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pennyellee · 3 months

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chapter IX - lacuna

LACRIMOSA | MYG MAFIA YANDERE AU

pairings: mafia leader!yoongi x f!reader

genre: mafia!au, yandere au, historical au

summary: Their interlocking gaze served as a butterfly effect on his heart, stirring it to the core. She, in turn, only dreams to find a way to escape. But perchance, over time she might forcefully learn to love the man who has taken so much from her.

Thus unfolds a twisted tale of love and loss, of hope and despair, of life and death. The music reverberated through the dimly-lit streets. Tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.

warnings: minors dni 18+ | mafia au, dark!yoongi, mafia!yoongi, mentions of antidepressants, anxiety, panic attacks, nightmares, mentions of night terrors, mentions of self harm, manipulative behaviour, mentions of labotomy, medical cases, intimate life, diseases, “failed” pregnancy, alcohol, medication, etc.

beta read by @chaoticpuff17

word count: 8,7K

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.

A/N: so yes, it took me a while to actually finish this chapter and as I mentioned - it’s shorter than what I usually want to write for lacrimosa. Truth to be told, this is what I can do for now till I get something better to write on. I don’t know when the next chapter will be written and up, so for now thank you for your patience, i actually didnt think i would write a chapter whilst im in US coz the only device on my person is my phone, but im very happy I managed to write something. This chapter is more of a prequel go what’s going to happen next. Many of you actually guessed/predicted some things right and for some you have to wait till the very end, we’re near it.

Massive thank you goes to @chaoticpuff17 who managed to beta read it despite both our situations being crazy rn, ily queen 🥹🫧🩵

Love you all, p.

m.list

lacuna (n.) a blank space, missing part

The night was relentless, a symphony of thunderclaps and the steady drum of rain against the cobblestones. The celebrations of the famous Kkangpae toned down, and after some months, several trips to the barren debris land of where Yakuza reigned, they returned safely to the sanctuary.

Back where she cannot hide from him in the stables, kitchen or sunroom, switching from one room to another just to not be in his presence for longer than she wanted. Yet, he managed to steal her away when his frustration boiled up enough. Y/N could’ve hinted how much she doesn’t want him to sleep next to her all she wants, he kept sneaking in and out every time. Yoongi was patient, determined even. Determined to make things right this time by giving her space. But the wrenching feeling of not having her close enough consumed him, night, day and moon.

Yoongi kept his promise, giving Y/N the space she needed while gradually attempting to rebuild the trust that had been shattered. He was careful with his words, patient in his actions, and ever attentive to her unspoken needs. The pair worked on their friendship these past weeks, he wanted himself to be her person. The person that she would love and lean on.

But the young Buin might seem calm now, from outside, but her wit remained under the surface. She buried herself deep within her psyche and doctor Kim could do very little to “repair” her. Not even renown specialists who came to give the young girl a helping hand did not succeed.

Yoongi watched her from a distance yet at the same time he was so close, his heart aching with the knowledge that he was partly to blame for her withdrawal. He had been too harsh, too controlling. Now, he was paying the price. He wanted nothing more than to hold her, to whisper apologies and promises into her ear. But every time he approached, he could see the fear and distrust in her eyes. It was a barrier he didn't know how to break.

Wang Xiaoqing’s wisdom was passed onto her, they whispered. But truth to be told, the elder woman, may she rest in peace, underestimated the new blood. The following legacy. Now, her kin suffers.

Yoongi wishes he never used the letter as leverage against her nor let her read it. At night he wonders whether that would change things. Whether by now she would be in love with him just as much he’s in love with her.

He sat down with the rest of his family at the dinner table after she broke down with yet another panic attack. The dining room was oppressively silent, the atmosphere thick with unspoken tension. It wasn’t even the end of January, and the snow was still prevailing outside. Yoongi sat at the head of the table, his expression a mask of stoic resolve, though his heart was anything but calm.

Y/N was conspicuously absent, her chair at the table glaringly empty. Yoongi's mind replayed the scene from earlier, the look of sheer panic in her eyes as she had crumbled under the weight of her emotions. He had wanted to reach out to her, to offer comfort, but he knew his presence would only worsen her distress.

Clearing his throat, Yoongi broke the silence, his voice strained but firm.

“I know you care about me. About this family—”

“I’ve made mistakes—mistakes that have pushed her to the edge.”

“No, Yoongi—” the right hand man straightened himself in his seat interrupting his leader.

Yoongi’s eyes flickered with a mixture of frustration and sorrow as he turned to face his right-hand man, Namjoon. The room held its breath, tension crackling in the air.

“Namjoon, please,” Yoongi said, his voice weary. “My wife slit her throat, stop justifying my actions.”

Namjoon hesitated but nodded, leaning back in his chair, his expression still troubled. Yoongi took a deep breath, steeling himself to continue.

"I pushed her too far, and now she's breaking—”

“Now, I don’t know what your intentions are with my wife, but I forbid you from whatever you are putting into her head.”

Namjoon's eyes widened in shock at Yoongi's words, his mouth opening and closing as if searching for the right response. The weight of Yoongi's accusation hung heavy in the air, and the room seemed to grow even quieter, the tension palpable.

Yoongi's jaw clenched, his frustration simmering beneath the surface. He had always trusted Namjoon implicitly, had relied on him as his closest confidant and advisor. But now, in the wake of Y/N's pain and suffering, he couldn't help but wonder if that trust had been misplaced.

“All of you.”

“Yoongi, I swear—” Namjoon began, his voice tinged with desperation. But Yoongi held up a hand, cutting him off.

“I don't want to hear it, Namjoon,” he said, his tone final.

“Whatever it is, I’m giving her the space to tell me herself.” Namjoon's gaze faltered under Yoongi's intense stare.

“I would never intentionally do anything to harm Y/N or come between you two. She's like family to me, too.” Yoongi's jaw clenched tighter, but he nodded curtly, acknowledging Namjoon's words.

“Seokjin.” He addressed the oldest man in the room.

“Yes, Yoongi?” Seokjin replied, his voice steady despite the gravity of the situation.

“She’s still taking those pills you gave her,” Seokjin's brow furrowed in concern at Yoongi's words. They were only a temporary solution before Seokjin decided that day to put her on barbiturates. She needs his help and if he cannot help her the way he knows it will be most effective, he’ll at least prescribe whatever will tone down her night terrors so she can sleep at nights.

"I'll talk to her," he said firmly. “But you know what would certainly help her—” Yoongi’s hand flew high to hit the table, making everybody twitch at the loud noise.

“No, Seokjin. No.” The family members exchanged solemn nods. Yoongi took a moment to compose himself, his chest heaving with pent-up frustration.

"She needs more support than we can provide on our own. We have to consider what's best for her.” Yoongi struggled to find the words to express his feelings. "I know, Seokjin," he replied, his voice thick with emotion. "But that is going way too far.”

Namjoon leaned forward, his expression earnest. The youngest at the end of the table cleared his throat. All eyes turned to him, waiting for his input. Jungkook hesitated for a moment, feeling the weight of the tension in the room, before speaking up.

“Maybe you just need to stop shielding her in. Let her live a life—” Jungkook's suggestion hung in the air, a fresh perspective on the situation that caused the family members to exchange thoughtful glances.

Yoongi's brow furrowed as he considered Jungkook's words, the idea of allowing Y/N more freedom conflicting with his instinct to protect her.

“But what if she runs for the hills, Kook.” Park Jimin’s voice echoed from across the room, his hands busy pouring the strong liquor to seven crystal glasses. Yoongi's gaze flickered towards Jimin, setting the first glass in front of him.

"I can't bear the thought of her running away from me again," Yoongi admitted, his voice heavy with emotion. Hoseok nodded in agreement, his expression sombre.

Jungkook nodded thoughtfully, understanding Yoongi's apprehension. "I get where you're coming from, hyung,—” Jimin set down the last glass of liquor, his expression sympathetic.

“I’d say, nonetheless, she needs something to occupy her mind other than those thoughts.” Said Jimin sitting down on his chair while nursing his own glass of the booze.

"Maybe if we can find something that brings her joy, something to distract her—” Seokjin nodded in agreement, his expression thoughtful.

“She studied, tasted her own freedom and now all she’s left with is being your wife.” Yoongi's heart clenched at Jimin's words, a pang of guilt washing over him. But still a large part of him was thinking why it is not enough.

“She can work with me once she’s better.” The doctor interjected. Yoongi's gaze shifted towards Seokjin, a flicker of hope igniting within him at the suggestion.

"You think she'd be up for it?" Yoongi asked, his voice tentative yet hopeful.

“Ah hyung you’re so in the dark—” Jungkook remarked. Jungkook sighed, his gaze meeting Yoongi's with empathy.

“She needs to feel like she has a say in her own life, like she's not just living for someone else.” Where this newfound wisdom arose, Yoongi did not know. But he was glad for the support of his family men.

Hoseok placed a reassuring hand on Yoongi's shoulder, his expression filled with empathy.

“She knows so much about herbs, remedies, I think she’ll be happy to help Seokjin.” Yoongi's heart swelled with gratitude for Hoseok's insight. He hadn't fully realised the extent of Y/N's knowledge and interests outside of their marriage and that needed to change.

“Don’t tell her just yet.” The right hand man remarked.

“Yes, I want to give her more time to recover before we come back to the sanctuary.” The other family members murmured their agreement, a sense of solidarity and understanding settling over them. After all, at the end of the day it is a happy wife, happy life.

—

But months later, Y/N understood that if there’s even a slight possibility that the scarred leader will grow for better, it would be a painfully long process. She realised so once he returned with his knuckles all bruised and bloodied one night. She tended to them, and he was basking under her touch. Despite everything, she couldn’t ignore the humanity in his pain.

Her eyes rolled and a loud sigh followed when she understood what was the cause of his lapse of senses. He had let his frustration and anger take over him, but rather than put it out on everyone else like he was known for, he silently left his office to vent his anger elsewhere. She guided him to sit down after she asked the maid to bring her everything she needed to clean his wounds.

Yoongi watched her, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and excitement under her delicate touch. The feel of her hands, so careful and tender, was both a comfort and a torment. The imagery masking all the darkness that loomed over them, they would fool even the Lord himself that this couple is one of love.

They sat in silence, the only sound the soft rustle of bandages and the distant rumble of thunder outside. Yoongi closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes to him. She avoided him less and less. So why did he have to let his steam off so suddenly?

“You know—” she began, focusing on his other hand now.

“You’re not really setting a good example of “communication is the key ”, now do you?”

Yoongi's eyes flickered open at her words, a hint of guilt flashing across his features before he quickly masked it with a neutral expression. He couldn't deny the truth in her statement, nor could he easily articulate the tangled mess of emotions that swirled within him.

His mind drifted back to the hushed whispers, the concerned looks from Seokjin. Y/N was still fairly weak in terms of her health. Yet, he hoped that maybe, just maybe, she’ll come to tell him he’s going to be a father. Foolish of him, he knows. Selfish of him, he knows that too.

“I’m sorry, Dove.” He only muttered, forcing a kiss to her sphenoid bone, it was the only affection she rarely allowed him to show. Y/N knew that if she wanted to persuade him that she isn’t a flying risk, she’ll have to allow him to do more. She progressed slowly, with patience and space to breathe everything out.

The reason the young leader needed to vent his anger was obvious to Y/N. She heard the maid that so blatantly spied on everything she did, what she asked for, and whom she talks to on the telephone. Y/N was cautious, yet today, she had to ask for some feminine goods. She understood where his hope for a baby came from, he got himself to believe that once the monthly bleeding did not come the first, second nor the third month.

The young gal, however, knew that this has nothing to do with the possibility of her being pregnant. She still drank the remedy, just to be sure, and for her peace of mind as it bore too many demons already. The fourth month her body decided it’s time to function again and of course the devoted maid reported that right back to her husband whose hope for a child vanished.

“I was hoping we could go see Ma and little Bo Cheng before the wedding, I promised to teach him how to ride a ho—” she began her request carefully. Y/N had managed to negotiate Daiyu’s extended vacation in America with her young son and Kai, yet she couldn’t shake the strong feeling that Yoongi had only allowed such a thing to happen because he felt indebted to her at the moment. Her state was far more delicate than he thought and he desperately wanted to make her happy. The one thing she wanted the most, he couldn’t grant. Freedom.

“Would that make you happy?” Yoongi interrupted. He sighed, his eyes drifting to the window where dark clouds gathered on the horizon.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, a small, hesitant smile tugged at Y/N’s lips. It was a fragile thing, easily shattered, but it was real. And in that moment, Yoongi vowed to himself that he would protect that smile, nurture it, and help it grow.

“Yes, it would. Maybe we could also pay a visit to Daiyu—” Y/N sucked her lips in and shyly smiled again. Yoongi nodded slowly. He sighed, leaning back in his chair, his fingers drumming against the armrests. The weight of their precarious situation pressed down on him, the knowledge that every decision could have far-reaching consequences hanging over them like a dark cloud.

“I’m not sure about that, sweetling,” he replied, his voice tinged with uncertainty. Her heart clenched, did he understand her intentions?

“You said you’ll give me the world, Yoongi. Why not this?” Y/N’s smile faltered, a flicker of disappointment crossing her features.

Yoongi’s gaze softened further, a mixture of regret and longing in his eyes. He reached out, taking her hand in his, his touch gentle and reassuring.

“I will consider this trip, but we have to be cautious now. War is looming on the horizon.” He explained, his tone serious.

“What do you mean war? You’ve just won one,” she challenged, her voice laced with disbelief.

“The world is a volatile place, Dove. Our battle was nothing in comparison to what is to come. The world will fight—” Yoongi’s expression darkened, the weight of their past victories suddenly overshadowed by the looming threat of conflict. Y/N’s heart sank at the mention of war, a cold knot forming in the pit of her stomach.

“Until we’re certain there’s no threat, I want us to remain in Korea, my love.” he declared, his final words.

Y/N’s heart sank at his words, but she forced herself to nod, understanding the gravity of their situation. The war threatened to consume them all, and they had to tread carefully if they were to survive. Y/N nodded slowly to his words.

“She wrote to you this morning, didn’t she?” Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that she’s running out of time. If they were caught up in the chaos, she feared she may never leave this place. And with Yoongi’s resolve to remain in Korea, their window of opportunity grew smaller with each passing moment. It was worth the shot, he wouldn’t let her slip that easily if there’s an actual threat that the world’s will battle.

“She met someone,” Y/N added softly, her voice tinged with uncertainty of how Yoongi will react. He, however, already knew. There was nothing that would go past him or so he thought.

"She met someone?" he repeated, his voice tinged with false scepticism. Y/N's heart ached at the doubt in Yoongi's voice, but she held firm in her conviction.

“She’s a widow with a child, who—”

“Happy widow with a child—” she inserted herself into his remark. "She deserves it, Yoongi. After everything she's been through, she deserves a chance at love and happiness.”

“Daiyu is no longer tied to the syndicate. You promised not to meddle with her affairs unless she needs help.” She reminded him less gently, her voice tinged with a hint of caution.

“I intend to keep that promise.” Lie. He already knew the man who so openly started to court her. A sense of relief washed over Y/N as she watched Yoongi's resistance soften, even if it was pretended.

“The rain won’t stop pouring—” Y/N’s voice trailed off, a sombre note creeping into her tone as she glanced out the window at the stormy sky.

“How do you feel today?” Yoongi observed Y/N for a moment, his expression softening as he took in her weary demeanour.

“Better than yesterday.” She replied, her voice carrying a hint of resilience. Yoongi nodded, a sense of relief washing over him at her response. Despite the challenges they faced, he was grateful for every moment of peace they could find amidst the storm.

He noticed the subtle signs of improvement in her appearance. Her cheeks, once sunken and lifeless, now held a hint of colour, and the dark circles under her eyes seemed less pronounced. Her eyes sparkled differently, not with tears as of late. Whatever Seokjin is doing to help her, it is working.

“Have you slept well?” he inquired gently, his voice filled with genuine concern. From Monday to Friday, storms reigned over the hidden valley. Yoongi reached out, gently brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face, his touch tender and reassuring. Her dark hair grew enough to reach past her shoulders since the unfortunate event back in October.

“It wasn't the best, but it was better than before.” Yoongi nodded in understanding, his gaze lingering on her with a mixture of admiration and concern. He knew that even the smallest victories, like a few hours of sleep, were worth celebrating in their tumultuous world. After all the night terrors she endured for months.

“How’s working with Seokjin?” He knew how demanding their roles could be, especially in the midst of ongoing turmoil. Yoongi expected her to sigh just as softly as she always does, her expression to reflect the weight of responsibility, but none of that happened. Y/N smiled at him brightly instead.

Y/N's smile was like a ray of sunlight breaking through the clouds, momentarily dispelling the shadows that lingered around them.

“Work has been great. I've been able to help so many people—” she replied, her voice infused with a sense of optimism that Yoongi hadn't heard in a while. As she spoke, Y/N’s eyes lit up with enthusiasm, a stark contrast to the weariness that had plagued her in recent months.

“Did you know that punk, Jungkook, pretends to be sick every other day just to swing by?” Y/N’s voice was filled with amusement as she recounted the antics of the youngest of the seven. Though older than her, she did not feel any age difference between them two.

Yoongi couldn’t help but chuckle at the mention of Jungkook's antics.

"That sounds like him," he remarked, a fond smile playing at his lips. She continued, her words flowing freely as she recounted her experiences while working with Seokjin at the clinic.

“Seokjin has been a wonderful mentor,” she continued, her eyes shining with gratitude. “He’s taught me so much more than we actually studied at school—” Yoongi nodded in agreement, a sense of pride swelling within him as he listened to Y/N's tales of their work at the clinic.

“I remember this one young man who had sustained severe burns on his arms. The sight of his injuries was heart-breaking, but I could see the determination in his eyes to overcome the pain.” Y/N’s voice softened with emotion as she recalled the moment.

"We worked tirelessly to stabilise him, and when he finally regained consciousness, the look of gratitude in his eyes made all the long hours and hard work worth it. It was a reminder of why I wanted to be a nurse in the first place—to make a difference in people’s lives, no matter how small.”

Yoongi listened intently, his heart swelling with a mixture of emotions. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret for not allowing her to pursue her passion for nursing earlier.

He may not be able to undo the past, but he could certainly make sure that she had all the support she needed to thrive in the future. The youngest was right. She needed this, she needed to regain her purpose in her life. To be someone for herself.

He realised how much he had underestimated her need for work, how vital it was for her to have a sense of purpose and fulfilment. There was still hope and goodness.

Yoongi listened to all the stories she had to say as for the first time since forever, there were no tears, no screams, no tension in the air. Just the calm, steady rhythm of their shared breaths.

“You know,” Yoongi began, his voice soft, "I'm proud of you. Proud of everything you've accomplished and the progress you’re making. I should have let you do this sooner.”

“Can’t change the past now can we?” He nodded to her remark solemnly, squeezing her hand.

“Tell me more,—” he urged, eager to hear more about her work, her passion. He wanted to be part of her world just like she is part of his, to support her in every way possible.

Y/N smiled, her face glowing with happiness. “Well, there’s this little girl named Jang-mi. She’s been coming in for treatment regularly, and despite everything, she's always so cheerful—”

—

Y/N pulled her coat tighter around her, feeling the icy water seep through the fabric. Her breath came in shallow gasps, mixing with the cold air to form small clouds that dissipated as quickly as they appeared. She huddled beneath the overhang of a small alley, her body shivering uncontrollably. The once comforting weight of her coat now felt like a burden, soaked and heavy.

Her mind raced, a chaotic swirl of fear and desperation. The past few days had been a whirlwind of terror and confusion. She had trusted the wrong people, made alliances that crumbled under the weight of deceit. Every step she took seemed to lead her deeper into a labyrinth of danger and uncertainty. She couldn’t afford another mistake; the stakes were too high. The sound of her own heartbeat was loud in her ears, a constant reminder of the life-or-death game she was playing.

A sudden flash of lightning split the sky, casting stark shadows and illuminating the alley in a harsh, white light. For a brief moment, everything was clear and sharp, every detail etched into her memory. That’s when she saw him.

At the mouth of the alley is where he stood , his figure backlit by the brilliant light. He was drenched, his hair plastered to his forehead, but he seemed unfazed by the torrential rain. His presence was as menacing as ever, a dark silhouette against the night. His eyes, however, were what held her captive. They were dark, deep pools of unreadable emotion, reflecting the storm’s fury.

Yoongi didn’t move, didn’t speak. He simply watched her, his gaze intense and unwavering. It was a look she had seen before, one that sent chills down her spine. It was the look of a predator sizing up its prey. She knew then, with a sickening certainty, that no matter how far she ran, he would always be one step ahead.

Panic surged through her, threatening to overwhelm her senses. She pressed herself against the wall, the rough brick scraping her skin through the thin material of her coat. She needed to think, to find a way out, but her mind was a blur of fear and fatigue. The rain continued to pour, the cold seeping into her bones, making her limbs feel heavy and uncooperative.

Yoongi took a step forward, the movement slow and deliberate. His boots splashed in the puddles, the sound muffled by the storm. Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, a wild, frantic rhythm. She felt like a trapped animal, cornered with no way out. The alley was a dead end, and Yoongi was blocking her only escape route.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice low and smooth, cutting through the noise of the storm. “You can’t keep running.”

His words were a cold, hard truth that she didn’t want to accept. But she had no choice. Every attempt to escape had led her right back to him, like a cruel game of cat and mouse. She swallowed hard, her throat dry despite the rain. She had to keep fighting, had to find a way to break free from his grip.

“I won’t let you control me,” she said, her voice shaking but determined. “I’ll find a way out.”

Yoongi’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—amusement, perhaps, or admiration for her defiance. “You’re stronger than I thought,” he said, taking another step closer. “But strength alone won’t save you.”

He was close now, close enough that she could see the droplets of rain clinging to his eyelashes, the way his clothes clung to his body. His presence was overwhelming, a dark force that seemed to consume all the light around him. She knew she had to act, had to do something before it was too late.

Summoning every ounce of courage, Y/N pushed off the wall and lunged towards him, hoping to catch him off guard. But Yoongi was ready. His hand shot out, grabbing her wrist with a grip like iron. She struggled, twisting and pulling, but he was too strong.

“Let me fucking go!” she cried, her voice breaking with desperation.

Yoongi pulled her closer, his other hand coming up to cup her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You’re mine, Y/N,” he said softly, his breath warm against her skin. “And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. Even if it means protecting you from yourself.”

Tears mingled with the rain on her cheeks as she realised the futility of her struggle. Yoongi’s words were a chilling promise, one that she knew he would keep. She was trapped, caught in a web of his making, with no way out.

The storm raged on around them, but in that moment, all Y/N could feel was the cold, unyielding grip of the man she used to fear, and the inescapable reality of her situation.

Y/N woke with a start, her breath coming in ragged gasps as the remnants of the nightmare clung to her mind. Her body was drenched in cold sweat, and her heart pounded wildly in her chest. For a moment, she couldn’t discern reality from the dream, the vivid images of the rain-soaked alley and Yoongi’s menacing presence still haunting her.

It was a memory that was hidden in the back of her mind to resurface when she’s the most vulnerable. It had happened a few times already, her mind showing her each time she attempted to escape the scarred leader.

She took a deep breath and listened to the mix of crackling fireplace and raindrops outside. His eyes were on her petite physique, his hands holding a book he was reading while she took a well deserved afternoon nap. He put down his reading glasses and ran a hand through his hair, closing the book and turning her attention to her.

“Which one was it this time?”

She turned to see him sitting beside her, his eyes filled with worry. The contrast between the Yoongi in her nightmare and the one before her now was stark. Gone was the cold, calculating predator; in his place was a man who genuinely cared for her well-being. He did change a little. Or maybe he was like that before but his selfishness didn’t allow him to show her his bright side.

Her legs moved to his lap when she was asleep, and he gently rubbed circles into her ankles, his touch soothing for once.

“Will you keep me safe?”

Yoongi's expression softened further, his gaze unwavering as he looked into her eyes. He knows that there were moments that haunt her till now. Moments he let happen with his cockiness.

“Always,” he replied, his voice steady and filled with conviction. “I’ll keep you safe, no matter what.”

“I just... I don’t want to be afraid anymore,” she admitted, her voice breaking slightly.

“Just rest, Dove,” Yoongi murmured, his voice a soothing balm to her frayed nerves. “I’ll be right here.”

After a few silent minutes, Y/N broke the calm silence.

“Can we play the piano?”

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded. Together, they moved to the old piano in the corner of the room. As they sat side by side, their fingers tentatively began to touch the keys. Each note was a delicate thread, weaving together a tapestry of their unspoken emotions. The music became their secret language, a way to say everything they couldn’t put into words.

Every time she did not feel like speaking herself, they played. Until she felt better. Yoongi played with a gentle intensity, his fingers dancing over the keys with practised ease.

He was a better player, so she thought. Afterall, he had had more life to practice.

The medication made her more open to him. Sooner or later she’ll have to get off of it before it will become her only source of happiness. There were days it made her sleep well, drink, eat, breathe and live like the person she used to be. And there were days she sat in front of her vanity mirror knowing this effect is only temporary.

She cannot afford to get off of them while she’s remaining by his side. Her being would not take it and the prospect of freedom would be scarce. It blunted negative emotions which worked in the scarred boy’s favour.

It was working, but it was a question of time when she’ll develop tolerance and they won’t work anymore. That’s why Seokjin is desperately trying to convince Yoongi that he’ll have a way to help her. Permanently.

Yoongi knows that it would be just another mistake he would have to write under his name.

“I’ll always keep you safe,” he whispered again, his words a promise and a plea. And in the quiet aftermath of their duet, she almost believed him.

In that fleeting moment, she wasn’t running, and Yoongi wasn’t chasing. They were simply two souls, lost in the music, trying to find their way back to each other. One more than the other.

His hand moved to cover hers on the keys, their eyes meeting in the stillness that followed. The world outside ceased to exist, the rain and the fire a distant backdrop to the intensity of their shared gaze.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Yoongi leaned in, his breath mingling with hers. Her heart raced, not with fear, but with a different kind of anticipation.

Their faces were inches apart, the unspoken words hanging in the air between them. His eyes flickered to her lips, then back to her eyes, seeking permission, seeking assurance. Y/N’s breath hitched, her mind a whirlwind of emotions.

“Unnie?!” Xiaoli's voice rang out, bright and oblivious. “We need to talk about—”

“Can you keep me safe from my own sister?” She scoffed playfully. His chuckle bounced on her lips as his lips still hovered just a breath away from hers, the paper door swung open with a sudden, sharp creak.

Taehyung stepped in behind her, his eyes widening as he took in the scene. "Oh. We’re... interrupting, aren’t we?”

Yoongi pulled back slightly, his expression darkening as he turned to face them. Y/N felt the moment slipping away, the fragile connection disrupted.

“What is it?” Yoongi asked, his voice strained with barely concealed irritation.

“You invited us to have dinner, Hyung.” Taehyung reminded him, his tone a mix of apology and amusement.

Xiaoli’s eyes darted between Yoongi and Y/N, realisation dawning on her face. “Oh... we’re really sorry. I didn’t mean to barge in, Kkangpae Min.”

She apologised, still not her but always to him and him only. Y/N forced herself to smile. The woman that her sister became is not the same one she grew up with.

“There was nothing to interrupt, don’t worry,” she waved it off and Yoongi sighed, the tension in his shoulders evident.

—

The fleeting moment of intimacy with Y/N hung heavily in his mind. Before, during and after the dinner. He was extravagantly close to feel her lips on his again, just for the moment to be swept away.

Dinner was a mix of awkward silences and forced conversation. Xiaoli and Taehyung tried to lighten the mood, but the air was thick with unspoken words.

Yoongi, for his part, seemed distant, his mind clearly elsewhere. Every so often, his gaze would meet hers across the table.

“Will you come next week?” Xiaoli asked, sipping her wine.

Y/N, momentarily distracted from her thoughts, looked up.

“Next week?”

Y/N glanced at Yoongi, who was already looking at her. She hesitated, unsure of committing to anything he did not allow earlier.

“Yes, Y/N promised Bo Cheng to teach him how to ride a horse, and I have some business to attend to.” Yoongi cleared his throat, breaking the silence.

“I could teach him,” Said Xiaoli, a bit jealous that their brother wanted Y/N to teach him when she was right there in the hotel.

Once Xiaoli and Taehyung will be with each other for eternity, the family of three then, will take their leave back to China.

The Triad leader attended his own business trips while his wife and children stayed with the “allying” clan.

He doesn’t know. None of them knows what Y/N did to herself, apart from Xiaoli, who herself doesn’t know every detail. They spreaded white lies to cover this “lapse of senses”. A misstep. Y/N hides the fading scar carefully to avoid any explanation. She wished to not tell them, and the kkangpae did not object to her wishes anymore. Whatever she wants, she gets. Usually, most of the time if she’s reasonable and clever about it.

The past months painstakingly helped them to get better. Or so Yoongi thought. Her priority was never to be his good wife, her priority is him thinking she will be his good obedient loving wife and when he won’t expect her to seek freedom anymore — she’ll disappear.

“I don't know about that, honey. You remember that nasty fall you took last year?” Her husband-to-be said nonchalantly. Y/N furrowed her brows in confusion.

“Fall?—“ she asked, doubting his words.

“What are you talking about?” Xiaoli herself was surprised at his words. She did not recall any falls. Y/N knew Xiaoli isn’t the best rider, but she was decent enough to hold any situation that would make her fall from the horse under control.

“I don’t remember that,—” she said, taking another long sip from her glass.

“You’d certainly remember falling from a horse. Why don’t I know about this, Yoongi?” Said Y/N turning herself to the quiet man.

“I was having a hard time keeping you here as you loved to go for a run back then. It must have slipped my mind—“

“My sister falling from a horse slipped your mind?”

“He did not know Y/N, until a lot later. Right, Hyung?” Taehyung smiled sweetly at her, defending his Kkangpae. As always. Y/N clicked her tongue and gifted Yoongi with a penetrating stare creating another layer of tension in the room.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He cleared his throat, attempting to gather his thoughts. The last thing he wants is to mess up their relationship again.

“You’re right, love. I should have told you once I got to know that,” Yoongi admitting guilt is a new trait he acquired these past months.

“How did she fall?” Y/N aimed her question at Taehyung as her sister clearly doesn't remember it.

“It wasn’t probably that bad if I don’t remember it, Unnie. Don’t worry about it anymore—“ the younger female answered before her fiance had the chance to do so.

Y/N sighed loudly but the hand under the table that was gripping her younger sister’s thigh was not seen by her eyes.

—

It was hard to keep focus, especially with Seokjin constantly needing her assistance at work. His stern demeanour and meticulous nature kept her on her toes, but she appreciated the distraction. She knew why she was at his beck and call. Yoongi demanded so. Under any circumstances she ought to be next to Seokjin.

The ambulance in the sanctuary was significantly smaller than the big sanitorium in the town, but there was still some work to do here too.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, leaning back in his chair and studying her intently.

“The usual,” she murmured, filling today’s report. Seokjin watched her for a moment, then brought the courage to ask.

“Have you been intimate?” Y/N dropped the pen at once and with wide eyes. She stared at him. The question came out of nowhere nor was it called for.

“Wh-what do you mean intimate?”

“Exactly what I said,” he replied calmly, not breaking eye contact.

“Have you been intimate with Yoongi again?”

“I don’t see how this is your business, Seokjin.” She felt her face flush with heat, a mix of embarrassment and anger.

“I’m not trying to pry. I’m your friend, but I’m also your doctor, sweetling—,” he said softly.

“Your health and well-being are my concern,” Seokjin explained. “And you know that if something’s affecting you emotionally or physically, it could impact your health.”

Bullcrap, he is in fact prying.

She was silent for a minute, trying to comprehend how he is taking care of her being this late. If she wouldn’t attempt to kill herself, these concerns wouldn’t be as great. But Y/N cannot afford to break havoc. She can’t go on rampage as she wants every single person here to think that she is moving towards being a good obedient wife of the Kkangpae. Even though she wants to scream to each and one of their faces about how much they failed her. How much they hurt her. Yet, patience is the key. Breathe, sleep, eat, endure.

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, then decided to change the topic.

“What about your wife?” Seokjin’s eyes flickered with surprise before he masked it with a neutral expression. Y/N barely knew the woman. Matter of fact she has seen her maybe three times since the wedding.

“Very much pregnant,” he said, his voice a mix of pride and weariness.

“Oh,” Y/N replied, taken aback. “I didn’t know. Congratulations, I guess.” Here comes another thing that Yoongi managed to keep from her.

“Thank you, my dear,” Seokjin said, a small smile touching his lips. “It’s been… an interesting journey, to say the least.”

“I can imagine,—” Y/N said, sensing there was more beneath the surface.

“Can you imagine yourself on that journey?” Seokjin interrupted, his gaze searching her face.

She pretended that the question took her by surprise, looking down at her hands to not give herself away.

“I don’t know,” she admitted softly. He is testing her. “It’s hard to think about that kind of future with everything that’s going on.”

Seokjin nodded, his expression thoughtful. “It’s understandable. But it’s something to consider. Maybe a baby would help you to shush your demons away.”

Y/N’s heart raced at the suggestion, and she forced herself to maintain her composure. “I… I don’t think a baby is the answer, Seokjin. There’s so much I need to sort out first.”

“Sometimes, having something to focus on, something to live for, can make all the difference,” Seokjin said gently.

She nodded, still feeling uneasy about the direction of the conversation. Opting not to give more than she would want to by not answering his remark and going back to finish the report.

“Just know that you have options. And that you don’t have to go through any of this alone.”

“Thanks,” she replied, offering a small smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Of course she won’t.

—

Y/N entered the dimly lit room where Yoongi was sitting, his face illuminated by the soft glow of a lamp. He looked up as she closed the door behind her, his expression softened once he looked up from the papers. The office in the sanctuary remained the same apart from the fact that now the young Kkangpae occupies it far more often than before.

He took his glasses off and pushed himself away from the desk creating a space for her to come and stand in front of him, leaning against the massive wooden desk. Her hands felt the warmth of the wood that had been heated by the lamp, reflecting the same heat that radiated between them.

“Did you ask Seokjin to put thoughts into my head?” she asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her.

Yoongi sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t ask him to, but I knew he would at some point try to give you some wisdom. What did he say?”

“That a baby would be the right treatment for me,” she replied, her voice tight with frustration.

Yoongi’s eyes widened slightly, then he closed them and exhaled deeply.

“I’m sorry, Dove—“

“Do you think that too?” she asked, searching his face. “That a baby would magically fix everything?”

Yoongi shook his head, stepping up from his chair and closer to her. “No, I don’t. A baby isn’t a solution to our problems—“ she didn’t believe one word that was coming out of this mouth. He wouldn’t break his knuckles this hard if he didn’t want the baby that Y/N took care of not happening anytime soon. Her system was full of herbal remedies. And now that she knows, the herbs flowing in her system are working, she can use that to her advantage.

“But that would make you happy right?” She countered, seeing through him. Softening her mimics to appeal to him.

“Well, yeah, I want a family with you someday—“

“Someday? The bandages on your knuckles says that you’re pretty eager to have it now—” she scoffed and murmured under her nose.

Yoongi’s eyes for once reflected something she couldn’t quite recognise. There was a mix of desperation and longing that flickered there. His hand reached out, trembling slightly, and cupped her cheek gently.

“Dove, I want us to be happy, truly happy. But I know bringing a child into this world won’t erase your pain or solve our problems. We need to fix ourselves first—” His thumb brushed her cheek tenderly.

“I’m sorry for being selfish, my love,” she felt a tear escape her eye, rolling down to where his thumb could catch it. She closed her eyes for a moment, leaning into his touch because that’s what always softens his edges.

After months, she has learnt what strings to pull to make him move just the way she wants to. Yet, Y/N knows that he isn’t that stupid to believe she suddenly wants to live with him happily ever after.

“I can pour us some wine. We can play the piano after dinner, hm?” He could feel her vulnerability, her heart laid bare before him. Or so he thought as she wanted him to think that. His hand continued to caress her cheek softly, his touch gentle yet laden with unspoken longing she sensed each time he attempted to get closer to her.

She nodded, a small pretentious smile playing on her lips as she stepped closer to him. The tension between them lingered.

He pulled her closer, his lips brushing against her forehead. “We will be good. We just need time with each other.”

He sat first, patting the space beside him, inviting her to join. Her fingers brushed the keys, eliciting a soft, mournful note. A melody that echoed in her mind far too often. An anthem for hurting. Weeping symphony, tears of sorrow.

He became far too respectful towards her boundaries which essentially was ruining all of her plans. Her fingers pressed the keys with delicate touch even when she wanted to smash them rock hard.

“Why this song?” She let the question hang in the air for a moment, her fingers poised above the keys as if weighing his words.

“Do you know what they interpret it as?” She finally said, her voice soft, barely audible above the lingering notes. Her eyes, once masked with a facade of calm, now revealed a flicker of the anguish she carried.

“Tell me,” he flipped the page of the notes book for her to continue the song.

“It’s a tale of unspoken grief, of wounds too deep to heal and shadows that never leave.”

He felt a shiver run down his spine as she said that. Part of him understood what message she was trying to leave and part of him wished he’s wrong.

“I view it as love lost and dreams shattered. They say it’s a lament for those who wander through life carrying burdens no one else can see.”

He carefully listened to all her words, all the notes she played, all her feelings she shared. Her fingers moved over the keys, each note a whisper of sorrow.

“The scars I carry inside,—“ His hand reached out to touch hers, a gesture of comfort. Stopping her from playing more.

“Let me help you carry that weight—“

“You created it in the first place.”

His eyes widened, a mixture of guilt and realisation flooding his expression. She pulled her hand away.

“The scars I carry, the emptiness I feel, they all trace back to you.”

His mind raced to comprehend the depth of her pain, trying to understand her intentions. It’s not like he ever expected her to say it out loud.

“You created emptiness in me Yoongi—“

He felt his heart clench with guilt and regret. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice cracking. It was nothing new. She heard his apologies but she was yet to accept them

She turned back to the piano, her fingers resting on the keys but not playing. “Intentions don’t change the past,” she said softly. “The pain remains—“

“But the future can learn from mistakes.”

“I will. I’ll learn—“ He began before she interrupted him.

“You need to fill the space now.” His eyes lit up listening to her words. In his mind, this was it. The holy grail. In her mind, she was wrapping him around her finger before she would bounce away like a pebble on the pond.

“Heal me if you must.”

These were her last words before the distance between them shrank, the intensity of their emotions drawing them closer. He leaned in, his heart pounding in his chest that she could almost hear it but Y/N didn’t pull away.

Their lips met in a soft, tentative kiss, a delicate brush that spoke of apology, of yearning, and of promises yet to be fulfilled. Her heart cried and the song remained echoing in her mind.

As they pulled back slightly, their foreheads resting against each other, Yoongi felt a warmth spread through him, chasing away the cold shadows of regret. She looked at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears. His thoughts were swirling with one thing only — this was the real beginning of them. And it was the beginning.

The beginning of the end.

I N T E R L O G U E

The walls were lined with bookshelves, each shelf overflowing with dusty tomes and old papers. A large, ornate desk stood in the centre, its surface cluttered with stacks of documents.

Seokjin rarely sends her to this room as they also rarely stay in the hanok the sanctuary has for medical assistance to those who live here.

She approached slowly, her fingers brushing over the worn leather of a chair before settling on a stack of yellowed files that he asked to bring. It was then when her eyes caught the opened crimson red files that laid flat open on the desk. The ones that the doctor forgot to take with him the other time he had to run and tend to the lady of the house in the middle of the night. They stayed there, laid open, for several weeks. Touched by a thin layer of dust on top of it.

Kim Seokjin is renowned in his field of practice. Yet, this was going to be his great mistake. Inside, there were detailed medical records, notes written in a precise, almost mechanical hand. The words on the pages made her stomach churn—phrases like “prefrontal lobotomy,” “behavioural correction,” and “psychosurgical intervention” leapt out at her. She read on, horrified by the cold, clinical descriptions of procedures that seemed more like torture than treatment.

Her hand flew to her mouth to not let the wailing cry away.

Trembling, she pushed the file aside and reached for the next one. Not bearing what they’ve done to her sister. Y/N’s hands shook as she read through the files, each word a dagger to her heart. The clinical detachment with which the procedures were described made her feel sick. These were not just medical records—they were accounts of inhuman experiments carried out in the name of science, or more so — control.

The name on this file was all too familiar, it was Jin’s wife. He must have done it before the wedding as she seemed far too calm. Her heart pounded in her chest as she opened it, fearing what she might find. The contents were similar—detailed accounts of medical procedures, records of a lobotomy performed in a desperate attempt to “cure” her of what the notes described as “hysteria” and “unmanageable behaviour.”

Y/N felt a wave of nausea wash over her. She stumbled back from the desk, her mind reeling from the revelations. The room seemed to close in around her, the shadows deepening as the weight of what she had discovered settled on her shoulders.

The name on the empty file under those made her anxious, hysteric even more as the tag had Min Y/N written on it.

She wiped her tears but they couldn't stop falling.

“Y/N?”

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wroteclassicaly · 1 year

Text

I Won’t Stand By - Part One

(Steve Harrington x Female Reader)

Summary: Steve has always been worth more. And you won’t stand by and watch him get his heart broken again. He needs to know.

Warnings: Language, pining, unrequited (or are they?) feelings, heavy on the angst, happy ending… eventually.

Pairings: Steve Harrington x best-friend!female reader

A/N: After I made this post, I started thinking heavily on Steve, Nancy & Stancy, a little more than usual. And I just feel like I needed to write this and channel some energy into it, as it basically took on a mind of its own (we heavily into Steve, okay? He’s consuming me). It’s going to have one more part to it (which I’ve already outlined). It’s thick on the angst, but it’ll have a happy ending, I think? I tried some different stuff with Steve and his reactions, so I hope y’all like it? Lemme know ❤️💖

“Are you stupid?”

You’d never insinuated, nor had you ever called Steve anything that would suggest he was ignorant, and you had known him since elementary school. You never made him feel like anyone else could, by a joke or an offhand comment, usually a backhanded compliment. But as he sees you standing under the entryway of the Family Video — three lunches in your hand, your neon pink windbreaker covered in rain drops, eyes steady in their focus on him and Robin — he’s never felt more like his IQ is non-existent.

Robin looks briefly confused, tapping her purple painted nails on the cheap wooden counter, unsure where to look. However, her mouth opens before she can stop it. “Hey, what’s going on? Is that a ham croissant I smell?”

You’d laugh if your lungs weren’t full of a scream that you’re sure is about to rip itself free. Your heartbeat is thumping so hard against your ribcage that it’s echoing all around your chest, playing ping pong. Steve opens his mouth to speak, starting to shift his posture enough that he can work himself around the counter to get to you. He can’t stand to see you this upset, especially at him. You don’t let him come within an inch of your trembling form, afraid that you’ll say things you can’t take back, or you’ll vomit your breakfast all over his green vest.

You want to berate yourself for the way he looks struck, physically recoiling as if to console himself. His sneakers stop on the rug you’re standing on, your wet loafers drenched and dripping. Nike and leather. You can’t take how good he smells, the way that it always greets you with a hug, but instead, you walked into his conversation with Robin about his upcoming date with Nancy. He really meant it, he saw her as his future, he never got over her, and now that she’s realized what she lost — she wants him back.

Steve is about to call a code for backup, when you decide to say something, stepping around him, paper bags full of food clenched and wrinkled in your vice. You damn near spit the words, tone laced with acidic venom. “Why would you do this to yourself?”

His chest aches with the bitterness of confusion, a hunger to understand that’s clawing at his throat and attempting to seize his tongue. He’s fumbling for words and that seems to fuel your excitement. Robin, meanwhile, her irises widen, eyes darting back and forth between the two of you. It's a simple & soft, “Oh, shit.” As she watches your feelings unfold in real time, understanding.

You throw the sacks onto the counter, Robin barely able to catch them before they can slide off, and you turn back, right as Steve shakes himself clear and attempts to meet you. Your finger jabs into his chest, breath getting caught in your throat. He bites his tongue when he sees your sclera is flooded with unshed tears. You know if you blink that it’ll all be over for you. How can you convey how you’re feeling?

Even if you weren’t ass over elbow for the guy, you still wouldn’t want him back together with Nancy Wheeler. She might be your friend too, but you were there for Steve. You saw everything he had to go through, and even though you didn’t leave his side, he was still dealing with their relationship and monster land — alone, trapped in his head. It wasn’t until he graduated that he was able to let go of each mental blockage that she and the whole situation caused him to put up (enough so), and truly let you in. She didn’t share his goals and Steve deserved better than a relationship that seems like nothing more than pure nostalgia.

Neither of them should settle. They are still vastly different.

Fuck, you really need to scream. Your chest is heavy with it, weighted. You’re sinking, choking on oxygen, your body rejecting it. Panic.

Steve practically begs Robin for help, jaw unhinged and tongue slicking across his lips. He tries to find something to say — anything. You roll your eyes and the tears finally salt your lash line, cooling and burning. “Actually, you know what? Fuck this right now!”

And if customers didn’t just come in, the little bell dinging and electrifying your anxieties — you’d have run right out the front door. But you do the next best thing — your only other option. You dart for the family labeled restroom in the back. Steve doesn’t even have to ask, Robin nodding her head. “Go. I got this.”

~*~

You curse yourself for not locking the door, for Steve’s thoroughly kind behavior (why can’t he just be an asshole and make this easier?). You’re practically bent over the sink, sobbing quietly into the fluorescent expanse, and you hear the door open and close. His cologne invades your senses — all delicate traces of woodsy spice. His freshly laundered clothing, even his minty breath from the spray you know he carries in his back pocket. It’s slow motion when you meet his concerned stare in the mirror.

His large palm clasps over your shoulder, wrist watch catching in the light. He turns you, but you find solace in the tile flooring and your loafer covered toes. His fingertips, ever-so gentle and calloused, filter beneath your chin — tilting. You try to look away but it’s a pointless effort. Steve’s brown is pitched high in an attempt to understand, to relate.

Your torso wants to give in and collapse, legs dead and heavy, stuck to the floor. Your mouth is dry, but your throat is wet with tears. It’s suddenly Tina’s Halloween party all those years ago, and you’re holding Steve as he’s crying, showing himself like you had never seen before. Your nose wrinkles into a scrunch, you reach up to swat his hand away. He catches your wrist with his other, and shakes his head, thumbpad caressing the healing cut on your cheek, even a month later it still remains.

When you went to battle with Vecna and the four of you were attacked by his little tentacle hive minds, you’d gotten the sharp end of one to the face. That very fear settles in his stomach at the memory, sloshing about with the gnawing worry over what’s currently going on with you. He tucks a strand of hair back behind your ear, a line of goosebumps shrouding your arms like invisible sleeves. His voice is so gentle with concern that you choke on an outright whimper.

“Talk to me, honey. What happened? What did I do?”

To a fault, this man is too good for anyone. And that’ll be his ultimate downfall. That’s enough to push on your anger, because you’re already riding the inevitable tidal wave of heartbreak, just waiting for the water to drown you. You don’t try to move his hold on you, you’re more than smart enough to know that he won’t budge if he doesn’t want to. You force yourself to talk to him, voice wavering and weak, and the word puke releases. “That’s the problem, Steve. It’s not what you did, but what you’re going to do to yourself by going back to her.”

“Wait, so you heard me and Robin—“

“I heard you in the RV, I heard you in the fucking upside down, and yes — I just heard about your stupid fucking date.”

He shakes his head, thumb tracing over your healing wound, a brief look of guilt flickering, his voice hoarse and tired. “So that’s why you think I’m stupid then, huh?”

“Do you remember when you cried all night after Tina’s party? When you spent money on flowers for her, or lost your entire friend group? Yeah, they were assholes, but you gave up everything because you thought something was wrong with you, that you needed to change.”

He’s briefly glancing at his own shoe wear, an audible swallow heard from him. How could he forget that night? He couldn’t stomach the word bullshit for months after.

You continue, unable to stop if someone duct taped your mouth shut.

“You dealt with torture, with trauma, with being cheated on. You became a more mature person, but that doesn’t mean you were ever an awful boyfriend, Steve. And now that she and Jonathan have grown apart, now that she’s seen you — it doesn’t make it okay for her to decide that you’re suddenly worth something again.”

He knows you’re right. Fuck, he can feel your statement carve itself into his every internal organ. He can’t disagree, he can’t fight you, because he fought with himself one too many times since Nancy destroyed him. His pride wants to argue, wants to blame himself, defend her, but he also knows you. And he knows you’re not taking shots at Nancy, nor are you trying to hurt him.

You’re surprised at how calmly you’re able to articulate yourself. You keep going. He needs to know.

“We were all kids when everything happened, and I don’t blame her for dealing with her own shit. I’m not excusing how she treated you. But I understand, and I love her. I just know that she doesn’t want the same things you want, Steve. It’s like you’re both trying to fit pieces into a mold that was never meant to work together, past what it was in the first place… So I’m fucking begging you, don’t do this to yourself.”

His hand drops, far too quickly than you’re ready for. His back falls against the door, his tresses dusting his forehead. Your body feels as if it’s been paved into the asphalt, unprepared for what he says next. “Any reasons other than that?”

“Steve—“ Your voice wobbles.

“No, you’ve made yourself clear. Me and Nance? Bad idea — I got that.”

“It’s because —“

“Why? There’s more to it than what you’re telling me, I know there is. Don’t fucking lie to me!” You’ve hit that spot in him, that wounded pride. He’s lashing a bit, arms crossing over his chest, biceps flexed beneath his white t-shirt.

“Because, I..” Your sentence topples.

He inches forward. “Because you what? Talk to me!”

Does he realize? Maybe he has an inkling, maybe he’s pushing it. You aren’t able to decipher, your emotions swirling, everything becoming too much all at once. Your instincts fly out the window, shattering glass, heart catching on your throat as it leaps out of your mouth and floats into the room. You lurch forward and grab Steve’s cheeks, his stubble tickling the backs of your fingers — and you press your lips to his.

He’s stiff at first, arms remaining tight and bound together. You’re crying, salting his mouth slick. He tastes like peppermint and coffee, with a hint of that creamer you’ve gotten him hooked on. His mouth is soft, becoming pliant. He begins to kiss you back, but it’s for a fraction, yet it’s there. His nose nudges yours, bumping, your lips parting with a smack as he uses his hands (arms uncrossing), to pull you away, cradling your face.

Heated, like a syrupy honey, he talks to you. He’s got it this go around. “Why didn’t you tell me that this was going on?”

You go to leave him, he won’t dare let you. His hold tightens, index finger rubbing along your cut. Your eyes flutter closed, fresh tears dowsing the raw skin of your cheeks. The moisture pours over Steve’s fingers.

“Don’t.” It’s him who is begging, chained undercurrents cutting into the depth of his voice. “Please don’t cry.”

The way that he strokes you, his grazing thumb soothing your cut, like you’re right back in the underworld and he almost died twice over seeing you hurt. He swipes at your tears, trying to wipe them away, but they blotch. More keeps coming. You’re dangling over that precipice of an anxiety attack that he can also sense. Like he’s coddling a wounded deer, Steve pulls you closer, bringing his lips to your forehead — pressing, voice gravelly, mouth moving away to utter, “Come here. Stay right here.” And helps you rest in his arms, your head sliding beneath his chin.

Whatever you attempt to say, it comes out as gibberish whimpering. Steve’s own chest cavity is scorched, throat blazing, eyes misty. You find solace in his broad physique, nose at his sternum. He’s confused, so many things running through his head, that it fucking aches at the base of his skull. Your cherry lip gloss-flavored kiss lingers, making him think of things he thought were just passing feelings for you a while ago.

There’s many things he wants to say, but his brain has a case of coward, working him into a settled question instead. “How long?”

“Everyday since I’ve known you, I think.” It’s an automatic whisper, a ghostly caress of your broken voice, but he still hears your answer.

He’s nodding, an annoyance filtering, a sadness. How could you not tell him something like this? All those nights you shared, talking about everything. He’s been more vulnerable with you than he’s been with anyone in his entire twenty years. This, he has to call you on.

“In all of the time you’ve known me, have I ever given you any reason not to trust me?”

Still buried in his embrace, you shake your head no.

“Is it — do you… Shit.” He isn’t sure how to phrase it, not wanting to make an ass of himself, the word also scaring the hell out of him.

He gets his answer, thankfully — when you speak. “Don’t ask me if I love —“ You cut yourself off briefly, before adding on, “— just… don’t, okay?”

His lids close, a sigh escaping. Holy shit, you love him. Someone else loves him, his best-friend is in love with him. And he could never see that? He talked about sex with other girls, about Nancy.

And not once did you ever stop him or act like it wasn’t alright. You hyped him up, you were always there to boost his spirits and his ego. He feels like a total asshole. His previous sigh has you shaking your head, especially after he lets out a quiet “I’m sorry.”

You break off his embrace, finding a hold on his forearms, squeezing. “Steve, look at me.” You find your courage again.

He complies immediately, rich hazel catching, nearly stealing your breath. You clear your throat lightly, inhaling through your nose to relax yourself. Steve’s hands are still on your face — unrelenting. “This thing with Nancy, it’s not even because of how I feel, not completely. You’re more than some trophy husband, you’re more than some minimum wage video clerk, even though I think your jobs have been pretty fucking cool.” His softened gaze dips off and he chuckles himself into that cheekily, familiar grin.

“Please don’t do this to yourself again, Steve. You deserve better than this. You always have. You’re the fucking heart of our group, don’t you understand that? Fuck the thumps on the head, fuck nostalgia. I’ve never stopped seeing what a good man you are, even when you used to be a bitchy jerk sometimes.”

He laughs again, music to your ears that gets you to stop crying briefly. You slide your fingers along his bare arms and he’s thoughtful, pausing, wanting to look away from you. Because what he’s going to say, he can’t bear the expression on your face. He just wishes, he almost begs the universe that Nancy hadn’t brought back her bullshit and confused him. And you kissed him and released a bunch of things he’d pushed away, things he didn’t even know existed.

Someone’s going to get hurt and he thinks it should be him, but as he’s gentle with you, fingertips splaying down the sides of your neck, he’s brought back down to the messy reality he’s a part of. “It wasn’t resolved on my terms. Honey, I have to try. Can’t you see things from my perspective, please understand?”

You decide instantaneously what you’re going to do, your ribs aching at the sudden drop in your heart rate, your throat feeling like it’s swollen to twice the normal size. Your hand leaves his wrist, combing the hair off his forehead — memorizing every mole and freckle, his cupid's bow, his jaw, those hauntingly warm eyes. He thinks you’ll get it, that you’ll stay. And you do get it, but the latter? You’re eerily firm, new tears seeping out, flooding your vision, making him a blurry silhouette.

It’s gonna be bad, he can feel the twisting in his gut. He tries to say something, beginning a reason. You cut him off. “I need you to understand that I can’t stand by and watch this. I care about you both, but you can’t ask me to watch you two try and sweep everything under the rug, and you can’t expect me to watch if your heart gets broken. I won’t watch you fall apart again. I can’t do it, Steve.”

“What are you saying?” He sounds pained, like you’d socked him in his stomach. It sure fucking feels like it. Even the tip of his tongue is aching, his own vision becoming cloudy. “How do you even know things won’t work?”

“If they do, then great. If she’s your person and that’s what was meant to happen, I hope it works for you.” If he’s happy, you mean that. But you just don’t think he deserves this, he deserves more, despite your feelings. And there’s some things that you just know.

He straightens himself against the door when he sees you reach around for the handle. He shakes his head and tries to keep your touch. You drop it, tears dripping off your lashes and onto the cheap flooring below. “Let me leave, Steve.”

“No, not happening.”

“Don’t do this.”

“You’re my best-friend, I can’t just be without you.”

“You have Robin. You can handle this.”

“I don’t wanna fucking handle this,” he lashes out, stepping forward and cupping your cheeks, making you look at him, his touch searing into your skin, “I want you.”

“Steve.” You’re a little heavier in your command, pulling his hands away, impulse leading. You lift onto your tippy toes and permit yourself a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

His breath is choppy, a sudden heat leveling off the room, his nose bumps, sliding off your peck, his lips crashing into yours. You kiss him back with everything in you, mouths wet and tear stricken. He’s crying too, everything wet, spit stringing as your lips separate.

“I really hope it turns out to be what you want.” You pant your sorrows against his mouth, drinking him in — seeing. You’re falling, abandoning emotions and nearing sobbing territory.

Steve’s hands drop as you say this and it gives you the leverage you need to leave him alone in the bathroom, one last pleading cry from him cut off as you close the door behind you. You keep your head down and you walk through the store alone, its popcorn and candy coated scent striking you. You only stop when you’re at the counter and Robin has a piece of her sandwich pinched between her fingers, a pitiful look on her face as she sees your tear-stained features. She doesn’t get the chance to ask you anything, not before you request, crushing her heart into pieces. “Make sure he’s okay. He’s gonna need you.”

And your presence is gone in mere seconds, that bell signifying something much more than anyone was ready to comprehend. You make it to your car, rain pouring around you, right as Steve leaves the bathroom pinching his nose and sniffling, watching you from the window. You don’t break down, not until you’ve driven away and found somewhere to pull over.

Over…

// Eat me paragraph //

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ohtobeleah · 1 year

Text

Way Down We Go // Jake Seresin

Summary: Burnout isn't an academic exercise. No. It's an all-consuming, systemic condition. It's your entire body sending you one clear message. Something has to change and it has to change now.

Warnings: Angst. Mental health talks. Jake Seresin x F!reader. Friends to Lovers to ex’s to enemies to friends to lovers trope.

Word Count: 3.5k

Author Note: Based off my own recent experience with Burn Out. Writing this helped me process some of my pent up frustration with accepting the fact I experienced my first real major burn out at 24.

In 2019, the World Health Organisation officially recognised “Burnout” in its international classification of diseases. Studies show that aviators who report signs of burnout have enlarged amygdalas. The area in the brain that regulates fear and aggression.

But burnout isn't an academic exercise. No. It's an all-consuming, systemic condition. It's your entire body sending you one clear message. Something has to change and it has to change now.

Put simply, Burnout comes from a deep imbalance. Too much stress with too few rewards. You're exhausted. Depleted. You no longer have patience, pleasure of serotonin. This is the end unless–

You turn it into something else and find your path to recovery. Pick the pieces you want from your life and find a new way forward. But sometimes it isn't all that simple. Sometimes the all-consuming is just that, it's all-consuming–

And sometimes it's easier to drop the deadweight than to try and carry it on your shoulders.

“Anyone see Rouge today?” It was Hangman's tone that sent a shiver down Roosters spine as he scoffed down the turkey sandwich he had slapped together this morning in the rec room. “We’re on the schedule together after break and I haven't seen her all day?” Rooster knew exactly where you were. At home, probably in bed under a plethora of blankets just trying to catch up on some sleep.

“I uh–” Rooster was raised by an intelligent and loving woman who had always told him not to talk with his mouth full, but in times like these where every second mattered, that rule seemed more obsolete with every day that passed him by. He did however, make an effort to cover his mouth as he chewed and spoke. “Actually I think I’m with you this afternoon, Mav just hasn't had a chance to change the schedule.” It wasn't technically a lie.

“Is Rogue not in today?” Jake frowned as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Or is she just avoiding me or something?” You and Jake Seresin had a complicated history. On again and off again romantically, on again off again friends, but these days it seemed to be that the two of you were more off than on. To the point where if you could avoid it, the two of you would ignore each other's existence completely. It was easier that way.

Which meant Jake didn't know just how bad things had gotten for you. He didn't know you’d decided to take an extended leave of absence from work until you could figure out just what the hell was wrong with you. He didn't know that Rooster had been at your house last night on a welfare check mission. He felt it was his responsibility, after all you were his uncle's daughter.

“Kerners decided to take some time off work.” Rooster explained the best he could without giving too much detail about your personal problems away. “After yesterday's mishap, she got spooked and asked Simpson for a few days to collect her thoughts.”

Jake swore his heart left his body when he saw you lose control for those few seconds. All he could do was watch on in pure horror as you tried to regain control of your fighter jet after getting caught in his jet wash. You panicked, something that was completely out of the ordinary for you which led to you losing control of your F-18 for those brief moments in time.

Jake wanted to talk to you after you landed, but within seconds of touching down you were heading straight for the locker room to grab your things. Unbeknownst to him it was your final straw. He hadn’t seen you since. And now Bradshaw was telling him you weren't in at all and wouldn't be for a while? Things weren’t adding up. Not to Jake. This wasn’t like you at all.

“What aren't you telling me, Rooster?” Jake pressed as he paced up and down the rec room with his arms folded. He cared about you, he just didn’t know how to convey that care. He’d never not care about you.

“I’m not not telling you anything.” Bradley replied, he looked like a deer caught in Jake's headlights. “We should get ready for our next hop man.” Bradley tried his best to change the subject, the subject being you and your mental stability. “I’m sure if Rogue has something to say she’ll say it.” He shrugged as he stood, knowing that Jake was probably the last person you would ever want to come clean to about being so vulnerable. “We better get going.”

“You’d tell me if she wasn’t alright, wouldn’t you?” Again, the tone Jake used sent a shiver down Bradley’s spine. He knew how tramaltious your relationship was. “If Kerner wasn’t alright you’d let me know?” Jake didn’t need Bradley to reply, his silence spoke louder than any excuse he could make up on the spot. “Dammit Bradshaw—“

“She didn’t want you to know!”

“Know what!?” Jake hissed. He didn’t raise his voice in fear of bringing any sort of unwanted attention to the situation, but he was worried. Worried about what he didn’t know, worried about you. The best friend he couldn’t talk to. The love of his life he couldn’t admit to. You were the only woman in the world who knew how to take his breath away, in more ways than one. “God Rooster, just tell me what’s going on!”

“She’s afraid to burn in—“ Bradley sighed as he held the bridge of his nose and hung his head in shame. You trusted him like an older brother and yet here he was, spilling your dirty mental health laundry to the only person you begged him not to tell. Jake Seresin, the love of your life that drove you insane. Your best friend who you couldn’t confide in, the only man who made you want to shoot for the moon and capture all the stars too. “She took an extended leave, told the Admirals they either needed to sign off on the paperwork or they’d be signing her death notice.” It was hard to hear because to Jake this was coming out of nowhere. “She just needs time.” Jake didn’t know how to respond, but most importantly he didn’t know how to react.

“I don’t have time for all this melodrama, Rooster.” Jake shook his head in disbelief. “If Rogue wants to throw her career away because of a few bad days so be it but I’m not sympathetic.” It was the only response Jake knew how to give, but he was panicking on the inside. “I’ll see you for pre-flight checks.”

“I think it’s more than just a few bad days, Hangman.” Bradley wasn’t going to say when he saw you last night he hardly recognised you. “She’s hid it well.” In all the time Bradley had known you, he’d never seen you this bad before. It was serious. He’d experienced his own burn out a few years back just after the Uranium mission. Before you joined the Daggers. It had taken its toll on him a hell of a lot more than he was prepared for. “She hid it so well I didn’t even know something was up until she was on the edge already.”

In that very moment Bradley came to realised why you didn’t want Jake to know you were struggling, you didn’t want him to know that if given the chance you’d quit tomorrow because the burn out you were in was so entirely consuming that it made it hard to even get out of bed. When was the last time you ate?

“She hid it so well it’s almost hard to believe, don't you think?” Jake snapped over his shoulder as he left the rec room, completely in denial about the fact you didn’t let him in.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

The entire day had passed you by before you even contemplated the idea of getting out of bed. The idea in and of itself seemed exhausting. Expending any kind energy other than the minimal amount to breath seemed like a chore.

Your stomach grumbled as you sat up and looked out the window that nestled itself beside your bed—pushed up against the wall just the way you liked it. It was dark, the day had passed and even though you couldn’t be bothered doing anything, the idea you’d wasted a full day in bed made you feel like shit. Plain and simple. You felt like crap and there was no one else to blame for that intense feeling of disappointment than yourself.

As you climbed over your mess of linen and covers, a not so subtle knock began to echo out through your apartment.

“Rooster!” You groaned, pressing your forehead into your mattress as you slumped in defeat. “Go away! I told you I’m fine!” You weren’t fine, you just didn’t want anyone worrying about you. You had this under control right? Even if you didn’t know what was happening to you.

When the knocking persisted you knew you had to let Bradley in, he’d camp out in the hall before he left without seeing you.

“My god I told you I’m fine!” You groaned as you made your way down the hall. Still in the same clothes you went to bed in yesterday afternoon. “I don’t need you doing welfare checks on me every dam—“ As you opened the door, it took you a second to register that it wasn’t Bradley standing out in the hall. “Jake?” You frowned, suddenly feeling a hell of a lot more vulnerable than you did six minutes ago. “What are you doing here?”

“Bradshaw said you’re on leave?” Was all Jake said as he stepped into your apartment, it still felt like home despite the fact he hadn’t been over in months since your last bust. “What gives Rogue?” He was still in his flight suit, usually Jake showed before leaving base. But you were the priority right now. He just needed to see you. See for himself what the hell was going on.

You watched as Jake made his way into your home, into your sacred space without so much as an afterthought that he may be intruding. He never did think his actions through if he wasn’t inside an F-18.

“Is that your way of asking me if I’m alright?” You rolled your eyes as you shut the front door, making a note to lock it behind you in case any other nosie aviators with callsigns that belonged to the flightless bird community came knocking.

“It’s my way of asking what gives—“ Jake made sure to correct you. “So what gives? It’s not like you to take a break, you’re as good as they come—don’t actually get any better if you want my personal opinion.” It wasn’t a secret that you and Jake rotated as ‘The Best’ like a rositery chicken. He was on top one week and suddenly it was you by just a few points. But the sentiment remained, you were the only one who ever came close to matching Jake Seresin. It was just in your DNA.

“Yeah I don’t remember asking for it.” You hissed, pushing past Jake as he stood in your hallway like a fungus you needed to get rid of before it had a chance to infect you. “Just because I’m the best doesn’t mean I don’t deserve a break from time to time.”

As you made your way down the hall toward your bedroom, Jake noticed the way your shoulders slumped just the slightest bit. He noticed the way you looked as if you hadn’t been out of bed all day, the way your hair looked like a bird's nest atop your head. And he wasn’t sure why you were wearing the T-shirt he thought he’d lost three weeks ago but as it turned out you had it all along.

“Y/n—“ Jake sighed as he watched you disappear into your room without so much as an explanation. “Wait.”

“I need to shower.” It was the toneless way you explained yourself that sent warning signals off in Jake's mind as he followed you.

“Hypothetically if I were to ask if you were doing okay would you tell me the truth?” You and Jake hadn’t always been so short with one another, but it was just the way it was now. It was the dynamic you were used to but loathed so much. You just wanted him to love you the way you saw in all the Disney films that were crammed down your throat as a kid.

But Jake couldn’t. It wasn’t in his DNA.

“Probably not, but like I told Bradshaw last night, I’m fine, just needed some time off work.” You shrugged as you fished through your dresser for a fresh pair of socks. Jake just stood off to the side, unsure of what to make of the mess that was your room. Usually you made it a note to keep your space clean and tidy. But when Jake looked around all he saw was complete chaos, a quick look into the inside of your mind looked like.

“Isn’t that what weekends and annual leave is for?” He mumbled just loud enough for you to hear.

“Couldn’t wait—I’m taking this unpaid and uninterrupted, so if you’ll excuse me, I need to shower.”

“Don’t lie to me.” It came out more like a plea than a demand but it still didn’t sit right with you. You knew Jake Seresin didn’t care about anyone but himself. You’d known him long enough to know that he was selfishly egomaniacal. He didn’t care, not about you anyway. “Don’t lie to me Kerner—“

Jake had stopped you from moving any further towards your ensuite, with a gentle hand wrapped around your forearm.

“I’m. Fine.” You had grit your teeth together to stop yourself from breaking. The force was enough to make your jaw ache. “Let. Me. Go.”

“Really?” Jake challenged. “Because I’m standing on a pile of washing that smells like the inside of Fanboys locker.”

“What has that got to do with anything!” As you ripped your arm out of Jake's grip he was quick to follow you into your bathroom. “I’m behind on laundry, big deal.”

“It’s a big deal for you!” You could feel yourself crumbling the more Jake pressed you for the truth. “I don’t know what’s going on but—“

“Oh what exactly do you want me to say Jake? That I get up and then all day I'm tired, and that I wanna take a nap all day?” Everything you had been trying to hold in and deny was finally bubbling to the surface. “Do you want to hear me say that I have no motivation? That I don't wanna do anything.”

“Y/n—“ Jake tried to interrupt as you threw your stuff on the bathroom floor in a heap. “It’s—“ There wasn’t a single thing Jake could say that could comfort you once the damn had been broken, you had held it all in for so long.

“That I don't want to work, I can’t Jake because if I’m not in my own mind than I could kill myself up there or even worse–I could kill one of you!”

All Jake could do was to stand there and listen as you let him know everything you had been struggling with for the past few months, slowly losing yourself day by day. You didn’t know what was wrong with you, why you felt this way, why all the enjoyment and all of the life had been sucked out of you.

“I don't want to talk to anyone, especially you!” It was then you shoved at Jake’s chest, completely fed up with your emotional turmoil. He didn’t fight back, no. Jake simply held you close to his chest as he pulled you into a warm embrace that you so desperately needed. “I don't want to hang out with anyone, I don’t wanna watch TV or read a book or even go on my phone but at the same time as all of that I'm so bored! I don't care about anything because all that I care about is just surviving.”

“You’re burnt out Rogue—“

“I’m not!!” Jake swore black and blue that was what you’d been trying to get at. “I can’t be burnt out!” He was even more confused than he was when Rooster had tiptoed around the situation earlier that same day. “My dad burnt out when he was at the height of his career and you know what he did?” Jake knew, he loved your dad like his own. Ron Slider Kerner was one of the best men Jake had ever had the pleasure of knowing. “He became a goddamn airline pilot!” There was anger in your voice, a deep sadness that Jake didn’t understand, what was so wrong with being an airline pilot?

“Y/n, Y/n—“ Jake held you as tight as he could. He hadn’t held you like this in what felt like forever. “You’re gonna be okay.” Your head dipped just perfectly under his chin as you broke, there was nothing worse than crying into the arms of the man you loved and hated all at once. “I’m here, you’re gonna be fine.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” It was the sadness in your cry for help that broke Jake's heart the most, how long had you been dealing with this by yourself? How long had you been telling the people closest to you that you were fine when you really weren’t. “Why can’t I just—“ You couldn’t breathe. “Why can’t I—“ You couldn’t finish your sentences without nearly gasping for air. “I—I can’t—“

“Okay, you’re alright, come with me. Something about Jake Seresin that surprised you the most was the way he dealt with panic attacks. For a guy as level headed as him he sure suffered in silence for the longest time. But you knew—it was one of the reasons you thought Jake couldn’t stand you half the time.

You knew his biggest weakness. Himself.

“Sit.” Jake led you over to the side of your bed as he knelt on his knees before you. “Now just breathe with me alright, I’ve got you.” It was the calming tone in his beautiful voice that had you giving yourself entirely to him. You didn’t want to be trapped inside your own head anymore. “There’s nothing wrong with you Rogue, everyone goes through burnout, it’s a part of life.” Jake wasn't diminishing your feelings, but from his own experience he knew that there was a weight on your shoulders you needed to rid yourself of. “And it’s real, and it’s valid and it doesn’t mean you aren’t incredibly good at what you do.”

“I can’t handle the pressure—“

“No, you put too much pressure on yourself, that’s what you can’t handle.”

“Oh what do you care Jake!” He’d never seen you like this, so lost and so broken. “Why are you even here right now!”

“Because I care about you! Why else would I be here, huh?” Jake cupped your cheeks gently as he wiped away the tears that streamed down your supple cheeks. “I care about you and when Bradshaw told me you took a leave of absence I knew something was up. This isn’t you.” It was the truth, it wasn’t you and that’s why it scared you so much. You didn’t feel like yourself. “Baby, this isn’t you.”

All you did was cry in Jake's slightly rough palms as he kneeled before you and tried to do what he could to just be present. He hated seeing you like this, so out of your mind and dealing with an existential crisis. But Jake knew what it was like to experience burnout.

“I can’t be burn out—“

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not real?” That was probably the stupidest thing Jake had ever heard you say. “My mum always used to say that being burnt out was just an excuse for not being good enough, it was a cop out.”

“Something tells me that’s a reason why your parents divorced huh?” You couldn’t hold back the small chuckle that escaped through the sobs. “Y/n, what you're experiencing right now is so real it’s not funny—burnout is real and I reckon once you accept that? It’s going to be easier to overcome than to fight off.”

“You seem to know an awful lot about this for a guy who’s as confident as ever.”

“Contrary to popular belief Rogue, I wasn’t born the best.” Jake winked as he leaned in to kiss your forehead. “How about you go have that shower and I’ll order some food and we can talk about it, all of it.”

“Is this your way of trying to get in my pants?”

“Mmm—it usually would be, but no, not this time.” Jake admitted as he graciously helped you stand as you sighed out a deep breath. “I’m here to help, can’t leave my wingwoman behind.”

“I love you Seresin.” You smiled softly as you pressed your lips together in a fine line. It was hard to admit, but you’d never not love Jake. “Thanks for showing up.” Jake mimicked your smile before his lips pressed into a fine line of their own. He nodded softly before you turned on your heels, heading into the bathroom before shutting the door behind you.

“I love you too.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

#jake seresin x female!reader #jake seresin x reader #top gun fanfic #hangman top gun #jake seresin x y/n #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x f!reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman imagine

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redbleedingrose · 8 months

Note

that baby girl Lucy thing could be a drabble or headcanon or whatever ur comfortable with btw 😁 or you don’t have to do anything at all with it if u don’t want! just wanted to mention it bc GIRL DAD ERIS

GIRL DAD!ERIS AND LUCIEN RECONCILLING PART 2

A/N: OKAY YES I AM SO SORRY I GOT BUSY WITH MED SCHOOL, HAD A SHELF EXAM TO TAKE AND THEN I GOT LAZY BUT IT IS HERE!

Edit: So I started writing and realized this is getting a bit long, like I am not done with this part and I am already 2.2k word in, so this will likely be a 3 or 4 part mini-series giving y'all girl dad!Eris lore! I hope you enjoy and I am sorry I had to split it up, but it seems like I had more to this story I wanted to share!

part 1

Your first letter remains unopened, buried beneath legal documents and trade deals in a locked drawer of Lucien's desk. Each week, another one of your letters is added to the ever growing pile that Lucien can't bring himself to open.

Part of him wants to rip all your attempts of communication to shreds, throw it into the fire place and forget that you and Eris exist.

The other part of him, the one that he tries to bury deep within himself, is curious, anxious really, to know what it is you have to say to him. What is it that you continue to reach out to him?

Is it a part your duty as high lady of autumn? Are you looking to start relations between Autumn and Day? Are you trying to keep your relationship to your brother in law as professional as possible? What if you are trying to get to know him? Would that be the worst thing in the world, to get to know his sister in law? He has always wanted a sister.

What if you are writing out of need? For help? What if you need asylum from his brother? Gods, he hopes not. What if Eris turned out to be the exactly like his father, cruel and abusive in his marriage to you? What if he, like Beron, was ruining Autumn court with outrageous regulations and taxes too high that most of the autumn population were left in poverty?

What if you were writing to him to brag about how well Eris has done without him, that this is the only way he will receive any updates on Eris, and to not expect anything more?

What if you are lovely and kind? What are you like? Are you good to Eris? Is he good to you? Do you make his oldest brother happy? Does he make you happy? What is Eris like now? Has he changed or is he the same paranoid male who plots conspiracies?

The lack of response from your brother in law does little to defer your efforts. You continue to write to Lucien, without skipping a beat, sending a letter to him every week, giving him updates on his brother, updates on your pregnancy, even updates on the pups Eris is raising to protect your babes in the coming months. You share with him your feelings about Eris, the story of how you met, how your mating bond had snapped abruptly and without notice, how he fought against your relationship for years until he couldn't hold back anymore, how when he finally gave in, he had made you the promise of a safer home, a safer land, a place in which his father could never lay a hand on you.

You confide in him your concerns over his brother, your fears that his duties as high lord will consume him, that Eris has anxieties about being a good father, and you are scared it will paralyze him. You tell him about the things you notice about Eris, things you think Eris doesn't know about himself. That, sometimes, Er will get a distant look in his eyes when he sees young children playing together, especially when one looks older than the other. That, sometimes, Er mumbles in his sleep, how often his name comes up while he is asleep, how Er wakes up from those same dreams gasping and clutching at his chest, how it takes hours for you to calm him after. How when Eris struggles to sleep, he stares at the family portrait, with his eyes fixated on Lucien before he comes back to bed with you at your urging.

You write to him as if he is your best friend, as if he is sitting across from you and you are just talking to him. You write to him as if you have known him for centuries.

With all of Eris' stories about his beloved brother, you feel as though you have known him for centuries.

It takes a long time for Lucien to muster the courage to open your letters. After weeks of receiving letters and storing them away without a second glance, after weeks of forcing any thoughts of the letters away, after weeks of catching himself thinking about Eris, thinking about you and Autumn court, does he finally force himself sit down to read the letters. To be done and over with it. To read the letters, and never think of you or his brother again. To give closure to that horrific chapter of his life. To have this as his final goodbye.

It takes him several minutes to unlock the drawer after he slumps into his chair by the desk. It takes him a couple of minutes to open the drawer before staring at all the papers on top of the letters. It takes him 20 minutes to pluck the letters out from beneath and toss them onto his desk. Another 30 minutes is spent of him grabbing the letters and setting it onto the side table near his hearth, pacing around his office, biting at his nails, wringing his hands, running his fingers through his long auburn hair to sit in his cozy leather chair with the letters at an arms-length. An hour is spent staring blankly into the near extinguished fire, the pops and crackles from the desperate surviving flames being the only times he blinks. Another 10 minutes of delay, spent with breathing exercises while pouring himself a two, maybe three, fingers of night court imported whiskey and taking several bated sips of the hard liquor.

After almost two hours of delay, does Lucien use the letter opener the night court general gifted him during a visiting trip, to slowly and carefully, with shaking hands, tear the seal open. Deep breathing does little to stop his pittering heart as he opens the first letter, glazed eyes racing over each sentence, each word multiple times, nearly seizing as you break the news of your pregnancy. Tears he didn’t even know were leaking down his cheeks, meeting at his chin to drip down his neck began to stream. Choked sobs with a hand clutched at his chest, your letter delicately being placed to the side as his emotions crash into him.

Weeks of pent up feelings become unrelenting waves that makes it near impossible for him to catch his breath. All of grief for the time he has missed with you and his brother, all of happiness at your pride and clear love and devotion for your mate, his brother, all of sorrow and concern for what Eris turned out to be after years of torment and unrelenting abuse, all of quiet hope for the future relationship he may have with you, with his future nieces or nephews, with his older brother, all of that is almost unbearably overwhelming. The only source of respite, coming from your gentle handwriting.

“Lucien, I implore you to take all the time you need. I will patiently be waiting for a response, whether it takes weeks or months, years or even centuries. I want a relationship with you. As does your brother. And I want our children to have a relationship with their uncle. So I will wait. And if you decide that having a relationship with us is just too impossibly painful for you, then with the deepest regret and with the most profound love, will we accept that fate as well.”

It is your own hope that pushes Lucien to read all of your other letters, whiskey set aside and forgotten. Letters that have his bereaved sobs turning into silent tears of joy. Letters that have him bubbling with laughter as you express your loving annoyance at Eris’ puttering about the nursery and his great insistence that your future babes will need 15 chicks, and at least 6 baby cows to grow up with.

Letters that have him smiling softly, reminiscing in the good memories of his childhood Eris whispered to you in the dark recesses of night. Letters that have him pondering if what you say is really the truth, because you give a convincing argument that his older brother may actually miss him, may have actually loved him… still loves him. Letters that give him insight into all the years he missed, that he now almost feels a part of, like he was actually there to witness all of the events surrounding your relationship and Eris’ ascension to the autumn throne. Lucien spends hours, even as the fire in the office gives way to death and the only remaining source of light becomes Lucien’s own magic pulsating through the room, reading your letters. Over and over, in the order it was sent in and in backwards order. And by the end of it, he is speechless.

No words come to mind that can describe how he feels. He cannot come up with what to say. The only thing he knows is that he is appreciative for the time and patience that you have given him, the grace that you have shown, the honesty of the hardships that you and Eris went through, of the relationship you have formed with his brother, and of all the changes Er has gone through and has brought to Autumn Court since his escape. So, Lucien folds your letters following the exact lines you used, making sure not even a slight crease is created, before carefully placing back into the envelopes you sent them in, holding them to his chest as he walks to his room and retires for the night. Sleep, however, the trickster it is, plays the most exhausting game and evades him most of the night. His usual tossing and turning is replaced with his ember eyes focused on the letters, hands clasped tightly together resting on his chest because his fingers kept twitching with want to reach back for your messages to reread them. Lucien’s thoughts are wildly free of the endless possibilities of what might come in the future… a happy future.

Days were spent rereading your letters. Days were spent stressing out over what to do, he never had a choice when it came to his family. All things were inevitably decided for him. He was brought up to be competitive with his brothers, it was decided that he would have to fight his brothers for the autumn throne, a throne he had no desire of having. It was decided what kind of training he got, despite his lack of interest in violence. He didn’t choose to leave Autumn, he barely escaped with his life. He didn’t choose this. Having a choice… it was a delicacy he hadn’t been offered before.

Lucien knew though. Deep down inside, he knew what he wanted to choose. Going back and forth with his options inevitably landed on one outcome. He wants to try. He wants to get to know you, a sister he always wanted and now, finally has. He wants to get to know his future nieces or nephews. He wants to be a part of their lives; he wants to be the best uncle he can be. And he so achingly wants to know his older brother, wants to know his side of the story, wants to know if he was wrong to blame him for everything. It is alarming. The prospect of it all. It’s… fully… wholly… thoroughly and completely terrifying.

What if he was wrong about it all? What if he spent decades… centuries hating his own brother… someone who should’ve been blameless? Would Eris forgive him for it? What if he comes to the conclusion Eris didn’t try hard enough? Could he forgive Eris, a crimeless, unwilling accomplice in the murder of Jes? What if Eris is uninterested after a near lifetime of rejection? How will they build their relationship, beyond what it ever was? What if, even after all of that, he ends up alone? Was it worth it?

Was the hurt, the fear, the hope… was it worth it?

It took another month of Lucien’s contemplation to come up with a response, not for lack of trying. He had so many thoughts, so many feelings and emotions regarding his brother, his past, his future, you as his new sister in law, the fact that he is going to be an uncle, to work through, that he is still working through. He is afraid, afraid of what he has missed with Eris, afraid of what or who Eris has become. But one thing about the Vanserra brothers is that they have a burning courage within them. So despite the fear, he wants more. He wants to try. Every time he sits down to muster an acknowledgement to your letters, though, he chokes up.

A ball of anxiety runs rampant through his stomach, a knot in his throat that he can’t seem to swallow, that he can't seem to clear even with a rough rub at his neck. His hands quake as he readjusts the pen in his hands, over and over, feeling pins and needles at the tips of his fingers as he tries to figure out the words to respond with. Your letters had so much thought, so much effort and sentiment and zest poured into them. And all of the thoughts and feelings he had during the time he took, it seemed… inadequate. A simple letter… it wouldn’t be enough. Not with all the things Lucien wants to say to you and eventually… to Eris as well. Finally, after staring at the blank sheet placed in front of him, sweaty hands rubbing furiously up and down his thighs, does he figure it out.

So… with a shaky inhale, he brings his pen to the page.

Hello dear sister,

I apologize for my delay in responding. If I am being honest, I spent a lot of time, quite a lot indeed, thinking of your letters. Thinking of you. Thinking of my brother Eris the Autumn High Lord. Thinking of the past. Thinking of the future. One letter to tell you all of my thoughts in response to your attempts of communication feel woefully insufficient.

If you are ever so inclined, would you be open to meeting with me? I understand that your pregnancy condition may make it difficult upon you to travel to Day. I’m happy to I am set to be in Spring Court for two weeks from now for a week. Would you be willing able to meet at the border in three weeks time?

with warm wishes,

regards,

Lucien Vanserra

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nanowrimo · 11 months

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Pro Tips from a NaNo Coach: How to Write a Clean(ish) Fast Draft

NaNoWriMo can seem like a daunting task sometimes, for NaNo newbies and veterans alike. Fortunately, our NaNo Coaches are here to help guide you through November! Today, author Jesse Q. Sutanto is here to share her advice on how to set yourself up for noveling success:

Dear Nano-ers,

My first book took me three years to cobble together. During that time, I joined Absolute Write—a free writers forum which I completely love and recommend to all aspiring writers—and I made a friend who convinced me to try doing NaNoWriMo. I was completely unconvinced, but I am a people-pleaser and I can never say no, so I agreed to try it for my second novel.

My second novel took me less than a month to write. It was a complete mess, but it was also a revelation. Often, I felt myself falling into that writing Holy Grail—the hole which consumes you, makes you forget the rest of the world, and absorbs you completely in the world you are creating on paper. I loved the process deeply, and never looked back since. All of my subsequent books have since been written in a matter of months.

And you know what? They were all a horrific mess. I did not learn how to do a clean and fast draft until my NINTH book, and I don’t think I would’ve ever learnt without the help of NaNoWriMo. So here are my tips on how to best tackle a sprint-a-thon like NaNo.

1. Try to come up with a loose outline.

When I first started writing, I was a pure pantser. I had no idea what was going to happen before I sat down to write. This is a completely legit way of writing, but I have since learned that it is massively helpful to have an idea, even a vague one, of what you are trying to say with your book. What was really helpful for me was to sit down for just five minutes before writing each scene and try to envision what I wanted the scene to achieve. Once I had that in mind, the scene became much easier to write.

2. Break down your writing time.

Ever heard of the Pomodoro technique? In order to hit 50,000 words a month, you need to write around 1,600 words a day. That is a heck of a lot of words to write! Break it down. Set 10 or 15-minute timers and use that to your advantage. Trust me, if you told me to sit down and write 1,600 words, I would be like, “Omg that’s too much!” But if you told me to just write for 15 minutes, that feels a lot more doable.

3. Give yourself permission to write trash.

Before each writing session, I actually say out loud: “I am going to write trash.” And this gives me permission to write whatever comes to my mind without judgment. You can always edit later, but for now, focus on letting the words out on paper.

4. Lean on others for support.

I made the mistake of thinking that writing is a lonely vocation. In fact, it is one of the most social things I could do. Social media, while a double-edged sword, has done so much for the writing community. I have found all of my close writer friends through social media, and I chat with them every day and consider them my close, lifelong friends. Don’t be afraid to reach out and make connections within the community. You are not alone.

Jesse Q. Sutanto is the award-winning, bestselling author of Dial A for Aunties, Vera Wong’s Unsolicited Advice for Murderers, Well, That Was Unexpected, The Obsession, and Theo Tan and the Fox Spirit. The film rights to her women’s fiction, Dial A for Aunties, was bought by Netflix in a competitive bidding war, and the TV rights to Vera Wong was bought by Warner Bros, with Oprah and Mindy Kaling attached to produce. She has a master’s degree in creative writing from Oxford University, though she hasn’t found a way of saying that without sounding obnoxious.

#nanowrimo #writing #nanowrimo 2023 #writing advice #writing tips #writblr #by nano coach #jesse q. sutanto

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 24 days

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Idk if this is within the ask rules… I hope it is?? I think it is.. lol here’s hoping! 🤞

So I’ve been writing his name as “Che’nya” this whole time and for some reason I was positive that that was how you spelled his name. Of course I had been past Book 1 for a while, but I hadn’t played Book 5 yet (I stopped playing the main game for a while lol).

And while a lot of people write his name as “Chenya” some people write his name as “Che’nya” like me too, so I just figured it was people not wanting to deal with the apostrophe and dropping it.

But then glomas came out and they wrote his name as “Chenya.” And I was like 😳. So I finally played Book 5 and… also “Chenya.”

And going back to Book 1, it also used “Chenya”! 💀

So I was trying to figure out why I was so sure that his name was spelled as “Che’nya” and I finally realized it’s probably because that’s how his name is spelled on the Twisted Wonderland wiki!

But now I’m very confused… how did this happen? How has some of the fandom just… started writing it as “Che’nya” instead of what they write in canon? Was it a jp thing?

Now I’m wondering if I need to retrain myself not to write the apostrophe! 😭

I was hoping maybe you could shine some light on the mystery?

I believe “Che’nya” (with the apostrophe) is A Thing due to fan translations that existed before an official English localization. Because fan translations were the main method by which TWST was consumed internationally in 2020-2021, “Che’nya” stuck around as the spelling many preexisting TWST fans defaulted to even post-localization.

There is more than 1 TWST Wiki, one of which relies heavily on fan translated terms—so I’m guessing that’s the one you may have been looking at. The .gg TWST Wiki is the one that relies more on the official localization. You’ll see his name is “Chenya” on there, which reflects TWST EN’s naming.

Why did many fan translators decide to write the name with an apostrophe to begin with? I think it’s because of how the name is written in Japanese. Chenya is written as チェーニャ. In other words, チェー (“chē”, as in Cheshire Cat) + ニャ (“nya”, as in the sound a cat makes). So the name is meant to be read as “Che-nya”. However, depending on one’s dialect or manner of speech, it might be spoken as “Chen-ya”, which makes the name lose its intended cat references. My guess is that fan translators inserted the apostrophe in Chenya’s name to make it clear where the divide is (and to preserve the cat pun).

I would ask a fan translator myself though! I don’t speak for all of them; this is just my best guess based on what I know + speaking with my friends on the subject.

#twisted wonderland #twst #Chenya #twst en #twisted wonderland en #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #notes from the writing raven #question #Che’nya

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ssa-atlas-alvez · 1 year

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I can see cowboy having some tension within the team when he feels like his theories are going unheard and his opinion unvalued when they're all throwing ideas around. I feel like he'd gradually start stress eatin' more and more sunflower seeds until he runs out and just leaps up in the middle of spencer's long-winded argument after cowboy's suggestion has gone unheard by the team for the third time in five minutes he practically runs for the door because his allergies are about to hit fever pitch or he's gunna go smash some government issued coffee mugs.

This is right when you join the BAU, before everything.

Warnings: bad government knowledge on Atlas' part, I did try to google it but idk guys, trying my best here. Oh, also, stress eating.

Taglist: @xweirdo101x @xdark-acadamiax @ara-a-bird @heidss @chubbyboyinflannel @pendragon-writes @migwayne @bigolgay @technikerin23 @supercriminalbean @honestlycasualarcade @caffeine-mess @1s3v3n1 @oddmiles @kevyeen @stealing-kneecaps @criminalskies @woodandwaxwings @anonstories08

"Perhaps the unsub's a teenager," Spencer theorises and you want to slam your head against the desk. Because that's what you've been trying to put forth for the last ten minutes - ignored each time.

Instead, you say nothing, just continuing to shovel the sunflower seeds into your mouth before you say something you'll regret. "We should have seen that sooner..." Hotch mutters.

'I did.' You think bitterly, letting a handful of sunflower seeds fall into your mouth.

"But why is he targetting these men?" Garcia asked. Whoever the unsub was, he was going round shooting men - never life-threatening, but clearly out for revenge of some sort.

"Maybe someone like them scorned him in his past," You say, Prentiss talking over you before you can get your third word out. You were gonna need some more sunflower seeds real soon if this kept going. How many sunflower seeds were healthy to consume in a day?

You close your eyes for a moment before trying yet again to reiterate your point. This time, though, Reid cuts you off with a long list of statistics about female offenders.

"I think someone in his past hurt him and these guys remind him of them." Morgan says and you realise you're out of sunflower seeds. You shoot up, knowing that you didn't have many options right now (what with your anger): 1, scream at them (not literally but close enough), 2, throw the closest mug at the wall (but these were government-issued mugs so that probably wasn't the best idea), or 3, get some more sunflower seeds to munch on whilst you try not to regret your entire life decisions.

You don't know if they've even realised you've left the room and you can't be fucked to check. Instead, you head on over to your bag, pulling out a fresh pack of sunflower seeds and open it before making your way back to the room.

"Everything okay?" Hotch asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes sir," You answer, "Ran out of sunflower seeds. Figured no one would notice if I left anyway,"

"I know you were part of hostage negotiation previously, but we work as a team here."

You look at him for a moment, debating saying something. On calling his bullshit because clearly you only worked part of a team here if they had accepted you as a part of their 'group' - which you clearly weren't in yet. You settle for a simple, one worded answer.

"Interestin'." You say before resuming the eating of your sunflower seeds.

"Excuse me?" Hotch asked, clenching his jaw in frustration.

"Surprised you heard me, Sir," You said, "That's all,"

"Is there a problem here?"

"You tell me," You answer, "You're the boss."

"We'll talk about this later. We have more important things to be concerned about right now."

You tilted your head ever so slightly in a small nod of acknowledgement before turning back to the bag of sunflower seeds in your hands as you listened to the team - seeing no point in joining in at this point.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #emily prentiss #david rossi #jennifer jareau #x cowboy reader #cowboy reader #bau x cowboy reader #x male reader #male reader #male!reader

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dresshistorynerd · 1 year

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How to see through the greenwashing propaganda of the fashion industry - 1

For some background info I made an overview about the impact of fashion industry.

In the light of the Shein brand trip nonsense, I was thinking about how literally every clothing company now engages in greenwashing, even when it's such obvious lie like with Shein. And while most people are not fooled in such blatant cases like that, most cases are not as blatant. To see through the less obvious propaganda often needs a lot of knowledge of the clothing industry, which the average person doesn't have, yet the average person still needs clothing. So instead of trying to expose every company for their bad practices, I thought it might be more helpful to make a post on how to detect greenwashing. I'm going to use four examples, all in the different levels of honesty and responsibility, Shein, H&M, Burberry and Tentree. First I will go into frankly unnecessary amount of detail on Shein, because I fell into a horrifyingly fascinating research rabbit hole and I think it's excellent example on how companies can get away with blatant crimes (allegedly of course). In this first part we will just look into Shien, it's propaganda and reality behind it.

But before I go deeper into this, I want to stress one thing: this is not to say that you can never buy from any brand engaging in dishonest greenwashing, because then you couldn't buy almost any clothing, and you do need clothing. Though I will say, please don't buy from Shein if you in any way can afford not to. There is levels of how bad business practices can be, and they can't be much worse than Shein's, and even beside that, even when super cheep, it's not worth your money. There are other cheep options too. Though I won't hold it against anyone if they buy individual pieces from Shein from time to time, but I would implore at least to considerate, if they really need it and if it might be possible to get something similar from somewhere else. But my point in this is not necessarily to help you make better consumer decisions, because consumption will not save us, but to see through the corporate propaganda and not become complaisant after hearing comforting lies. The corporations are doing everything they can to make you believe they are already fixing the problems within the industry and there's no need for government intervention pinky promise, just keep consuming. But that's all bullshit and government intervention is exactly what is needed.

Before taking a look at our cases, I'll outline the key things I think are good to look for, when presented with sustainability PR.

TRANSPARENCY - Companies are not required to publish much of the information about their practices, but as it has become clear to everyone that the whole fashion industry is a massive problem, opacity has become rightly seen as suspicious. It has become also a sort of marketing method to disclose any evidence of good practices, so when a company is not doing that, and missing out on well working marketing, it raises the question, what are they hiding. Companies may try to give the appearance of transparency, without actually disclosing information. They might write in an easily accessible page about all their lofty goals, promises and achievements in a very vague language, they might talk about being transparent and publishing their data, but that data might be buried somewhere, where it's not easily accessible. Good sign on the other hand would be for example providing supply chain information for a product in the product description.

RELIABLE INFORMATION - Usually it's safer for a company to be vague or silent than to lie, because that might lead to legal consequences, but by cherry-picking and subtly twisting data, it can be turned to be flattering for them. Small companies might provide raw evidence of their facilities and supply chain, like photos, locations, contractor names etc. to give proof for their word. For bigger companies this is not of course possible as their supply chains might be massive and they might have thousands of facilities. However, there are many different independent and governmental organizations that give different kinds of certifications. The certifications are meant to give some reassurance of quality and/or accurate information. However not all certifications are made equal. Most reliable certifications don't have ties to the industry (aka are actually independent, not just in name), have governmental oversight and are given access to the data, from which they do the research themselves.

SUPPLY CHAIN - Giving the origin country of the final product is nowadays standard information to give, as it's required by law for example in EU. It's a red flag, if it's produced in a country, that has lacking environmental or labour laws, poor oversight and/or little protections for people. However, this does not mean that all production in those countries is unethical or questionable, but the risk for that is higher and the need for evidence of the working conditions is also higher. This is however just one part of the production. Before clothing can be sewn, the raw material for fiber must be made/acquired, that material must be turned into fiber, which must be turned into yarn and then the yarn must be woven into fabric. All of these steps in the process need workers, who deserve good working conditions. And depending on what fabric is in question, there's potential for major environmental issues in the different processes. This is why it's important to know more than just the country where the clothing was sewn. There could be certification for ethical sourcing of the fabric for example. With supply chain it's also better if the materials are sourced as locally as possible, to avoid a lot of extra carbon emissions from transportation. Best case scenario would be if the company manages the supply chain themselves locally, so they can know for sure where their materials come from and also avoid middlemen.

BUSINESS MODEL - The reason why it's often so hard to get information on the supply chain is that many companies, especially the large ones, outsource as much as possible. This might seem unintuitive, as the middlemen make production less efficient and costly as everyone takes a cut. However, they do it to outsource risks and responsibility. They don't have to invest into factories or raw material production and they have plausible deniability, if and when there's issues in their supply chain. The complexity of the supply chain provides opacity that is impossible and unreasonable to monitor, which allows the company to buy materials that are unreasonably cheep, while feigning ignorance of worker exploitation. How much the clothing cost can also give some idea on their business model. If it's super cheep, the only way for it to be that cheep is if workers are not payed enough and everything is poorly made. Cheep is always a red flag, though, if it's fairly cheep and I mean basic clothing is not much more than 100 eur (little more in USDs) but not much less than 50 eur, it can be okay or even good quality and with proper pay for workers, if the company doesn't take massive margins and don't have a ton of middlemen in their supply chain. However, expensive is not insurance of quality or good pay for workers. Many expensive brands take massive margins while their production has little difference to fast fashion and their products are poor quality.

CASE STUDY 1: SHEIN

Let's start with the propaganda. In Shein's About Us page, they say:

"SHEIN is a global fashion and lifestyle e-retailer committed to making the beauty of fashion accessible to all."

You see, their goal is to make fashion accessible to everyone, not just privileged few. They back this up by informing how they work in 150 countries, have very wide variety of clothing, are one of the most popular shopping apps, connect with the customers on where they are - social media - and, of course, have ridiculously low prices. Their team of nearly 10,000 employees (of which 58% are women for your information) loves to serve their many many customers, who are most important for Shein. They use "cutting-edge technology" and digitized agile supply chain to track sales and demand and adjust their manufacturing in real time. When they notice a new trend, they immediately put something trendy on sale, make prototypes and order small batches from factories. This is how they keep their inventory waste low and get products quickly to their customers. In their own words:

"By developing proprietary logistics and ecommerce technology, we are disrupting the fashion space and improving outcomes for manufacturers, suppliers and consumers."

We will see, if the "outcomes" are really "improved".

Shein group's website has very extensive information about their sustainability goals and efforts, giving the impression of transparency. It's pretty clear this is in an effort to combat all the allegations towards them. To make their business sustainable in addition to their reduced inventory waste they are "accelerating their transition" to use recycled polyester, promoting their "peer-to-peer resale platform" for Shein products, "eshtablishing" a recycling program for end-of-life products, tracing the material supply chain through their own material tracking platform and conserving forests by replacing viscose with "next generation fibers".

Most of the information they provide is fully meaningless corporate speak and should be taken with the biggest bucket of salt, so let's ask some questions.

DO THEY PROVIDE SPECIFIC DATA ABOUT THEIR PRODUCTION? Surprisingly Shein is much more transparent than I expected. (Though of course the info is in different website than where the average consumer would go.) Shein hasn't taken the standard route, which is to provide as little information as possible, and keeping it vague too, se they could just keep feigning ignorance. As I said, I think it's pretty clear they are providing this much information because their reputation is so bad. Their lack of transparency has been taken as an admission of guilt, so it's not working anymore, and they have taken a new approach into maintaining their plausible deniability. In their website, they provide a sustainability report from years 2021 and 2022. I took a look at the latest one. In it there's a lot of fluff, but they show actual numbers of how many code of conduct violations have been found in audits to supplier facilities, the carbon emissions of their supply chain and the amounts of different fabrics they have used during 2022. That's not nothing, so we have a relatively good start here.

WHO DID THE RESEARCH? The research is not at all independent, but done in-house. They have all the financial incentives to cherry-pick and frame their research in a way that shows them in the best possible light, even if we assumed they would not tamper with their own evidence, which I don't think we can fully assume either. There's an attempt though to convince us to believe the data they are showing:

"We have reported with reference to the Global Reporting Initiative (GRI) 2021 standard for certain sections of this report. Selected information in this report was assured, to the limited assurance standard, by an external independent assurer as per ISAE 3000."

Emphasis by me. So even if they did the research themselves, they did get it independently audited to get an assurance that they did follow the GRI standards in their reporting and that it doesn't contain lies. However, the "certain sections" and "selected information" with "limited assurance" does not give me much assurance, in fact, my assurance is very limited. To understand what does this actually mean, I did a bit of googling and delved into the annex of the report.

ISAE 3000 is a standard for auditing financial information issued by International Auditing and Assurance Standards Board, which an independent body that has governmental oversight. Financial information can get either reasonable assurance or limited assurance. Reasonable assurance is the most assurance this standard allows. Limited assurance is given, if the information provided to the assurer, time or extent of the procedure is lacking, but from those limited resources the assurer doesn't find anything that suggests "the subject matter information is materially misstated" aka that the company is lying. GRI is the most used reporting standard for sustainability for businesses and other organizations. I'm a bit suspicious of how effective their standards are, if they are most widely used, since most companies are absolutely terrible about sustainability yet they all claim they are great with it. So I decided to check who is in the board. Unsurprisingly it's mostly representatives of massive corporations, including Coca Cola and DuPond, a professor of accounting, national research director of Australia's Mining and Energy Union and one (1) environmental scientist.

The annex revealed quite interesting details. The only information that was AssuredTM (in a limited manner) for accurate information was the data on Shein's emissions and that of code of conduct violations. Only the report on emissions was AssuredTM (in a limited manner) to follow GRI standards. Shein got to select and prepare the relevant data for the audition, which was according to it, lacking. Crucially the audition report states that they didn't verify the results of supply audits or any potential violations of labor law found in them, rather they just checked that the math on the grading of the audits matched with Shein's stated criteria and that they actually did the audits. So if you really think about it, the (limited) assurance is that they graded themselves like they promised they would, not that their reporting of the amounts of violated labor laws or even just their own code of conduct was accurate. Additionally assurance of the accuracy of the emissions was only of Shein's own facilities, which do not produce any of their products, but not of their supply chain. 99,7% of their emissions come from their supply chain. So keep all this in mind when we look at the data itself.

WHAT ARE THEIR CARBON EMISSIONS AND HOW ARE THEY CALCULATED? Shein's emissions were 9,17 million tonnes of CO2, or 9,22 million tonnes if we don't count them purchasing Renewable Energy Credits. To put it into perspective that would be around 0,27-0,3% of the estimation of the annual emissions of the whole textile industry. Now that would be pretty low. In fact, suspiciously low. The fact that they got their own emissions auditioned, but not the emissions of their supply chain, suggests to me that perhaps, their numbers don't hold up to scrutiny. They also don't disclose their methodology for the numbers of the supply chain, like they do with their own facilities. Of course their response would be to say it's so much easier for them to calculate their own emissions than their suppliers. But I say that's not a bug, that's a feature.

Though looking at the methodology of the emissions from their own operating sites, which includes warehouses and offices, they don't take into account at all any emissions from building anything. They grew massively between 2021 and 2022 and I find it hard to believe they didn't built any of the new offices or warehouses they gained. Certainly they would have bought a lot of new equipment even if they moved to existing buildings. But none of this is taken into account in their calculations. And I must assume, it's not taken into account in their supply chain calculations either.

Even if we took them at their word, by their own admission, their carbon emissions have grown from 2021 to 2022 52%, which is alarming. (Interestingly they use the 2021 numbers in their actual website, which I think is so misleading that it's basically a lie.) They write it off as just side effect of their massive growth in production volume, which had 57% increase during the same time frame.

"We are at the beginning of our mitigation journey and began implementing decarbonization programs at the end of fiscal year 2022."

So they first scale their business as fast as they can, having absolutely no care of the environmental effect, so that when they have massive market share, and they reduce their massive emissions slightly, they can be like "oh look we did something!" They can then moan and wail how hard and time consuming it is to reduce the emissions of an existing supply chain, when they were the ones who decided to not take that into account from the start. Their "science based goal" (which they repeatedly stress in their website) is to reduce their emissions 25% by 2030. It's nothing. Less than nothing. They scaled without care their production in a time, when our ecology is collapsing, and then they claim that it's just science we possibly can't do anything about it. Apparently it's a natural law that they just have to make more and more money, like gravity.

WHAT MATERIALS DO THEY USE? Last year 64% of Shein's clothing (measured in weight) was polyester. Production of polyester is estimated to count for 40% of all carbon emissions of the textile industry. It's also a plastic made out of oil, so we have to take into account the fracking and refinement of oil and the eventual release of the CO2 from the oil that would have been secured in the ground otherwise. This most certainly is not counted into the supply chain emissions. Shein loves to pay lip service to the idea of circular economy, but they don't actually think about it. Because if they did, they would have taken into account the microplastics polyester fabric sheds when it's washed. When microplastics get into the soil and freshwater, they get into the organs of animals, including us, and they don't easily come off. Already it has been shown that they have led to the decrease of small soil fauna, which are very important for the fertility of the soil. Over time microplastics also break down further into nanoplastics. There's already evidence of nanoplastics being small enough to pass through veins into the brain, and that causing behavioral changes in fish. We don't know the long term consequences off this micro and nano plastic pollution yet, and we're just seeing the effects they have on small animals, but as they built up over years and decades inside our organs, we well likely see much larger effects.

Important for the lifecycle thinking is not just focusing on how much burden the production puts on the environment, but also how long it lasts and how can it be reused and eventually the impact of the end of it's lifecycle. If you remember from the beginning, Shein claims to take all this into account by having a resale program, somewhere in the future establishing a recycling program for unusable old clothes and increasing their share of recycled polyester. This is nothing. Again it's less than nothing. Polyester is not only bad fabric because of the things I've already said, but it's also just as a material for clothing very weak. It's not warm or breathable, which makes it at the same time sweaty and cold. It has no anti-bacterial qualities at all (which basically all natural fabrics have at least to small extent), so when you get easily sweaty in it, it starts also smelling very easily, and so needs washing very often. On top of washing releasing microplastics, it also weakens the fabric, because polyester doesn't get stronger when wet unlike plant fibers, like cotton and linen. Other synthetic fibers even get weaker when wet. Polyester is also very hard to dye effectively and has bad color retaining properties, so it needs chemical treatments and strong industrial dyes, all of which adds to it's carbon footprint and toxic pollution. Bad color retaining properties though also mean it looses it's color quite easily when washed. All of this makes it's life span significantly shorter than natural fabrics. I mean with some natural fabrics like wool and silk we are talking about multiple decades, with polyester it's easily in the low one digit years. These are inherent issues with polyester, but Shein clothes have repeatedly got complaints of their poor quality in general. This makes the resale program frankly meaningless.

On the surface the recycling program for polyester sounds good, right? You don't have to use more oil and use as much energy in making of it (according to Shein themselves, which again not a trustworthy source, it saves up to 70% emissions). Shein has promised to increase their share of recycled polyester to 31% of their polyester usage by 2030. Currently less than 1% of their production is recycled polyester. This is however a terrible solution. It still sheds microplastics and it's even worse as a fabric than virgin polyester. It is weaker and stiffer, making it impossible to use on it's own in fabric but when mixed with other fibers in a fabric significantly shortens it's life span. When we take into account the lifecycle of a clothing, the length of it and it's lifetime emissions become much more important than the production emissions. If you have to produce from scratch new clothing three times, in the time you could be using another clothing, it doesn't really matter if the emissions during the production were somewhat lower. (There's little reliable and comparable data available on production emissions of different fabrics, so I don't know how exactly recycled polyester compares to different natural fabrics.) Especially when we take into account the consumer use emissions, which in the case of polyester are 30% of it's lifetime emissions. And wast majority of it comes from washing, which you have to do more with polyester (how much more depends on what fabric you compere it to). Any responsible disposal of polyester at the end of it's lifecycle, especially any attempts at recycling it, cause additional emissions, unlike with natural fibers, which naturally degrade.

WHERE ARE THE SUPPLIERS? Shein boasts having fully integrated digital supply chain and with it they can track the whole supply chain of individual product. However they don't reveal any of that information publicly. Or rather only thing we know is that their factories making the end products are in China. But the question is, where does their fabrics come from? There's no countries listed in their report in any capacity and none of their products have any information of their origins nor the origins of the fabrics. This is very suspicious in my opinion. We can get no indication on how fibers might have been produced and made into fabric from the labor and environmental laws and practices of different countries. However, there is an interesting bit in the report about cotton:

"For cotton products, to further enhance our compliance with US laws, we request that our manufacturing suppliers only source cotton from Australia, Brazil, India, the United States and other approved regions."

This sentence is there pretty obviously because they have been caught selling clothing with cotton grown in Xinjiang in US markets, which US has banned. This is because Xinjiang, the Autonomous Uighur region, where 90% of China's raw cotton is grown, has been accused of genocidal oppression of the Uighur population, including having massive forced labour camps for Uighurs. Because of the police state nature of Xinjiang, there's no reliable numbers on how much of the cotton is produced with forced labour, but presumably most of it. Moreover, China limits the imports of cotton, which is why only 20% of cotton used by the textile industry in China is imported. Shein claims they know exactly where their fabrics come from, but the wording of the sentence above makes it clear they don't even plan on enforcing any policy to use imported cotton by their suppliers. Cotton is just 10% of fabric they used last year, but given their massive production volume, it's still a lot. This gets us to our next question.

IS THERE PROOF OF GOOD WORKING CONDITIONS? Shein reports doing in total 2 812 audits into 1 941 of their 5 400 contract manufacturers. According to them it accounted for 84% of their Shein branded products (so not their other 10 brands). This information, if you remember, was given limited assurance, by the audition into their numbers. However, we are to trust Shein alone that the reports of their auditions are accurate. I'm not really willing to trust them, but let's sustain our disbelief for a moment to look at their findings. From their report:

"A: 90 points and above: minor flaws. Continued improvement is advised. B: 75 to 90 points: some general risks. Continued improvement is advised. C: 60 to 75 points: 1-3 major risks. Corrective action is required. D: below 60 points: >3 major risks. Corrective action is required. ZTV: Zero Tolerance Violation detetected. Immediate corrective action is required."

Even without knowing what do these things mean in practice, I don't think this paints a pretty picture. Only 4% of their manufacturing facilities had minor flaws and 82% of their facilities have major risks or worse? Does that mean none of their manufacturers fully comply with their Code of Conduct? They try to make it sound like it looks this bad because they have tightened their criteria and still the numbers are better than last year, but even with all of that, this is imo unacceptable. But it gets worse.

The report shows the amount of each ZTV found in the audits. This was explicitly not assured in any way by an independent party, so considering this information is given despite the lack of oversight and the interests of Shein, it's grim. Most of the 11% of ZTVs were gross safety violations. For example 4,2% of the audits, which means 118 facilities, found lacking emergency exits. However, they also found child labour in 6 facilities and forced labour in 3 facilities. So according to their own reporting, their manufacturers have used child labour and forced labour. And just to remind you, this is covering just 36% of their contract manufacturers. What I found interesting (read disturbing), was that violence or sexual misconduct against workers were not among Zero Tolerance Violations. I know it's not a situation, where they don't consider it violation of Code of Conduct, but rather just calls the police and let them handle it, because the violations counted here are based on their CoC, in which there's an item 7 named "No harassment or abuse of employees", which explicitly forbids physical, sexual, mental and verbal abuse. They don't however breakdown the make up of the non-ZTV violations that have occured, nor do their reveal how are they graded the ratings, so there's really no way to know what the 71% of their manufacturers have done to warrant their low (C or D) grading.

Would you at this point be surprised, if I told you it gets worse? Yeah, their so called Zero Tolerance Violations are not very zero tolerance after all. You might think zero tolerance means, that if manufacturers are caught doing it, their contract is immediately terminated and they are reported to authorities? Well, let's look what is the "immediate corrective action" outlined in their Responsible Sourcing Policy. Among the ZTVs they define even more zero tolerance violations, let's say negative tolerance violations. These are 1. forging documents, bribery or refusing to get assessed 2. child labour and 3. forced labour. Surely these lead to immediate contract termination and reporting to authorities?

So if Shein encounters slavery or probable coverup of it in their facilities, they stop placing new orders until the enslaved people and children are taken somewhere else or otherwise their contracts are fixed (at least for now), so there's no more slavery in sight, when someone comes back to assess them again and decides it's all good to continue business as usual. They have 30 days to make everything look like there's no issues, which sounds pretty easy task, and after that they can grab the kids and the slaves back there like nothing happened. Also notice how they didn't say they demand stopping the work entirely in the facility, just that they'll stop placing orders? Yeah, they don't stop production even if they find literal children or enslaved people producing them. Gotta get those dresses to the customer.

If they find any other ZTV, they come back in 30 days, and if the violation continues, they give a warning, come back again in 30 days, and if still the issue is there, then they stop placing orders. After that it continues like with child or forced labour violations. If after another 30 days it's not fixed, the contract is terminated. If a supplier gets two ZTVs within two years, they go straight to the even less than zero tolerance model straight away. If they get three ZTVs in two years, then their contract is immediately terminated. Nothing different happens though, if you get caught doing child or forced labour two times in two years, so you can just get caught once a year as long as you always pretend to stop doing it. But even if you do get caught third time in two years, or fail to pretend you fixed it, it's fine, you'll just have to do other stuff for the next year, and then you can apply again to work with Shien. Also the policy does not at any point require reporting these alleged crimes to authorities. If they at some point stop placing orders for a supplier (for example because of child or forced labour), they have to just sent all the files and documents of the goods that are produced by that supplier during the time they aren't giving them new orders to the relevant tax and customs authorities.

To answer the question I started this section with, sounds like Shein provides more evidence of bad working conditions in their suppliers' facilities, than they provide evidence of good working conditions. They even give evidence that their monitoring of those conditions is just a joke, and they have no mechanisms to actually get rid of suppliers who have inhumane working conditions. Elsewhere they try to give very weak evidence of good working conditions. The influencer brand trip to their facility in China was a PR stunt like that. However, it's easily dismissable, as the facility was not at one of the factories, where their clothing is made, all of which are third parties, but Shien's own facility they call Innovation Center. There they innovate new technologies, train their suppliers to use their new technologies and consult their suppliers on how to make new factories, which I assume means they have factory templates to give to their suppliers.

However, independent sources give much more reliable evidence of terrible working conditions in their factories. Like when undercover operation into one of their factories found employees working 18 hours a day earning 2 cents per item. When asked for comment, they answered: "Any non-compliance with this code is dealt with swiftly, and we will terminate partnerships that do not meet our standards." This is not severe ZTV, so what they mean by "dealt with swiftly" is "told to stop breaking labour laws, given some time, given warning, given more time, stopped giving new orders, given even more time and if after three months they have not stop then they gotta go". Because yes, they do terminate those who don't meet their standards. Their standards are just in the gutter.

HOW IS THE COMPANY STRUCTURED? While falling down this rabbit hole I came to the realization that Shein is the Uber of fashion. It's just the gig economy all over again. Let me explain. Unlike traditional fashion companies, Shein has outsourced even the sewing of the clothing. Shein itself is an app company, like Uber, though they technically do design their own clothes. I say technically because they have been repeatedly accused of copyright infringement to the point where they are now sued for racketeering. Allegation from the lawsuit:

"Shein has grown rich by committing individual infringements over and over again, as part of a long and continuous pattern of racketeering, which shows no sign of abating."

It relates to the other reason why I say their only technically design too, because a huge amount of their designs are also outsourced. In their sustainability report, they boast about how their SHEIN X program is meant to "empower" young designers to get their business off the ground, by taking their designs and using them for their clothing productions. This sounds a lot like SHEIN X designers are gig workers. They are basically just designers for Shein, but oh no they are not workers, labour laws won't apply! Shein specifically targets young designers, even students, so it's clear that they really just want impressionable people desperate for money and work experience. Obviously they won't get much money for their designs, since there's such a massive flood of products and designers, Shein says they have 3 000 designers in SHEIN X, and the products are so, so cheep. It's the exact same thing as with Uber and the like, they put their "workers" into competition with each other. To tie it back to the lawsuit, they use these third party designers as fodder against accusations of copyright infringement. They did not steal the design from the independent artist, they are just the platform provider.

This is also exactly how they operate with their factories. When their massive production is spread across all the 5 400 small separate suppliers, they are forced to compete for scraps. They can't organize together to demand better pay or better working conditions, and Shein can act like they have no part in them. Moreover, due to their extremely low prices, Shein has to offer only really low rates for the production of their clothing. On top of that because of the contractor structure, the actual fanctory owners taken an extra cut from those low rates, leaving extremely little for the actual workers. The prices are so low, they demand inhumane working conditions. It's impossible to sell clothing in the prices Shein does and pay well for the workers, especially with their business structure. All the talk about technological innovation is also bullshit, because this gig economy competition model ensures that most of the gig workers (in this case factories) will stay poor, so they can hardly invest in the new technologies.

This model is also what Shein holds as their most significant sustainability claim, because it allows them to cut most inventory waste. Traditional fashion companies always have a significant overhead, because their supply must always be higher than demand, otherwise, they would loose customers to their competitors. Because Shein orders small batches from large amount of factories, they can change their production in real time, adjusting to the demand much quicker than any competitor. Yes, it means they have minimal inventory loss, but it's not actually efficient. Or rather not efficient in any other way than for maximizing profits. There is a massive amount of overlap of facilities, machinery, organization structures and bureaucracy, if we look at Shein's whole production, because the small factories are all producing same things, but because Shein drives them to compete with each other, they don't have to pay for that overlap. More than that, it's extremely inefficient way to maximize people getting clothed while minimizing materials. And I don't mean producing as much clothes as possible while minimizing materials, because that is what they are doing, but the goal shouldn't be as much clothes as possible, but maximizing everyone having enough clothing, which is much less that what we produce today. And if clothing was made to last instead of making as many of them as possible, even less could be made and still everyone would have enough clothes.

Shein's extremely quick rise to the top of fashion markets was due to how effectively they managed to use the pandemic for their advantage. During the lock-downs around the world, people spend increasingly more time on their phones and social media, which Shein managed turn into their profit. They utilize social media and influencers effectively for marketing. Their platform also uses many of the same psychological tricks social media uses to keep customers scrolling and consuming. This is on itself is not at all new, but because of their business model, they turned attention into sales and sales into more attention. All that combined with their ability to response in real time to new trends and scale production extremely quickly, turned any new trend in social media into hype and micro-fashion cycles, which they would burn through increasingly fast. Their competitors wouldn't even have the time to get into that trend before it would be replaced with a new trend. Then all they needed to do was to contract new small factories, they didn't even have to spend time and money to built them, and they could take over the fast fashion market.

Shein's effect won't stop there though. Their competitors will and are already starting to adapt their methods. It means quality of clothing will keep getting worse, the whole industry will keep increasing their carbon emissions and the working conditions from cotton farmers to designers will get worse as gig economy spreads in the industry. I'll talk more about this in the conclusions of the second part, but to fix this, there needs to be government intervention. It's good that there's a lawsuit over their wider practices, not just a singular act, but it won't be enough. If they don't face significant consequences, every other company will take note that they can profit off of (allegedly) systematic crimes.

IN CONCLUSION Shein as a company is a glorified optimization algorithm which only real function is to drive up consumption and in exchange take all the profits from everyone else's labour. They use the modern classic Uber model to take the neoliberal principle of outsourcing risks and responsibilities to it's logical conclusion. Their extremely exploitative business model only works if their designers and factories and other gig workers break laws. They do the absolute bare minimum to comply with law and (allegedly) not even that when they believe they can get away with it by blaming others, which is fucking bad indictment of those laws, since my god they are terrible. Their greenwashing propaganda is honestly laughable, it's a joke and they must know it. It feels more like gaslighting than propaganda.

#this is not exactly what i usually write about but one of the reasons i care about historical fashion is because i care about sustainability #fashion #sustainable fashion #environment #climate crisis #shein #fashion industry #shein clothes #fast fashion #slavery mentioned #genocide mentioned

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drop-dead-dropout · 4 months

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Fuck's a pro shipper?

We've got a new one boys try not to scare em off /j

Okay but seriously, I'm more than happy to explain. I assume that if you're asking this question you're not aware of the proshipper vs antishipper, uh, "conflict", I guess. So, here is what both of those terms mean, to the best of my descriptive abilities:

Antishipper (often just "anti"): someone who vaguely believes that consuming problematic fiction (usually specifically problematic sexual fiction like lolicon or incest) is either a true reflection of them as a person or a corrupting force that will cause them to play out these desires in real life, onto real people. Basically, if you read age gap, you touch real kids in real life or secretly want to.

Proshipper (sometimes "profic"): someone who does not believe the above, and believes that fiction is not the same as reality because it doesn't harm anyone and therefore people should be left alone as long as you have no reason to believe that they would ever do something like that irl. Often hand in hand with things like anti censorship, kink positive, etc, though being a proshipper does not necessarily mean you have a problematic ship or kink yourself (example: me).

You're probably asking this question because you saw me day in my bio that I am a proshipper. I've tried to stay neutral in this initial description, but obviously I probably didn't manage to be completely unbiased considering that I believe myself to be right (most people do) so if you want to ask further questions after this that's perfectly fine. That being said:

Why am I a proshipper?

So, to understand this, let's first look over the issues within both communities— every group has issues, after all.

What problems do proshippers have?:

- sometimes 4chan assholes co-opt the label "proshipper" just because they're lolicons, even though there's good evidence to suggest that they would do or even have done criminal sexual acts in real life, or that they possess actual csam (child sexual abuse material, a term being used in favor of "cp" these days as porn implies consent). Proshipping has nothing to do with the harmful idea that you should be allowed to exploit and abuse real children.

- there are still many gray areas which proshippers themselves don't agree on. For example: I've seen a bunch of arguments about if writing fanfiction of live action shows or movies changes the equation. The general consensus of proshippers is that writing fanfiction of a character played by a child actor is definitely a more delicate situation and should not be sexual as it's inextricably tied to the image of a real child, but there are others who believe differently.

- I'm genuinely struggling to come up with more of these. Um, sometimes lolicons are really shitty people, like in point 1. This isn't SUPER relevant though cause in reality the overlap between predominantly queer or female proshippers and Reddit incels who just wanna jerk off to a petite anime girl is pretty small, though I'm sure it exists somewhere .

Now, what problems do antis have? (Fair warning, this is gonna sound even more "biased" but I hope my logic is still sound from the outside :p):

- I don't have any statistics on this (haven't exactly been many research papers on fandom drama), so you're going to have to trust me when I say that antis are absolutely NOTORIOUS for extreme harassment campaigns. The first time I was exposed to the word "antishipper", it was attached to a story of a former animator committing suicide because antis had gotten them fired by "exposing" their porn alt on Twitter and they could no longer afford medication for their disability. So, hell of an intro!

- their opinions are, in pretty basic ways, not backed by science or even practical common sense. The human brain can distinguish between fiction and reality after around age four or five

and people certainly aren't trying to hand nsfw content to children that age so I think it's safe to say that the people who are reading these things won't be "confused" by them or whatever. Also, even just using your brain and talking to these people, you find out most of them project onto the YOUNGER character.

- they claim to support victims but often simply don't. I won't keep dragging threats into the spotlight because I know there are probably antis who aren't as violent, but it's honestly astonishing to me how often they jump straight to wishing death and terrible things on people, and this has included more than once telling a rape victim they hope they get assaulted again just because they're a proshipper. See, a lot of these "taboo" sexual fantasies like age gap and incest actually themselves stem from a traumatic experience, and any therapist will tell you that fiction is a much healthier way to explore intrusive thoughts and urges than more dangerous coping mechanisms like self harm or substance abuse. And when confronted with this, in my experience and many others', antis will simply ignore that fact or say that the therapist is some sort of evil enabler.

-the general cognitive dissonance of believing an incest fanfiction will make you "forget" that incest is bad vs being fine with horror movies and slashers speaks to a deeper and honestly kind of worrying anti-sex mindset. I'm not sure I'm qualified to tackle this particular topic, but I definitely agree that it's a thing; after all, I have no idea how else those two things could coexist.

Anyways, I'd like to close this off by saying not everyone is as crazy opinionated as I am, I'm just autistic and like talking lol. A lot of people who id as proshippers just have a sort of minding their own business, ship-and-let-ship mentality, and a lot of antis are unfortunately just teenagers who were told proshipper = evil pedophile groomer and thus they put "proship dni" in their bios just cause they don't know and don't really care what it means. It is undeniable that many antis are kids themselves, and that does worry me, because fandom drama (especially Twitter fandom drama) is dangerous and vitriolic and also they're putting extremely serious threats on their digital footprints at the tender age of 14! But whatever, I'm not their parents, that's just my worry. Sorry for rambling this long lol, I wouldn't blame you if you dropped out halfway through but this is basically my summary of this whole thing. Do with this knowledge what you will! Or, you know, don't! I'm not a cop!

#proship #proshipper safe #anti anti #proshipper #asks

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bloggingboutburgers · 8 months

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First of, I'm a big fan of your work. I love your comics and art and was happy to hear about the engagement 😁

As for my question, I love writing stories and creating OCs/characters. In your recent comic you called out that the only ace/aro rep always seems to be "the creator said so on Twitter" (a problem with a lot of rep. in media).

So I was curious, if I wanted to create an aroace character (and write a story with them), how could I naturally show them being aroace? Do you perhaps have any idea?

Thank you so much for the kind words!^^

Arguably my complaints are ironic because I myself haven't done proper aroace rep in my own fiction thus far – though I guess I'm compensating for that with my current comics, haha 🙈 But also, I've said it before and I'll say it again cus I'm annoying like that – Bojack Horseman did it, in my opinion, so that gives the rest of the media less excuses I guess.

So, again these are my personal views, and they're possibly demanding, but this would be my checklist for ideal aroace rep:

The aro/ace character needs to... BE a character. Actually have arcs, that matter within the story. Whether they're about being asexual or not doesn't really matter as long as THEY matter as a character.

...Ngl I feel they need to matter BEFORE they're revealed as aro/ace too, and obviously after. If they don't, they'll just feel like a placeholder who's just there to tick a box to me.

The fact that they're aro/ace needs to be addressed and not pushed under the rug or left up to interpretation. Leaving things up to interpretation will have so many people interpret them as allo for sure (just like in real life). And conversely, saying they're aro/ace may spark some curious questions and possibly awkward conversations (just like in real life). (...Again tbh Bojack Horseman was great at doing it naturally. The confusion from the ace character themself, the ace character's friend assuming they're gay because yeah that always happens, the MC having a friendly yet clueless "haha you're lucky that'd save me so many problems if I didn't have sexual attraction"... I could go on.)

By that I also mean... Actually NAMING the orientation at some point. If it's not named people who consume the media and don't know such an orientation exists will be none the wiser. (I'm guilty of that myself tbh. In one of my webcomics I had an alloaro character but never had the orientation mentioned within the story, I left it at showing he has sex and him having a conversation with his family explaining he doesn't have a favorite person because he just can't, but I feel like that's not enough, and I've been feeling a bit bad about it.) A good way of bringing that up fairly naturally would be to have the character figure out their orientation within the story, as a way to have the audience learn alongside them; but it could also be played for drama, which I don't think I've ever seen and would like to dabble with myself at some point – like, imagine you have a friend you hold dear who's key to your personal development and suddenly you find out they see you as sex / romance prospects and not as a friend like YOU do? That'd be crushing but that could definitely make for a good conflict. I should try writing that. I'm rambling anyway. Bleh.

Another thing that, to me, is key to the aro/ace experience is that the character may have some moments of questioning their place in the world. Our world is obsessed with sex and romance and fiction exacerbates that to the point where some characters barely even exist if they don't have romance. This could range from "Do I NEED to even identify myself as something" (again, Bojack Horseman did that great) to "Friendship is the most important relationship to me but not to my friends, what if they all abandon me once they find the one person they consider 'more important'". I dunno. I feel like there could be some interesting storylines there. I definitely would love to dabble into that myself a bit more, though I lack the time and talent – those concepts and the lack of things that are done with it live in my head rent-free.

...Actually I feel it could be good to show aro/ace characters as full of heart (if it fits their personality), having their own feelings and emotions outside of the usual romance spectrum, to show that they're just as human and compelling as the other characters. (...AGAIN Bojack Horseman did that great imo, I feel bad that I'm only ever quoting that show but that's still the best example I can ever think of.) Like – betrayal, loneliness, grief, kinship, literally ANY other form of love than romantic love... We feel all of those too, and those deserve to be addressed in stories just as much (if not more) than the pining or simping that's kinda everywhere.

Oh yeah and speaking of being human... Yeah, human. We need more human aro/ace characters. Making it so that only the aliens/gods/demons/robots/whatever are ever allowed to be aro/ace only serves to dehumanize these orientations.

...IIIII think that's it. I might be forgetting some things I'd wanna add on later but I think that covers everything that would make for ideal rep in my own opinion

#asexual #asexual representation #aromantic #aromantic representation #aroace #hopefully that helps! though again this is personal feelings #i'd be honored if they're shared but yeah #sinank0606

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quiwilove · 10 months

Text

Like a Tattoo - Prologue

Pairing: Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan x Omatikaya!Reader.

Synopsis: Neteyam’s backstory.

Genre: Angst.

Warnings: Depiction of violence, Mentions of blood, Death, War, Arranged betrothal, Grief, ED, Nightmares. MDNI.

Word-count: 3.1k

Author’s note: This will be a multi-chapter series and I thing having a backstory gives the readers(you!) a better understanding of the characters. If you don’t want to read the prologue it’s totally fine! Also this is my first time publishing a work of mine on tumblr, so be patient with me, please! Write to me if you have any suggestions or advice regarding the story.

Combatants

- At the age of fifteen he had already learned silence.

It was his fourth time at a raid. Everything was planned, calculated to the very last drop.

Jake Sully, the great Olo'eyktan and his father, had stayed till late hours perfecting the plan of their raid. The tent in which they were staying was mostly used for gatherings of all the skilled warriors within the clan including Toruk Makto. The meetings consisted of strategic planning of their upcoming attacks, they would draw on a makeshift map of the area that surrounded the tracks made by their oppressors. The tent was large enough to hold a dozen, it had a lengthy table in the middle making the space feel confined. Air felt thick, hard to breathe in.

Jake Sully had his hands pressed against the rough wood, eyebrows furrowed and eyes searching for an answer that could not be seen. Neteyam wondered if his father’s muscles were always so tense, almost as if they were about to snap.

“The RDA has taken a huge blow on their equipment. They won’t be willing to sacrifice more. I presume they’ll bring reinforcement, Sir.”

“That’s for sure, the question is from where they will hit us.” Toruk Makto’s hand went to trace over the previously drawn lines of the movement they were planning. Ink smudged beneath his fingertips slightly staining them with black. Everyone had left the gathering hours ago, pleased with their work. But to Jake it felt like nothing was finished, nothing felt right.

“It could be from anywhere, Sir. We should be prepared for the worse. Gathering a larger group of warriors on the ground would be our best option.” Neteyam felt confident in his answer, or rather tried to.

“Why so?”

“It would be easier for us to not be seen. Sky people have a pattern to their attacks. They have no ground force, only air force, so-” His fingers traced next to the lining of the tracks on the map. “-if we move here where the trees keep us cover. We would have a greater plane to move across, they wouldn’t know where to hit.” Neteyam’s eyes glanced up to his father’s, searching for validation. But Jake Sully’s face remained stoic thinking over what his son stated.

“Spotters will still be vital for us but only a few are necessary. The less we are seen in the sky the better.” He continued. His father hadn’t uttered a word. The tent's walls painfully closed around, making it hard to inhale. The confidence he once felt had drained from him. An apology for his futile comment was about to slip off his tongue as he took his last sharp breath.

“Come on, we’ll need to get a good night’s sleep.” He patted his son’s shoulder and walked out of the tent. Yes, sir, it was a whisper, almost like he had said it to himself. He leaned against the table folding the scruffy piece of paper, placing it where all the other maps and plans were situated. They smelled like poison. Once you touch them you would be marked with the blood of the ones that died during the raids. You would be part of the reason for their death.

The fifteen-year-old tried to wholly blame their invaders, the men who shot their bullets at them. But after the names of the warriors who laid deceased on the battlefield were announced, guilt consumed his mind. The blood on his hands couldn’t be washed.

Morning had come. Everyone rushed from place to place picking up weapons. Their faces were painted in different colours, masking their fear. No one was sure whether they would live throughout the day. It was a gamble, each of their raids was a gamble with death. All members of the gatherings knew of this - an unspoken truth. A truth that was too hard to swallow. Felt taboo to even think about it, so it was never spoken of aloud.

The young boy’s footsteps matched the ones of all the skilled warriors, the sense of confidence radiating off of them - they were fast and controlled, each step very well calculated. He was marching off to the tent that had been occupied by him and his father many hours ago, knowing that Jake Sully would be there. He needed to apologize for his previous outburst. He felt compunction clawing at him, he needed to learn to be silent - to keep all fruitless comments to himself. Neteyam was consumed by his own thoughts, each yell or noise was blurred only making a slight vibration passing through his skin. Then he heard it. Her voice.

“Neteyam, yawne!” The voice of his soon-to-be mate. She jogged through the crowd, a smile on her plump lips. Her face was decorated with warrior's paint complimenting her seraphic features. Her eyes were big, having so much life in them.

“Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be with Kiri and Mo’at helping them?” His eyes narrowed.

“I won’t be needed there.” She took his larger hands into her own, squeezing them lightly. The smile on her face remained. ”I’ll be joining you, fighting with you.”

The scowl plastered across his face deepened. A sudden premonition came over him. He had been terrified of the thought of other na’vi, unknown to him putting their life on the line. But his future mate? He could not let such a thing happen. The mere idea of losing her left him petrified.

“No. You won’t be. You’ll be staying with Mo’at, where I know you’ll be safe.” The Olo'eyktan’s son tried to keep his voice soft.

“Your father told me I can come.” Her hands moved up to his shoulders then to his face, gently caressing his freckled skin. ”I am a warrior, Neteyam. I know how to keep myself safe and… I have you to protect me.” His gaze softened, grasping her hands in his rough ones. ‘How could my father permit such a delicate girl on the filthy field?’ He thought displeased.

Neteyam and Syay had met a year ago, not by fate but their parents. Her family being a respected household in the clan, it was no wonder they would soon cross paths. At first their interactions were forced, neither of them wanted to be betrothed to the other but they knew this was their duty. They had to get along for the clan, for the people. Months went by and the hours they spent together seemed less painful and felt less like a chore.

“Promise me you will stay by my side at all times.” It was a demand. Leaning forward Syay touched her forehead to his. She could sensor the cold sweat clinging to the boy’s skin, his muscles taut

“I will, yawne.”

The brown cloth that was used as an entry was moved to the side revealing several combatants gathered around his father. On the table beneath their palms was placed the worn out map. Their gazes shot like arrows in his way, ready to pierce through the thickest flesh. Agitation was written on their faces, mortality blooming under their skin. Toruk Makto had gathered them once again due to his own fear of failure. The Olo'eyktan was the last to pick up his head.

Neteyam’s posture was awkward, out of place, his fingers still gripping the cloth. Their predatorily stare made him feel weak as If he were to be hunted. Cautiously he took a step forward, the tent’s entrance sliding closed, then a few more steps until he was at the base of the table.

“Sir, may I speak with you?” The young boy spoke with pseudo confidence, all eyes on him but his own bore through his father’s.

“Go on.”

“Privately, if possible.”

Jake Sully dismissed his comrades with a hand gesture. They all exited the tent without questioning. Authority radiated off his father. A thing he admired about him. He often wished to be more like his father - a true leader with no fear.

“I-I want to apologize for yesterday. I was creating some stupid war plan in my head and I thought it sounded smart but after saying it out loud, it lost all sense. I should have-” He was quickly cut off by his father.

“No, you are too quick to blame yourself. You are still learning Neteyam, yes but what you stated previously was quite an idea.” He licked his chapped lips, pausing for a moment “I talked with the other warriors about it. Perhaps you were right about their lack of ground force. What I am saying is that we’ll try out your plan. With that you need to know that you and some of my men will be the only spotters.”

The boy’s yellow eyes widened at the thought. Recognised by Jake, validated. He was proud of himself. The embarrassment he had felt was draining from him but then he remembered. ‘What about Syay?’ His mind raced.

“Father, Syay told me she will be coming with us. She will be with me, a spotter, right?” He leaned over the table with his hands on the edge. The size of the wooden surface seemed to shorten as his father remained silent.

“Look, Syay’s father will be on the ground and she will be with him. We both know he is capable of keeping his own daughter safe so you shouldn’t worry.” Neteyam did the opposite. He began to worry. Even if the best known soldier to Pandora was with his beloved, he would still fear for her wellbeing. He needed her to be next to him, eyes to be locked on her. The boy was painfully aware that on the ground death was promised and mercy was granted to the strongest.

“I want her with me. Switch her with one of your men, the sky is safer and you can easily dodge bullets. I can’t allow her to get hurt. Please understand me, Sir.”

Jake Sully shook his head. Contemplating whether his decision will be fatal later on. He knew his son was responsible but still a child.

“It will be for the best this way. It’s too late to change plans.” Jake spoke and hoped his boy would accept this and move on.

“Sir, I can protect her, she'll be better off with me.”

“No.”

“I won’t let her out of my sight!” The young na’vi was beginning to bargain. Desperate to be with his Syay.

“Neteyam.”

“Father, please…” There was a pregnant pause.

“A-a-a-h, you must take full responsibility. No playing around, understand me?”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir!” Neteyam let out a small sigh of relief, a breath that was caught up in him from the first steps he took into the tent.

“Now get outta my face.” With that the child warrior left the tent almost too quickly and eagerly.

Ikrans soar through the sky as their riders inspect the air nervously. Before take off all na’vi gathered listening to the words spoken from their mighty Olo’eyktan. His words were like a soothing song to the mothers, wives and children. The ones afraid their family would not return this moon. Neytiri, Jake’s mate and Neteyam’s mother was there, standing close, cradling her youngest in her arms. Prior to going on raids she felt the need to ease her children, hold them close to herself as if they were to perish. She was never too scared of a war, she knew the necessity of it and the sacrifices to be made but as her children grew they joined the war. Their safety was at risk and that is when the fear blossomed within her.

Neytiri’s gaze fell on Neteyam. Many said he inherited the strong features of his mother. The eyes, the nose, the lips all resembled her’s, but she could only see Jake in her son. He had a face stoic but gentle and pure as Jake’s. Her eyes quickly moved to the ikran’s rider gliding next to the young boy. Syay, a girl tough for her age. She was a talented warrior, her bow like an extension of her arm. She never was the type to mess around the other young na’vi girls, to weave baskets with them, to make bracelets together, to even gossip. But this was not looked down upon as her hunting skills out maneuvered the need of acquiring other expertises. Once, Neytiri tried to teach the child how to thread a piece of clothing but soon she understood it was impossible. The child couldn’t even slide a bead on the thread without it disappearing in the ground. Too sloppy with her hands to make a simple cloth but skilled enough with the knife to kill in seconds. ‘Such a strange thing.’ Neytiri would often think.

Before her thoughts could wander any further Jake’s voice boomed through her ear piece. The noise piercing her ear drums.

“We are approaching the target. Be ready.”

Bullets hit their target, fire spread on the ground, na’vi screamed and cheered. If a painter had the chance to portray the scene that absorbed the battle ground, it would have been a grotesque depiction of the colour red, splashed all over the canvas. Another shipment vehicle had been taken down. Quickly, the soldiers started searching through the containers with the intention of finding valuable weapons. In spite of that, a thud of empty boxes could be heard. It didn’t even take long for Jake Sully to realize that he had been tricked. He took the bait. Shock was what he felt, which was swiftly outlived as many dark and gruesome thoughts absorbed his consciousness. Depictions of everything in their plan going wrong.

“Sawtute!” Humans.

Jake cursed under his breath. He looked around and saw all the combatants looking in his direction, ready to take action, to listen to his command. At once it went silent. A painful silence. And so he began to scream and yell. But he couldn’t hear his own voice. Deafening ring went all around the plaine. The humans have begun their maschere. Their firearms pierced the air and then the flesh of the na’vi.

“Fall back!” The Olo’eyktan yelled. Some soldiers ran, others shot at the helicopters soaring in the wind. Several fell and the other remained. He, himself, fought however he could, but their opponents were too strong. The fight wasn’t fair and they were greatly outnumbered. An ignoble fight, a bloody and messy war.

“Dad!” Neteyam called though the throat mic distressed.

“Are you okay, son?” A premonition came over Jake.

“Dad, I don’t know w-what happened. I-I was on the ground with Syay, she-“ Neteyam’s voice broke and a pained cry erupted from his throat. “She wanted to help her dad with the cargo and-“ Jake’s patience was thin.

“What happened?!” The Oly’ektan screamed.

“Syay is dead, dad!”

The silence. Present again. A helicopter crashed 10 metres away from Jake Sully. But the silence continued. Neteyam shook with every breath he took. Stream of tears and snot went down his chin onto the burning ground, as he held his soon-to-be mate. He held her tightly, close to his chest. The hot blood that stained his skin and clothes didn’t bother him. He thought that if he held her for long enough she would come back to life, and her chest would start to rise and fall. But she was still, awfully still. The young boy wailed, unable to accept the inevitable. ‘At least her father was next to her. At least in her final moments she was next to the people she loves.’ He thought. Lucky.

With eyes red and hands trembling, Neteyam was found embracing Syay by his father. The battle was ongoing around them, but it didn’t seem as if the boy cared.

“Let me see you.” His father ordered him. The boy-soldier looked at his father with desperation. Jake brought his hands to touch his son’s scraped face and then observed his body for any fatal injuries. Relieved, the man then turned his attention towards Syay who laid next to his son. A sense of bitterness went through him as many memories of the sweet girl were brought back into his mind.

“Your mother will be here soon, she’ll take you home.”

“But-“ Neteyam didn’t want to leave his precious girl, however war comes with its many sacrifices and heartbreaks.

“Learn to be silent.” His voice was sharp. Neytiri soon landed with her ikran.

The following hours after the battle ended, the usually turquoise sky was gray. The na’vi mourned and grieved their losses. After Neteyam’s family understood of the death of his ‘soon-to-be’ mate and her father, they were all devastated. Misery loomed over them because of the major loss. However they couldn’t sulk for days to no end, because they had duties - the people were waiting for them.

Months went by, the funerals passed. Neteyam still blamed himself for everything that went on during the infamous battle. He continued to think that if he were more assertive and stern, he and Syay wouldn’t have gone to the ground where all hell broke loose. He thought that maybe… he should have been the one shot. Neteyam couldn’t sleep for days without having nightmares. Food for him seemed almost unpleasant. He was carrying the burden of death with himself. …But as many say, time heals. The said words would often cross his mind, a simple reminder that life continues. Thus, he devoted himself to work. Every chance he received, he would occupy his time with chores and training, no time for rest as it brough unwanted thoughts. The Omatikaya clan was looking up to him as the next Olo’eyktan in line and the expectations were high.

Five years later…

The Sullys had to take a leave. They had to depart from their people, their clan. The RDA hadn’t backed down and only grew stronger with time. Recently, Colonel Quarich came back from the dead in search of his target - Jake Sully. Not long ago, Neteyam’s siblings were under grave danger when they were captured by the dream walkers. In result, Jake took the hard decision of leaving their home for the good of the people and themselves. He was soon stripped of his title of Olo’eyktan and there was no turning back. The younger Sullys were distraught by the unexpected news, but it wasn't up to them to decide, so their pleas and bargains didn’t affect anything. Neteyam, already an adult, 20 years of age, was rather objective about the choice as he understood the vital nature of the resolution and he didn’t say a word.

#avatar the way of water #avatar #neteyam #neteyam x reader #neteyam fanfiction #jake sully #neytiri #neteyam angst #angst #multi chapter #avatar series #avatar way of water #fanfic

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honeyhotteoks · 1 month

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Okay I'm 5'7 too so thank you for your detailed description of the members and I'm not surprised but kinda am at the same time about their appearance??

Low-key love seeing all the live content but also feel left out as an Aussie atiny BUT I'm seeing skz in October so I'm excited for that!!

Speaking of their appearance, the members of skz are a lot more muscular in person than how they look.

I was expecting them to be skinny and boney but they all look incredibly strong and fit-even Han and Felix-

Han actually looks slightly more buff and muscly then Felix which surprised me and Lee Know is just as defined and muscular as Changbin which no one talks about.

Anyway- yunho brain rot.

I was listening to the audiobook of haunting Adeline because I finally caved in from the TikTok influence and my friend telling me how sexy the novel is.

Idk if it's because I'm going to therapy or I'm too old but I thought it was over-hyped-

I did love how the author described the themes of fear and stalking because when I did get tense when she'd leave the room, come back and there would be a 🌹 on the counter.

BUT I did get delulu and I was reading some scenes where zade is just consumed with Adeline and I was gasping 'like omg yunho could be like this' because his natal chart indicates if he was psychotic and unhealed enough- could delve into stalking territory.

And yes okay- this shit is toxic and scary and awful in real life BUT LET ME FANTASISE FOR A SECOND!

What if yunho was that borderline toxic boyfriend that just CANT leave you alone??

Watches you from afar, sends you messages all day-

Somnophilia thought here-

You don't live with yunho but have given him a key and go to bed with no panties on b/c it's a common occurrence he'll drive over in the middle of the night b/c it's been too long since he's felt you under him and he has to ravish you.

You wake up to his tongue on you clit as he moans and breathes your scent in which eventually leads to you making love with him as he virtually suffocates you with his body and words?

You're mine, you're not leaving me, I'm destined to be with you, on top of you, inside you, I can't breathe w/o you.

EMOTIONAL DAMAGE!!

MY FRIEND THE WAY YOU ALWAYS SERVE UP THE GREATEST IMAGERY OF ALL TIME TO RUIN ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

first of all........ love that you're seeing skz!!! i'm hoping if and when they announce tour dates for north america next year there's a chance for me to see them

as far as your yunho brainrot goes................. IM DIZZY. i love your natal chart content, and i've been so obsessed with the idea of yunho being like perfect boyfriend great guy................but................there's that part of him that just can't help being possessive and having this sense of ownership over his partner.

i was just actually reading a fic for another fandom along the lines of what you're describing and i was like YUNHO YUNHO YUNHO the whole time. i might write my own version but......... brainrot under the cut

so i think there's two yunho possibilities that i love within this like possessive/stalker/dubcon realm, and one is straight up like suuuuuper healthy relationship but they play with CNC in intense ways and do full on like roleplay OR my current favorite brainrot which aligns with your idea and the fic i was just reading which is like...... desperately obsessed desperately in love fully fixated on reader not leaving him because he just has to consume her fully at all times.

he and reader have been dating for a while and he's honestly the 10/10 perfect boyfriend (she thinks) only.... she knows he gets a little funny about certain things. when other guys talk to her he just has to have his hands on her, and when he worries about her he really worries, almost too much. he gets jealous about the funniest little things, and he's always nervous about change, he just doesn't want anything to burst their little bubble so much so that he's controlling the situation a little too much. but.... she also loves him, and he hasn't really stepped over the line of toxic.......... until she catches him stealing a pair of her panties and realizes his phone is full of pictures of her.

and it starts off like an argument, until he starts to confess his real fantasies. and he knows it might be too much, but she makes him so insane it's like he can't help himself. and the longer he talks about all of those fantasies, confessing how fucked he knows it is and how she really could do better, she just keeps getting more and more turned on. and it's shocking to her too, but she really fucking likes it. she's never had someone take care of her, really and truly take care of everything and just let her exist without having to make all the decisions or take control, and he's just offering it all to her on a platter she just has to let him take it.

and so while he thinks revealing his desires is about to break them up, and he's losing his fucking mind about it, she's ready to double down hard on the relationship and on what they do behind closed doors. so she shocks him when she not only agrees for more but asks for more.

and so that's when she gives him the key, that's when she tells him that he's allowed to come in whenever he wants. to touch her whenever he wants. she wants it all, but all she asks in exchange is that he stops hiding his desires from her, because that's what was driving the wedge between them. he's patient about using the new found control though, because he doesn't know what that will do for their relationship and she doesn't necessarily know what she's allowing him to do..... he can't smother her ALL at once.

but that changes when she falls asleep one night before texting him goodnight, she's been stressed and worn thin and he's not had the opportunity to see her let alone take care of her..... and he's feeling a little neglected too. and he waits a couple of hours for a response, but finally he decides it's time to use the key. so he drives over, slips in quietly, and finds her sound asleep, phone still clutched in her fingers and a video looping on repeat.

he's hard in a second, desperate in a second, and he has to do something about it. so he starts off slow, peeing off her clothes and gently teasing her nipples, getting a blush in her cheeks and making her perfectly hot and receptive to his tongue teasing her sweet clit.

she’s been so tired lately that she’s well and truly out, and she doesn’t really wake up until he’s teasing her wet cunt with his cock, not quite fucking her yet but everything in between. and when she wakes it’s mid-orgasm and desperate for more, and she's aware that something feels different but she just woke up and she's caught between realizing yunho is actually here and pushing himself inside her and thinking it might be a dream.

but he's whispering to her, clutching her close and begging her to just let him have this.... and of course she will, she agreed, but as she comes more and more into consciousness the feeling of him and his words start to make sense. he’s not wearing a condom for the first time ever, and that's not something they've ever agreed on going without before. she's just trying to figure out what is going on but he's fucking into her harder and deeper than before, with a whimpering need on his lips that makes her body curl up in pleasure and she knows she should stop him but truthfully she doesn't want to.

and while she clings to him, yunho's delirious. the feeling of having her completely, of knowing he's the only person who's ever been inside her fully with nothing between them, of knowing that the risk might be worth it. his mind starts to spin until he's a babbling mess, telling her he's going to leave a piece of himself behind for her, make them whole, make sure she can never ever leave.

and even though she knows it's a terrible idea, a decision only made in the middle of sex because it feels good, she finds herself clutching him closer, goading him on. no one has ever wanted her quite like he does and it makes her want to throw everything she's ever cared about right out the window if it means he'll look at her like this forever.

ANYWAYS now i have to write full lowkey toxic possessive yunho with a reader who is down to be fully consumed by him like AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

#this ask #i need a fucking cigarette #yunho hard hours #yunho smut #yunho hard thoughts #yunho #ateez hard hours #answered ask

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illiicits · 1 year

Text

Illicit Affairs part 1 (maybe?)

DISCLAIMER: I suck at writing and haven’t done so in a long time. So I apologize if things don’t make sense or are misspelled. I promise to get better. This was a small idea I had while at was at work cause I literally don’t have anything to do like 95% of the time so I decided to write a little Drabble.

Word count: 2822

You cover your mouth with the back of your hand as you try to bite back a yawn for the hundredth time within the last two hours. Sitting by the glow and heat of the fireplace that you so dearly adored at one point. Now the beautiful bricked object just brings back memories that used to be loved by yourself, but now replaying them just brings a pang of hurt spreading throughout your chest.

A big sigh left your lips as the sudden chime of the grandfather clock azriel had custom made startled you slightly. The clock chimes a wonderful tune, one both your mate and yourself used to hold dear to your heart. Three chimes ranging out into the deep void of the dark office it sits in. The office that as of late hasn’t been opened by the shadow singer. Always gone, always away, and always an excuse coming from those wonderful kissable lips he has. Three chimes that azriel hasn’t been here to listen to for the longest time.

Where is he? Why isn’t he home yet?

You hadn’t noticed the distance at first. He’s the high lords spymaster, always on the move and always doing his best to keep the court and everyone else safe. Something that you’d loved about him. His work ethic, his will to serve and take care of the ones he loves.

After everything he’s been through you’d think the man would’ve retreated every single emotion known to man, kept far away from anyone at all. But his friends take care of him, his family takes care of him. You make sure to do your best to provide him with friendship, love, care, and all the other things he needs.

Azriel and you met by chance.

You were originally from spring court. Your parents somehow settled close to the wall. Hoping to one day have it come down and everyone live in peace. That day never came. Waking in the morning to find your parents had vanished. Never knowing why, how or even where they went. You knew your home life wasn’t always the best but it was never bad enough that you’d think they’d leave without a good bye.

Leaving you alone at such a young age has scarred you in more ways that you’d like to admit to anyone, including Azriel. You don’t even like to awknowledge that fact to yourself. Which is a huge red flag on your part but even with that you learned to be alone on your own, to not depend on anyone other than yourself.

Spending years finding a way to survive, after everything that happened with the high lord of the spring court you tried your best to stay in the shadows of not only the spring court and those who still lingered, but doing the upmost to stay far far far away from amarantha and the viscous rumors, or what you thought were rumors. Turns out she was a thousand times worse than those tiny tiny rumors, which says a lot about the power and utter evil she was consumed with.

During the fall of Amarantha, you slowly worked your way through courts. Trying to find some sense of belonging to at least one of them. Nothing in them kept you there for long. Until you somehow met a tiny firey women in some little bar. She talked your ear off and introduced you to some other girls that night. Somehow you slowly befriended all of them. Each one offers friendship and kindness with open arms.

When you finally got around to meet azriel you couldn’t help but sneak glances at the handsome man. The way he carried himself and his interest but lack of interaction was enough to get you to talk to him.

Slowly, you became friends with the spymaster. Never once letting him use the excuse that his shadows, past or his fearful reputation scare you off. Somewhere along the lines he started sneaking glances at you, at dinner, talking with friends. Az admitted that he’d walk into a room and the first thing he found was you. His shadows are always seeking out what they desire, what Az himself desires.

The bond clicked for you in the middle of a family game night.

You were all squished onto the top of Rhys apartment rooftop patio. The lack of seating caused everyone but you to have a seat to themselves. Struggling with sitting on the floor, azriel finally got annoyed enough with your figetting.

“Stop that already” Azriels firm voice spoke.

“Stop what?” You had questioned shifting your weight from one side of your ass to the other. The concert floor even with a soft blanket cushioning some of the cold and hardness still made your ass numb and sore.

He had given you a pointed look after you said that. He had let a small sigh fall from his lips with a roll of his eyes and the smallest of grins on his face. He lifted his hand and patted his thigh twice. You stared at the spymaster. A blush formed on your cheeks. “Well come on” he had said. You had quickly scrammed to get up and into his lap. Sitting with your back leaned against the armrest of the couch and both of your legs draped over his thighs.

Azriel had held you like that for the rest of the night. His right arm was thrown over the back of the couch and his left hand splayed out over your thigh. You couldn’t concentrate with the heat of him being so close.

Your senses seemed to have heightened with him being so close. The smell of his deep forest , wood and midnight rain scent had you wanting to wrap yourself around him and never let him go. The feel of his breath when he laughed about Rhys antics or cassian poking fun at Mor, had been leaving little butterflies in your stomach and his small smile he’d give you when he caught you looking at him had nearly stopped your heart.

At some point in the night Azriel had gone deathly silent and still. You didn’t notice his heated gaze on the side of your face. You had been laughing at a joke someone made when the hand on your thigh that had a death grip started tingling. You had placed your hand over top of his and quickly glanced up to the shadow singer.

You hadn’t noticed his shadows all night. Almost forgot about them all together but they had completely covered you and Az now. Forming a thick black layer of fog over the two of you.

It had felt like forever. Just staring into each others eyes not one of you wanting to say a word to the other. Scared of what was happening. You had gently reached out your hand, fingers lightly brushing the crease in between Az’s eyebrows. “What’s wrong?” You questioned him softly. You voice was barely even a whisper scared to send that soft side of azriel back into hiding like normal.

He didn’t say anything for a few seconds. His eyes are just glazing over your face. He'd look at your soft pink lips, up to the little nose that he so much adored, over your lightly freckled cheeks, then he’d catch your beautiful eyes and just stare so intensely that you felt the need to wiggle under his gaze.

The tingling on your thigh had increased as he started rubbing it. He distracted you from thinking of trying to get him to talk about the sudden issue. You pulled your eyes away from his hand on your thigh, meeting his gaze. Looking into his eyes you felt the slight snap in your mind. Your eyes had widened so much that you could’ve sworn you looked like a big eyed bug.

“Oh” you softly said startled at what just happened. “Oh?” Azriel had reiterated back to you in question an eyebrow slightly raised. “Oh my mother” you said in panic. “You, you’re, oh my mother!, you’re my mate!” you replied, stuttering over your words.

Azriels lips formed into a smile. He gently took your face in his hands to hold you still. “My mate” he said to you, just holding your eyes and smiled. “I can’t believe I found you, so close and already so much a part of the family” Azriel admitted. He slowly reached forward and kissed the tip of your nose. “I couldn’t have asked for anyone more perfect.” He whispered to you. Your breath had caught in your throat as you tried to choke back a sob threatening to escape you. You had finally found home.

how did you miss it?

You missed the distance that started to grow between the two of you. You missed how his thirty minutes late excuse slowly became an hour, then an hour became two. Eventually at some point, he stopped even letting you know he’d be missing dinner or something else.

You tried not to think too much about it. Always making excuses for him after he stopped coming up with his own.

The fire light flickered, providing a faint soft glow throughout the otherwise dark room. You shift in your chair catching the soft throw blanket laid across your thighs. Wearing his favorite little silk shorts with the matching top to go alone with the outfit you waited for your mate to come home.

A rustle was made in the quiet house. 5 am and azriel finally made it home. He was taking his coat off at the front door along with his black shoes. He had his Illyrian leathers on but most of the buckles were undone and made a slight jingle sound every time he took a step.

The pitch black house had not a sound echoing throughout it. No sign of anyone being here. No coats or shoes out of place from earlier this morning. Normally the house was filled with the lovely smell of spices found in a market stall in the city, but tonight azriel realized that he’s home a little late. Later than he has ever been.

Az made his way throughout the dark house, heading for the kitchen to look for some form of food. He passed by the living room. Not noticing the small delicate female sitting in his favorite chair by the now faint glow of the fire.

In the kitchen azriel rummaged through the cabinets looking for anything to make a snack with. His mind still a little fuzzy from the fairy wine he drank earlier at dinner. His senses slightly blocked and his shadows slightly reserved after a long night of drinking, eating and fun.

You waited patiently for the shadow singer to come back from the kitchen and realize you were sitting there in his chair. Listening carefully to the cabinets opening and closing and the shuffling around in the kitchen told you he wasn’t aware that you in fact weren’t sleeping inside the bed that is located upstairs.

Grabbing the throw blanket and wrapping it around yourself, you made your way to the arch way of the kitchen. Staring at the sight of a man you love so much shuffling around, you narrowed your eyes focusing on his slightly sluggish movements. Something you don’t see in the strict and focused posture of the shadow singer normally. Eyes glazing over the kitchen you spot some of his leathers on the small table by the back door.

“I left you a plate of tonight’s dinner in the fridge.” You spoke softly. Even with your whisper that left your lips the spay master's back muscle tensed his black shirt flexing with the action.

Azriel stilled for a couple more seconds before he turned around to face you.

“Y/N” he breathed out. “What are you going up? Did I wake you? He questioned with a tone you couldn’t quite place. “If I did my apologies, go back to bed” said azriel dismissing your presence.

Green eyes locked onto hazel eyes for a few moments. Your green eyes trail across his face down to his chest and then repeated the motion in an upward movement. Green eyes narrowed on something by Azriel’s collarbone. Hiding partly behind the black shirt collar. Azriel moved slightly making the shirt move ever so slightly fully covering the mark you were eyeing. His shadows that weren’t there a few moments ago slowly showed themselves. Wrapping around the warriors wings that were tightly tucked up to his back.

The sight of his shadows wrapping around his form a couple months ago would’ve made you weak in the knees. Now they made you mad.

your anger grew the longer you both didn’t say anything to each other. You cleared your throat one, twice, three times and azriel didn't acknowledge you.

Frustration and angry radiating off of you in waves. “Azriel!”. The emotions you were feeling definitely were detectable in your voice. Nothing could’ve hidden the feelings even if you tried. Tired of all his sneaking around, showing up late, leaving early before you can even utter a word, he’ll before you’re even up and out of bed. Tried and frustrated and just plain angry at the man standing before you, you broke completely.

You stalked towards him. Cornering the shadowsinger between you and the Corner cabinet of your kitchen. Azriel stared at you in shock. Having never seen such anger and frustration on your face directed right at him. Caused by him.

A thin hand reached out towards his shirt collar. Azriel tried to swat it away but you reached out again and grabbed the collar and yanked it down. Green blew wide open. Breathing becomes raggedy as you fixated green eyes at the marks left on his skin. Like pink in some areas and purple and red colors in the other. Azriel reach up and tried to pry your death grip off his collar but he couldn’t get you to let go.

“Y/N” he said. “Y/N, let go of my shirt, let it go”. Azriel's voice was faint in your ears. Not recognizing he was speaking to you he repeated your name once again.

Azriel stared at you. Watching emotions pass on your beautiful face. He didn’t know what to tell you. Az knew he messed up, has been messing up for months now. He didn’t know what the hell was happening with him in the first place. He didn’t know why he was hypnotized by the sweet and loving female he just left. Didn’t know why he enjoyed her company so much or why she always sought him out. He was willing to take what happened tonight to the grave. Wasn’t even an option to remotely tell you but the mother had other plans.

“Az? What- what is this? Why would you, you…” voicing creaking and breath shaky, questions fell from your lips when you recognized his voice calling your name.

The room suddenly felt way too hot, his hand engulfing yours felt like fire and lighting. Tear filled eyes shot up to his face. Threatening to spill over your wispy eyelashes. You don’t remember willing your body to move, it just decided to move on its own. You had pushed past the shadowsinger, feeling his shadows desperately circling around your wrist and up your arms. Feeling them desperately tugging at your ankles, wrapping them around your legs trying to get you to stop as Azriel followed behind you, pleading and apologizing to hear him out.

You raced up the stairs turning the corner and practically sprinting down the hallway to your shared bedroom. Spinning on your heel’s as soon as you made it through the door to slam the door in the face of your mate.

Az banged on the door “Y/N? op- open the door please.” The door knob wiggled as you slid down the door pulling your knees to your crest and finally letting the tears fall. “Baby, please just open the door, I’ll explain everything. It- it was an accident. I don’t know what happened, I’m sorry, just let me in so I can hold you, love.” Az pleaded.

You sobbed harded hearing him use nicknames that you loved. You felt him tugging and pulling hard on the bond trying to get in. Trying to show that he was there and he wasn’t going anywhere. Tears fell harder as you watched his shadows slowly glide from the crack under the door to wrap around you. You heard the movement of Az as he turned around and slid down the door.

You don’t know how long you sat there before finally the tears slowly stopped flowing and you drifted off to sleep, back against the door with tear stained cheeks and puffy eyes; with your knees pulled up to your chest and shadows wrapping around your body.

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