological father who is surprise (not really) Bruce Wayne. Being practically shoved into custody of a man you don’t know while still grieving your mother, it was only normal that the both of didn’t exactly click when you first stepped into that manor. But you still tried to get to know the now only parent you have in your life but unfortunately that wasn’t reciprocated.

Every time you tried you tried to talk to him he always had some excuse regarding his other kids or he was busy with work. You even tried getting along with your other siblings (Dick, Jason, Tim and Damian) but they always had something going on (Dick and Jason) or straight up didn’t want anything to do with you (Tim and Damian). Despite all of that you tried bonding with them again and again until one day where they missed your birthday for then nth time. You finally realised that they were never going to see you as their sibling so you just gave up.

You pulled away from them realising that there was truly no one left after your mom died. The grief and depression consuming you as you just wanted things to go back to normal, before your mom died, when it was just the two of you in your apartment in Gotham. You needed an escape something to make you forget about the pain even if it was temporary.

Cutting yourself was your first choice a you did try it briefly. But that just made you feel worse. The pain was brief with little no to relief and having to see your body covered in those cuts just made the depression worse. Choosing to make sure you body was covered until those scars were somewhat faded. Not like anyone would notice… you are basically a shadow of a background character in this manor.

Your next choice was trying new hobbies but you didn’t feel like socialising with new people. I mean if you can’t get your own family to take notice in your existence, how can you with the random individuals of Gotham.

Now this choice wasn’t exactly the smartest but you realistically had nothing to lose, so you went down som random alleyway in Gotham trying to find something interesting to do as the rest of the “family” was out running and flipping across rooftops doing god knows what. One small passage way into another you you stumbled across a group of people across different ages popping pills, drinking, smoking and whatnot.

Seeing all of this happening, you decided to leave not wanting to ruin their parade. But one of the guys smoking saw you and asked if you wanted to try some, not caring that you don’t exactly look the age to be doing substances. He saw that you looked troubled and he just wanted to offer you something to help take some of that trouble away.

He saw you…like actually see you. He wasn’t looking past you like your “family” did he just looked at you, giving you more attention than that you ever gotten since your mom died. Maybe with the attention plus the grief and depression convinced you that nothing bad was going to happen.

So you took the joint out of his hand, put it in your mouth and smoked it. Taking the edge off and making you feel a little better with your current situation and mental state.

This is just ment to be an outline chapter or like chapter one depends on how I feel about creating more chapters to go along side this one.

I hope you enjoyed reading this (you better lol)

And umm…see you next time 👋

[ryin-silverfish]

So You Want to Read More about Chinese Mythos: a rough list of primary sources

"How/Where can I learn more about Chinese mythology?" is a question I saw a lot on other sites, back when I was venturing outside of Shenmo novel booksphere and into IRL folk religions + general mythos, but had rarely found satisfying answers.

As such, this is my attempt at writing something past me will find useful.

(Built into it is the assumption that you can read Chinese, which I only realized after writing the post. I try to amend for it by adding links to existing translations, as well as links to digitalized Chinese versions when there doesn't seem to be one.)

The thing about all mythologies and legends is that they are 1) complicated, and 2) are products of their times. As such, it is very important to specify the "when" and "wheres" and "what are you looking for" when answering a question as broad as this.

-Do you want one or more "books with an overarching story"?

In that case, Journey to the West and Investiture of the Gods (Fengshen Yanyi) serve as good starting points, made more accessible for general readers by the fact that they both had English translations——Anthony C. Yu's JTTW translation is very good, Gu Zhizhong's FSYY one, not so much.

Crucially, they are both Ming vernacular novels. Though they are fictional works that are not on the same level of "seriousness" as actual religious scriptures, these books still took inspiration from the popular religion of their times, at a point where the blending of the Three Teachings (Buddhism, Daoism, Confucianism) had become truly mainstream.

And for FSYY specifically, the book had a huge influence on subsequent popular worship because of its "pantheon-building" aspect, to the point of some Daoists actually putting characters from the novel into their temples.

(Vernacular novels + operas being a medium for the spread of popular worship and popular fictional characters eventually being worshipped IRL is a thing in Ming-Qing China. Meir Shahar has a paper that goes into detail about the relationship between the two.)

After that, if you want to read other Shenmo novels, works that are much less well-written but may be more reflective of Ming folk religions at the time, check out Journey to the North/South/East (named as such bc of what basically amounted to a Ming print house marketing strategy) too.

-Do you want to know about the priestly Daoist side of things, the "how the deities are organized and worshipped in a somewhat more formal setting" vs "how the stories are told"?

Though I won't recommend diving straight into the entire Daozang or Yunji Qiqian or some other books compiled in the Daoist text collections, I can think of a few "list of gods/immortals" type works, like Liexian Zhuan and Zhenling Weiye Tu.

Also, though it is much closer to the folk religion side than the organized Daoist side, the Yuan-Ming era Grand Compendium of the Three Religions' Deities, aka Sanjiao Soushen Daquan, is invaluable in understanding the origins and evolutions of certain popular deities.

(A quirk of historical Daoist scriptures is that they often come up with giant lists of gods that have never appeared in other prior texts, or enjoy any actual worship in temples.)

(The "organized/folk" divide is itself a dubious one, seeing how both state religion and "priestly" Daoism had channels to incorporate popular deities and practices into their systems. But if you are just looking at written materials, I feel like there is still a noticeable difference.)

Lastly, if you want to know more about Daoist immortal-hood and how to attain it: Ge Hong's Baopuzi (N & S. dynasty) and Zhonglv Chuandao Ji (late Tang/Five Dynasties) are both texts about external and internal alchemy with English translations.

-Do you want something older, more ancient, from Warring States and Qin-Han Era China?

Classics of Mountains and Seas, aka Shanhai Jing, is the way to go. It also reads like a bestiary-slash-fantastical cookbook, full of strange beasts, plants, kingdoms of unusual humanoids, and the occasional half-man, half-beast gods.

A later work, the Han-dynasty Huai Nan Zi, is an even denser read, being a collection of essays, but it's also where a lot of ancient legends like "Nvwa patches the sky" and "Chang'e steals the elixir of immortality" can be first found in bits and pieces.

Shenyi Jing might or might not be a Northern-Southern dynasties work masquerading as a Han one. It was written in a style that emulated the Classics of Mountains and Seas, and had some neat fantastic beasts and additional descriptions of gods/beasts mentioned in the previous 2 works.

-Do you have too much time on your hands, a willingness to get through lot of classical Chinese, and an obsession over yaoguais and ghosts?

Then it's time to flip open the encyclopedic folklore compendiums——Soushen Ji (N/S dynasty), You Yang Za Zu (Tang), Taiping Guangji (early Song), Yijian Zhi (Southern Song)...

Okay, to be honest, you probably can't read all of them from start to finish. I can't either. These aren't purely folklore compendiums, but giant encyclopedias collecting matters ranging from history and biography to medicine and geography, with specific sections on yaoguais, ghosts and "strange things that happened to someone".

As such, I recommend you only check the relevant sections and use the Full Text Search function well.

Pu Songling's Strange Tales from a Chinese Studios, aka Liaozhai Zhiyi, is in a similar vein, but a lot more entertaining and readable. Together with Yuewei Caotang Biji and Zi Buyu, they formed the "Big Three" of Qing dynasty folktale compendiums, all of which featured a lot of stories about fox spirits and ghosts.

Lastly...

The Yuan-Ming Zajus (a sort of folk opera) get an honorable mention. Apart from JTTW Zaju, an early, pre-novel version of the story that has very different characterization of SWK, there are also a few plays centered around Erlang (specifically, Zhao Erlang) and Nezha, such as "Erlang Drunkenly Shot the Demon-locking Mirror". Sadly, none of these had an English translation.

Because of the fragmented nature of Chinese mythos, you can always find some tidbits scattered inside history books like Zuo Zhuan or poetry collections like Qu Yuan's Chuci. Since they aren't really about mythology overall and are too numerous to cite, I do not include them in this post, but if you wanna go down even deeper in this already gigantic rabbit hole, it's a good thing to keep in mind.

[velvetkisscs]

party 4 u, part of you knew

synopsis: you were an outcast, sunghoon was not. he was your neighbour, your childhood best friend, your first love. sunghoon didn't know that. on the last day of senior high, you decided to face your fears; go to the party and tell him how you feel. part of you knew that things might not end the way you want it to. still, you went.

"i shouldn't have gone to this party 4 u."

wc: 5.2k pairing: popular!sunghoon x fem!reader contains: angst (i tried), childhood best friends, secret crush, first love heartbreak, lack of communication, time apart, mentions of random characters, unexpected reunion, right person- wrong time, use of song lyrics, yn is kinda sad, etc. (let me know if i missed any) a/n: this story was heavily inspired by the "party 4 u" takes on tiktok. they've been flooding my fyp lately. these 2 tiktoks: [1] & [2] specifically. i strictly only listened to party 4 u - charlie xcx while making this.

this story is dedicated to my best babes, @sunoostripletriple <3 go give her a hug rn

i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i had fun writing it! i haven't written anything in a while, so idk if it gives what’s supposed to be gave? or however that saying goes. i do hope that it meets your expectations.

likes, comments & reblogs are appreciated <3

might contain grammatical errors as english is not my first language. not proofread.

you don’t belong here.

not in this dress and definitely not in this moment. but you do it anyway– sliding on the dress you picked– slowly, shakily. you’ve never been to a party before, nor were you ever invited. unsure whether the outfit you picked is too formal, you throw on your brother’s oversized jacket. the mirror reflects someone unfamiliar. perhaps a different version of yourself.

someone prettier. someone braver.

someone even sunghoon might look at. your room is littered with your own clothes, from your bed to the floor. you’ve been mulling over skipping the party for the nth time, uncertain whether this is the right choice. you can just wipe off your makeup, change into your (sunghoon’s) hoodie, crawl into the bed, and bury yourself under your sheets. pretend that the party doesn’t exist, that it’s just a normal night of you staying in.

but your hair is already lightly curled, you’ve done your makeup twice, and you finally convinced your mom to let you borrow one of her necklace after begging for what felt like an hour. you can’t really turn back now.

you hear a knock on the door. it’s your brother, heeseung.

“are you still coming?” he asks.

“i’m almost done.” you lied.

“i’ll wait for you outside.”

it’s too late. you really have to go. for the last time, you stand in front of your vanity mirror, rehearsing what to say to him.

“hey sunghoon. you look good tonight. i mean you always do.” you stutter over your words

“i’ve been wanting to tell you something. i like you. i always have. i think i might be in love with you.”

no. you thought that it’s too cheesy. it’s too much.

over the years, you’ve created different versions of this moment. what words to use, the tone of your voice, when the right time is, and even the outcome. you thought about how his eyes turn into crescent moons, the way his vampire-like fangs show up whenever he genuinely laughs, if he would tell you he feels the same, how you would feel when he pulls you in for a hug while apologizing for not realizing his feelings, and yours sooner. that maybe, you were always the one. 

he’s always been the only one.

but you know reality is never that kind. as soon as you meet his eyes, you fail to think of the proper words, let alone form a sentence that truly conveys your feelings. 

before you could even change your mind, your phone buzzes. heeseung is getting impatient waiting for you. so you leave.

it’s the last day of senior high. you two are going to different colleges. this is your only shot. tonight is your only chance. if things go south, if he ends up looking at you like a stranger– someone he hadn't spend his whole childhood and adolescent years with– you’ll have months, maybe even years of time and distance to forget.

you tell yourself that you’re not doing this for him, convinced that you’re doing this for yourself. that once you get the words out, once you let go of everything that’s been burning inside you, you’ll be free. 

but deep down, a part of you knew.

you’re going to this party for him, not for you.

the party is already in full swing when you arrived. the music is loud, the floor thumping as tangled bodies move in rhythm. not used to this kind of space, you stand still. you pretend to check an important notification from your phone, pretend to be waiting for someone. you’re stalling and you’re not sure what for. maybe for the annoying voice in your head to shut up and let you breathe. or to find the courage to walk up to sunghoon, finally telling him what you’ve been wanting to say.

this party felt foreign. people wear their confidence like perfume. compared to them, you’re a question mark left unanswered. your clothes felt too snug, shoes an inch too high, and your heart definitely too loud. you try to weave through the blur of entwined bodies, scanning the room for that one specific person.

then you see him.

sunghoon.

it didn’t take you long to find him. he’s leaning against the kitchen counter with a red cup in one hand, laughing at whatever jay and jake said. his v-neck shirt clung to his body, adorned with a sleek leather jacket. he drinks from the red cup, his side profile showing off his sharp jawline and his perfectly angled nose. 

his smile is genuine. familiar. unlike the room you’re both in. the smile you used to see everyday, back when he was still yours— well, not yours— but back when he was still closer. back when he’d throw small rocks to your window, asking if you’d want to go out for ice cream. back when you lost your grandpa and he invited you for a movie night in his room. blanket forts and popcorn, all set up by him. back when he used to call you “peach” because you once told him peaches were your favourite fruit, and that you always smell like one. he never forgot.

back when you were each other’s only friend.

back when you still mattered.

sunghoon is always the center of attention. it’s like a scene carved out of a coming of age film. he’s being bathed in the golden glow of overhead lights, the music slowing down. he’s the main character, and you’re just a mere extra passing through. he tilts his head back from laughter, and you see people form a semi-circle around him, orbiting him like planets to a sun. he’s the sun and you’re a rock. you can’t look away even if you tried.

you want to walk up to him. say what you’ve been wanting to say. 

anything. 

something. 

your hands tremble slightly at your sides. your fingers finding comfort at the hem of your dress, trying to anchor yourself.

as you take a step forward, she walks in.

eunji.

beautiful eunji with her perfect everything. her presence alone draws everyone’s attention. she makes a beeline to sunghoon like she’s done it over a thousand times. she knows she belongs by his side. you watch for sunghoon’s reaction, freezing for a second when he sees her. for a brief moment, something unreadable flashes in his eyes. is it nervousness? confusion? that the most popular girl in the school is walking towards him? 

from where you stand, you see eunji wrap her arms around his neck. then she goes for it, leaning in to kiss him.

and to your demise, he lets her.

your breath hitches. your chest tightens. you stand still, feet glued to the ground, unable to move or look away.

the noise of the party fades into the background, as if the person in charge of your life suddenly turned the volume of the whole world down. everything that was once so loud– the music, the chatter– is now barely a whisper. your legs won’t move, you feel stuck, like a statue that can see and feel everything.

in that moment, a hollow feeling blooms in your chest. you feel utterly alone in a room full of people. although surrounded with noise and laughter, you felt so small, so invisible.

your throat burns, a big lump forming. your eyes start to sting. you try so hard to do everything to ground yourself, you find your nails digging into your palm. you can’t cry now. not here and definitely not in front of everyone.

tragically for you– as if the universe is playing a joke– your eyes blur. mascara coated lashes getting damp with the tears you so badly want to hold back. and then–

“yn!” heeseung’s voice cuts through all the noise. and for once, you were thankful for your brother.

you hurriedly wipe your tears away, quickly turning towards heeseung. you put on a false front, smiling at him as if nothing is wrong.

on the opposite side of the room, sunghoon hears your name, his head snaps in your direction. he turns around, moving away from eunji, eyes scanning the crowd like he’s searching for something– someone.

you.

but you’re gone. you walked away.

the ride home is silent. you insisted that heeseung stays, that you feel lightheaded from the unfamiliar setting. that it’s best you go home. he buys it.

you look out to the window, watching the blurry headlights and streetlights pass like ghosts. the driver wondering why the party ended so early, so soon. you offer a smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. the driver understood and doesn’t say a word afterwards. you were thankful for that.

your phone buzzes. it was a message from him. 

from sunghoon.

[sunghoon 🤍 10:29] hey, did you attend the party? i thought i saw you but i wasn’t sure.

you stare at the message, then his contact name. but you don’t answer. what will you even tell him? that you were there? that you watched him kiss someone?

that you’ve been in love with him since he hugged you under that blanket fort?

you open the reply box, then close it. but you open it again, typing out a “yeah, i was there.” but you erase it and you try again. “i was gonna say hi..” you delete it. trying to even out your breathing. trying to make the lump in your throat go away, the ache in you heart shrink, disappear. to pretend that it doesn’t matter. that it doesn’t hurt.

but it does.

in the end, you don’t reply. rather, you think to yourself. answering his message in your mind.

“party on, you party on.”

deleting his message, then his contact.

slowly deleting memories of him.

you convince your parents to let you move out to the city. telling them that it’s the best course of action. that it will help you get familiar with your surroundings once college rolls in.

 you leave town a week after graduation.

no texts. no goodbyes.

sunghoon messages you a few more times that summer. random things; things you two used to talk about. harmless things like “did you hear about the new ice cream place that opened up?” or a “come join us at the old arcade!”

you don’t respond.

you read them all. every word, repeatedly. but you let them sit there like messages from an unknown number. a stranger. a part of you hoped he’d try harder. that he’d make the effort to find you. ask you what’s wrong and give you a hug that will heal the very scar he stabbed into your heart.

but he doesn’t. somehow that hurts more than the kiss did.

you stop making blanket forts. stop eating peaches, stop using peach scented body wash. you stop checking his social media. all of the photos you had with him– from elementary to senior high– deleted. except one. a photo taken the summer before senior year. it’s hidden behind a locked album. a picture taken by your own brother, heeseung. you and sunghoon sitting on a swing, backs facing against the screen, ice cream in one hand, the sky a mixed of orange and pink hues, your gaze towards him. 

back then you were already wishing for something.

college is your clean slate. a mix of dorm rooms, group projects, lectures, expensive coffee, and new faces. you keep to yourself, studying every chance you get. you make friends, but not real ones. you don’t curl your hair. you store that necklace away. you don’t go to parties.

you turn yourself into a version that is easier to protect, invisible by choice.

time passes. slowly– painfully at first– you healed.

on your second year of college you meet someone. his name is kaito. he’s good to you. he has the kind of laugh that makes you feel fuzzy inside, hands that always know how to interlace with yours. he doesn’t make your heart race. but maybe, that’s not a bad thing. because hearts that race can easily break. a steady heart endures.

everyday he tells you he loves you. it’s the first thing that leaves his mouth in the morning and the last thing he utters before the day ends. you smile and say it back. and for a good while, you believe it. 

when kaito proposes it’s soft, pure. simple. a walk on the beach after a fancy dinner. he gets on one knee holding out a small velvety box, a ring tucked inside. it’s dainty, it’s precious.

somehow you hesitate. just for a moment. except you don’t know why. 

then you say yes.

not because you were certain. but because you want to be.

your parents are thrilled, his family adored you. everything is perfect. even you start to believe it. that love doesn’t have to be filled with sparks. that it didn’t have to be extraordinary. 

for once, you believe that the hole in your heart is patched up. that sunghoon is just a distant memory you learn to live with.

but memories always have a way of returning.

it starts slow.

a scent, faint and familiar. the kind that smells like cold summer nights and someone’s sweater draped over your shoulders. you catch it on a stranger passing by the grocery aisles. your heart stutters, it knows. for a brief moment, you close your eyes. it’s not kaito. not the steady love you said yes to.

it’s someone else. sunghoon.

it’s been 7 years, you thought. he can’t be using the same cologne. but you know that scent anywhere. he wore it throughout junior and senior year after all. ever since heeseung got it for him for christmas.

you shake it off. it must be a coincidence. 

except it happens again.

you’re at your local café, the one you’ve been frequenting to for group projects and late night cramming. you’re sitting down in a corner table, your laptop open and half a pastry forgotten on your plate. the song plays faintly through the speakers– she needs him by her’s– an indie track that used to be on all of your playlists. the one sunghoon would tease you about before admitting he kind of liked the band too.

your hands hover above the keys. you stare out the window, watching people pass by. maybe the song will finish quicker if you don’t pay attention to it. but it stays. long enough to remind you of the memories. long enough for the lyrics to cling to your skin like his sweater once did.

and then, kaito.

your sweet fiancé. kaito comes home with a new bottle of body wash and other travelling necessities for his upcoming business trip. 

“i thought you’d like this one, babe.” he says, placing it onto the bathroom counter.

“it’s peach scented. you like fruity things, right?”

you do.

it’s the exact brand you used to have in your old childhood bathroom. the one sunghoon would always tease you about whenever he’s over to play with heeseung. saying “why do you smell like a juice box?”

you stopped buying it after the party.

but the world likes to play a joke on you. the same body wash sits innocently on your counter. like time is just a concept, that it’s not real. like years haven’t passed. everything you tried so hard to erase is coming back. uninvited.

then a letter addressed to you comes.

a small pink envelope in your mailbox. you almost miss it, wedged between bills and packages. inside is a wedding invitation. heeseung, your brother. he’s getting married.

the card is beautiful– soft lavender coloured, adorned with bold calligraphy, a picture of heeseung and his fiancé, information and the dress code. 

lee heeseung and im seo-ah invites you to celebrate their wedding saturday, june 19th, 5:00pm at serenity garden

you stare at it, contemplating. there’s no rsvp option. you have to go.

kaito can’t make it. he calls the night before, apologizing every chance he gets. apparently there’s an emergency in japan. something about the budget and the investors. he promises to make it up to you when he returns. you tell him it’s fine. that you can manage.

you arrive at the venue. you wear a simple, ankle length dress with layers, coloured in different shades of blue, and a small scarf that came along with it. the dress is shaped like a flower, quite fitting for the theme of the wedding. you look like a woman who’s moved on.

but inside, you’re still the same quiet girl, heart pacing.

the sky is bright and clear. a gentle breeze flutters through the air, carrying the faint scent of lilac and hydrangeas. the sun casts golden streaks over the flowers and the white line-covered chairs. 

everything feels like a scene from a movie– too perfect to be real. soft jazz plays in the background, fairy lights hang between tree branches. it’s romantic. beautiful in a way that makes your chest ache. 

because it reminds you of your younger self. 

the one who curled her hair in her childhood bedroom. the one that carefully brushed eyeshadow on her lids. the one who felt like she didn’t belong. you’re watching someone else’s life unfold– someone who belongs into this moment, this life, better than you do.

and then you see him.

standing tall by the entrance of the venue in a perfectly tailored tuxedo. his face breaks into the biggest grin when he spots you.

“yn!” he calls, kindly weaving through the guests to get to you.

your heart beats rapidly.

he sweeps you into a tight hug. a hug so warm, so real, so grounding. 

“can’t believe you, out of all people, are married. you look amazing!” you say, pulling back from your brother’s hug.

he shrugs. “you clean up okay yourself.”

then his wife appears– seo-ah. she exudes elegant grace, the kind of woman who makes you understand why your brother fell in love so hard.

seo-ah greets you with a sweet smile. then a hug. you can tell she’s extremely nervous. “i’ve heard so many things about you!”

“and i’ve heard so much about you!” you reply. “all good things, i swear.”

later, during the reception, your name is called for a speech.

your stomach flips. you weren’t prepared. you didn’t plan much. you didn’t think you’d be asked. but it only makes sense since you’re the sister of the groom. 

every eye in the room is on you. something that never happened before. your legs feel like they will give out the second you make your way to the small stage. but you do it anyway. you hold the mic with both hands.

“hi.” you begin, your voice shaking. “i’m heeseung’s younger sister. surprising right?” a few chuckles ripple through the crowd.

“i basically spent most of my life watching him be the loudest person in every room. the first person to finish a whole box of ramen in a week, and definitely the worse person to share a bathroom with.”

more laughter breaks the tension. you exhale and continue.

“but i can assure you that he’s the most loyal person i’ve ever known. and i’m not saying that because he’s my brother. i remember when my first pet hamster died, he stayed up with me all night. he even bought me the candies i liked with the very little allowance he had. when i failed my physics exam, he made sure to tutor me until i understood the gravity of the situation.”

you catch heeseung looking a little flustered and you smiled at him.

“when he met seo-ah, he changed. not in a bad way, but in a real way. he became someone who listened more, someone who laughed a little softer, but loved harder. louder. and it’s all because of you, seo-ah. you truly bring out the best in him. i will never trade you for anyone else, you’re my sister now. thank you for taking him off my back. and good luck dealing with that.” another wave of laughter erruupts.

you pause.

“here’s to new beginnings. to love. the kind that grows with you. and the kind that feels like coming home.”

applause and glasses clinking fills the room. you feel like you might float away from sheer relief. that attention is no longer directed at you, but to the newlyweds. you don’t notice the eyes that were once watching you. 

but what you didn’t see is how a pair of eyes never looked away. a pair of eyes that never left your frame ever since you stepped up to speak.

his fingers curl loosely around a champagne glass. his chest rising, then falling. as if he just learned how to breathe. except you don’t see it. the way his expression softens with every word that leaves your mouth. a sense of pride in his gaze whenever you made the crowd laugh. a smile threatening to tug at his lips. you don’t see any of it.

not yet.

descending down the steps, you finally start to breathe evenly. that’s when it happens–

your eyes meet.

everything stops.

the music, the laughter. the chatter, the clinking of glass. everything goes silent.

it feels like you’re seventeen again. standing in a crowded room, but somehow alone. every memory you once buried, bursts to the surface. seven years of silence. of forgetting, pretending. all coming out.

he’s wearing a charcoal grey suit that fits like it was made for him. he looks older, more refined. he’s no longer the boy you used to love, but a man. however, his eyes stayed the same. soft yet unwavering. 

your eyes start to sting, a lump forming in your throat. you want to run. you want to leave. you have to. you need to.

but he’s faster. “wait–yn–”

his hand gently wraps around your wrist. it’s not forceful, but enough to stop you from leaving. enough to say please.

you stop, not turning around. you can’t.

“i didn’t think you’d come,” he says behind you, voice soft, yet unsure. the way that makes your throat tighten. “i was hoping you did. but i didn’t know.”

then he sees it. the dainty ring around your finger. but he doesn’t say anything. instead, he lets go and asks “how have you been?”

you don’t answer right away. closing your eyes, trying to stabilize your breathing. you turn around, forcing yourself to look at him with a smile. it’s way harder than you thought it would be.

“i’ve been good.” you look down at your hand. “i’m engaged.” showing him the ring kaito gave you.

he swallows, hard. “congratulations! are you happy?” now he’s the one forcing a smile.

“i am. it’s easy, it’s stable.”

“i missed you, you know.” he says quietly, voice cracking. “for years, i didn’t know how to reach you. i texted you, but i assumed you didn’t want to be bothered.”

you don’t answer him. and as if he understood, he nods.

there’s so much silence. it’s heavy, full of everything you never said. eventually, you say goodbye to him. then you go over to heeseung and seo-ah, giving them the gift and telling them that the wedding was beautiful. you hug them and promised to invite them for lunch. you walk out, the same way you did 7 years ago.

but that night, you find yourself in your childhood bedroom, back where everything started. your phone buzzes. it’s an unknown number. but part of you know who it is.

[unknown 11:10 pm] i got your number from heeseung. can we meet up by the lake tomorrow. just to talk and catch up. there’s something need to tell you.

the lake hadn’t changed.

maybe the tress were taller. the path was overgrown, used. the rope of the swing had frayed from the years and weather. but the lake itself– the still, glassy surface reflecting the colors of the sky– look exactly the same. the same as the last time you were here. unmoving, serene, quietly watching as if it had been waiting for you all long. 

your heart is stuttering in your chest, and there he is.

sunghoon sitting on the swing, hands in his hoodie pocket, just the way he used to be. his silhouette is outlined by the pink and orange hue of the sunsent. and for a second, it’s like time never passed. like you’re still seventeen, hiding away from the rest of the world, with him. talking about your dreams, too big and too small to name.

he turns around when he hears you, tension in his jaw, his shoulders– but his eyes remain the same. soft. the kind reserved only in your memories. only for you.

“you came,” he says, voice quiet.

you nod, words unable to come out. the lump in your throat is already forming, threatening to knock the air out of your lungs. you didn’t think coming back here would be this hard. or maybe you did. you just hope you were stronger now.

he gestures towards the swing. “sit with me?”

for a second, you hesitate. but you walk closer, the grass moving beneath your feet. your fingers graze the rope, then the wood plank of the swing. you remember the summers you spent here, pushing each other back and forth as high as you can. laughter echoing between the trees. it was your place with him. a secret you both kept from the rest of the world. a place where everything felt a bit easier.

sunghoon sits on the other end of the swing. for a few minutes, the only thing you hear are the sound of the cicadas, the wind, and the distant ripple of the water. the quiet feels loud. your heart that was once steady is racing. you wonder if the man beside you can hear it. and then he speaks–

“i didn’t know you left a week after graduation,” he says. voice shaky just enough to reveal his nervousness.

your head turns toward him. slow and hesitant. but you don’t say anything. you’ve always been the quiet one between the two of you.

“i mean… i found out eventually, as soon as college started. but not before that. not when it mattered, when i could’ve done something.”

you look down at your hands. the same hands that once held pieces of him. notes he’d pass to you in class, fries you used to fight over. the same ones that used to hold his own whenever you feel scared to walk back home. especially after getting scolded by your parents. the same hands that held your small secret. the hands that held your feelings for him. 

“i asked heeseung where you were,” he continues. “but he wouldn’t tell me. he said you didn’t feel like going out. i should’ve realized sooner that you didn’t want to be found. by me.”

it was true. you begged heeseung not to say anything. told him that it was better that way. that it was easier than explaining that his own best friend– your own best friend– broke your heart. 

sunghoon chuckles, but it’s bitter, empty. “i didn’t understand. i kept texting you. i kept hoping that maybe, you’ll show up with a smile on your face. telling me that you were sick and was bedridden for days. when i found out that you went to the graduation party, i thought i knew how to get you out of your room. so i threw so many parties. i told myself that it was for fun, for the guys, to blow off steam after exams. but it wasn’t.”

your vision starts to blur. that god awful lump in your throat is back. he looks at you, eyes shining in the low light. honest, unflinching.

“i threw those parties for you.”

the words hit you with the force of a tidal wave. you can’t breathe. your chest caves around the weight of your heavy heart. you finally heard the truth you never knew you needed. the idea that he had missed you too. that he looked for you in ways only he knew how. in places filled with noise.

you cover your mouth with your hand, trying to steady your breathing. your sobs, yourself. but it’s too late. the tears come fast. they’re hot, heavy, unstoppable. the dam you spent 7 years building, crumbles without mercy.

“i’m sorry,” you mumble. words cracking like glass. “i’m so sorry, hoon.” and that was enough for him.

he moves. arms wrapping around you, pulling you off the swing and into his arms. he holds you like you’re fragile glass, like he knows how long you’ve been holding everything in. he always does. and that healed you. the scar you once had in your heart, fading away.  he’s been waiting to hold you for years. 7 whole years. 

you cry. until tears won’t come out anymore. 

you cry for the years you lost. for something that could have been. you cry for the girl you used to be– the one who was so in love, yet so afraid. the girl who was so sure that she will never be enough. you cry because the love you had for him never died. just buried beneath time and distance. you cry because you hate that he’s here, when it’s too late.

sunghoon doesn’t say anything. he doesn’t stop you from crying. instead, he wraps his arms around you, lets you bury your face into his shoulders. he lets you soak his hoodie with your tears. it feels like forgiveness.

his voice comes out low, almost trembling. “i looked for you in every girl i met. i tried to move on. i really did. but no one can replace you. no one knew how to make the world quiet down with one single glance.”

you want to say something. tell him that you loved him first. that you never stopped loving him. but the words refuse to come out. the ache in your heart is too big, the wound too raw. so you stay quiet.

and he understands, he always does.

for the first time in 7 years of being apart, silence feels like healing.

you stay like that, head resting on his shoulder, gazing into the horizon. until the stars begin to peek through the sky. neither of you move. neither of you dares to let go.

because maybe, just maybe, this isn’t the end. but a new beginning.

likes, comments & reblogs are appreciated <3

a/n: i wont lie, i cried while writing some of the parts. especially when that part of the song coincidentally aligns with the “sad” bits. that’s why it took me a bit to finish it. an empath lives a hard life… also because i was out for work and a date for with my bf <3

do not fret! there will be a second part to this <3 see u soon!

tags: @sunoostripletriple @yoizhrs @sievenderz @bookmarkstanley

line divider by: @strangergraphics

[interact-if]

Writing Spotlight: Infamous (Interview)

We had the great pleasure to interview Amy, author of the massively beloved IF Infamous (@infamous-if). She shared some tips, tricks, and insights on her approach to writing.

One of the most notable things about Infamous is how quickly readers get sucked into its world and invested in its web of characters — be it Orion or Blake or G or Victoria or the slightly controversial Seven. They are all incredibly multi-faceted, complex, and sometimes heartbreakingly real.

Amy says:

“I’ve read something by a writer once that I’ve followed faithfully: you should always know what’s happening in the other room. Even if it won’t be available to readers, it helps establish the world and characters as real, tangible things that don’t just poof out of existence once they walk ‘off-screen’ so to speak.”

Here’s the full interview:

1. What drew you to interactive fiction as a storytelling medium? Did you have any experience writing in other formats before, and if so, would you say there’s any differences in the way writing for IFs should be approached?

There’s so much about writing interactive fiction that I love, but I think the main one is the freedom that comes with it! There are so many ideas I can explore, so many endings and storylines. It’s just as fun for writers as it is for readers to push the limits of what their world and characters can do. You can truly sink your teeth into it and develop the story in ways you don’t see often. 

Coming from writing traditional fiction and having never written an interactive story before, I did need to change my mindset a little. You have to learn to be flexible. Very often, I’m writing routes I wouldn’t particularly take as a reader, and it’s interesting to go against my gut to offer a varied experience. I’ve discovered a lot of fun things about Infamous and its characters from routes I would never take if I were reading it in another IF!

2. What does your writing process look like?

I am a plotter to my core! I am endlessly envious of writers who can pants their way through a scene or a chapter. I need to outline every single beat, every scene, every conversation. The plot comes to me first and then I slowly build the main character around that and ask myself what kind of story I want to tell with that main character.

The MC in Infamous leans heavily into the ‘underdog’ trope. That’s how I got much of MC’s personality from. The main thing I ask myself when building the main character is: what do they have, what do they want, and what do they need? I use that to inform the rest of the cast and the stats. My main goal is that every piece works in tandem with the others. They all make sense in my head! 

3. What does good writing / good characters / good world-building etc. mean to you, and what are some central tenets or principles you follow to achieve that? 

A story that gets me invested is a success in my eyes. I want to care for the characters and feel like the world is one that truly exists somewhere. I’ve read something by a writer once that I’ve followed faithfully: you should always know what’s happening in the other room. Even if it won’t be available to readers, it helps establish the world and characters as real, tangible things that don’t just poof out of existence once they walk ‘off-screen’ so to speak. The characters had lives before the story started, people they knew and things they’ve experienced. It informs their personalities and builds them what they are once you meet them on page.

The world is still turning even while the main character is asleep. Things are still happening everywhere…even when we don’t see it. That’s how I try to approach every story to bring it to life. 

4. What’s one piece of advice you’d give to someone just starting out in interactive fiction?

Be firm! It’s so easy to get swept up in the excitement of having an audience and wanting to keep that audience. It’s not uncommon to make the mistake of overpromising to please every reader. You won’t be able to, trust me! You’ll only write yourself in a corner. It’s healthy to find a good balance between sticking to your gut and accepting/being open to suggestions. 

A tinier one but: know your endings! It’s best to know what you’re writing toward. It’ll be so much easier to stick to the story and avoid meandering through the plot if you know how each route ends. Everything I write is to get to that ending in one way or the other.

5. Where do you find your ideas or inspiration for new stories or mechanics?Where did your story idea originate? Has it strayed far from that concept/evolved during the writing process? 

I guess it’s quite on brand to say that almost every story idea I’ve had came from a song, Infamous included. My head is always thinking of songs as potential needle drops or playlists as movie soundtracks. Infamous in particular, was formed from Brie Larson’s cover of Black Sheep in the Scott Pilgrim movie. It features a Battle of the Bands sequence that made me want to read a story with the same concept. I scoured and scoured for a band IF that scratched that particular itch but didn’t find any. Eventually, I gave in and did it myself! That’s one of the best parts of the community; you can just do it. 

Surprisingly, this is one of the few stories of mine that hasn’t strayed far from the original idea. I think it helps that I’m writing exactly what I wanted to read once upon a time.

End of interview

—

A big thanks once again to Amy for her insightful answers, and @veswrites-if for taking the time to coordinate the interview. Hope that this was a fun and interesting read.

Stay tuned for more of these interviews :)

[failchild]

i can write so much more about why i think severance S2 isn't as strong or enjoyable as S1, but i could truly go on forever so i've organized my thoughts into three categories: lack of inter/departmental connection, dropped storylines, and how the world feels much smaller (1.2k words under the cut)

lack of inter/departmental connection

a significant theme of the S2 finale is the solidarity between different severed departments. MDR, mammalians nurturable, and the marching band department become impromptu allies against lumon management. innie mark is hesitant to save gemma not just because he might cease to exist, but so might the entire severed department. so why wasn't this a theme throughout the whole season?

episode 3 was building up to this: mark and "helly" made contact with mammalians nurturable, and irving visited O&D to share a nice moment with felicia. but that interdepartmental connection is completely dropped until the the finale, seven episodes later.

innie mark's concern for all severed workers rings a bit hollow when he doesn't seem to care about the three innies he got terminated in episode 1, and hasn't thought about irving at all. (i know ignoring grief is mark's whole thing, but he's known irving his whole life! there's not even a single moment of him acknowledging irving after his firing.) like, okay, mark said innie rights! does he really demonstrate that throughout the season, though?

EDIT: oh my god, miss casey—innie mark willingly killed miss casey. if he was truly so concerned about every innie, shouldn't he have been conflicted about leading her to her death? the person he said "we're people, not parts of people" to? the person he said "no one gets to just turn you off" to? (mark! you just turned her off!)

what stands out more is the lack of connection within MDR itself: once irving's gone, MDR just doesn't seem to care about each other. their tight-knit friendship and "we're in this together" dynamic is supplanted by romance. sure, mark and helly love each other now—why does that have to come at the cost of their friendship with dylan? do they just not care that he's been disappearing for half the work day? in the S2 finale, it's a great character moment for dylan when he comes to the rescue, but would helly and mark do the same for him? they didn't seem to notice or care that he was gone for mark's completion of cold harbor.

dropped storylines and dramatic twists that lead nowhere

(i know how television works, i know that plotlines that begin in one season can get resolved in another. okay. now that's out of the way)

remember how bold of a decision it was to have mark reintegrate in episode 3? the building of tension, reghabi asking an increasingly confused mark basic questions ("what season is it?" "you mean, what quarter?"), mark waking up on the severed floor table, and the triumphant soundtrack that follows? none of that seems to matter now: reghabi is out of the picture and mark doesn't get reintegration sickness or hallucinations anymore. reghabi kept warning mark to not move his head—then he fell to the ground and slammed his head, and was beaten in the head by drummond. is his brain okay? did the reintegration process even happen? did i dream this plotline? where am i?

what did the undercover helena plot accomplish? okay, so it was crazy when irving revealed that helena was impersonating helly. what exactly were the consequences of this? besides irving getting fired, there were barely any ripple effects for this seemingly momentous betrayal—mark was uncomfortable for two episodes, and helly was upset for, like, ten minutes tops. it's a fun plot twist for sure, but it doesn't seem to truly affect the character it should matter most to, and helly isn't given the time to wrestle with the fact that she's an eagan (royalty! a god!) and found out mere hours ago. we get to know helena a bit, i guess, but she was already compelling when she was just a face on a TV screen, telling helly that she wasn't a person.

speaking of irving's firing, this was the perfect setup for learning more about his outie, but we learn nothing. we have the same questions as we did in S1: who's he working with? what's his motivation to infiltrate lumon? why does he know about the elevator to the testing floor? irving is just as much of a mystery as he was in S1—and now we don't know if we'll ever see him again and get answers to those crucial character questions.

milchick has undoubtedly the best character arc this season. in episode 9 he finally snaps at upper management and can barely process what it means when outie mark tells him, "work's just work". i don't think milchick would turn his back on lumon entirely, that wouldn't be realistic, but all his character moments throughout the season seemed to be culminating to him realizing that, yeah, work is just work, it's not that serious. it makes sense that he would try his hardest to escape the bathroom, then get greeted by an innie uprising—but that would have also happened to a S1 milchick. after the kier animatronic microaggressions and all the shit he has to do to prepare for cold harbor's completion, would he really try to escape the bathroom that hard? or would he be having a midlife crisis, staring himself down in a mirror? i'm genuinely not sure.

i know i'm in the minority here but i loved ricken in S1—he and his strange followers bring an earnestness and sense of humor that made the show feel unique in how it juggled wildly different tones. ricken was also crucial to the innie story, and helped innie mark realize his potential as a human being. but besides appearing in a single flashback during the gemma episode, ricken's been completely absent since episode 3. what happened to his lumon sellout arc? what does he think his wife, who he has a newborn baby with, is doing? did he die in a private yacht explosion?

we still don't know what cold harbor is, right? we know that each file MDR completes is another room for gemma, but what's cold harbor specifically, and why would it kill her? she starts to disassemble a crib without feeling negative emotions—how is that any different from any other innie? is the point to sever away specific trauma? is that really it? and again, why would that kill her?

the world feels much smaller

the world outside of lumon is absent in S2. S1 had ricken and his weird friends, mark going on dates, back alley concerts, anti-severance protests, snippets of the news—there was life outside of lumon! S2 leaves that all behind to tighten focus on lumon and the people directly involved in the company, which makes the story very insular.

characters are so vitally important now: helly is an eagan, mark is the only one who can finish cold harbor and cold harbor is The Most Important Thing In The World We Have To Complete It Now, everything MDR does is because of gemma, and cobel invented severance. everyone else feels supplemental—people like irving and ricken can be easily discarded. the science fiction aspects, which were bizarre and unknowable in S1, are now directly personal to everyone. it's like milchick lying about the tallest waterfall in the world: it just makes everything seem smaller.

this also muddies S1's central themes and satire of the corporate world. mark isn't just another cog in the machine anymore, he's the most important guy (they fired and rehired a bunch of people, just for him!). the work isn't mysterious anymore, we know exactly what they're doing. mark being an ordinary guy who goes to an office job he doesn't really understand was the point of the corporate satire. severance just isn't interested in that anymore, which i guess is understandable; the show can grow into something different. but using a sci-fi concept to comment on office culture and the different personas we inhabit for work was so clever and special, and now they're just exploring well-trodden ground like identity and what it means to be human. sci-fi has already done that one, guys! many times!

again, i can say a lot more but i think this sums up my main thoughts. and i generally liked each episode individually, but when i look at the season as a whole it just doesn't cohere nearly as well as S1 did.

[samiramohans]

yellowjackets is genuinely so fucking bad this season i have to laugh. the writing is so ass! they truly don't know what to do with any of their characters. they introduce random twists purely for shock value, refuse to actually elaborate on the interesting parts of the plot, and leave so many storylines half finished.

this is coming from someone who really loved season 1, both the teen and adult timelines were actually interesting. the writing was well done and cohesive and the choices that were made actually paid off or were implied to be explored in later seasons.

season 2 dropped the ball a bit. the first half of the season was basically just setup for the teen plot last 3 or 4 episodes. the adult timeline was fine? but mostly directionless - it didn't feel like there was really any continuity between episodes, just a bunch of diconnected events and callbacks/parallels that were supposed to make the audience Feel Something, and it worked to some extent for me - enough that i could overlook some of the shortcomings of the season and try to enjoy the show for what it was.

season 3? genuinely awful. there's one episode left and like three things have happened in the teen timeline. there's basically no stakes in the teen timeline right now either because we know they don't get rescued until during or after the next winter. instead of actually spending time on any main characters other than shauna (ESPECIALLY taissa and lottie, who are some of the most interesting characters on the show, and we can get into the implications of the writers ignoring their woc another time) the writers are putting their time, effort and budget towards melissa, a character who literally was not named during the first season of the show and had like ten lines in season 2. the adult timeline is also a whole lot of nothing! shauna's on some kind of wild goose chase, taissa and van have no characterization or plot outside of each other, no one really cares about the fact that nat died last season when they all seemed to respect her greatly in season 1, and for some fucking reason, lottie is dead. mind you, we know next to nothing about who she really is outside of the wellness guru we saw last season. all of this is being sidelined for the melissa plot which is just truly so idiotic i can't bring myself to watch any scene with her with a straight face. and with episode 9's ending of melissa stabbing van, i really feel like the show has gone off the rails. her entire plot this season has been about whether she and taissa are going to have a future. whether van will survive cancer and the wilderness is appeased by natalie's sacrifice in the season 2 finale. but no! get rid of all of that for background character #4 who has literally no personality but gives your season shitty underdeveloped #gay representation! or whatever

[kaysfanficcorner]

The Camgirl and the Millionaire, Part 1

Pairing: Harry Castillo x Camgirl Reader

Summary: What are you going to tell him when he asks about your job again? Lie. That's what.

Author's Note: Hello and welcome to my Harry Castillo story. This unicorn gutted me last weekend with that horn of his and I haven't been able to scrub him from my mind. I needed a little break from Din and his Earthling and Harry was just what the doctor ordered! So please enjoy this fun exercise in the meantime. I'd like to thank my crazy best friends for their encouragement and @whocaresstillthelouvre for inspiring me to want to write a camgirl story with her Din Djarin AU Fifteen (Go read it if you haven't). Harry was giving Richard Gere in Pretty Woman at times and so I found myself struck with inspiration to write a sex worker character. So the inspo here is certainly drawing from Pretty Woman, Anora, and Fifteen but with my own spin on things. This will be a liar revealed story with some angst, so be warned! I'm a big baby about angsty fics usually so we'll see how this goes.

Warnings: Reader is a sex worker/camgirl; Reader is thick/curvy but with minimal physical descriptions; Reader smokes weed; Harry desperately wants to fall in love; Lying is stressful and bad; Cursing; No smut yet, but there is a reference to Cam's sessions; Mild descriptions of sex toys in use; Again, reader is a sex worker so this story is going to be riddled with smut.

Minors DNI, strictly 18+ as always

Ao3

*****

Harry Castillo was fairly certain he was incapable of love. Even after what Lucy said the night she dumped him, he wasn't sure that was truly in the cards for him. God he felt so fucking silly and childish for wanting it so fucking bad. Harry was certain that he thought about love more than he assumed most men his age in his line of work do. Certainly more than he ever expected to as a young man. 

He'd wanted to propose to Lucy because she was the closest he's ever come to what he supposed the possibility of it feels like. Creeping up on 50 with his parents breathing down his neck about how he was far too old to be playing the debonair millionaire bachelor routine anymore felt like enough of a reason to wed her. He respected her, he felt like he could trust her, and he definitely enjoyed fucking her. But she'd been right when she said he didn't love her. He didn't, not in that way he felt so foolish for dreaming about. Something was missing with her, and he supposed that was it.   

Perhaps, had that final encounter in his kitchen ended differently, he could have eventually felt it with her. But he wasn't sure if that was even true or just more wishful thinking. So, disappointed as he was, Harry knew it was probably for the best not to allow Lucy to waste her life on wishful thinking. 

He's dated large handfuls of women and he's sure he's never once felt it. Women from good families and backgrounds, as well as some women with some not so great credentials. All shapes and sizes. Good choices and some not so good ones in his younger days.

But he's never felt that fluttering feeling that gets deep in his chest when he's all by himself indulging in his guiltiest of pleasures; a film with some good romance in it. When Billy Crystal is giving his big speech to Meg Ryan at the end of When Harry Met Sally , and Harry Castillo sits there drinking wine and fighting back tears, there's this swelling ache of wanting deep inside of him. No one's ever made him feel that .

Harry saw that feeling on Lucy's face when the ex-boyfriend interrupted them at the wedding, and again the night Harry accompanied her to her ex-boyfriend's play. Try as Lucy wanted to deny it to herself, the two of them were still very much in love. He heard they'd run to the courthouse and gotten married shortly after his and Lucy's breakup, and that was when he had his assistant return the engagement ring. 

A few dates with women from Adore were enough to turn him off of their services very quickly, and he canceled that account after only one month.

Matchmaking, surgeries, expensive dates? How much money was it going to cost him to find someone to share his life with? Poor people fall in love all the time. Constantly. In New York City it's everywhere. People are sickeningly sweet and publicly showing the world that they are it for each other even when they have nothing else. The public displays of emotion have always baffled him, much as he would like to know what compels a person to act like that without a care of who sees.

Perhaps that really is the key, and he's been looking at this all wrong. Lucy said that she was the type to fight in the middle of the street, and then she went and married the guy whom Harry assumes that little anecdote had been about. What does passion like that feel like with another person? 

Harry Castillo is a man who has everything in the world a man could ever want. But he doesn't have that. And until he met you, he was certain he never would. 

*****

“Stop everything and get your nicest fucking outfit together! Chop! Chop! We've got somewhere to be!” Vanessa, your roommate of eight years and your ride or die comes bursting into your bedroom as you lay across the bed with a book out in front of you. Her tan skin and dark hair are a contrast to the light pink silky dress she's wearing. The frock is far more elegant than things she usually wears to go out, similar to the dress Carrie wore to the prom. She's got her hair up in a tasteful bun with a few locks framing her face, and the nicest jewelry she owns. 

Eyes narrowing at your friend, you take in her appearance for a long moment knowing full well that she's once again up to no good. “What are you talking about? We definitely do not have plans. It's my night off and I was finally getting to the good smut in this romance novel. This and takeout sushi are the only things on my agenda for tonight, thank you very much.”

Vanessa scoffs, coming over to the bed to slam the book shut and read the title. She gives no fucks about making you lose your place or pinching your finger, and you glare at her as she giggles and looks back at you. “Do you want to lay in bed and fantasize about some vampire prince all night or do you want to come with me to a super fancy charity event for the Puerto Rican youth centers around the city?”

Eyebrows raising, your interest is certainly piqued. “What charity event? You're not charitable and usually you have to donate to these causes to get into these events.”

“This one is at work,” Vanessa clarifies. She works as a waitress at a prestigious restaurant and events venue. The kind of place you could have never afforded on your own before your career shift and you're certainly not well-to-do enough to get invited to kinds of high-end events that take place there. Vanessa has seen some of the most important people in New York at this job. 

Your line of work allows for a very comfortable lifestyle, but life in New York is still expensive and there are corners of this city not meant for people of your social stature. Vanessa's work is most certainly one of those places.

“If you picked up an extra shift, I'm not going to come work it with you if that's what you're asking. I'm doing just fine with money these days if you haven't noticed.” As you say this, you sit up finally and lean over to grab the bong and lighter off your nightstand. Flicking the green bic, you take a decent size pull and enjoy the sound of the water bubbling before blowing it out and sitting it back down. 

“Yes, yes. The little internet goth slut routine is finally paying off. Good for you,” Vanessa says with a roll of the eyes. She still hasn't given up on her dream of stage acting like you did a few years ago, but she would never truly shame you for your line of work. You know she’s kidding. 

You moved to New York after dropping out of college to chase your dreams. A few years of rejections and a crappy play here or there got old after a while. It slowly became apparent to you that you moved to New York not to chase some dream of being creative in the way that your friend did. You moved to New York to chase after the dream of a very specific high-end lifestyle. A lifestyle which allows for the nicest luxuries life has to offer, and that requires much more money than that of a bartender and struggling stage actress. Now you find that acting behind a camera is more your thing. 

Only you tend to do it with little to no clothes on... and most of the time with a toy stuffed in one or both of your holes as you act out whatever depravity your clients are paying you for. The more depraved the more they pay. 

You're an online sex worker, though very few people actually know this about you besides Vanessa. 

In order to hide your identity you've created a character and a look which, truthfully, doesn't betray who you really are all that much. The market for slightly chunky, vaguely goth girls in the world of online sex is very high. You were already both of those things to begin with, so with some wigs and some drastic makeup, you easily make yourself into someone else when the camera is rolling in the spare room you've turned into your studio. You pay more of the rent to use the extra room, and the investment proved to be well worth it in the end. You've got yourself a nice little empire going, and you're making more money than you've ever had in your life. So much money it's shocking every time you check your bank account.  

You used to think that the ultimate dream was to find yourself a rich husband, but learning to take what you want out of life without someone else giving it to you has changed your perspective on the matter entirely. If you meet a man you intend to marry, you want that marriage to be based solely on love. A rich husband wouldn't hurt, of course, but then again what little girl from a poor family in a shitty small town doesn't dream of a Cinderella story all her own? The love of your life could be on the verge of poverty or have the highest salary in Manhattan. So long as he loves you, respects you, and doesn't care that you made your fortune helping lonely, desperate men and women to achieve orgasm starting at $300 a session… Sometimes up to twenty five sessions a week.

And you are so hopelessly and desperately craving real love in the way that your clients crave real sex. It's the one thing you feel you don't have now that you find you aren't wanting for anything else. 

$400 haircut? No problem. $500 coat you just had to have and couldn't possibly live without? It's yours. And damn does it look good on you. A weekend trip to Italy just for pasta and wine? Why the hell not?

But the one thing you really crave in the middle of the night is to be held by someone who loves everything about you, good and bad. Someone you can't help but love back. 

“Dude, fuck off. I swear I'm going to just go without you since you're not even listening to me. High ass bitch,” Vanessa says with a disappointed huff, but just as she turns to leave your room she stops in the threshold and turns her head to throw a devilish smirk over her shoulder. “I guess I was wrong about you wanting to see our mutual favorite musician perform a super secret private charity concert. Oh well. I guess I'll have to let you know if he's really that hot in person since you're going to stay home and read .”

That pulls your attention from your stoned thoughts, and your eyes widen. “Wait, Van! What are you fucking saying? Are you fucking with me right now?”

“I dunno, are you going to listen to your best friend or not?”

“Yes, bitch! I'm sorry. Tell me!”

“Well you know I'm seeing Charles now,” Vanessa starts, and you can't help but roll your eyes. Charles is the only thing Vanessa has talked about for the last four months. He's British, he’s hot, and he owns the events venue side of the business. They've been seeing each other in secret, so as not to give the appearance of favoritism. If you had to guess, he'll be proposing by Christmas with how in love they seem to be. 

You're only a little jealous.

“How could I forget Charles ,” you say his name in a deep, sexy voice. One you use for work all the time. 

“ Ew , don't do that,” Vanessa cringes with a scrunched nose. Then she shakes her head, glaring at you playfully. “Anyway, jerk , Charles informed me this morning who the secret guest at the charity event is going to be. When I lost my mind and told him how much we love this person, Charles told me he would sneak me and you in if we promise to keep a low profile and behave ourselves. He made someone switch shifts with me just so we can do this! God, he really is the best boyfriend, isn't he?”

So much for the appearances of favoritism. He's definitely going to propose. But that's irrelevant, as you scramble to get up to your feet and move for your closet to find one of your best dresses. Ignoring Vanessa's gushing over Charles, you ask, “You can't be seriously talking about who I think you're talking about. Can you?! ”

*****

Harry Castillo finds himself bored to tears at yet another hoity-toity charity event. This one is for the Puerto Rican youth centers that are in dire need of renovations and staffing. Being the richest man in Manhattan with a Latin American family background, it's fairly expected that Harry both donate to and attend events like this when it is something that benefits the Hispanic community. The cause itself does mean something to him personally, but that doesn't mean he finds these kinds of events to be terribly interesting. It's always the same, and once one's been to twenty of these things it gets incredibly old. He’s been to countless of them since he was a young man. 

The only difference tonight is that the guests are speaking Spanish more than he would hear at this sort of event and the food is culturally influenced. Though it warms him a little to have things feel less stuffy in that way, Harry's still bored out of his mind. 

After rubbing elbows with uninteresting people he doesn't really care for and making enough of an appearance, Harry feels on the verge of leaving before the concert even starts. There have been rumors whispered throughout the elegant venue all evening about who is to perform, but even the anticipation of a surprise musical guest isn't enough to make Harry want to stay. 

No, not until he accidentally bumps into the shoulder of a woman in her mid thirties waiting to order a drink at the open bar. He was figuring one more before calling for his driver, and he hadn't seen you standing there a moment ago. 

“Excuse me, miss, that was my fault.” Harry apologizes, jaw dropping a little as you turn to look up at him through thick lashes. 

When your eyes really cast over his face, they widen in a comically cute look of shock. Harry's a little beside himself as he takes in your face. It's beautiful, strikingly so. You're a little thicker than the girl who stands behind you in a plain pink dress, filling out your own tight, form fitting wine-red dress with curves he could get lost in. The garment looks expensive, more so than the pink dress. The pink dress is silky, whereas Harry's certain that the red dress is the real thing. It's got spaghetti straps, and a scooped neckline showing off impressive cleavage. You've paired it with black jewelry and black heels. Perfect hair in a well styled bun, but with pieces falling in your face. Tastefully simple makeup to bring out your eyes, and an air about you that says you do well for yourself. The friend looks a little out of place at an event like this, pretty as the other girl is with similar hair and makeup. The beauty in red, though, you look like you're right where you belong. But he's sure he's never seen you around before. He'd remember that face.

“That's okay, you barely bumped into me.” You say to him with a sweet smile, bowing your head a little in thanks. You seem like a nice girl to him at that moment, and he briefly thinks back to when he told Lucy he just wants a nice girl, and that he didn't care about credentials on a checklist. If you're nice, that also means you definitely don't run with this crowd very often. Perhaps you aren't so stuck up as the rest of the women here. It certainly comes off that way when you smile so sweetly up at him like that. He’s much taller than you are. Thank Christ for that stupid fucking surgery. 

“I've never noticed you at one of these charity concerts before. I'm Harry,” he says, extending a hand. You look down at it briefly as if you haven't shaken a hand in a long while, eyebrows raising slightly as your rouged lips part. Again, your expression is so cute that Harry's a little beside himself, stomach lurching as you slowly slip a slender hand into his much larger one. He'd purposefully offered her his left hand so that he can see if you're wearing a wedding ring or not. There's a black ring on the middle finger... a bat? Oddly enough? He looks back at you and notices that your earrings also appear to be black bats, dangling upside down with their wings crossed in slumber. Interesting choices. 

You introduce herself, shaking his hand twice before letting it drop. Harry just lets it hang there dumbly for a moment as you add, “And you've never seen me at one of these because this is my first time at one. My friend Vanessa here dragged me.”

“She won't be acting like such a professional party pooper in a little bit.” The other girl, Vanessa, says confidently with a bit of an accent to her speech pattern. He's certain she's a Spanish speaker, but not the one he suddenly finds himself interested in. He can't place the origins of your accent quite yet. 

“Ohhh, so you're a professional party pooper? I was just about to ask what you do for a living.” Harry says, flashing his best teasing, but charming smile at you. He worries that he shouldn't have teased you so quickly after meeting you, though, when a look of mild panic washes over your face. 

*****

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What the fuck do I say?

Your eyes meet the deep brown ones of the attractive man who suddenly approached you at this event that you originally didn't even want to come to, and nervousness floods your system for a brief moment. This man is painfully handsome. So much so that his face is enough to throw you off your game for a good couple of seconds. Then you feel Vanessa pinch your ass, and you sober up enough to quip back with something. 

“Oh I'm number one in the business.” You say with a little bit of a giggle, hoping to deflect back to him for a moment as you add, “What about you? What do you do for a living?”

“I run a financial firm my mother started. Nothing exciting.” 

“A woman-founded company! That is so exciting!”

“Yeah,” he fake sighs, shaking his head, “but unfortunately for her she had two sons. Her dream of a woman owned company was shattered when I had to take over.” 

You nod thoughtfully. “Oh, bummer . Like a reverse kingdom where the king wants sons. I'm sure that gave you a complex growing up.”

Harry grins, flashing perfect white teeth. Lord have mercy on your soul when he does that. “Oh most certainly,” he says, laughing, “but I just drink about it. Do you want one?”

Also grinning, you agree, “Sure, I'll take a vodka soda with a splash of grenadine and lime.”

“So you are sweet, then,” Harry says with a raised brow, grin morphing into a confident smirk. 

Your pulse quickens at the flirtation. “When I wanna be,” you flirt back, “I did only ask for a splash after all.”

“I'm gonna go find Charlie before the concert starts, can I leave you here?” Vanessa asks from somewhere behind you. You don't even turn around, nodding as you look up into the brown eyes that have a complete hold over you. She'll understand that you're not trying to be rude. This man is simply too beautiful to tear your gaze from him. 

“Yeah, I'll be fine,” you say, watching him as he nods a goodbye to Vanessa and then finishes making his way up to the bar. He slides in next to you and orders your drink, then a Manhattan for himself. As he leans against the bar, you're truly taking in his appearance. About six feet tall, clearly wealthy, and clearly at least ten years older than you. His hair is a wavy dark brown, likely curly when left natural. But tonight he styled it with what is surely an expensive product. There isn't much gray on his head, but there are little patches of it nestled in the neatly kept short facial hair on his chin. His dark mustache adds such an extra layer of sex appeal to his appearance. It's obvious that he works out and eats well. He's got beautiful tan skin, and his hands look big and strong sticking out of the sleeves of his finely tailored black suit. Ironically, his tie and pocket square match your dress almost perfectly. 

Thank Christ you went with this one. You truly feel your best in this thing. The first splurge for your closet after you started making serious money from your cam sessions. You'd never spent over two hundred dollars on a single piece of clothing before, and the feeling of trying it on at the high end boutique you bought it from and actually walking out with it was elating. There was no turning back after that. Vanessa had called you materialistic. You'd told her that life is too short not to be. 

What are you going to tell him when he asks about your job again?

Lie. That's what.

*****

Next

Masterlist

[motorsportbarbie13]

Aftermath - Chapter 3

When Lando leaves you heartbroken after you get tired of trying to make nothing into something for far too long, Max steps in to help you pick up the pieces.

warnings: this chapter contains language and descriptions that illustrate abuse (mental and emotional). lando is abusive, full stop but like many survivors of abuse, it takes reader a bit to claw herself out of this. as a survivor of abuse myself, I am doing my best to give this story line the most respect and care that i can. please don't engage with my work if you find any of the topics triggering.i'd also like to point out that this is a character i am writing, i in no way am insinuating or implying the real lando is like this in any way. pairing: max verstappen x leclercsister!reader word count: 4.9k

(Extra special shout out to @nitaekook for beta reading and holding my hand through this fic 😂❤️)

Aftermath - MV33 - Chapter 1 Aftermath - Chapter 2 Master List

“Where do you want these plates to go, my dear?” Jade asks from across the kitchen. 

You glance up at her from your spot on the brand new couch that was just delivered to the new apartment that morning. You’re sitting cross legged unpacking a box of the few things that you had brought over from the old apartment. In the kitchen, your best friend Jade (who is also Arthur’s girlfriend of about a year thanks to your meddling) stands holding up one of the new plates that you bought with her yesterday. 

“Wherever there’s room.” You say with a shrug, not really caring where the plates go because everything feels weird.

The apartment is pristine with its gorgeous hardwood flooring that Charles had refinished before you moved in, floor to ceiling windows that face out towards the water, and that new house smell that is totally unfamiliar and a little unnerving. You should be happy, shouldn’t you? Finally being free of the stifling apartment that you had shared with Lando should fill you with so much optimism and a sense of relief, shouldn’t it? But that’s not the case. Not even close. You’re scared and nervous and just the thought of deciding where those plates should go seems like the heaviest question you've ever been asked.

 Simply picking out the plates yesterday with Jade had been an ordeal and you had needed to take several moments to yourself while shopping. You liked your old plates that you had bought with Lando the week you moved in with him but at the same time, the thought of taking those to your new apartment was more painful than leaving them behind.

Jade must notice your anxiety because as soon as she finishes putting the plates and bowls in whatever cabinet that suits her fancy, she comes over to sit next to you on the couch. When she wraps her arm around your shoulders you melt into her in a desperate attempt to stop a fresh flood of tears from falling. It seems as if all you’ve done since leaving the old apartment was cry and if you’re not crying, you’re barely fighting off an incoming panic attack and jumping with every ding of your phone. 

“What’s going on, my love?” Her voice is gentle, like she’s talking to an injured animal that she doesn’t want to spook. It makes you feel pathetic, helpless, and angry for how much Lando has damaged you when he should have been loving you. 

You’ve known Jade for years now and she’s always been one of your closest friends. It was Jade that had been the first of your friend group to pull you aside almost a year ago to ask you if you were truly happy with Lando. She had seen the light dim in your eyes as your relationship with him progressed and watching you lose your spark had scared her. When you had told her the morning after your art show last month that you had finally decided to leave Lando, it had been so hard for her to tamp down her excitement that you had finally worked up the courage to leave him. 

“I should be happy, right?” You ask, voice cracking a bit with the heavy weight of what closing the door on the apartment for the very last time had done to you that morning. “I mean, I know I’ve been miserable for…” You scoff, “a really long time so shouldn’t I feel something other than heartbreakingly sad?” 

Jade tips her head so it rests on your shoulder, a humming sound playing at the back of her throat. “You’ve been with him for a long time, of course you’re going to be heartbroken. Youu’re doing the right thing though, I promise you. He couldn’t even stop playing that stupid video game long enough to support you last month!” 

You nod, memory flickering back to the fight in the hallway in front of Max. You hadn’t heard much from him in the weeks since that night aside from a few texts here and there and you had expected that. He probably was mortified at how you had behaved, embarrassed for you that you had allowed yourself to be treated that way in front him.

You wouldn’t have blamed him if he thought you were a weak little girl who deserved the treatment Lando doled out to you. It was the only way you could rationalize his silence. Seeing how far you’d fallen, how much you’d changed, had obviously had an effect on Max and he had decided he’d seen enough. It didn’t surprise you and you didn’t blame him. Jade was one of your only remaining friends and losing yet another person you trusted and valued in your life was just another thing Lando had taken from you. 

“I’m just so glad you finally are taking your power back, love. I know it feels all wrong right now but when you go from the chaos that you’ve been living in for so long, I’m sure the calm of this apartment feels wrong. You’ll get used to it. It might take some time but you’ll get used to it.” 

Your head swivels around to look your best friend and you search her face for any sign of her lying to you. You desperately want to believe she’s right, that you’re making the right choice. You know you are, deep down in your soul, but you’ve been with Lando for so long and have spent so many nights listening to him rant and rave about how he’s the only one who could ever deal with your dramatics that you wonder if Jade is wrong and Lando is the one who’s been right all along. You don’t voice the doubts though, knowing that those kinds of things are something that you should probably keep to yourself. So instead of voicing all of the fears that are bouncing around in your chest, making it feel heavy and tight with the pressure of doing something that absolutely terrifies you, you just nod and lean further into Jade’s shoulder.

 “I know.” You whisper, staring out over the open living room that is littered with small boxes and suitcases. 

With the help of your brothers and Jade, you had started moving your things out slowly while Lando had been otherwise distracted. Just a small box of clothes and trinkets here and there, over the last month while Charles had the apartment renovated and cleaned. When it was finally ready last week, you had begun looking for furniture and making final plans. 

The timing had worked out perfectly, with the apartment finally being finished perfectly aligning with a weeklong trip Lando had planned to go to Woking to spend time in the sim at the MTC. He rarely bothered you during these working trips, hell he barely bothered you during any of this trips, but his work trips were different, so you knew you’d have a solid week to get everything that mattered to you out of the apartment before he would be any wiser. 

“He’s going to be so mad when he comes home and my things are gone.” You murmur, staring down at your phone which hadn’t received so much as a text message from him in almost 48 hours. 

You hadn’t bothered telling Lando you were leaving, that you were done with him. You shied away form confrontation on even the best of days so telling the man that you’d spent the last three years building a life together that you were leaving him was terrifying. When you had started moving small boxes out while Lando was still in town, you had half expected him to notice but that had never been a problem. He hadn’t even noticed you leaving on several occasions with boxes of your books or suitcases of clothes. 

A larger part of you had another reason for not telling him, though. You knew that if you told him before you were fully moved out he’d try to get you to stay. He’d try to convince you that things would get better, that this time would be different. All the things that he’s said before when you spent the night crying over his neglect. And you knew you’d fall for it. You knew you’d go running back to him if you didn’t get out before he found out. Lando was persistent and an expert manipulator, you knew that and you still fell for it over and over again so this time you were trying to give yourself the chance to put yourself first and not fall back into his trap. 

“He’s going to learn his lesson when he comes home and finds that you’re finally moving on.” Jade says, tone firm but still gentle. She knows what it’s like to be in a relationship like you have with Lando and when you had called her that morning last month to tell her you were finally leaving him, she had decided she was going to make sure she’d do everything in her power to keep you from going back to him. Getting you unpacked and settled in your new apartment was a huge step forward, one Jade hadn’t been sure you would end up following through with. 

You nod, hoping she’s right but you have a feeling deep in your gut that when Lando gets back into town tomorrow morning he’s not going to see it that way. He’s going to be angry and he’s going to try to get you to come back home to him. 

Looking around your new apartment though, you feel something settle in your bones that you haven’t felt in a very long time. It’s a feeling of attachment to this place. Like if you’re careful and thoughtful, this little apartment tucked away in one of the most exclusive buildings in Monaco could be the best opportunity you have for getting your life back on track. You could heal here, you can feel that in the way the sunlight spills through the windows in the living room, in the way your anxiety allows you to breathe when you stand in the kitchen surrounded by things that you bought yourself, and in in the way you feel when you settle yourself on your brand new bed that will have never shared an intimate moment between you and Lando. Those memories have all been left behind and this new apartment seems like the perfect place for a new beginning. 

As Jade comforts you on your couch, your brother is across town arriving at the Monaco Sports Club where he has a game of padel scheduled with Max that afternoon. He had offered to cancel on him this morning when you spoke to him on the phone, saying that your first full day in the apartment was more important than any padel game, but you had insisted that he keep his game. You had wanted a bit of space to breathe from your brothers, who you knew meant very well and you were very grateful for but sometimes, the three men got to be a little suffocating. So, against his better judgement, Charles had skipped coming over that afternoon in favor of hanging out with Max. 

Max hasn’t stopped thinking about that night last month when he witnessed Lando being needlessly cruel to you. He had every intention of calling Charles that night, had every intention of telling him how the British driver was actually treating you but something had stopped him. He had needed a little more time to process everything that he saw. Max knew that Lando could be an asshole but he never could have guessed that he would have treated you the way he did that night he brought you back to the apartment. It had shaken him and it had taken him a bit to figure out exactly how to approach it with Charles because he knew if Charles really knew how Lando had been treating you, Lando might not make it to the next race alive. Because while everyone knew the relationship was toxic and Lando wasn’t a good boyfriend, no one really realized just how bad it had gotten until Max saw behind the curtain that night of the art show. 

When Max had invited Charles to play padel today, he had finally decided to tell him what had gone down that night. It had taken so long because Max kept waffling between ‘this is none of my business’ and ‘she’s everything’ but when he spotted Charles walking through the padel courts towards him, Max was surprised at how happy Charles looked. 

“You look happy.” Max observes before giving his friend a hug. 

“Oh, it is a very good day, mon ami.” Charles is practically glowing as he smiles over at his long time friend. 

Max lifts a brow, it’s been a while since he’s seen Charles look this optimistic and he wonders if it has something to do with you. 

As if Charles reads his mind, he continues, “We finally got the apartment finished and as of this morning, she’s fully left that piece of garbage.” A smug smile plays at the corner of the Ferrari driver’s mouth. 

The relief that washes over Max is surprising. He hadn’t realized how truly worried he was for your well being until that moment. The guilt that sets in though has his chest aching. How could he have gone so long without saying something to someone about what he had seen that night? Max carefully weighs his decision that he had been so set on just moments before. If you’ve already left Lando and are settling into your apartment, does Charles really need to know what happened that night? It would only cause more drama and Max knew that more drama and anxiety was the last thing you needed. 

In a split second decision that he knows could come back to haunt him, Max decides to keep quiet for now. 

“That is the best thing I’ve heard all day.” With a genuine grin, Max bounces the padel ball against the floor. 

Charles beams back at him and Max can almost see the stress that his friend has been carrying around recently melting away from his features. He had known that your brother was worried about you, had known your entire circle, or what was left of it, was worried but now that this was really happening, Max could practically feel the relief rolling off of Charles in waves. 

“You’re telling me.” Charles mutters before walking to the other side of the court to get the game started. 

Max hadn’t meant to end up in your old neighborhood, truly he hadn’t. He had been on a run the morning after playing padel for a few hours with Charles when he passed the bakery that was a few blocks from your old apartment. He hadn’t meant to come this far but the pressures of the season were starting to get to him as they usually did around this time of year and he had needed extra time to clear his head. The fact that he couldn’t seem to get you off his mind either plagued him the entire run too. The way you had felt pressed against his side as he walked you home that night last month, the way your cheeks flamed with humiliation as Lando had laid into you in front of him when he walked you to your door, everything about you seemed to be invading his thoughts and it worried him. 

It worried him because he couldn’t let you get under his skin like this. He knew it was a dangerous game he was playing, knowing what you’ve been through and allowing himself to wander down that road. He was just happy you were safe now and hopefully you would start to get that spark back that he knew you still had in you. Everything else would have to wait. 

So when he passed the bakery you had pointed out as your favorite the night he had walked you home, he couldn’t help but follow his feet inside. The smells of freshly baked bread and sweet pastries washed over his senses as the bell above the wooden door jingled, announcing his arrival. He knew exactly what he was looking for before the woman behind the counter even asked and before he was able to second guess his decision, Max was walking out of the bakery moments later with half a dozen of what he knew were your favorite almond croissants. 

A housewarming gift, he told himself. Because what other way should Max welcome his newest neighbor to the building where he had lived for the last two years? He knew these were your favorites and if he had to guess, wandering back into your old neighborhood just for some carbs was probably at the bottom of your ‘to do’ list right now, even if they were heavenly pieces of baked bread and sweet almond filling. 

While Max made his way back across town, laden down with a large pink bakery box, you were just getting out of bed and starting your day. Anxiety, a feeling that seemed to be your constant companion lately, sits heavy on your shoulders as you move around the new apartment. The quiet hush that blankets the small space is different than the stifling silence you're used to in your apartment with Lando. It was unnerving to say the least but if you allowed yourself to pause for even just a moment, you could almost feel your soul breathing a sigh of relief. 

That wash of contentment is short lived though when a knock at your front door sends your heart rate spiking through the roof. You know that Lando was going to be home today but didn't know what time. It didn’t even cross your mind that there was no way it was him outside your door because he simply didn’t know where you had moved to but just the thought of someone who you weren’t expecting waiting for you and the possibility that it could be your now ex-boyfriend had you spiraling. 

Reaching for your phone, you pull up the security system app that Charles had insisted you get installed, despite the fact that this was a very well secured building with its own doorman downstairs 24/7. The person standing outside your door has confusion knitting your brow together. 

Pancake ingredients forgotten, you pad towards the door shuffling through various emotions: relief that it isn’t Lando waiting for you on the other side, apprehension about seeing the person that was patiently waiting in the hallway for you, and a bit of relief that you hadn’t lost this person like you thought you might have. 

“Max, what a pleasant surprise.” You murmur when you swing the door open. 

In front of you, the Dutch driver is dressed for a workout in athletic shorts and a t-shirt, his blond hair covered in a backwards baseball cap. You’re surprised at the shimmer of pleasure that works its way up your spine when he smiles at you but quickly squash the feeling, remembering the pity on his face as Lando had yelled at you that night he walked you home. 

“I was on a run this morning and remembered you saying this bakery was your favorite. I thought I’d bring you some almond croissants as a sort of ‘welcome to the building’ present.” 

Warmth spreads through your belly at the gesture and you hold the door open to welcome Max into the apartment. “Welcome to the building?” You ask, confused. 

Max grins back at you, rubbing at the back of his neck as he follows you to the kitchen. “I live up in the penthouse. I moved in about two years ago.”

Surprise flickers across your face. When you started dating Lando, your friendship with Max had grown distant so it shouldn’t shock you that you didn’t even know where your friend lived. “Oh, I didn’t realize.” You whisper, guilt settling like a stone in your stomach. 

Max watches you bustle around the kitchen, decidedly avoiding eye contact with him. For a few moments he just observes you, trying to decide if he should leave or push. Charles had mentioned yesterday that you were nervous about living alone and Max wanted to make sure that you were okay. He knew he should probably leave you alone to continue to settle it, with it being only your second day in the apartment alone, but there was something keeping him rooted to the spot where he stood in the middle of the kitchen.

 “Are the almond ones still your favorite?” He asks, shattering the silence that had settled over the room. He knows you’re easily spooked now and Max desperately wants you to be comfortable about him. Maybe if he distracts you from whatever storm is brewing in your head, you’ll open up a bit. 

His patience is rewarded with the first unguarded smile he’s seen from you in a long time. “I can’t believe you remembered.” You laugh, reaching for one of the croissants in the open box. 

“You used to put these things away like nobody’s business when we were younger.” 

The blush that creeps across your cheeks has Max gripping the edge of the counter. The two of you fall into a comfortable conversation of safe topics, mostly about your new apartment and how Max’s cats are doing. You like this, the way you feel around him but you can almost feel your body bracing for the other shoe to fall. You keep waiting to have something stupid slip out of your mouth, causing Max to berate or make fun of you. 

Much to your surprise it never happens though and you spend the next hour talking through memories of when Charles and Max were fighting it out on the karting tracks when you were younger. Max remembered you well from those days, how you would beg to tag along with him and Charles and the older boys. 

The sun sits high in the sky when your phone start buzzing loudly on the counter. At first you ignore it, too lost in the conversation you and Max are having, the way he is so attentive to everything you have to say and how he asks you questions like he’s genuinely interested in what you have to say. You don’t want the attention he’s giving you to end but when your phone starts buzzing for the fifth time in a row, you get up off the couch to retrieve it. It was probably just Charles checking on you, you hand’t heard from him all day after all. 

Your heart sinks and your stomach churns when you see the caller ID though. “Fuck.” The whisper that tumbles off of your lips is broken and harsh, causing Max’s head to snap towards where you’re leaning over the counter, forearms braced on either side of your phone. 

“Everything okay?” Max gets up off the couch to join you in the kitchen, concerned over the way you’ve suddenly gone white as a sheet as you stare down at your phone like it’s about to reach up and strangle you right there in the middle of the room. 

In the couple of hours that you had spent catching up with Max, you had completely forgot that Lando was due to get home soon. “I guess Lando has discovered I’m gone.” The way your voice shakes has Max’s heart squeezing. 

“He doesn’t know you moved out?” 

“Well he does now.” You quip, nervous chuckle falling from your lips. The text messages came in first, it looked like. Nearly a dozen of them and as you scroll through the messages, your face heats. Of course this is going to happen with Max here. Why is he always a witness to your humiliation?

Where are you? Why is the closet half empty, where are all your clothes? Baby, why is your treadmill gone? And your Peloton?  Where the FUCK are you??? ANSWER ME NOW WHERE ARE YOU??? DID YOU LEAVE ME THERE IS NO FUCKING WAY YOU’RE DOING THIS TO ME RIGHT NOW ANSWER YOUR FUCKING PHONE NOW COWARD

Shortly after the messages stop, the calls start. You stare down at the phone as Max watches as call after call comes through. 

“You don’t have to answer him.” Max murmurs, coming to stand right next to you. You have to resist the urge to lean into his warmth, to collapse against the quiet strength that rolls off of him in waves.

“It’s only going to get worse if I don’t.” 

“Does he know where you are?” 

You shake your head, tears threatening to spill over. Why was this all happening right now? You knew you were safe, that he had no idea where you had moved to but just the thought of being in the same city as him when he was this angry is enough to have the panic threatening to strangle the breath straight out of your lungs. 

“Then you’re safe. He wouldn’t ever do anything to put his career in danger, Dovie.” 

You have to laugh at the statement because it’s so true. Lando would never do anything to put his career on the line. He’d do whatever it took to keep you in line under his thumb, no matter how mean he had to be to control you but when it came to his career? His first love? He’d never do anything to put his seat in question and you knew that. You had always come second to racing and what Max said was the total truth. 

Max watches you shrink into yourself as the calls continue to come in, one after another, and he knows he has to do something. He glances at the time and instantly gets an idea. “I was supposed to go to dinner with Danny in an hour. What if you leave the phone here for the night and come to dinner with me?” He pauses, seeing the panic flicker across your face. “With us. Come to dinner with us.” He corrects quickly. “I’ll call Charles and see if he’s free too? It’s been a while since we’ve all had dinner together.” 

Your eyes drop down to the phone, now quiet for the moment, and weigh your options. You know you’re not ready to talk to Lando but the fact that you’re ignoring him makes you feel like a coward. You’re going to have to speak to him sometime but maybe it was okay if you put if off for a few more days. Dinner out with Max, Daniel, and your brother sounds so appealing but you still hesitate. 

“Come on, Dovie. You can’t spend the whole night starting at the phone. He’s going to keep calling and it’s not good for you to be alone right now.” 

The pain that slices through your heart at the gentle coaxing Max’s tone takes on is almost unbearable. Why is he always the one to see you laid so bare, so vulnerable? 

“How did I let this happen, Max?” Your voice breaks, soft and uncertain as you turn into Max’s waiting frame. Without hesitation, Max’s arms circle around you and he pulls you deeper into his chest. Something settles in him then, almost like he’s relieved you’ve allowed him in. The way you shake while he holds you has his chest aching and he’d really like to give the McLaren driver a piece of his fucking mind right about then, but he knows that’s going to have to wait for now. You’re much more important. 

“You were in love, schatje and that’s okay. You trusted him and he broke that trust. It’s not a reflection of you, sweet girl, its a reflection of him. You have nothing to be embarrassed about.” 

You sob quietly into his chest, soaking his t-shirt through with your tears as the dam finally breaks. Humiliation threatens to drag you under but you allow Max’s words to resonate through you. They soften the sharp edges of your heartache and regret, knowing that someone like Max, who you respect and have known for nearly your entire life, doesn’t think this entire thing is your fault. You sink into his warmth, clutching at the fabric of his shirt, allowing his steady breath to ground you. 

Max just stands there, a quiet pillar of strength that he can feel you desperately need right now. Hr murmurs quiet reassurances to you as you cry against him, slowly rocking you back and forth. “Come on,” Max coos, lips brushing against the top of your head. “Go take a shower and then lets go to dinner. I’ll call Charles and see if he’s free. You haven’t seen Danny in ages, right? It’ll be good to get out.” 

Dragging in a deep breath, you hold the air in your lungs until they pinch. “Okay.” 

With one last look at your phone, you turn away and walk down the hallway, leaving Max starting at your phone which has finally gone quiet. For several moments, Max just stands at the counter in the kitchen, unable to move. Relief floods his veins when he hears the shower start though and he knows that you’re finally making a small step towards getting out from under Lando’s control.

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