#is anyone here from my given era...

[mafuyuh]

just watched the last given movie. i realized i still have such a soft spot for this series. and the things i was frustrated with while reading the manga didn't bother me as much in the movie. in fact, i loved the movie a lot. it reignited my love for given. it reminded me what given is all about - healing - and it was portrayed so well through mafuyu and even other characters such as ugetsu. it was not perfect but i loved it regardless. i love given and i love mafuyu SO MUCH 😭🥹

anyways, basically this moodboard was the whole movie

[ham1lton]

X MARKS THE SPOT!

pairings: retired f1 drivers x retired f1 legend!yn.

faceclaim: jessica alba.

summary: being the first-ever female f1 world champion was hard enough. writing a tell-all about it, including all the details of your beef with that former driver? let’s just say the track wasn’t the only place things got heated.

warnings: mentions of misogyny. like a lot. so if that is something that makes you uncomfortable, please don’t read!! your comfort comes first <3

author’s note: ignore timeline issues!! this was all inspired by that one anon who said something about yn writing a tell-all. if you liked this, maybe send me an ask? :D

now part of a trilogy!

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liked by vogue, jimmyfallon and 2,837,018 others

yourinstagram: it was so fun talking to jimmyfallon about writing my memoir ‘lucky girl syndrome’! i talked about getting the call that i was being signed, getting name dropped in a kdot song (thank you for making me cool to my nephews!) and the legacy i want to leave behind. check it out!!!

view all 298,727 comments

user1: MOTHERRR

user2: omg i’ve already pre-ordered my copy!!

-> user3: i’ve reserved it at my local library 🫡

user4: i hope she spills all the tea. i wanna know exactly who the misogynist motherfuckers are.

user5: she’s the goat female driver idc!! first female championship winner!!

-> user9: during her time in mclaren, jenson was carrying her. but yeah let’s talk about that one rigged championship 😂

user6: she still looks so hot. my first celeb crush.

-> user7: i had pictures of her all over my wall. i think my mom still has them up 😓

user8: worst driver of all time. only there because she looked good in the race suit.

-> user11: if she wasn’t hot, no one would care about her driving.

user10: this was always going to happen when you allowed women into f1. ruined the sport. she was nothing but a distraction on the grid.

-> user12: she was incredible. she clawed her way to a championship when everyone doubted her. she proved that women can do anything. the only distraction are people like you.

user13: please please please tell me she says that her and jenson were a thing. i always used to ship them so bad. the photoshoot for british vogue was imprinted on my thirteen year old brain.

-> user14: ANOTHER JENSONYN SHIPPER!!! baitclaren was my fav mclaren era. y’all can have your twinkclaren!!

-> user15: remember when jenson shut down a misogynistic reporter who tried to imply that yn wasn’t a good driver?? that was his girl frfr!!

user16: i’m so proud of u yn. you’ve been through so much and i’m excited to support you.

*liked by yourinstagram.*

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“SHE’S NOT THAT FAST — SHE JUST GETS LUCKY SOMETIMES. THAT’S ALL IT IS. RIGHT CAR — RIGHT TIME. LUCKY GIRL SYNDROME.” — a senior mclaren engineer.

dedicated to everyone who ever rooted for me. thank you.

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

EXCERPT FROM LUCKY GIRL SYNDROME.

by yn yln.

when i signed with mclaren in 2013, i thought i was living my dream.

i was the only female driver on the grid, paired with jenson button—a world champion, a household name, and, to some, a certified heartthrob. they already loved calling him “promiscuous” in the press, and suddenly there i was: the pretty young woman who happened to drive fast. to them, we weren’t drivers—we were a brand. two good-looking people in shiny cars. and that label stuck.

from the start, i wasn’t taken seriously. i’d show up to meetings and realize they’d given me the wrong time—jenson would already be there, halfway through strategising with the team. he always looked uncomfortable when i walked in late, knowing i wasn’t told the same things he was.

“you’re here now,” he’d say, smiling politely, trying to ease the tension. i liked him. he wasn’t the problem. he was respectful, and if anyone made an offhand comment about me, he’d interject with a joke to cut through the awkwardness. but even his kindness couldn’t fix what was fundamentally wrong.

my first podium was a moment i’d worked my entire life for. it was a race where i drove faster than jenson, faster than most of the grid. but the photo they posted of me on the team’s social media wasn’t of me crossing the finish line, or holding my trophy.

it was me in the garage, leaning over the car, my race suit unzipped halfway down. the caption didn’t even mention the podium. it was just… my body. i couldn’t stomach looking through the comments.

i’ll never forget calling my dad that night. he was furious. he asked me why i didn’t make a fuss. why i didn’t storm into the team’s office and demand better treatment. but what he didn’t understand was that it wasn’t that simple. you’re the only woman in a room full of men, and they’re already waiting for you to slip up. waiting for you to show too much emotion, to prove them right when they think women are too “dramatic” to handle the job.

so i kept my head down. i smiled at the cameras, laughed at the jokes, and drove my ass off every weekend. and every time i was faster than jenson, every time i outqualified him or finished ahead, they’d say, “she got lucky.” when he beat me, they’d say, “see? this is why she doesn’t belong here.” it was a game i couldn’t win.

being the first woman on the grid wasn’t just about being fast. it was about being everything they didn’t expect me to be: calm, collected, agreeable. i couldn’t afford to push back because i knew they’d use it against me. so i swallowed it all, every little slight, every dismissive comment, every missed opportunity. i thought if i just kept my head down and drove, eventually, i’d earn their respect.

but now, looking back, i realize… they were never going to respect me. not really. not as a driver. they respected what i did for their brand, for their image. they respected how well i played the part. but as a person, as an athlete? i was just another pretty face to them. nothing more. and that’s what hurt the most.

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r/books

Discussion Thread:

“Lucky Girl Syndrome” by YN YLN: Thoughts, Reactions, and the Drama It’s Stirred Up.

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u/checkeredpast: just finished lucky girl syndrome, and WOW. she did not hold back. calling out mclaren for the way they treated her, the “wrong meeting times” sabotage, and the completely inappropriate podium photo… i can’t believe this stuff actually happened.

u/fastlaneandfurious: the part where she talks about the team using her as a “walking brand strategy” instead of a driver broke my heart. like, they wanted her to be the face of the team but refused to actually treat her like a serious athlete.

u/f1fanfiction: let’s talk about the fact that she outsold literally every sports memoir in history. 2 million copies sold in the first week. yn doesn’t just break records on the track, apparently.

u/nosteeringallowed: her calling out the media for labeling her as “lucky” after she beat half the grid is ICONIC. “they didn’t call my male teammates lucky—they called them skilled.” like, yes queen, drag them.

u/ynsthegoat: what got me was the chapter about the infamous team dinner where they wouldn’t even let her speak during strategy talk. then she went out and out-qualified jenson the next day.

u/overqualifiedandundervalued: “they said i was lucky, but luck doesn’t drive faster laps or win races. luck didn’t make me the first woman to win a championship—it was skill, it was hard work, and it was me.” CHILLS. absolute chills.

u/gridgossip: is no one going to talk about the tea she spilled on that one driver? the “polite but condescending” comments she got from him while he constantly undermined her. we KNOW it’s about seb.

u/wheresthefinishline: @ u/gridgossip no no no, it’s def about fernando. she’s been shady about him for years, and the way she described the “overly competitive teammate who couldn’t handle being outpaced by a woman” fits him perfectly.

u/holygrailpodium: the inappropriate photo after her first podium makes me so mad every time. she’s standing there in tears, holding the trophy, and they choose to post a picture of her leaning over the car with her suit half-open?? disgusting.

u/gaslitandgridlocked: her dad being her biggest defender was such a beautiful part of the book, though. “why do you stay quiet when you’re the fastest in the room?” hit me right in the heart.

u/podiumqueen: not me crying over how she kept driving through all of this, knowing they didn’t want her there. like, the strength it must’ve taken to win races when her own team wasn’t even rooting for her.

u/championshipenergy: the way she calls out how different her career would’ve been if she were a man was SO POWERFUL. “they didn’t need me to be fast, they needed me to be pretty. they got both, and they still weren’t satisfied.”

u/mimosasontherace: i can’t stop thinking about the last chapter where she talks about winning her first championship and how no one in her team even hugged her when the cameras switched off. like, they couldn’t even fake happiness for her.

u/driversanddivas: this book isn’t just a memoir; it’s a reckoning. yn exposed everyone who doubted her and proved that no matter what they threw at her, she came out on top. lucky girl syndrome my ass—she EARNED that title.

u/lightsoutandread: imagine being on the grid right now, knowing you were one of the people she called out. the absolute awkwardness.

u/trophiesandtrauma: if you’re on the fence about reading this, DO IT. it’s not just about racing—it’s about breaking barriers, sexism, and resilience. honestly, it deserves all the success it’s getting.

u/checkeredpast: she’s already announced a limited series deal with a streaming platform. you KNOW it’s going to be messy when they dramatize the “wrong meeting times” scene.

u/bookishracer: “lucky girl syndrome” is officially my book of the year. yn didn’t just tell her story; she made sure no one could ever erase it again.

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liked by f1stan, ynstan and 1,837,928 others.

ham1ltonshaderoom: f1 legend and now best selling author, yn yln, took to harper’s bazaar to discuss writing and her career. however, her memoir went viral for more than its record breaking sales. yln mentioned that there was a certain driver that would be her biggest fan in public and then undermine her in public. it has been dubbed ‘x marks the spot’, with the hashtag gaining major traction on social media. what do you think ham1ltons? and who do you think the supposed driver could be?

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‘there was one driver who always seemed to go out of his way to remind me i didn’t belong. he wasn’t on my team, but his presence always lingered—sharp, dismissive, condescending. let’s call him x. in interviews, he’d say all the right things, calling me a “trailblazer” and claiming he respected what i brought to the sport. but in the paddock, it was another story. during press conferences, he’d interrupt me, throwing in some smug joke that made everyone laugh but left me feeling small. once, during a rain delay, he walked past my garage and casually remarked to my engineer, loud enough for me to hear, “well, at least she’ll look good sliding off the track.” and when i won my first race, beating him in the process, he didn’t say a word. no handshake, no congratulations—just a quick glance and he was gone. i’ll never know why he went out of his way to belittle me, but in the end, i didn’t care. that win wasn’t for him. it was for me.’

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view all 23,727 comments

user1: it’s definitely fernando. they’ve never liked each other, and he’s always been salty when anyone’s faster than him.

-> user2: nah, it can’t be fernando. he’s competitive, but he’s never outright disrespectful. i’m thinking nico.

-> user1: girl that’s the point 😭 x was never openly disrespectful.

user3: okay but what about lewis? we KNOW their relationship wasn’t always great. remember how tense they were in interviews back then?

-> user4: no way it’s lewis. he’s literally said she’s one of the most talented drivers he’s raced against.

-> user5: lewis can say nice things now, but what if he wasn’t like that back then? she didn’t say the guy stayed disrespectful. she also said x was nice in public, who knew what he was saying in private.

user6: everyone’s ignoring seb, but she’s shaded him before. what if it’s him?

-> user7: yn has ALWAYS defended seb. if anything, he was one of the few drivers who actually supported her. it’s not him.

user8: it has to be fernando. the whole paragraph is giving fernando energy, and you know it.

-> user9: nah, i still think it’s nico. remember when he threw shade at her in a press conference after she outqualified him?

user10: you’re all wrong. it’s michael. she’s talked about how intimidating he was to race against, and she never got along with him.

-> user11: yn literally called michael one of her idols. she’d never write about him like that.

user12: y’all are missing the obvious answer—kimi. he’s the only one who would say something that blunt and not care about the fallout.

-> user13: kimi didn’t even talk to her half the time lol. i can’t see him caring enough to belittle her.

user14: okay, what if it’s no one we’re expecting? maybe it’s some random mid-grid guy like grosjean or massa.

-> user15: yn wouldn’t waste a whole chapter on someone irrelevant. it has to be one of the big names. my money’s on fernando or nico.

-> user1: fernando for sure. yn’s always been lowkey bitter about him, and this just proves it.

-> user2: it’s not fernando!! why can’t you just accept that some drivers are cocky without it being him??

-> user3: okay but if it’s not fernando, who else would it be?? the smug comments SCREAM his vibe.

user5: we’re all arguing, but yn’s probably laughing at us right now. she KNEW we’d be doing this.

user16: yn ‘attention whore’ yln.

user17: at least we know it wasn’t my king jb 😻

user18: idk who tf yn is but this tea is so juicy 😭

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

[setting: thanksgiving dinner, complete chaos. plates of food are half-eaten, wine glasses are full, and cousin jess is recording everything on tiktok. the family is deep into an argument about “x marks the spot,” using jess’s infamous powerpoint as reference.]

uncle bob: jess, i still don’t get why you made a whole powerpoint about this.

cousin jess: because the people need to know, uncle bob. yn’s memoir is the drama of the decade, and you’re welcome for organizing all the evidence.

aunt carol: honestly, it’s that fernando. slide four proves it. all the press conferences where he interrupted her? it’s right there.

aunt fiona: fernando wasn’t that bad. he even congratulated her in, like, 2017. i think it’s nico. slide eight, jess literally wrote “petty king energy” under his name.

uncle hamish: it’s not nico. you’re all overthinking this. i say it’s jenson. didn’t he once call her “intense” in an interview?

cousin matt: jenson literally defended her against the media every other week, hamish. you clearly didn’t listen to slide six.

grandpa: i still don’t understand why this yn person didn’t just punch the guy.

grandma: because she has class, unlike this family. pass the stuffing.

aunt bobbi: wait, what about lewis? slide ten said they were “friendly but complicated.” maybe he was fake-nice to her.

uncle craig: fake-nice? lewis was the only one who liked her, bobbi. slide nine has like five examples of him hyping her up in interviews.

cousin jess: uncle craig, you’re wrong. he was supportive, but there’s that one time he ignored her after she beat him in qualifying. it’s suspicious.

aunt carol: you think it’s suspicious? no way. lewis isn’t smug enough to be x.

uncle hamish: oh please, you’re all just picking names because they sound dramatic. if anything, it was sebastian.

aunt fiona: seb? absolutely not. slide seven shows he called her “one of the best drivers on the grid” multiple times.

uncle bob: that’s suspicious. who compliments people that much unless they’re guilty?

grandma: compliments aren’t guilt, bob. stop eating the cranberry sauce straight from the bowl and get a grip.

aunt carol: you’re all wrong. slide four, people! fernando cutting her off mid-sentence! the man’s guilty as sin.

grandpa: why does anyone care about this? it’s all rich people in fancy cars. sounds like nonsense.

cousin matt: rich people drama is the best kind of drama, grandpa.

aunt bobbi: jess, why is kimi’s slide just a picture of him smoking with “#needthat” written under it?

cousin jess: because kimi’s innocent. everyone knows he doesn’t care about anything but being my dream man.

uncle craig: so why isn’t yn on the slide about drivers who were universally liked?

cousin jess: because she wasn’t universally liked, uncle craig. she was fast, hot, and female in a male-dominated sport. they were all salty.

uncle bob: well, now they’re all posting about how much they respect her.

grandma: of course they are. it’s called covering their asses.

uncle hamish: if i were yn, i’d name names. all this mystery is just fueling conspiracy theories.

grandpa: or she could just leave it alone so we don’t have to argue about it at thanksgiving. what the hell even is f1? is that nascar?

uncle craig: formula 1, dad. jesus, keep up.

grandma (snapping): if someone doesn’t pass me the cranberry sauce right now, i’m gonna be the next x.

[jess pans the camera to her grandma glaring at the table, muttering under her breath as the family keeps arguing.]

cousin jess (whispering into her phone): y’all, my family is losing it over x marks the spot. happy thanksgiving.

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liked by landopriv, ynupdates and 4,738,918 others.

ham1ltonshaderoom: an update on the ‘x marks the spot’ speculation. it started over who exactly is x, from f1 legend yn yln’s memoir and it is causing a stir! with former/current drivers taking to social media and journalists to prove their innocence. kimi räikkönen, when asked, said ‘yn deserved every win she got. people talked too much, but she let her driving do all the talking. always respected that about her.’

mick schumacher released a statement via instagram, with a montage of photos of him and his dad with the first female championship winner: ‘my dad always believed yn was one of the most talented drivers he’d ever seen. he admired her strength, her skill, and her ability to prove everyone wrong, time and time again. he spoke so highly of her and what she brought to the sport, and i know he’d be so proud to see her telling her story.’ when sebastian vettel made a rare appearance to the grid, he confirmed that he had bought a copy and thought that he was proud to watch yn ‘make history’.

now the sudden flurry of support is making fans of the sport wonder just who is genuine and who is covering his ass? what do you think ham1ltons?

view all 2,983 comments

user1: the way literally everyone is tripping over themselves to prove it’s not them is SO funny. one of you is lying, and we will figure it out.

-> user20: exactly!! the fact that EVERYONE is suddenly posting/talking feels so suspicious lmao. someone’s definitely guilty, and they’re trying to throw us off the scent.

user2: kimi’s response is so him. short, straight, and unbothered. it’s definitely not him.

-> user22: we’re all analysing this, but kimi’s out here just vibing like always. love that man.

user3: mick’s statement is beautiful and wholesome as always, but also low-key throwing shade at the others?? like, ‘my dad always supported her’ is giving ‘can’t say the same for you lot.’

-> user21: honestly, mick’s post is the only one that feels 100% genuine. his dad was always so supportive of yn.

user4: seb really said ‘i bought the book’ and dipped. man didn’t even deny anything outright. sus??

-> user5: nah, seb’s always been a yn fanboy. remember when he called her ‘the most talented driver on the grid’? it’s not him.

user6: the lewis and nico posts are giving major ‘damage control’ energy. both of them trying WAY too hard to sound supportive.

-> user7: facts. lewis called her a ‘trailblazer’ like we wouldn’t notice how cold things were between them back in the day.

-> user17: tbh, i don’t think it’s lewis. yn has said before that he was always encouraging her, and they’ve stayed friendly.

user8: fernando’s post feels so rehearsed. like, when has he ever gushed over yn like that before??

user9: low-key think it’s nico. man was so salty about literally everything back then, and the ‘petty king’ vibes match the memoir perfectly.

-> user10: yesss, especially the part where she said he didn’t congratulate her after her first win. sounds EXACTLY like something nico would do.

user11: not enough people are talking about jenson. just because he was her teammate doesn’t mean he’s innocent. the whole ‘answer my texts’ thing was cute, but he’s a smooth talker.

-> user12: nah, yn always spoke highly of jenson. he had her back when mclaren was treating her like a sex toy. i’m ruling him out.

user13: so we’re all just ignoring that fernando spent YEARS shading her in press conferences? india ‘13 is permanently engraved in my brain.

-> user18: can’t lie, if it’s fernando, i’ll be disappointed but not surprised. his 2013 energy was… a lot.

user14: honestly, they’re all acting sketchy. the sudden love bomb of support is too much. one of you is x and we will find out.

user15: plot twist: what if x isn’t even one of the obvious names? imagine it’s someone random like felipe massa lmao.

-> user16: watch it not even be one of the main suspects and we’ve been dragging the wrong guy this whole time 💀

user18: it’s giving ‘we need to get ahead of the narrative’ vibes, and i’m here for the chaos.

-> user19: everyone’s pr team is in OVERDRIVE rn lmfaoooo

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

— all works taglist: @luvsforme @yelenasloverrrrr @donttouchthegnote @chelle1306 @bloodyymaryy @km-23mr @stinkyjax @f1kenzzz @ctrlyomomma @aliciaablueprint @theblueblub @namgification @tallrock35 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @ariellovelynn @shhhchriss @lifeless-firefly @xylinasdiary @evie-119 @itseightbeats @landososcar @yongi-lee @velentine @m1892 @blushmimi @evans-dejong @nixisracing @lethalvenus @sainzluvrr @santanasaintmendes @idontknowlmaoo @sainzluvrr @tetetoni @ssprayberrythings @heavy-vettel @tashisgf @daniskywalkersolo @c-losur3 @lestappenslover @linoscrly (see yourself tagged when you don’t wanna be? or you want to be and don’t see yourself? send me an ask!)

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

[melodyofmbaku]

Mind Your Manners (Smoke Moore x Annie/Reader)

First line was was actually inspired by a line in this fic by @szatears, please check it out :)

Preview: “I done told you to watch that mouth ain’t I?” He snapped before undoing his belt and stalking towards you."

Word Count: 2.25k

Warning ⚠️: Strong Sexual Themes + Smut (18+ Material)

A/N I watched Sinners yesterday and pumped this fic out today. I'm back in my writing era 🤠💁🏾‍♀️ ___

If there was one thing Smoke didn’t like, it was an attitude. Whether he deserved it or not. 

So when the man who had skipped town 4 years ago appeared on your door step you knew he’d have something to say about you kissing your teeth, huffing and rolling your eyes. 

“What are you doing here Smoke?"

He took a drag out of his cigarette.

 “Now that ain’t no way to greet a man Annie.”

Your eyes slid over him. He was covered in a tailored tweed 5 piece suit and his bulk couldn’t be hidden. Thick arms, a broad chest and a wicked smile with golds peaking out. 

Smoke Moore. Nothing better. 

You took him in. 

“Ain’t you gonna let me in?” He grinned and leaned on your door frame. 

You squinted your eyes at him. Thoughts of that night at the Juke years ago surfaced. Your breath caught in your throat. 

“You ain’t never needed me to do that before.”

He sucked another mouthful of smoke from his cigarette. And blew it towards you. Your eyes watered a bit and you glared, gripping the doorframe tighter. 

“Maybe I need you to now.” There was a beat. 

“You don’t need an invitation. You just come and go as you please. I’ve given up on trying to keep you away. It’s a waste of time.”

He smirked something fierce. 

“Yeah you right. I was just fucking with ya.”

He flicked the cigarette into the grass and pushed past Annie, not without placing his paws on her body to maneuver her out of the way. 

One hand grabbed her waist, the other palmed her heavy breast before squeezing past her and into her quaint home. 

Smoke had it made for her. For them. 

One of the last things he did for her before he skipped town. 

——

He’d picked her up from her rotten daddies house and told her to pack a bag. He strapped her into that car and drove them over to the tiny plot of land he’d procured. And there it sat, a little home. 2 bedrooms and a “kitchen meant for cooking” as he called it. 

He held her as her eyes watered and whispered. 

“You like it baby girl? It’s yours. You ain’t never gotta worry bout a place to lay your head again.”

And there they spent the next 2 days holed up and christening the house. Even the kitchen meant for cooking. 

_____

Smokes eyes took the place in. The small house he’d bought, you’d made it into a home. You brought in an ice chest and had decorated it, your personality showed in every corner. 

He smelled bacon on the stove and the nostalgia hit him like a brick. 

“You making greens?”

“What’s it to you?” You replied with your back turned towards him. 

He loved your greens.

You didn’t know what to do with him back in your space. You felt activated. Didn't know whether to run to him or away from him.

You took a deep breath and composed yourself. And turned around only to see him fishing for a cigarette. 

“Don’t you smoke that shit in here.” You snapped. 

He looked at you and paused before nodding and sliding the pack back into his jacket pocket. 

He lifted his hands up. 

“You’re right sweet girl. My bad. I know you don’t like that in the house.”

“Thank you.” You whispered to yourself. Feeling relief at the inch of control you had gained back. 

He knew you thought it was a nasty habit and if he wanted to smoke, he’d have to do it outside your home. 

Say what you wanted to say about Smoke, he knew how important this space — your home — was to you. And you didn’t want anyone to ruin it. Even the man who built it for you. 

“Why are you here?” You asked. 

“We’re back now. I’m back now. For good.”

You scoffed.

“What you had all your fun? Running around Chicago with your brother? Fucking all them northern whores?” You sneered. 

His eyes watched you. You hated how they could see right through you. You weren’t jealous. You were hurt. 

His eyes glowered. “Watch your mouth.”

How could he just give you the best few days of your life and just leave without a trace? Leaving you to hear news about him and his brother through the grape vine. 

How dare he tell you what to do?

“Or what?” You snapped back. This was 4 years of pain. Of hurt. Of anger. 

“What, you tired of them? Wanted to swing back on down and fuck your southern whore too? Taste the mother fucking rainbow?”

“You not no whore Annie.” He warned again. 

Your eyes shimmered with angry tears. 

“How you know I wasn't up and down these streets? You not the only one who likes to fuck.”  You snapped back. 

He smirked a knowing smile on his lips. 

“You wasn’t fucking these niggas. You forget that I know you. You wouldn’t let em get a chance.” 

And you hated him because it was true. 

“Fuck you Smoke.” You spat. You could almost see the vein pop from his temple. 

Smoke didn’t like an attitude. Whether he deserved it or not. 

“I done told you to watch that mouth ain’t I?” He snapped before undoing his belt and stalking towards you. 

You backed up against the wall. Fiery defiant eyes staring back at him. 

He bullied his way into the space between your plush thighs. Sticking his face into your neck and breathing deeply. He kissed you.  Once. Twice. 

“Why are you back?” You whispered brokenly. 

He ignored your question and worked quickly to push your dress over your thick hips. 

“You weren’t ever this rude before Annie.” He mused while manipulating your body to be exactly where he wanted it to be. He knew your body like the back of his hand. You was his and nobody else’s. 

That was law. 

His fingers found your sex and you couldn’t help the gasp that left your lips. 

Smokes fingers stroked between your folds before sliding into her. The wetness soaked his fingers immediately. 

He kept his eyes on your face. He loved the faces you made. And right now your head was thrown back and your plump lips parted slightly. 

Quickly the sound of the small home was filling with deep breathing and whimpers. 

“Why? Are you back?” You managed to breathe out between moans. 

Was he here for good or was he just passing by? 

“I must not be doing a good job if you still asking me all these questions…” he mused. He added another finger for good measure. 

Unfortunately, that did shut you up. 

He took the other hand and palmed at your breast and tweaked a nipple and you groaned deeply. 

He smiled, nothing but pure joy on his face. 

“You ain’t have nobody here to tell you… to teach you your manners. That's why I came back.” He stated. 

He bent his fingers within you once before sliding out and replacing them with his tongue. 

He expertly licked into you. Letting your essence coat his lips. 

Smoke loved him some you. When he had his fill he stood up and captured your lips in his. 

You tasted yourself on him. 

He looked down at you. You were thoroughly debauched. “You ready for me?” 

You nodded lazily, you could barely think straight. Smoke liked you this way sometimes. Pliant and easy. He could move you any which way he wanted. 

He graciously turned you around and pressed you into the wall. 

“I’m gonna fuck you now princess. And you gon’ like it.”

“Yes daddy.” You whispered and that’s what drove Smoke to press himself right into you, and he felt you stretching to accommodate him. 

Now it was his time to groan. 

“Fuck.”  He spat out. 

You giggled. That didn’t last long as he pulled out slowly and thrust back in with intention. 

That giggle turn into a graphic sound he would file away for later. You were so responsive for him. 

There you began your dance. Smoke began a slow and intentional rhythm. Whispering sweet nothings into your ear the entire time. 

Still your question persisted despite the pleasure filled fog which filled your head. 

“Why you back Smoke?” You managed to whisper. 

He grunted. You wasn’t letting this go. Could he blame you? 

He changed his pace, to something more punishing. Something that would make you forget you were angry with him at all. 

“Why? I needed to set you straight. That’s why. Remind you of how to act right.” He thrusted after each sentence. 

Your moans got louder with every thrust. But he kept his pace. 

“You got this attitude because I ain’t been here to fuck it outta you. And for that baby I was wrong.” He crooned into your ear. 

“It’s my fault.” He stated. 

He pumped into you relentlessly. And you took every thrust like a champ. 

“Blame me mama.” He whispered. It almost got quiet in the room.

The unspoken "not yourself" conveniently omitted from the end of his sentence. Just two bodies doing a dance as old as time. 

He reached over to grip your breasts again and pluck at your nipples. 

Your broken moans filled the space. He knew your body like no other. You were made for him. 

“That’s right.” He encouraged, he loved to hear you. 

“I’m back now baby. Daddy’s here and he’s gonna take such good care of you.” He breathed heavily into your ear. 

You were overcome with emotion. Your eyes watered. Was that a promise? You couldn’t do another broken promise. 

“Don’t you say that Elijah. Don't you dare lie to me. I can’t take it anymore.” You panted out. 

“You’ll take what I give you.” He snapped. 

Why was he like this? Why did you love this? 

Your head dropped low. Because he was right. You would take what he gave you. Even if it was lies or castles built up in the sky. 

You were a fool. And you loved him. 

He slid his hand into your hair, grasping your curls. 

You were Smoke’s to play with. To have, hold, fuck and scold. You didn’t pretend you didn’t know it.

“Chin up.” You tilted your chin up and his grip on your curls tightened. 

“Good girl.”

You moaned.  

He kissed your ear before speaking. 

“This time I ain’t lyin’.” He kissed your cheek. 

This was feeling good. You were barley listening. He could tell you he could sprout wings and fly right now and you’d believe him as long as he didn’t stop. 

“I’m back for good. I did what I needed to do out in Chicago. For you. For us. We don’t never gotta worry about money ever again.”

“It was never about the money.” You managed to gasp out. 

“Shhhhh.” He coaxed. 

That was another thing that came up in the past. Smoke was money motivated. He didn’t understand that you just wanted him.  Nothing else. 

He never wanted to be under the control of another man because of some money. So he went and got him some. 

“I think…" He pondered for a bit before continuing.

"I think I’m gonna fuck a few babies into you tonight Annie. Your body was made for it. For me.”

Your walls immediately clenched onto him. 

“Gonna have a bunch of em fat and happy running all around this place.”

Tears dripped from your eyes. The pleasure, the visuals, the stimulation. It was all too much. 

He didn’t stop. 

“You want that baby girl? Want daddy to put a couple babies in you?”  

You wailed. Short circuited even. 

Because Smoke knew. He knew that’s all you ever wanted. Him. And a family. And he wouldn’t tease you about that. 

“Yes! Yes! I want — “

“Yeah? You gonna have to say please mama. You how I feel about them manners.” He grinned wickedly. 

How he managed to stay aware enough to play you like this was beyond your comprehension. 

“Please!” You wailed out. 

“Please what?”

“Please make me a mama!”

His finger slipped to your clit quickly and he watched your face in wonder as your orgasm washed over you.  

You clutched onto him desperately to prevent yourself from falling. 

“That’s my girl.” he hissed.  Before thrusting and unloading his seed right into you. 

—

It’s been a few hours and you and Smoke were laid out in a blanket on a cot on the floor. 

Drunk on each other. 

He had fed you peaches from the jar right from his hands and had quelled any fears you’d had about him leaving you again, from in between your legs. 

“If it’s a girl we gon' name her Amiyah. After my mama.” You whispered into his chest. 

He kissed your head. “Whatever you want.”  

“And if it’s a boy I wanna name him Erik Stevens.”

He furrowed his brow. 

“Erik Stevens? Where you get that name from?”

“I don’t know I just like it. You don’t like it?” You asked, looked up at him. 

He scoffed. “That sounds like the name of a bandit.”  

You pinched his skin between your fingers. “Hey.” You frowned. 

He looked down at your big brown eyes and melted. 

“You really like that name?” 

You nodded. 

“Aight, I can be convinced.” He brought you closer to him and you both just sat in silence basking in your love.

He scoffed again. “Erik Stevens…”

“What is your problem?” You asked perplexed. Fingers stroking his chest. 

“I don’t like it. He sound like a boy who ain’t go no manners.” 

“Oh brother.”  ___

I so enjoyed writing this. I hope yall enjoy!!

Taglist

@sarcastic-sunshines @chaneajoyyy

[delulujuls]

healing sessions | aegon II targaryen

hi, it's been a hot minute since i posted here, the last weeks were pretty intense for me and since i have a summer break now, i would like to start writing again and do it more regularly.

this is something new here and since new episode of hotd dropped, im in my westeros era, so please prepare for something other than my last shots (i will still write for f1, don't worry)

and lemme set this straight, im team black till the day i die but those green bastards are FINE AS HELL lmao. also @alicenthightcwer is author of those gifts

summary: aegon isn't dealing well with his father loss, but gladly there is someone who's gonna do her best to lift his spirit a bit

warnings: it's fluff without basically any plot, sister x brother romance so targaryens at their finest, mentions of death, depression, alcohol, drugs

pairing: sister!reader x aegon targaryen

The news of King Viserys's death did not surprise the residents of King's Landing. Nonetheless, the loss of the kind ruler dealt a painful blow to the city, which seemed to freeze in time with the king's passing. The capital plunged into mourning, and in addition to the banners, black flags were hoisted. Westeros was left without a king.

Viserys's successor, his second child and first son, Aegon Targaryen, had not been seen since the king's funeral. Aegon had lost not just a king but, most importantly, a father who, unfortunately for him, named him the future ruler on his deathbed.

Aegon would have gladly given the throne to Rhaenyra, his older half-sister. He would have done it without hesitation, even placing the crown on her head himself. Unfortunately, his mother Alicent, who was with her dying husband and heard his wish to elevate their eldest son to the throne, decided to fulfill her beloved husband's last wish at any cost.

To be honest, Aegon couldn't care less about being king. The young prince had not left his bed for several days, thick curtains blocking any light from outside. Occasionally, servants were allowed into his chambers, but only with wine and poppy milk. Aegon did not eat, allowed no one near him, and slept. Sleep was his salvation. Even the prostitutes, who once outnumbered the rats in the castle, were no longer summoned. The fiery prince had dimmed.

Alicent knew she needed to give her son time to grieve. She didn't bother him, only inquiring about his condition from the servants who managed to enter his chambers. It was enough for her to know that he was alive. Aegon's siblings dealt with their grief in their own ways, and his condition hardly impressed anyone. Except for Y/N, who, despite her own pain, worried about her brother. Sitting at breakfast, she silently observed Aegon's chair, which remained empty. After her husband's death, Alicent decreed that all meals, not just dinners, be taken together. The firstborn had not appeared at any of them since.

After a silent breakfast punctuated by brief, formal conversations, Y/N stood up and grabbed a plate, filling it with Aegon's favorite croissants and a portion of strawberries. She was done pretending nothing was wrong. This had to end.

"You shouldn't go to him," Alicent said quietly as the servants began clearing the table. "You know him, he'll come out when he's ready."

"Or he'll drink himself to death first," she replied, not even glancing at her mother. Alicent clasped her hands and pressed them to her lips, watching her family fall apart without knowing how to stop it.

Y/N left the dining room and went to Aegon's chambers. She knocked first, wanting to maintain decorum, but knowing it was futile, she grabbed the handle and pushed the heavy door open. Inside was darkness. Only a nearly spent candle by the bed gave off any light; the room looked like a cave. She blindly set the plate on a table, and with arms outstretched, she made her way to the windows. With a swift motion, she drew the curtains, and even she was blinded by the sudden light that flooded in. Not hearing any curses from her brother, Y/N looked over her shoulder. On the large bed, a figure lay curled up, back to her. From the waist down, he was covered with a sheet that blended with his pale skin. White hair in disarray touched the crumpled pillow. Aegon was either in a deep sleep or dead.

Y/N opened the curtains at every window, flinging some open. The room was stuffy, reeking of stale alcohol, sweat, and the sweet scent of poppy milk. She circled the bed, crouching opposite her brother. He was indeed asleep, but his breathing was shallow. His lips were cracked, stained with dried blood. His eyelashes were matted with tears, and dark circles marred his eyes. There was a bruise under his left eye that was different from the ones under his eyes, as it began to fade and turn from purple to green. Y/N remembered her mother, who had been rubbing her hand while sitting at the table for several days. She could only guess that Alicent was trying to shake her son off in her own way.

Aegon slept, lying on his side and hugging himself, seeking comfort only he could provide. Y/N brushed the tangled strands from his forehead and kissed him. Aegon did not stir.

The princess knew he wouldn't allow servants to tend to him. She left the room quietly, asking the maids to prepare a hot bath quickly and silently. Y/N returned and sat beside him on the bed, gently stroking his head.

Aegon wasn't the bad person many thought him to be. True, he was unique, and in a room full of people, he was impossible to ignore, but no one is born evil. Now, Aegon was simply engulfed in darkness from which he couldn't free himself. The slender, sticky fingers of depression had tightened around his throat, allowing only alcohol to pass.

After some time, a maid stood by the bed, whispering that the bath was ready, nervously glancing at the sleeping prince, afraid of waking him up. Y/N thanked and dismissed her, then leaned in and kissed her brother's forehead again.

"Aegon..." she began softly, close to his ear. "Wake up, I have strawberries for you."

He furrowed his brow, feeling her hair tickle his face. At first, he thought it was a dream or a drunken hallucination, but when he felt the urge to sneeze, he wiped his face with his hand. When he opened his heavy eyelids and saw how bright it was, he pulled the pillow over his head.

"I said no one was to come in," he muttered, his voice muffled by the pillow. "I'll have you killed for this."

"It's nice to see you too, considering I haven't seen you in over a week," she replied, sitting back on his bed and placing the breakfast she brought on the table beside him.

Hearing the familiar voice and wanting to ensure it wasn't a drunken hallucination, Aegon removed the pillow from his face, clutching it to his chest. From squinted eyes, his violet gaze spotted a well-known figure.

"Y/N?" he asked hoarsely, his voice betraying that he'd only spoken to chase away servants in the past days.

"Yes, it's me," she nodded. "And if you still want to kill me, you'll have to get out of bed, which I doubt you can do."

Aegon sighed, more of a grunt of dissatisfaction. He wanted to cover his face with the pillow again, but his sister took it and easily pulled it from his arms.

"Did you come here just to make my life more miserable?" he groaned, looking at her with displeasure.

"I came to stop what you thought was the best solution," Y/N explained. "I brought you breakfast and a hot bath."

"I don't want breakfast or a bath," Aegon replied, turning onto his other side. "And you can leave. Tell mother I'm not dead yet."

"I'm not leaving until you get out of bed," she informed him, staring at his back.

"Then enjoy your stay," he muttered, closing his eyes again.

Y/N sighed. She knew it might be hard, but in a few days, she had almost forgotten her brother's character. And Aegon's character was sometimes the textbook definition of a Targaryen.

"I came here because I want to help you," Y/N began, feeling a lump in her throat. "No one talks to each other, and when they do, it's just some fucking formalities. Aemond flies on Vhagar every day, Helaena spends hours in the garden with her books, Rhaenyra has been on Dragonstone since the funeral, mother is banging with Cole at every turn, and I don't even know if you're alive," she said in one breath, feeling tears prickling her eyes. Only when she said it all out loud did she realize what was happening. It wasn't just about informing Aegon; it was about making herself understand. The truth hurt her even more than she expected.

Hearing his sister's trembling and upset voice, Aegon sighed and turned onto his back, sitting up and leaning against the headboard. Only now could his sister see his full appearance. It was the image of a boy deep in mourning and struggling with unimaginable pain.

For a moment, they exchanged looks in silence until Aegon glanced at the nightstand beside his bed.

"Did you bring strawberries?"

She reached for the plate and placed it on the bed next to her brother. Aegon weakly lifted his hand and took one, eating it whole, including the stem.

"Croissants with filling?" he asked, chewing. Y/N nodded again.

"Nut and chocolate," she answered. Aegon silently took a croissant and slowly began to eat.

Y/N quickly wiped her cheeks as two single tears escaped from the corners of her eyes. The young prince looked at his sister, who also seemed different than he remembered from a few days ago. Her hair was still neatly combed, with a few small braids woven into it. The dark red dress, which he thought he had seen her wear before, now seemed to hang a bit loosely on her shoulders and wrinkle at the stomach. The color of the dress reminded him of the bloody cuticles around her nails, which she must have bitten out of nerves. Her face, still beautiful, was now paler than usual, almost as white as her hair. Her swollen eyes lacked their usual sparkle, and her lips seemed to have completely forgotten what a smile was.

"How are you feeling?" he asked after a moment when he had finished eating. Y/N pushed the plate closer to him, and as he reached for another croissant, she only shrugged.

"I'm sad. And I sleep poorly," she replied, staring out the window.

"You know, poppy milk—", "I won't drink it," she interrupted him.

Aegon raised his hands in a defensive gesture, taking another bite of the croissant.

"And you?" she asked, looking at him. "How are you feeling?"

He also shrugged.

"I don't even know. Now I think I feel nothing," he said, looking back at her. "Most of the time I feel nothing, except when a wave of sadness hits, and then I cry like a child until I fall asleep again."

Y/N nodded silently. She could tell that Aegon had spent many hours crying.

He put the last piece of croissant in his mouth and reached for a strawberry, handing it to his sister. She took it and ate it, nodding with appreciation.

"Not bad, right?" Aegon said, seeing her reaction. "Unusually sweet for this time of year."

Y/N let out an involuntary snort, lowering her head. Their father was dead, the country was without a king, the family was falling apart, and this idiot was talking about how great the strawberries were.

"They really are good, I don't know what you mean," he replied, taking the last strawberry and popping it into his mouth. The girl smiled, for the first time in a long while, then looked at her brother.

"I miss you, you know?"

"I'm not dead yet," he said sarcastically, rubbing his face with his hands. Y/N set the plate aside, and Aegon extended his arm toward her, silently inviting a hug. The girl shook her head and stood up.

"Maybe I miss you, but not enough to hug you after so many days without a bath," she replied, nodding her head towards the bathroom.

"You've got to be kidding," he snorted, but she shook her head again and pointed to the bathroom. Aegon sighed and slid off the bed, looking at her reproachfully the entire time. When he stood, the sheet slipped off completely, and he, naked and unbothered, walked unsteadily toward the bathroom. Y/N asked the servants to change his bedding and clean the room while she locked herself in the bathroom with him. As he sat in the water, she perched on the edge of the tub, rolling up the sleeves of her dress.

She reached for the nearby comb and slowly began to untangle his matted hair. They both remained silent, as words were completely unnecessary at that moment. After a while, she put the comb down and picked up the sponge, wetting it and pouring water over his hair. Aegon closed his eyes and tilted his head forward.

Y/N grabbed the soap and lathered it in her hands, adding a few drops of lavender oil. Aegon smiled as the familiar, pleasant scent filled the air, while she began to wash his hair. He sat there with his eyes closed, allowing his sister to take care of him. Aegon felt that of everyone in the family, only Y/N truly cared about him. Despite being the second youngest sibling, just after Helaena, he had always gotten along best with her. They were almost inseparable, always sitting together at feasts, stuffing sweets into their pockets to eat later in the garden when they managed to escape the table. Rhaenyra, their half-sister, was always the oldest and most composed. Aemond, younger than Aegon, was calm and collected but could stab a knife into someone’s neck without blinking if provoked. Helaena lived in her own world, surrounded by books, flowers, and maesters who had tried to help her ever since they noticed something was off with the growing princess. Aegon was often irreformable, acting and speaking first and thinking later. When he was younger, he was incredibly unruly, the mastermind behind every wild idea that Y/N almost always eagerly supported. The young princess loved her brother, who always tried to make her smile. Aegon loved his sister and knew that of all the people in the castle, she was the only one he would kill for and die for either.

Young prince winced quietly when Y/N, massaging his tense shoulders, ran her thumb over a particularly tight muscle.

"You're as hard as a rock," she said, continuing to massage his back. Aegon smiled to himself.

"Not quite yet," he joked.

She rolled her eyes and soaked the sponge again, rinsing the soap off his back with warm water. As she got up to stoke the fire, Aegon submerged himself in the water, washing the soap off himself and his hair. After a moment, he sat up straight and wiped his face off, leaning on the sides of the tub. He silently watched his sister, whose silhouette was highlighted by the flickering fire in the fireplace. Her white, slightly wavy hair cascaded down her back. The young prince smiled and bit his lip. Blood of my blood.

When Y/N finished tending to the fire, she stood up and dusted off her hands. She looked up, feeling her brother's gaze on her. He watched her in silence.

"Care to join?" he asked, glancing at the tub before looking back at her.

She shook her head, stepping closer and looking at the murky water. "I think I'll pass this time."

Aegon extended his hand toward her, and she gave him hers, which he pressed to his lips, planting a wet kiss on her skin. She smiled at his gesture.

"I'll go dismiss the servants," she said, stroking his cheek. "Make sure you wash away all the sadness."

The princess left the bathroom and returned to the chambers. They looked much better now, with two servants finishing changing the bed linens. When they were done, she thanked and dismissed them. She approached the large wardrobe, looking for clean clothes for her brother. She planned to get him outside for a walk, even if just a short one.

She placed the clothes on a chair and sat on the bed, running her hand over the freshly made bedding. Shortly after, Aegon emerged from the bathroom, not bothering to cover himself with even a towel.

When he stood in the doorway, Y/N involuntarily looked up at him. She looked him up and down, causing Aegon to smile.

"Like what you see?" he asked, approaching the bed without taking his eyes off her.

"I'm just checking if you washed yourself properly," she retorted, lifting her head to meet his gaze when he stood right in front of her.

Aegon still wore a faint smile as he cupped her face, his thumb stroking her cheek. His pale skin had gained a bit of color from the hot bath, but he had goosebumps from the cool, fresh breeze coming through the windows. The dark circles under his eyes were still visible, but his gaze was now clear and certain, darkening as he was looking at his sister.

"I missed you too," he said after a moment of silence, during which they exchanged looks. He brushed his thumb over her lower lip. "Make love with me."

It wasn't a command or even a request. It was a quiet murmur filled with desperation, almost sounding like a plea. Aegon needed to feel her warmth, needed to feel something other than the alcoholic breath of death that placed cold kisses on him.

She silently stood from the bed, and before he could say anything, she touched his cheek and kissed him. Aegon wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close, returning the kiss. Blindly, he started to fumble with the ties of her dress, but seeing his struggle, she began undressing herself. He cupped her face in his hands, kissing her tenderly. When she loosened her corset, Aegon grabbed the bottom of her gown and quickly pulled it over her head, tossing it aside. She shivered at the sudden chill but soon felt Aegon's warm body against her skin. He smiled into her mouth.

"You're so soft," he whispered between kisses, holding her tightly as if he wanted to lock her inside his ribcage. "Go on, lie down."

She obeyed, positioning herself comfortably on a pile of pillows. Aegon hovered over her, kissing her gently. Their hands tangled in each other's hair, touching and grasping every bit of skin they could reach. Lips swollen from kissing released soft sighs and moans mixed with tender words.

Aegon could be gentle, delicate, and caring. He wasn't like this with the whores he sometimes brought to his chambers to relieve himself and kill boredom. But he loved his sister dearly and would never harm her.

The young prince couldn't remember the first time his sister came to his chambers and stayed the night. It was probably before their father's illness. One autumn, Aegon caught a terrible cold. He couldn't sleep at night, and his cough kept the entire western wing of the castle awake. One night, a sleepy Y/N went to his room, silently took the nearby laying ointment, sat on his hips, and began rubbing it on his chest. Aegon, feverish, thought he was hallucinating. But when he woke up the next morning and saw his naked sister asleep in his bed, he knew the events of the previous night hadn't been a fever dream.

Now, too, Aegon had to think twice if the soft body in his arms was really there or just a trick of his drunken mind.

"Are you real?" he whispered, pulling away from her lips and looking at her face.

"You'll have to find out for yourself," Y/N replied just as softly.

Aegon smiled involuntarily and hurriedly disappeared between her thighs.

At dinner, not only Aegon's chair was empty. The chair next to his, Y/N's, was also vacant.

Aemond glanced sideways at his sister, who tried to hide her smile behind her hair. Otto looked at her as well, then at her mother.

"Helaena?" Alicent spoke, looking at the blushing face of her daughter. "Is something wrong?"

"Aegon is feeling much better," she said. The young princess knew this first because the garden she particularly liked was just below her brother's chambers, and the windows, this time, were wide open.

[deeplyshalllow]

Classic Fiyeraba fic recommendations

So, with the new movie coming out, I've seen a lot of requests here for people to write Fiyeraba particularly happy Shiz era stuff, and like guys, guys, I did not spend my formative teen years in the Wicked fanfiction.net section for people to act like the amazing fics there don't even exist.

So here is my list of the fics and authors so great that I remember it over a decade later

Obviously, given we have never had a situation before where people know act 1 but not act 2, there will be spoilers and act 2 stuff in a bunch of these, but please check them out.

(a few of the authors I know are still around tumblr I've tagged, but feel free to tell me if you want me to take it off).

Authors in no particular order:

Tiggy the Hopeless Romantic - Honestly just read anything this woman wrote, I think if anyone said Fiyeraba fanfic this would be the first name I think of - bonus that a lot of the stuff is easily digestible fluffy oneshots

Merina Thropp @merinathropp on Tumblr - Writes beautifully, I remember getting very excited when she uploaded new fic. I particularly remember her Fiyero's Shiz era twitter fic and her extended As Long As You're Mine fic

HC247 @a-partofthenarrative on Tumblr - Writes such lovely fluff and I think double digits on alaym fics! Particularly remember her Once Upon a Kiss series and Masquerade. She mostly writes POTO stuff now but I see occasionally get an alert in my inbox from her.

alinaandalion - another fantastic Fiyeraba writer (god there are so many) I particularly remember her for her A Drop in the Bucket series, which are a lovely series of Fiyeraba oneshots.

CrazyBeagle - one of the people on the Wicked section who has made the transition to real life friend. But I knew her for her fics before we became friends. To Feel is post musical fic which is a lovely realistic continuation of Fiyeraba's journey. Unlimited is a modern retelling of Wicked which I really enjoy though I have been told multiple times it will never be updated no matter how much I threaten.

Scandalacious Intentions @scandalaciousintentions on Tumblr - Candy is the other Wicked friend who has become an irl friend (and I am most certainly the only person who still calls her Candy). She is much better known for her Tonks/Lupin stuff, but I always loved what she wrote for Wicked. Witchy Woman was her first Wicked fic I still very much enjoy it.

Girlscout4ever wrote ever so beautifully. Cheap Rented Room is such a fantastic expanded ALAYM.

ElphabaROCKS - wrote a lot of very good Fiyeraba fluff

Vinkanwildflowerqueen @vinkunwildflowerqueen on Tumblr - I imagine a lot of you know her already as she is still writing! She writes a lot of very good Fiyeraba au fics

Fermantoso - one of the funniest writers in the section! Chasing Elphie is the one I remember best, au but funny and sweet.

Danderson - slightly more bookverse than a lot of the other writers here but still great fics!

Kaylle - There are Nights, is always the one people (including me) remember as it's one of the most beautiful pieces of fanfiction on the Wicked section, but all of her work is lovely.

Lost Ozian - Well known for her humour, The Fiyero User Manual springs immediately to mind, my favourite is actually her serious au fic Different

Me - debated whether to add this, but I was also part of the section back in the day, and I know people enjoyed my fics too, though God knows I've improve my writing in the last decade and a half - in terms of Fiyeraba my strongest were probably A Moment and Living. Perfect Together is unquestionably the best fic I wrote for Wicked, although it's more Flinda.

Individual Fics:

Like a Swan on a Lake - this fic was actually well after my time but I happened to read it and I love love love it! AU of Fiyero if both girls defied gravity together and it does such a good job of showing his intelligence

Broccoli - I remember this one being very sweet Shiz era Fiyeraba

According to Plan - funny fic, fun twist ending

Sincerely, an annoyed Shiz student - not strickly Fiyeraba but you should read it. It is a very fun parody.

It's a long way to fall - This was actually the fic I created a fanfic account for, because I hadn't realised you could anonymous review! A fun arranged marriage AU

Please, please add to this list if you have other recs, mine are about 10 years out of date. Also apologies if I've missed any out as there's so many good ones and it is 2am.

[thedansemacabres]

On Helpol tumblr there has been some discourse on the worship of Ares and it is completely justified for a personal practice why someone would not honour him. However, though, I would enjoy to bring up points from history on a reconstruction angle on why to worship Ares. I appreciate the critical examination into who and what we worship—we should be more critical of stately portrayals of the divine and understand ancient politics less we reconstruct something wretched. These points are sourced from Cults and sanctuaries of Ares and Enyalios: A survey of the literary, epigraphic, and archaeological evidence by Matthew Paul Gonzales.

It is deeply historically attested, for anyone thinking that it was not. The anti-Ares classical sentiment can be traced back to WWII for reasons that do not need explaining. The emphasis on his pathetic myths also partially stem from this.

Ares was and is deeply concerned with justice and Dike is described as his lead. He is shown as the blood vengeance in particular, which still does have modern importance—many of us endorse the guillotine. This could inspire modern worshippers to take to action for causes to support good, justice, and love in their communities. Love and war, mayhaps?

He is also connected to peace and restraining violence alongside war-like desires. This is depicted in the homeric hymnal.

Ares is also close to defending land, especially that of floral and agricultural bounty: he is often positioned with fertility goddesses, such as Aphrodite, Despoina, and Cybele.

He is a vengeful protector, when people are wronged or land is stolen and waged against. Athens used this for defending their land—chaining Ares to the land meanings bringing in his power to serve you and your land’s interests. I do not endorse the usage of this to support oppressive regimes, but it could be adapted in a more liberation focused fashion.

Through Ares, some facets of prosperity is given, and I do not take it as a coincidence he is paired with Athena, who directs while Ares rushes.

Worship is also used to avoid conditions; Apollon to keep the plague away, Ares to keep war and strife away, such as his homeric hymn entails.

Courage is also stated to be a condition he gifts.

Lastly, I find it of vast importance to establish modern ideas of gods that are honest to the historical record and finds fluidity in them. Gods can change and they can be discussed with. Perhaps this is my Roman pagan influences, but we can influence and argue with the gods on points we believe in—for justice and ultimate good, as Zeus does mandate divine justice. We can show Ares, more than he already knows and has, the importance of supporting the revolutionary, and we can invoke his power in fighting for the sovereignty of nature. I am also personally fond of the feminist interpretations of him, and while not likely accurate to history, we should be adapting and developing with the gods in the modern period. Ares as a symbol of violently defending women against patriarchy is ripe for expression and movement, though not without due issues.

We should be striving towards ultimate good and Ares’ power in the modern era, with a modern lens, can continue to give weight to this pursuit. If he can encourage us and take a stand against the machismo ideas of “spartan” ideals that dudebros often have, we can make beneficial cultural changes. The gods do not just belong to history, they are history, and Historia is here to inspire and defeat us at every turn. 

I will say my dea Bellona is more of the historical revolution divinity that people want. She has a lot more of the epigraphic record to support this, but nonetheless, there are many reasons to honour Ares outside of war. Especially in his connections to nature and fertility, which strikes my heart happily as a sustainable agriculturalist. If it is Ares that can motivate more Hellenic pagans to embrace liberation and revolutionary ideas, that is something to preserve.

And regardless, if I can worship Ker without expecting much benefit, we can easily worship a god that is not literal murder. 

[intheupside]

Crosby to be Canada's 'security blanket' as captain at 4 Nations Face-Off

Indeed, is anyone more deserving of the title of Captain Canada?

“He’s up there,” Tocchet said. “And look, I don’t want to embarrass Sid. But from sitting in the locker room across from Wayne Gretzky, the way Wayne’s demeanor is, the way he acted around his teammates, the way he acted in front of the public, Sid’s got that.

“And then you’ve got the Mark Messier type, not afraid to say things to your teammates if needed at the right time. And I’ve seen Sid do that too, using his voice to let them know something is unacceptable. He’s willing to do that. That to me is a great leader. In all facets. One hundred percent.

“The bottom line: When he puts that jersey on, you can sense the calmness come over the entire country of Canada. It’s almost like he’s our security blanket.”

“From the time I first met him, it’s just the way he always looks to raise the bar,” Bergeron said. “We’ve been teammates and linemates in a lot of these tournaments, and he’s never satisfied. He’s always looking to the next thing. He’s able to enjoy the success but at the same time wanting more. It’s his drive, his determination, there’s a lot of reasons why he’s been so clutch and so important in, what you could say, [is] history.

“He commands respect. I think the country is proud of who he is as a person and how he represents us on the international stage. There’s no missteps. It’s been going on since he’s been 14 years old when they started aiming cameras on him. He’s never had a misstep.”

Bergeron is considered one of the top leaders of his era and won the Mark Messier NHL Leadership Award in 2021, an honor Crosby received in 2010.

“I accomplished a lot in my career,” Bergeron said. “But I have to say, I’m so proud that in my time playing, that Sidney was the face of our league and for Canadian hockey. Well deserved.”

Crosby already had his eyes on the 4 Nations prize five months ago, long before he would officially be given the “C” for Team Canada.

Back in early September, Crosby helped organize an unofficial training camp of sorts under the watchful eye of Andy O’Brien, his longtime trainer, in Vail, Colorado. Among those invited to the event were some of Canada’s top players, including Avalanche center Nathan MacKinnon, who like Crosby is from Cole Harbour; Edmonton Oilers center Connor McDavid; and Toronto Maple Leafs forward Mitch Marner.

Crosby insists it wasn’t an official Canada team-bonding exercise, pointing out that there were players from other countries there as well. At the same time, he admits it was productive for some of the Canadians on hand to get the opportunity to develop chemistry and play together, something that could come in handy at the 4 Nations and the 2026 Olympics.

Marner, for one, was appreciative of the invite extended him by Crosby and O’Brien.

“It was great,” he said. “Getting to know Sid and some of those guys both on and off the ice, well, I was grateful that they asked me to join them.

“You get to know them on and off the ice a bit. Such great guys. And so much talent out there with guys like Sid, MacKinnon and McDavid.”

And, according to Team Canada and Tampa Bay Lightning coach Jon Cooper, it was just another example of Crosby’s leadership ability to bring players together for a common goal.

“It’s what he does,” Cooper said. “It’s who he is.

“Look at what he did [last] month when we were in Pittsburgh.”

Cooper was referring to a postgame scene after his team had defeated Crosby and the Penguins 5-2 on Jan. 12, a game in which Tampa Bay scored three goals in the final 3:03 to break a 2-2 tie. The uber-competitive Crosby was upset that victory had eluded the Penguins, but still took time to see Cooper afterward to chat about the 4 Nations.

At one point, Crosby asked Cooper to bring out Lightning forwards Brayden Point, Brandon Hagel and Anthony Cirelli, his future 4 Nations teammates, to talk about the upcoming tournament.

“He here is, angry that his team had just lost a game, and he put that aside to talk Team Canada with them,” Cooper said. “They sat there for 20 minutes. They were like kids in a candy store.

“That right there is what true leadership is.”

And, according to Tocchet, what Crosby is all about.

“It’s unbelievable,” Tocchet said. “He’s a guy that carries the torch, and is willing to pass the torch on when he’s done.

“That’s what he’s doing with Cirelli, Hagel, those guys. He basically comes in and says, ‘Hey, you guys are my teammates in a month, I just want to get to know you real quick and let you know what’s at stake.’ He’s done it with other players. I just think it goes so far with his teammates. They legitimately badly want to play with him, to be his teammate.”

[anxiousnerdwritings]

I am going FERAL over this imagine:

So basically Bruce brings reader home to be his new daughter/the boys' new sibling but Uh Oh! They now want you carnally and reader is just like "you said you wanted me as a daughter/sibling, wtf is this" and being their platonic darling is better than being shared between them romantically so reader tries to come off as innocent and child/sibling coded by being like "yeah I've never actually kissed or dated anyone before aren't I just so innocent" and the boys are like :)))

So then Dick says you can call him your boyfriend "just to feel it out" and Tim starts blatantly stealing your panties and Jason says he can give you your 1st kiss so you can "practice" with him and Bruce offers to teach you how to touch yourself and (and him) and when you try to walk it back cause the boys are being Freaks they're in their delulu era so eventually you end up tied to the bed with the boys and Bruce drawing straws over who gets to take what 1sts (like 1st date, kiss, virginity, ect).

And Damien is just in the background absolutely SEETHING cause the the boys and Bruce's Horny Time keeps interrupting his Mommy Time with the reader

And reader using Damien as kind of a shield cause what are they going to do, feel you up in front of a CHILD? Like just, "Stay Platonic :))"

Just that kind of pseudo incest makes me Feel Things (*/∀＼*)(///∇///)

I'd love your thoughts/a fic based on this! Ty ❤️

TW: Brief mentions of pseudo incest(y) scenarios/behavior, manipulative tactics, yandere tendencies

(Okay so I’ll answer this with my thoughts for right now.)

I know I primarily write incest(y) related topics for my Game of Thrones/ASOIAF stuff but I have been tempted to/curious about branching it out into some of the other fandoms I write for 👀. (I’ve had a few ideas rolling around in my noggin for a bit if anyone is interested.) So I would be willing to give this a try. I’m down to experiment with some new stuff, within reason of course.

I imagine the Reader being older (probably 19-23), maybe even having been a runaway of sorts or not having a very stable home life, so when they’re given the ‘offer’ to become part of the family they’re looking to fulfill a familial void they’ve never experienced or have forgotten how it’s felt like. I definitely see Bruce and the rest of the boys keeping a very close eye on the Reader before they decide to finally bring them into their family, basically full on stalking them from the moment they caught their attention (you know how the Batfam works). It wouldn’t be a surprise if even before the Reader was with them physically that the boys developed a more carnal desire for them. At first, their intentions were completely platonic, but with all the lengthy observing and information gathering of their supposed-to-be-new-family-member eventually something changed in how they all saw their darling.

I really see the change in their obsession starting with either Dick or Tim first. Especially regarding some accidental or purposeful peeping Tom foolery. I feel like Bruce would be the last to fall victim to the change in direction or at the very least he’s the last one to admit to it. If Damian is younger than I see his obsession staying strictly platonic, but if he were much older than I could see him involving himself to the same depths as his family.

At first, I see things happening subtly. Knowing that at the very least a few of them are already in an obsessive-romantic headspace in regards to their darling before they even physically become part of the family the guys would try to be as welcoming as possible without revealing their true intentions. They don’t want to scare you off right away, they want you to walk into it semi-willingly at least. But the interactions with the Reader would show something else. The lingering touches, the being much closer to you than really necessary, the heated grazes over your clothes here and there that leave you wondering if that actually happened or not. I also kind of like the other members not being fully aware of each other’s change in obsession, everyone giving each other the side eye until it sets in and then all out war of who gets the darling to themself unfolds only to eventually end up with them working together and agreeing to share. That’s when Bruce’s heel-turn is revealed.

Once things get truly amped up, the interactions with the Reader really begin to escalate. The boys would walk around shirtless more often, all of them trying to get their darling to look at them, to really look at them. Eventually, it’s not just them being shitless but either them in nothing but their underwear or nothing at all. They start out as accidents but eventually it’s pretty loud and clear that the guys want you to see them, all of them, to even touch them and feel them to your hearts content. But thats not all, of course it’s not. The touching of their darling only gets all the more intense, to the point that you know damn well that they’re touching you and they want to leave you wanting for more. So much more. The Reader’s innocence and lack of experience would only spur them on even more. They absolutely thrive off of it. They all want to be your first, your first everything. There will be a lot of secret ‘lessons’ being given behind closed doors and telling of “Don’t tell Batdaddy or he’ll get real mad.” “Don’t let Jay know, or he’ll want to punish you for not doing this with him.” “Let this be our secret, (Name). Something just for you and me.” “Can’t tell anyone about this or they’ll ruin it for the both of us.” And they only get even worse from there.

I can’t see Alfred being okay with this in any situation, whatsoever. I think he especially would feel like Bruce and the other boys completely took advantage of the Reader and he would try his best to aid them in trying to keep up with the platonic intention of this entire fiasco. He would be a total cockblock, even going as far as helping Damian in his cockblocking endeavors. Alfred’s intention would be to play both sides so he knows how to help the Reader when it comes to Bruce and the others but it wouldn’t take too long for them to figure out that Alfred is working against them. Like, Alfred was all for the familial-platonic obsession but when things started getting more romantic he was ready to shut that shit down ASAP. You can’t tell me he hasn’t, at least a few times, locked Bruce, Dick, Jason, and Tim out of the house to give the Reader some peace and give Damian his much deserved allotted time with them.

Speaking of Damian, he is a menace (as per usual) but even more so than normal. He really doesn’t take too well to the new direction of his father’s and brothers’ obsession for the Reader. He thinks it’s pretty messed up but he sincerely likes and cares about the Reader and he wants them to stay, he wants them to continue being a part of the family forever so he’ll let some things slide. Some. He even may be willing to look the other way when it eventually comes to Bruce, Dick, Jason, and Tim baby-trapping the Reader if it means this whole ‘family’ thing becomes set in stone with the arrival of a new ‘sibling’. But for the most part, at least early on, Damian would be a huge pain in the ass for the other family members. He feels like he needs to step in to save his darling from the others and their ulterior motives. He’s all his parental/older sibling figure needs, at least at that point. He may even try to runaway with them to keep them safe from the others. Hell, he may even get his mother involved if he was desperate enough, especially if he saw the Reader as a parental figure. Or maybe even another Justice League member to either adopt him and the Reader so that he could have that family experience he was promised with the Reader. Or he would be completely content just living the rest of his life just him and the Reader, platonically of course.

It would either take Bruce or Dick to have a talk with Damian to get him to come to some agreement to allow them to continue with what they’re doing in regards to the Reader. I think Dick would get away with manipulating Damian much better than Bruce could. I think Damian would have some opinions about his father especially throughout this whole situation. Especially since I see Damian being very observant of how Dick, Jason and Tim are behaving towards the Reader early on and picking up on the fuckery taking place, even going as far as telling Bruce about it under the belief his father would be on his side (not ever fathoming the idea of his father also doing similar things to the Reader without him ever knowing). As far as Damian knew his father was completely platonic towards the Reader, as a ‘father’ should be. Right? So understandably Damian feels not only betrayed but also disgusted when he finds out that his father was and still is taking part in, acting in a similarly depraved fashion as the others.

Eventually, I could see them coming together and being one big ‘happy’ family. But it sure as hell comes at a price. (Usually the Reader’s freedom and sense of self outside of the obsession they’ve been dragged into, to drown in alongside their yandere(s).)

[azzifuddsgirlfriend]

Ok I’ve never seen anyone with the same pazzi timeline as me so here it is lol also this is long asf and very detailed (yes I’m bored)

I think Paige prob had a crush on Azzi first, especially with her being a little bit older she might have already known she liked girls before meeting Azzi. I think Paige was probably azzi’s “gay awakening” if you will lol. But I think Paige might have even seen Azzi/thought she was cute before they officially met given how interconnected the basketball world is plus there was something on here about them having an overlap in Atlanta I think about a year before they officially met. But I think they became more than friends sooner than most people seem to think. I think they became more than friends (talking/fwb/situationship) whatever you want to call it, like almost immediately after meeting. Paige seemed to really be glued to Azzi during team USA era. So I think they became “more than just friends” in like 2017/early 2018. But especially being so young (Azzi would have been like 14/15 and Paige 15/16) and being long distance, and basketball being your #1 priority, AND coming to terms with your sexuality so young and with another person can make things complicated. But I believe they were only talking to/seeing each other all throughout high school. If someone tries to mention vinnie hacker to me, my answer is I just think Paige was trolling tbh 😭. But she obviously wasn’t out to the public yet in hs, and still isn’t technically but I mean it’s obvious lol, bc of her saying a guy as her celebrity crush in an interview I think her senior year. But I mean most of her family and close friends prob knew ab her and Azzi in hs given how close p & a were and how often they saw each other, while living states away. But yeah I’d say around 2020ish it became more serious, especially quarantining together they kinda got to play gfs/house together. I’m not quite sure if they were officially gfs at this time or just non official gfs, but I mean I’ve never named someone I’m just talking to or just fwb with as “💗” or called them my other half if we weren’t dating so… I think even when Paige first got to college they were just seeing each other bc of Azzi commenting how she missed Paige or something on tik tok and how she wanted to see her. Plus with Paige recruiting Azzi so hard I don’t think she would do that if they had “broken up” lol. But I guess sometime Paige’s freshman year she might have talked to other people. I wouldn’t be surprised if it happened or if it didn’t happen tbh. I’ve never seen solid proof of her talking with anyone else and I feel like if someone was talking to someone so famous we would all know about it lol. What I’m trying to say is she might have talked to other ppl but wasn’t really in a “talking stage”/in a relationship with anyone else ever. Also they both pretty much liked all of each others Instagram pics through hs and college so I don’t think they ever had a big fight/argument/falling out/breakup or whatever you want to call it. But yeah from my personal experience being so young and seeing a girl can kinda be confusing as to how that dynamic works (ex: who asks who out? How does it become official? Should we even tell anyone?) so it was probably just a kinda known thing that they were together in hs/early college years without the official label. But they both might have seen/talked to other people in like 2020/2021 but I don’t think they ever stopped seeing each other. Also I honestly would not be surprised if either of them have never really talked to/seen other people either so idk. But I think around mid 2022 (so like Azzi going into her sophomore year and Paige her junior year) they became officially girlfriends. This being because of how they interacted/posted with each other. Like the pic in Paige’s photo dump on tik tok of the old man with the flowers and her saying “how I’m trynna be” was crazy lol. So yeah and obviously the longer they date the more serious and obvious it’s going to be for the public and this summer idk if they had a conversation about being more open or if it just happened naturally that way but it’s quite obvious that they are together and have been for awhile.

[shewroteaworld]

Unsub Bait

Premise: For the fourth time, brilliant sunshine!reader is asked to bait the unsub. For the first time, Spencer has a problem with this.

Word count: approx. 2,000

Tw: canon-typical discussions of violence

Author's Note: Welcome to the second installment of brilliant sunshine!reader (meaning highly intelligent sunshine!reader) x Spencer Reid! While you don't have to read my first brilliant sunshine! reader fic to understand this one, I would highly recommend reading it. It's titled "I'll Hold Your Weight When You Can't." Hope you enjoy! :) <3

“Here’s an overview of the first phase of the operation: (Y/N) will go undercover as a college student at Yale. She’ll get acquainted with the unsub at Speakeasy, the New Haven bar where he assesses potential victims. We’ll apprehend him in the act of attempted kidnapping.” Hotchner listed for the team.

You’d played unsub lure almost a comical number of times. Once? That’s a once in a million task required to capture a once in a million unsub. Twice? You’d only have two nickels, but it’s weird that it happened twice, right? But four times? 

You’d already joked to Hotch that you should add “professional unsub bait” to your resume. 

It would’ve been more comical if it wasn’t so scary. 

You took a deep breath as you stared at the photos of the victims on the mahogany conference room table. Melissa Grey. Audrey Bernstein. Alivia Johnson. You could see your 21-year-old self in their eyes. You remember being so young and full of anxiety; you were near graduating from MIT. You couldn’t sleep at night from worrying if you had already lived up to your potential and would spend the rest of your years a washed up gifted kid– an academic has–been. After graduation, you proved to yourself your worth.

The college juniors in the photographs had their lives cut short by the unsub before they had the opportunity to find out what amazing places their brilliant minds could take them. You were about to allow said unsub to nearly kidnap you. 

That is, if you didn’t blow your cover. Then, he would hold you hostage or attempt to kill you as soon as possible by skipping his usual "kidnap and torture" routine.

Rationally, you knew your field experience more than prepared you for this task. Also, you knew your team had your back. They always kept you safe and healthy. The one time you were put at serious risk, you had to fight to be left alone after the case closed. But, you’re not sure if all the facts in the world could adequately calm your adrenal glands.

“Is this necessary?” Spencer suddenly interjected.

You turned to Spencer in surprise. “It’s the quickest way. We have twenty-four hours,” You said.

The unsub had a pattern; a girl was dying once every two weeks, and, when the the local and Connecticut police force combined failed to contain the situation, the BAU was brought into the case 36 hours before the next killing. With his eidetic memory, you were certain Spencer couldn't forget the time restraints if he tried, hence why you were stunned by his sudden brazenness. However, given Spencer's traumatic relationship history and your budding romance, Spencer's behavior was a lot more likely.

You and Spencer had been dating for a couple weeks. Despite being certain the team had their suspicions, you kept your relationship on the downlow. Strong boundaries were a good thing to keep when your relationship was in its fragile, formative era. Plus, you both agreed it was best to keep a high level of professionalism. 

This was the first time Spencer broke protocol.

“I think there’s another way.” Spencer continued. “It’s unsafe and illogical to put anyone’s life into considerable risk if there’s another viable option.”

“Are you implying I’m being rash, Reid?” Hotchner asked with a raised eyebrow. 

Usually, Spence would look away and take a breath. He’d at least have the decency to act timid, especially given the fact the entire team pulled multiple all-nighters in an effort to catch this serial killer. Instead, he leveled with Hotchner’s glare and asserted himself further. “I just think we’ve gotten a little too comfy using (Y/N) as an unsub lure. The more we do, the more probable a disaster will occur with her in the line of fire.”

“Spencer,” Morgan cut in gently. There was sympathy in his eyes. “We’ve done this with (Y/N) before. We’re good at reading her. And she knows the drill. We’ll keep her safe.”

“Yes, because that’s something we can certainly guarantee when she’s 3 inches from a serial killer.” Spencer deadpanned. 

“Reid. A word.” Without waiting for Spencer’s reaction, Hotch left the meeting room. With a hard look in his eye, Spencer filed after Hotch. You were relieved he was still obedient despite being ornery.

For a few moments, the team sat in silence. 

Rossi broke the spell with the scrape of his chair. “Well, I for one, am going to take this impromptu intermission as an opportunity to grab coffee. Any requests?” Rossi asked. 

“I’ll take a barbajada.” You joked half-heartedly. 

“Very funny, (L/N). Any requests the office Keurig can complete in less than five minutes?” 

The team rattled off their go-to office drink orders, but it faded to white noise. During your friendship, Spencer would always care for you when you had to lure the unsub. He’d be more attentive on the jet ride in and out. He’d check in on your mental state directly after the unsub was arrested and always called you once you got home. Once, after the particularly stressful unsub encounter, he sent you links to PTSD articles and even offered to help you schedule an appointment with a specialized therapist through the FBI’s mental health services.

But he’d never once intervened with a plan for you to go undercover. You knew Spencer Reid was nothing if not rational. He knew Hotch valued every member of his team. He knew Hotch would never send you undercover if it wasn’t necessary to stop a killing spree before more young women became statistics. 

Therefore, you knew Spencer was thinking about Maeve. 

You stood. 

“Where you going, Beauty Queen?” Morgan asked.

“Just heading to the restroom.” You lied. 

You walked down the hall and crept up the stairs. You tiptoed down the east wing of the second floor to avoid clicking your heels against the concrete. 

You crept to the side of Hotch’s office. You pressed your back to the wall.

Hotch said something indecipherable. An angry Reid answered.

“And all I’m saying is, she is not a cat with nine lives! She has one life. One precious life, that I think we’ve been a little too careless with.”

“Reid, you know I would never risk putting (Y/N) in harm’s way if it wasn’t the best course of action. She’s experienced with this. The team is experienced with this.” 

A beat of silence passed.

“Promise me that if you have so much as an inkling her life is in danger–”

“We’ll do everything in our power to get her out of there.”

“That’s the thing! ‘Everything in our power…’ It’s not enough. How many times have we told families we did everything we could when all they have left is a body bag?” 

Your heart froze. Both of the voices lowered. You could only catch bits and pieces of Hotch’s speech. You were never an eavesdropper, but despite your better nature, you crept around the corner towards the door.

“I know what it’s like to lose someone to an unsub, Spencer. I know how it sticks with you. I know how it changes the job. But you have to trust us– the team. We’re going to protect her. And we’re going to be there for you,” Hotch said. 

Spencer sighed. "How did you do it?" Spencer's voice cracked. "After Haley, Hotch? I’m not sure if I can survive this.” He sounded seconds away from tears. 

At that moment, you knew you would not sleep comfortably at night if you continued to be a fly on the wall.  You tiptoed back down the east wing and waited for Spencer at the bottom of the stairs.

Ten minutes passed before Spencer appeared at the top of the staircase.

“Spencer?” You called. 

His hazel eyes were tinged pink. He walked down the stairs nonchalantly. “Hey, um, would you mind if we discussed part of the case file real quick? Privately? It could help, um…” He cleared his throat. “Develop your persona.”

“Yes, of course.” 

Spencer didn’t look at you as he power walked down the hall towards the janitorial closets. For the first time since you started dating, he didn’t adjust to your walking pace. 

He flung a door open and yanked you inside. 

Carelessly, Spencer slammed the door behind you. Before you could get a word in, he pulled you into a bear hug.

“Spencer.” You whispered. “I’m here. I’m okay.”

He nuzzled his nose into your hair. 

You stood in the statue of a hug for two minutes.

“I can’t lose you.” Spencer whispered.

“You won’t.”

Spencer pulled away from you. He bent down to look you in the eye. He squeezed your shoulders. His eyes danced with emotion. There was a deep ache, a whirlpool of sadness that you knew a lifetime may never heal. What perplexed you was the hardness that you could only read as anger. 

“I…” He sighed. He hung his head. He dragged his palms down the slope of your shoulders to your forearms. It was like he was taking a cast of you with his hands. 

“I’m not dead on arrival. I’m still here. I’m coming back on that jet ride home with you. I’m going to be okay.” You reciprocated his shoulder squeeze. “You’re going to be okay.”

Spencer shook his head. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I care about you. It’s a part of the girlfriend package.” Spencer pulled you into another constricting hug. 

 “I can’t fathom how difficult this must be for you.” You whispered.

Spencer pressed his forehead to yours. “Promise me when you go out there, you won’t worry about me. I want you to only focus on you, your surroundings, and making sure you get out of there.”

“I promise, Spencer.” You said, though you weren’t sure if that would be the truth.

“And one more thing,” He said. His irises were so close to yours you could pick apart the layer of green and brown. “As soon as you feel unsafe, you call someone. If you have any inclination he’s going to overtake you–”

“I call the team.”

He took a step back and ran his hands through his hair. “I know you’re strong. I’m not trying to insult your field work.”

Your heart cracked. “Spencer, love, I know that. I’m so happy you care about me. I just wish this situation hurt you less.”

He dropped his hands to his sides. His brows furrowed. He stared at a random point to the left of your face.

“Can you do something for me? Before we leave?” He asked, still not meeting your gaze.

“What is it, Spence?”

He took a deep breath. He met your eyes again. “Dance with me.” 

“What?”

“Dance with me. I…” He inhaled deeply. “I never got to dance with Maeve before she…I barely even got to hold her. I won’t make the same mistake twice.” 

You closed the distance between you and Spencer. You cupped his face in your hands, and he instinctively leaned into your touch. His eyes shone with tears. “I’ll dance with you for the rest of my days, Spence.” 

He whipped out his phone. He turned on a slow jazz song you played for him last winter on an impromptu hot chocolate date. 

Your heart skipped a beat. You could go on that same date again, but it would have a whole new color to it. 

He slid his phone onto a cleaning supply shelf. He pulled you to his chest. Your head nestled right beneath his collarbone. You wrapped your arms around his mid back.

You danced, bodies pressed together like puzzle pieces, in silence until the song ended. The symphony of emotions didn’t cease with the final brush of the snare. 

Spencer continued swaying with you.

“I’m going to be okay.” You whispered.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “You can’t promise me that.” He held you even tighter. “But I can promise you I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you come home to me.” 

Author's Note: Hello to all my new followers! I'm so glad you're here! I'm so grateful for the overwhelmingly positive reception to "I'll Hold Your Weight When You Can't." Hope you enjoyed this piece as well!

I hope you have a great day or night wherever you are in this crazy world.

xoxo,

shewroteaworld

[edenesth]

TWTHH Spinoff: Try Again [2]

Pairing: assistant!Jongho x new maid!reader

AU: historical au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 7.6k

Summary: Among the many staff members at General Park's estate, Jongho stood out for his dedication, leaving no room for personal indulgence. Convinced that love and marriage would detract from his commitment to serving the general, he had resigned himself to a life of solitude. But his conviction was challenged with the arrival of an annoyingly perfect Miss Kwon, a new maid whose kindness and efficiency began to make him rethink his life choices.

Part 1 | Main Story | Spinoff Masterlist

"Ugh, he's such an idiot," Seonghwa mumbled, rubbing a frustrated hand against his temple as he entered the House of Lotus that night. His wife smirked from her position on the bed. "Yeah, reminds me of you. Men become utter fools when they develop feelings for someone."

He pouted, shedding the outer layer of his hanbok before carefully joining her on the bed, mindful of her round belly. "Am not," he argued, but she raised a challenging brow. "Are too." He huffed but pulled her close regardless. "Am not."

She glared up at him. "Are too, General Park. You're being one right now." He couldn't resist the grin creeping onto his face at how adorable she was, despite being about to become a mother. "Yes, my love. You're always right. I'm just messing with you, you know that." She stuck her tongue out at him playfully. "That's more like it," she said, melting into her husband's warm embrace.

"Let him be, Hwa. I know you're frustrated, but he's at a stage where nothing you say will get through. He'll learn on his own eventually." He nodded in defeat, sighing when she pressed her lips against his jaw.

"Now, let us sleep."

"Yes, ma'am."

On the other side of the estate, you lay awake in bed, the events of the afternoon replaying in your mind like a broken record. You tried to reevaluate your priorities here, but one memory stood out starkly.

"Don't think, Miss Kwon. Just do your job and leave me alone. And it's Assistant Choi to you."

Those words pierced your heart more deeply than he would ever know. After all those moments and progress, were you a fool to believe you were finally on good terms? Was it naive to assume you were now… friends? A small, hopeful part of you even dared to wish for something more.

But now, you understand.

You had grown up a people pleaser all your life. And if leaving Jongho alone was what he truly wanted, you would grant him your absence. The last thing you ever wanted was to be a bother or annoyance to anyone. You had tried your best, but even a saint has their limits, and you had reached yours.

Feeling a profound sense of betrayal, you replayed his harsh words over and over in your mind. Each repetition cut deeper, shattering the fragile hope you had nurtured. You had seen glimpses of a softer side in the assistant, moments where his stern exterior seemed to crack. Those moments had given you hope—hope that there was more to your relationship than a mere formality. But now, it was clear that those glimpses were just that—brief and fleeting.

You had spent your life striving to make others happy, always going the extra mile to please those around you, to earn their approval and affection. It was in your nature to help, to support, to be there for others. But now, faced with his cold rejection, you were once again reminded that sometimes, no matter how hard you try, it will never be enough. The weight of his words pressed down on you, and the sting of rejection was almost unbearable.

It was just like with my parents…

Determined to respect his wishes, you resolved to distance yourself from him. It wasn't easy. Every interaction, every shared moment, had left an indelible mark on your heart. But you had to protect yourself, to preserve whatever dignity you had left. You would focus on your duties, keeping your head down and your heart guarded.

As you moved through your days, you couldn't help but feel a profound sadness. You missed the camaraderie you thought you had built, the unspoken connection you felt. Yet, you reminded yourself that you deserved to be around people who appreciated you and valued your presence. If Jongho wanted distance, you would give it to him, even if it broke your heart in the process.

The assistant had initially been grateful that you had listened and left him alone. He remembered tensing up the first time he saw you after he had told you off so rudely the other day. He breathed a sigh of relief when you only nodded politely in acknowledgement before walking the other way. But as days passed, it became hard not to notice how you were beginning to avoid him like he had first done to you. Whenever he tried to speak to you regarding work, you would dismiss him and redirect him to someone else.

Today was another one of those days.

He straightened up, noticing you heading his way. He cleared his throat, trying to act as nonchalant as possible as he stepped in front of you, intentionally blocking your path.

"Miss Kwon, I'd hate to trouble you, but I'm going to need you to—"

You sighed, bowing. "Apologies, Assistant Choi, but I have more than enough on my plate as it is. If this does not concern maternity or relate to the mistress in any way, please seek assistance from someone else." Without waiting for his response, you walked away.

He blinked in surprise as he watched you go. The indifference in your voice and the quick dismissal stung more than he cared to admit. It was a stark contrast to the warmth and eagerness you had once shown him. His initial relief turned into an uncomfortable realisation that your absence, your avoidance, was affecting him more than he had anticipated.

Whatever, it's better this way.

Jongho tried to convince himself, but it was no use. This treatment affected him more than he liked to admit, yet his stubbornness prevented him from addressing it. Out of spite, he became even meaner to you, thinking that maintaining a cold front would help him regain control.

One day, as he passed by the House of Lotus, he saw you tidying up Lady Park's pavilion, now cluttered with various items. When you felt his gaze, you turned and found him staring. Flustered, he huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'd be careful not to break anything if I were you. Every single item here is worth more than you ever will be." He cursed himself internally after uttering those words, wondering why he had to be so cruel. His fists clenched in regret when you let out a shaky breath and nodded obediently.

"I am aware, Assistant Choi. Please do not worry; I will treat them with the utmost care."

Why didn't you fight back? he wondered. The way you did when he had questioned you and your skills before? He hated that you were giving him minimal reactions, as if speaking to him would kill you. The realisation hit him hard—he was the hypocrite, condemning your distance when he had been the one to push you away.

Jongho's frustration mounted as he realised that your avoidance was cutting deeper than he had anticipated. Despite his best efforts to distance himself from you, each time you turned away, it stirred a pang of regret within him. At the thought, he found himself arranging the books in the general's study with more force than usual.

"Woah, any harder and you'll have to replace them all with new ones. I'm not sure your salary can cover that expense, Jongho. What's gotten your panties in a knot?" Seonghwa's sudden appearance beside him startled the assistant into a cough and a bow.

In truth, the younger man struggled to pinpoint the source of his frustration—whether it was directed at himself, you, or both. He knew he had no right to be angry with you; after all, you had only done exactly what he asked. It was a constant war between his mind and heart, and he was sick of it.

"Nothing, sir. Just a bit... overwhelmed with work," he lied, avoiding the general's knowing gaze.

Seonghwa sighed, crossing his arms. "You know, you're a terrible liar. This wouldn't have anything to do with Miss Kwon, would it?"

Jongho's silence spoke volumes. He continued to arrange the books, each movement more agitated than the last. "It's just... she's avoiding me," he finally admitted, his voice laced with frustration.

"Isn't that what you wanted?" Seonghwa asked, raising an eyebrow.

The younger man clenched his fists, his knuckles white. "I thought it was. But now... I don't know."

"Maybe you should figure out what you really want before you destroy everything around you," General Park advised, his tone gentle but firm. "Including your own peace of mind."

He nodded slowly, the weight of his employer's words sinking in. He realised he needed to stop this war within himself. The constant push and pull were tearing him apart, and he couldn't bear it any longer.

That night, the general returned to his wife's side with a triumphant grin. "Things between those two will be fine now. Just you wait, my love." Lady Park shook her head. "Are you sure? I wouldn't be so optimistic if I were you."

And once again, her intuition proved correct.

Despite Jongho's desire to mend the rift between you, his pride and reluctance eventually held him back. Much to Seonghwa's disappointment, nothing changed. The silent war between Assistant Choi and the new maid persisted, casting a palpable tension over the household, noticed by nearly everyone.

Eunsook sighed heavily as she noticed the usually alert assistant zoning out for what felt like the thousandth time during their weekly inventory check. "What's bothering you, Jongho-yah? You know you can talk to me, right?" the elderly woman asked gently.

The general's aide finally snapped out of his trance, his eyes drifting away from the window where you had been standing moments ago, discussing herbs for the mistress' tonic with another maid.

"I…" He hesitated, tempted to confide in her. Eunsook had been like a mother to him throughout his employment here. But he shook his head, recognising how unprofessional discussing personal matters during work hours would be. More importantly, his pride stood in the way. Admitting his feelings would make them real and expose his vulnerability. He was Choi Jongho, after all. The last thing he needed was to be seen as a lovesick fool.

With a firm shake of his head, he forced a reassuring smile. "I'm fine, Eunsook. Maybe just a bit tired, nothing a good night's sleep can't fix. I'll rest earlier tonight, don't worry."

She shook her head in disbelief as she watched the stubborn young man return to work, his usual mask of nonchalance firmly back in place. She could see the turmoil beneath his facade, but he was determined to keep it hidden, even from himself.

These kids are hopeless, I swear...

"Good job, everyone. Go and get some rest for the night." The assistant nodded approvingly at the completed tasks for the day and dismissed the group of estate staff assigned under him.

He watched as the servants dispersed, heading towards their respective quarters. Giving the tidy inventory one last look, he dusted off his hands in satisfaction and began walking towards his own room, ready to retire for the night. All he could think about was the comfort of his mattress. He couldn’t wait to lie down and forget about everything, especially you. Thoughts of you had been making him restless, and he truly loathed it. He chastised himself for being caught by Eunsook earlier. This was bad, and he couldn't keep letting you affect him this way.

As if the world were adamant about ruining his plans, your familiar petite frame appeared in his vision. You were hunched over a basin, scrubbing one of the mistress' hanboks clean. What in the world were you doing out here in the cold of the night? Everyone else was either heading to bed or already asleep. And here you were, performing a chore that could very well make you sick in this weather.

He took a hesitant step towards you, wanting to lecture you, but then stepped back, remembering how awkward things were between you now. Yet, he didn't have the heart to walk away. With a huff, he pushed himself to approach you.

"Miss Kwon, shouldn't this be a task done during the day? Just because you're out here late doesn't mean you're hardworking. If anything, it shows you can't finish your tasks on time during work hours." He mentally cursed himself for always letting such harsh words slip, as if showing that he cared was such a horrendous thing.

You halted your actions momentarily at the sound of his voice before continuing. "Good evening, Assistant Choi," you said, turning slightly to eye him from the corner of your eye, not granting him the pleasure of your full attention. "I understand what you mean, but I hope you also understand that a heavily pregnant woman like the mistress might not always have full control of her bladder like the rest of us and that unplanned mishaps can happen. Do you suppose I should leave the lady in her wet garments? Is it wrong that I am getting things done on my own time? Please do not let me stop you from getting your rest. I am fully capable of managing my own time. Thank you very much. Now, if you'll excuse me," you answered firmly, not paying him any more mind.

Jongho stood there, feeling a mix of frustration and regret. He hated the way he spoke to you, but he couldn't seem to help it. Watching you continue your task, he realised that your dedication and resilience only made him admire you more, even if he was too stubborn to admit it. "Fine."

If he thought that would be the last time he found you out late, he was sorely mistaken. Over the next few days, he noticed a troubling pattern: you were working harder than ever, often staying up late to complete various chores long after the mistress had gone to bed. As if that wasn't concerning enough, you were already up and working by the time he started his day, which was unusually early. He began to wonder if you were getting any rest at all.

Despite his stubbornness, the assistant couldn't help but worry about your well-being. He noticed the dark circles under your eyes, the way you sometimes swayed on your feet from exhaustion and the quiet determination in your every movement. It bothered him more than he would like to admit, but he refused to acknowledge that he cared. The thought of you overworking yourself began to weigh heavily on his mind.

One evening, he stood by the window of the general's study, watching as you meticulously swept the courtyard. The sun had long set, and the estate was bathed in the soft glow of lanterns. He clenched his fists, fighting the urge to go out there and tell you to stop. But his pride kept him rooted in place.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Why does she have to be so damn stubborn?" he muttered to himself.

Just then, the head maid entered the room with a tray of tea. She set it down on the desk and looked at him with a knowing expression. "Still worrying about her?"

Jongho stiffened, then tried to play it off with a nonchalant shrug. "I'm not worrying, Eunsook. It's just… She's working too hard. It's not good for her."

The elderly woman raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying his act. "You know, Jongho-yah, it's okay to care about someone. Even if it's hard to admit."

He scoffed, turning away from the window. "I'm not admitting anything. She's just… being reckless."

Eunsook shook her head with a soft chuckle. "You can keep telling yourself that, but everyone can see it. Just don't wait too long to do something about it."

As she left the room, Jongho's gaze drifted back to you. He knew she was right, but his pride and fear of vulnerability kept him silent. Yet, with each passing day, the thought of you overworking yourself increasingly bothered him, threatening to break through the walls he had built around his heart.

About to retire for the night, the assistant once again spotted you still busy at work. Tonight, you were by the furnace outside the House of Lotus, burning coals in an attempt to keep the mistress warm during the relentless cold weather. What an idiot, he thought to himself as he carefully approached you, not wanting to alert you to his presence. Here you were, busy keeping the lady warm while putting yourself in the cold. You were going to fall sick at this rate. He was amazed that you weren't already ill with the constant work and little rest you'd been getting lately.

He let out a small sigh of relief when he was close enough to see your head propped up on your fist, your elbow resting on your knee, your eyes closed. "You stubborn girl," he whispered to himself, feeling his heart ache as he observed the callouses on your free hand and the bags under your eyes. Your lips were dry and chapped, nearly turning blue from sitting out in the cold for god knows how long. He had to fight the urge to pull you close and carry you back to your quarters.

Instead, he sighed and crouched down beside you, lifting a hesitant hand to your face and gently moving a stray strand of hair. Noticing the slight shiver that ran through you, he quickly pulled off the outer layer of his hanbok and draped it around your shaking form. He froze when you seemed to wake up from the sudden warmth enveloping you.

"Hm— what? J-Jongho?" you muttered groggily before realising who was in front of you. Clearing your throat, you shot up from your seat and bowed. "Assistant Choi, wh-what were you…" you trailed off, noticing his outer layer on your shoulders.

Ignoring his disappointment when you corrected yourself and addressed him by his title instead of his name, he avoided your gaze, standing up as well. "Don't overthink it. I may be strict, but I'm not heartless. After all, who would care for the mistress if you fell sick? If you were responsible, you'd take good care of yourself too." He spoke in his usual icy tone, the mask of nonchalance returning as he turned to leave.

"Wait, your—" you started, looking down at the piece of clothing around your frame, but he cut you off.

"Keep it," he said firmly.

As he walked back to his room, he whispered to the wind, hoping it would somehow reach you, "You need it more than I do."

You stared after his retreating figure in confusion. He was so infuriating. If he wanted to be mean, why couldn't he be mean until the end? Why was he always making things more complicated than they should be? He constantly said one thing and did another. Why was he playing with your feelings like this?

You had been trying so hard to push all thoughts of him out of your mind, focusing on nothing but work, keeping yourself busy, and putting him at a distance just as he had wanted. You wanted to show him that you could be just as good at your job as he was—just as hardworking, dedicated, and capable—to prove him wrong about whatever prejudices he might have against you.

And just when you thought you could finally learn to hate him, he would go and do things like this, undoing all your efforts. You sighed, clutching the fabric around you, pulling it close as tears of frustration welled in your eyes. His scent was somehow… comforting.

"Stop doing this to me, Choi Jongho," you whispered to the night, feeling your resolve crumble once again.

The next day, the assistant resumed his work as usual, though his heart raced at the thought of running into you. Would you still be wearing the piece of clothing he had given you? Or had you already cleaned it and left it on his doorstep? The latter seemed more likely. He couldn't understand his internal dilemma: on the one hand, it felt oddly satisfying to imagine you walking around with his robe draped over you, as if you were his. On the other hand, he wanted to smack himself sober for having these mind-boggling thoughts. He was stuck between wanting to see you in it and knowing the impropriety of it all.

In his constant efforts to both avoid and keep an eye out for you, half the day had gone by, and he began to realise that you had been nowhere in sight the entire time. He told himself not to overthink it, but his mind raced with possibilities of where you could be, trying to regulate the escalating unease he felt.

While he could have simply asked around, he refused to inquire about your whereabouts, prioritising his pride over his concern. Yet, secretly, he was going insane with worry.

As he moved through his tasks, his frustration grew. Every room he entered, every corridor he walked down, he found himself hoping to catch a glimpse of you. The absence of your presence gnawed at him more than he cared to admit.

By the time the sun began to set, his anxiety had reached its peak. The thought of something happening to you while he stubbornly refused to show concern made him feel a pang of guilt. He clenched his fists, battling the urge to ask someone where you were.

Instead of carrying out his tasks, Jongho ended up spending nearly the entire day searching the estate for you. Every corner, every room, every possible hiding place—he checked them all, growing more distressed with each passing moment.

Where could she have possibly gone?

After what felt like an eternity, he finally found you alone in the Cold Palace. Your figure was hunched, and his heart clenched when he realised you were crying on one of the steps leading up to the vacant chambers. His heart picked up its speed again when he spotted his robe neatly folded beside you. So, you kept it. It was apparent you had come here for privacy, given that this place had been as good as abandoned ever since the mistress moved out.

A part of him told himself he was intruding on a personal moment and that he should leave you be now that he knew you were safe. But the bigger part of him couldn't take it anymore. He wanted— no, needed to know you were okay.

Annoyed yet concerned, Jongho moved to sit down beside you, his presence startling you slightly. "What's making you cry?" he asked, his tone a mix of irritation and genuine concern.

"Assistant Choi?" Blinking rapidly, you shook your head. "I-I'm fine..."

His stern gaze silenced you. "Just be honest with me… please."

You wiped your tears, taking a deep breath before responding. "Fine, if you insist. I'm just… I'm tired of constantly feeling as though I will never be enough for anyone and everyone. You think you're the only one who fought hard to get where you are?" you began, your voice trembling with emotion. "I've struggled, too. I've given everything to prove myself, to show that I'm just as capable, just as dedicated. You have no right to judge me or mistreat me."

The assistant's heart sank with each word. He had hoped, in some twisted way, that your tears were because of him, a testament to his impact on your life. But hearing your frustration, your own story of perseverance, shattered that notion.

When you finished, you stood up, ready to leave. But against his better judgement, he gently pulled you back, his mind racing for the right words. All his usual defences, his pride and stubbornness, seemed meaningless at this moment.

"I... I'm sorry," he muttered softly, his voice barely audible.

You looked at him, surprised by his uncharacteristic vulnerability. For a moment, the air between you was heavy with unspoken emotions. Jongho, struggling to find more words, simply held your gaze, hoping his apology was enough to convey his regret.

At those unexpected words, your tears flowed again as you allowed him to gently guide you back into the seat beside him. The chill of the air was gradually replaced by warmth as he once again draped his robe over your shoulders. He didn't say another word, but his actions spoke volumes, conveying his sincerity. This unexpected kindness only made you cry harder.

He moved closer until your shoulders touched, his presence a silent reassurance that you weren't alone. The two of you spent the rest of the evening sitting next to each other in silence. Though he could have left after offering his apology, he realised he didn't want to. There was an unspoken bond forming between you, a quiet understanding that both of you needed.

As the stars began to dot the sky, the silence between you became more comfortable, almost intimate. He felt a sense of peace he hadn't felt in a long time. He glanced at you, noticing the way your breathing had evened out, your tears finally subsiding.

"I'm sorry," he repeated softly, feeling the need to say it again.

You nodded, leaning slightly into his warmth, feeling a strange sense of relief. "Thank you," you whispered, grateful for his sincerity.

The two of you remained there, side by side, the Cold Palace no longer feeling so cold with the shared warmth of understanding and newfound camaraderie. The quiet intimacy of the moment made your hearts flutter, the connection between you deepening with each passing second.

The next day, Jongho eagerly looked forward to seeing you again. However, as he made his rounds, his anticipation turned to confusion and panic when he couldn't find you anywhere again, not even the Cold Palace. None of the servants had any answers for him, claiming not to know where you had gone.

Desperate for answers, he sought out the general, the head maid, and the mistress. Each of them gave him the same response: "She left, Jongho. She's gone home."

She... left? But why?

Panic gripped him. Hadn't everything been resolved after the previous night? He couldn't understand what was happening. He clearly recalled escorting you back to your quarters after a pleasant stop by the kitchen, where you treated yourselves to some leftover dishes from dinner. There had been laughter, shared stories, and a genuine connection. You had shyly handed his robe back to him at the end of the night, but he had insisted you keep it. Things were going well, weren't they? So, what went wrong?

His mind raced with questions. For once, he wasn't worried about the consequences Seonghwa mentioned he would face if you quit. All he could think about was why you had left and where you had gone. Was last night a goodbye? Why exactly were you crying? There had to be more to it, right?

He needed answers.

Holy crap, he needed you.

As he stood in the empty courtyard, grappling with his mounting frustration and confusion, the general approached, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Jongho...? You okay, buddy?"

The question snapped the assistant from his spiralling thoughts. He turned to face his employer, his face a mask of desperation and determination. The weight of the revelation that you had left, combined with the realisation of how deeply he had come to care for you, pushed him to the brink.

With a sudden surge of emotion, Jongho blurted out, "I need to know where she lives. I need her address—now!"

General Park's eyes widened in surprise. The head maid and the mistress exchanged concerned glances, their expressions reflecting the unexpected turn of events. His outburst revealed a side of him they had rarely seen—a side filled with raw vulnerability and an intensity that spoke of deep feelings.

"You... you were right, I can't be without her," he continued, his voice trembling with a mix of frustration and resolve. "I didn't realise how much she meant to me until she was gone. I thought I could handle it, but I can't. I need to bring her back."

Took you long enough, you prideful idiot.

Seonghwa's hand remained on his shoulder, a silent gesture of support. The assistant's declaration of his feelings, so raw and exposed, left him feeling both embarrassed and liberated. He knew now that his emotions were undeniable, and he was willing to face whatever consequences lay ahead to be with you again.

Eunsook stepped forward, her voice soft but firm. "Jongho, are you sure about this? It's a long journey, and things might not be as simple as you think. Miss Kwon, she was uh... she seemed very troubled."

Jongho nodded, his eyes determined. "Then that's all the more reason for me to be there for her. I've never been more certain of anything in my life. I can't let her think that I don't care. I need to see her, to explain… to fix whatever I messed up."

The lady, witnessing his resolve, stepped in with a sympathetic smile. "Very well. We'll get you the address. But remember, you must be honest with her. Be clear about your feelings. No more saying things you don't mean."

He nodded firmly and took a deep breath, the weight of his decision settling in. He felt a rush of relief and fear, knowing that he was about to embark on a journey to find you and make things right. He had come to understand that his feelings for you were more than just fleeting emotions—they were real, and they mattered deeply.

As the information was given to him, the assistant clutched the piece of paper tightly, his heart pounding with a mix of excitement and anxiety. He turned to Seonghwa, Eunsook, and the mistress, offering them a sincere thank you.

"I'll make sure she knows how much she means to me," Jongho said with resolve. "Thank you for your understanding."

With that, he set off, ready to face the world and do whatever it took to bring you back. The journey ahead was uncertain, but one thing was clear: he was no longer just an assistant doing his job—he was a man determined to fight for the love he had finally come to recognise.

Your heart felt heavy as you stepped out of the carriage, staring up at the estate you once called home, though it had never truly felt like one. No matter how many people filled its halls, it always remained a cold place, devoid of the warmth you craved. And yet, here you were again, returning after years away. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself before entering the Kwon household for the first time in forever.

As you walked through the entrance, the servants bowed in recognition of your presence. "Welcome back, young miss," they murmured. You nodded emotionlessly, your eyes fixed on the altar straight ahead, which held the painting of a person whose affection you had fought hard to earn but never received.

Your brothers turned as your presence was announced. The second eldest furrowed his brows, a sneer forming on his lips. "Well, well, look who finally decides to show up? And here I was thinking Miss Ungrateful would never step foot in this house again. I'm afraid it's a little late to return, little sister. Mother's already dea—"

The eldest grabbed his arm, stopping him from finishing the sentence. "That's enough. Don't start anything. Show some respect. Mother would not want this."

You stood there, feeling a mix of sorrow and resentment. The coldness of the house and the harshness of your brother's words only served to remind you of why you had left in the first place. Yet, as you looked at the painting of the late Lady Kwon, you couldn't help but feel a pang of grief. Despite everything, a part of you had always hoped for reconciliation, for a family that would accept and love you.

Swallowing your emotions, you stepped forward, trying to find your voice. "I came to pay my respects," you said softly, your tone measured and controlled. "Whatever differences we had, she was still my mother."

The second eldest scoffed but remained silent, his gaze shifting away from you. You took another step closer to the altar, feeling the weight of the past and the unresolved emotions pressing down on you. It was difficult to be here, but you knew you had to face it, if not for your own sake, then for the memory of the woman whose portrait now watched over you.

As you stood there, the silence was heavy, filled with unspoken words and buried feelings. Your heart ached, but you remained resolute, determined to find closure in this place that had once been so unforgiving.

You settled on your knees before the altar, the flickering candlelight casting gentle shadows across your face. After lighting your own incense stick, you carefully placed it in the holder before your mother's resting place. Lowering your head, you clasped your hands together, the scent of the burning incense mingling with the bittersweet memories that flooded your mind.

The past few days had been a tumultuous sea of emotions. Upon receiving word of your mother's passing, you had been overwhelmed, retreating to the solitude of the Cold Palace to grapple with your feelings. The cold and empty chambers mirrored your own inner turmoil as you wrestled with the decision of whether or not to return to the place that had caused you so much pain.

As you knelt there, the weight of the moment pressing down on you, thoughts of a certain general's assistant suddenly entered your mind. The memory of his comforting presence the night before, his robe draped around your shoulders, and the sincerity in his voice as he apologised, filled your heart with a warmth that contrasted sharply with the coldness of your surroundings.

I wish you were here, Choi Jongho...

His steady presence, his silent strength—it would have been a balm to your aching soul. You longed for his reassuring touch, his quiet support. The thought of him brought a small measure of comfort amidst the sorrow.

Blinking back tears, you whispered a silent prayer, seeking peace and closure. You hoped that, somehow, your mother could hear you and understand the complex emotions you harboured. Despite the years of distance and the unresolved pain, you wished for forgiveness and reconciliation, even if it was now too late.

You took a deep breath, lifting your head to gaze at the portrait before you. "Mother," you whispered, your voice trembling, "I hope you find peace. I hope you know that despite everything, I loved you. And I hope… I hope you can forgive me."

The room was silent, the air thick with the scent of incense and the weight of unspoken words. You remained kneeling, feeling the presence of your elder brothers behind you, the tension still palpable. But in that moment, you felt a small sense of release, as if a part of the burden you had carried for so long had been lifted.

As you rose to your feet and turned, your breath hitched at the sight of your father standing there, your younger brothers by his side. His presence was imposing, yet there was something different in his eyes—a softness you hadn't seen before.

"You're really here… I didn't believe them when they told me you came," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle.

You gulped and bowed deeply. "Yes, I've come, Father."

To your surprise, he broke into a smile, a genuine expression of warmth that took you aback. "Come, my dear, let us have some tea and catch up."

Your heart warmed at the semblance of pleasure on his face. Was he glad you returned? Could he have… regretted not treating you better after you left? The questions swirled in your mind, but the hint of hope blossomed in your chest.

The eldest gave you an encouraging nod. You took a deep breath and followed your father to the living hall, your footsteps echoing softly in the spacious corridors of the house where you spent your childhood.

The living hall was just as you remembered—lavishly decorated yet exuding a cold elegance. But today, the atmosphere felt different, almost welcoming. The elderly man gestured for you to sit, and soon a servant brought in a tray with a steaming teapot and delicate porcelain cups.

As the tea was poured, your father looked at you with a mixture of pride and regret. "I've been thinking, and I believe it's time for you to move back home," he said, his voice steady but with an undertone that made your blood run cold. "You don't have to work so hard anymore. I heard you're out there working as some servant to General Park. You're a lady from House Kwon; you can do so much better. I have a list of marriage candidates that could guarantee you a lavish life, my daughter."

In that moment, the warmth you had felt earlier was sucked out of your being. You should have known better than to believe he genuinely wanted you back for the sake of family. You saw through his motives right away. He only saw a use for you now—to marry and establish another powerful connection for his family. That was all you were ever good for in his eyes.

Your heart sank, and the chill of disappointment wrapped around you. "I see," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. The tea, which moments ago had brought comfort, now tasted like ash in your mouth. "So that's why you want me back."

He frowned, clearly not expecting your reaction. "You misunderstand, my daughter. I only want what's best for you."

You stood, feeling a surge of defiance. "No, you want what's best for you and this house. But I am not a tool for your ambitions."

"That's right because she is so much more than that." You gasped, whipping around to find Jongho standing there, a confident grin on his face. "And Lord Kwon, this young lady is far more than just a mere servant for General Park. In case your informant wasn't thorough enough, she is a renowned obstetrician recommended by noblewomen all around Joseon. She is now a valued and cherished member of the Park household. So, it would be great if you could show her the respect she deserves."

Your father narrowed his eyes at the uninvited guest, standing up. "And who the hell are you? Her little secret admirer?"

Before you could turn to defend the assistant, Jongho stepped forward, his voice steady and unyielding. "If you must know, I'm Choi Jongho, General Park's most trusted aide and only assistant. And yes, I am also Miss Kwon's secret admirer, but I don't need your permission to court her. I've come to ask for hers, not yours."

Your jaw dropped as you stared at him with wide eyes, your heart pounding in your chest. Was this a confession?

With a final, stern glare, he took a step forward, placing his arm protectively around you, just as he had when you went to the market. "Now, if we're done here, Lord Kwon, I will be escorting the lady back to where she truly belongs, far away from here."

You let him lead you away, the shock slowly giving way to a warm, comforting certainty. For the first time in a long while, you felt valued, seen, and cared for. As you walked away from the place that never truly felt like home, you glanced up at Jongho, grateful for his unexpected presence and the boldness of his words.

"So, you're my secret admirer, huh?" you teased, biting your lip as you watched the assistant's face flush with a deep, embarrassed red. He blinked rapidly, trying to regain his composure, and straightened in his seat across from you in the carriage.

"Yes, well… I suppose I am," the usually composed assistant stammered, his hands fidgeting nervously. "And I need to apologise for all the times I was mean to you."

You tilted your head, intrigued. "Oh? And why were you so mean to me, Assistant Choi?"

Jongho sighed deeply, his gaze falling to his lap. "I didn't mean any of it. I was bitter because I thought it was unfair that you seemed to have it easy while I had to work so hard. But now… now I see how hard you work and how much you deserve every bit of recognition you get. And your family, if you can even call them that— I... I was wrong about everything, and I'm truly sorry."

His eyes met yours, brimming with genuine regret and admiration. "Most importantly, I've come to realise how much I admire you and how much I enjoy being around you. It's been hard, and I have no one to blame but myself for pretending I didn't want to hold you close, feeling foolish for pushing you away when all I wanted was to be by your side."

You felt a warmth spread through you at his heartfelt words. "And that was why, when I found out you were gone, I had to get you back. I can't lose you without having you know how I feel. I promise that this time, you'll never have another reason to return to the Kwon estate. You'll always have a home here with us… with me."

You blinked, slightly confused. "As sweet as that is… you do know I was planning to return to the general's estate the next day, right?"

He went speechless, his eyes widening in surprise. "Y-you were…?"

You nodded. "Yeah, I was just going to attend the funeral. Besides, who would care for the mistress if I was gone? I promised I'd help her through it, and I intend to. Didn't Eunsook or the general tell you that?"

Jongho shook his head, a mix of relief and frustration washing over him. He silently cursed Seonghwa, his wife, and Eunsook for making him look like a fool.

You sighed, a light laugh escaping your lips. "And here I was, worried that the lady's water might have broken because of how suddenly you appeared to take me back."

He softened, a sheepish grin slowly replacing his earlier tension. "Well, I guess that makes me look a bit like an idiot. But I'm glad I could finally be honest with you and with myself. I promise I'll be good to you and make up for all my past mistakes… if you'll let me."

You reached out hesitantly for his hand, then nervously retreated, feeling unsure. But he was quick to hold onto your hand firmly, cradling it against his chest, letting you feel his heart racing for you. Heart fluttering in your chest, you smiled warmly. "Jongho, I never wanted anything more than for you to be honest with me. I forgive you. Let's... let us try again."

His eyes lit up with relief and joy, his grip on your hand tightening with earnestness. "Thank you," he whispered, leaning in slightly. "I won't let you down."

As the carriage continued its journey, the two of you settled into a comfortable silence, a new bond beginning to weave itself between you. For the first time, you felt a deep sense of peace, knowing that the future held promise and that you had someone who truly cared by your side.

Arriving back at the general's estate, Seonghwa greeted you both with a teasing smile and a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. "Ah, Miss Kwon, you're back a day early!"

Jongho shot the older man a flat, unamused look but couldn't hide the blush and adoration in his eyes as he watched you. You suppressed a laugh, noting the general's knowing grin.

"Yes, sir," you replied with a grateful smile at Jongho. "Assistant Choi was kind enough to bring me back early. Now I should probably get to work—I'm sure the mistress could use my assistance."

Giving his hand a quick, reassuring squeeze, you turned to head towards the House of Lotus. The assistant stood there, rooted to the spot, his gaze following you with a lovesick grin, already missing you.

I can't believe she's really mine...

Observing the scene with amusement, Seonghwa clapped him on the shoulder. "I told you I'd help you find a wife. Perfect, isn't she? Just wait until I tell Miss Kwon all about your speech on how you'd be a terrible husband."

The younger man cleared his throat, irritation on his face. "Sir, need I remind you that you were once just as hopeless as I am?"

Seonghwa fell silent, his smile fading as he remembered his own awkward past.

"Look at you now, all grown up," the general teased. "Now get back to work if you're so free to stand around. It's not a honeymoon until you ask for her hand in marriage, and I expect that to happen soon!"

Jongho's face turned a deep shade of red. He stammered, "Y-yes, sir. I need to, um… get something done."

In a flurry of flustered haste, he dashed off, muttering about urgent tasks. Seonghwa chuckled, watching his dedicated assistant with a sense of satisfaction. It was heartening to see that even the stubborn Jongho had finally found love. General Park couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment, knowing that all his friends had found their own happiness. His thoughts then drifted to a certain fourth prince, wondering how he was faring these days.

Aaand we're finally done with baby bear's love story! Hope it was decent! Are y'all ready for Prince Yeo's spinoff? One last story to go before wrapping up this universe! I am, of course, open to doing more TWTHH bonus content but we'll see hehe~

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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[egcdeath]

the old college try

summary: you reconnect with an unexpected guest at the creator of your scholarship’s dinner party.

pairing: patrick zweig x reader

warnings: stanford era, sassy reader, situationship, a touch of family drama, mentions of putting an etsy love spell on someone, arguing, emotional immaturity, maybe not the best decisions from our lovely characters, kindaaaa open ending

word count: 4.6k

author’s note: i am absolutely addicted to all things ex!patrick. i hope you enjoy reading this!

“This is my son, Patrick.”

Your stomach dropped the second the woman’s son turned around, familiar light eyes and scruffy appearance immediately taking you back to your tumultuous third semester of college. 

You remembered it like it was yesterday—the extended periods without contact followed by a surprise appearance at your dorm room, or the drawn out arguments on the phone that left every passerby giving you—the angry woman on the phone in her pajamas on the sidewalk—a strange look, and even the few good times you had with him. 

You blinked once to make sure your eyes weren’t deceiving you, then felt an onslaught of realization hit you at once. Despite your several month on-and-off situationship with Patrick, you never learned much identifying information about him, including his last name. In fact, that had been something you’d argued about multiple times. The two of you barely knew each other, save for each others’ bodies, which you unfortunately both knew very well.

Had you known that Patrick was the son of Mrs. Zweig, donor to your scholarship, you wouldn’t have accepted the invite to this family event. 

Mrs. Zweig seemed to recognize the shock and confusion on both of your faces. While you didn’t think your mouth was agape, there was certainly a high chance that it was. “You two already know each other?” she asked, looking amused. 

“No,” you quickly replied.

“Yeah,” Patrick said, his words coming out at the same time as yours. 

“Yes,” you tried again, trying to get your story straight. 

“No,” he said this time, your voices overlapping once more. 

She glanced between the two of you skeptically before humming aloud. “Hmm. Well, I’ll let you two chat and connect, or reconnect, whatever it is you’re doing.”

She was off without much more fanfare, leaving you very flustered in her wake. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Patrick asked you, getting right in your face like he always did when the two of you argued. It was almost slightly nostalgia-inducing. 

“What are you doing here?” It was a stupid question, given that he had been introduced as the son of your beneficiary. Of course he would be at a family function. This was his family, after all. But you were flustered, as anyone else in your shoes would be, and words were currently failing you. 

“Zweig doesn’t ring a bell?” he asked. When you responded with a wordless shake of your head, he chuckled in annoyance and disbelief. It all felt very familiar. “What was it that you always used to say to me? ‘You don’t even know what my middle name is?’”

You crossed your arms over your chest and rolled your eyes, not knowing where the discussion was going, but not liking it regardless. 

In response to your non-verbal response, he leaned in close to your ear, clearly not trying to let on to the rest of the attendees the level of drama that was currently occurring in their midst. 

“You hypocrite.”

The words he spat were simple, but effective—leaving you simultaneously filled with rage and oddly, a little aroused.

He walked off after that, using self restraint that you weren’t actually sure that he had. Knowing Patrick, he would be back and spewing vitriol in your face or in your ear whenever he next had the opportunity. 

You were taking a very different approach to the situation. Now that you knew Patrick was at the event, you were determined to do everything humanly possible to avoid bumping into him. 

You talked to any and everyone you could find, trying to ignore the fact that you could feel Patrick’s eyes searing into you, no matter what part of the room you were in. He was clearly waiting for the moment he could pounce on you once again, evidenced by the way he seemed to start going on the move whenever you stopped talking to someone. 

Somehow, you were still one step quicker than him, quickly maneuvering yourself into new conversations or inserting yourself into the conversations of others. 

You weren’t sure what Patrick so badly wanted to tell you anyway. Maybe taunt you about some new conquest he was with, or to beg you to come home with him after dinner. Unfortunately, the latter proposition didn’t sound all that bad. 

Other than your issue of avoiding conversation with Patrick, you were also facing another challenge: People trying to introduce the two of you to each other. You weren’t sure what it was that made people think that the two of you needed to meet so badly—from Patrick’s mom, who had been insisting for weeks that you meet her son, to a random cousin who happened to think that you’d like each other. You wished you could tell them that you’d already met each other, and that you’d magnificently crashed and burned. 

Briefly wanting to get away from the repetitive small talk and questions about if you’ve met the person you were in a messy situationship with, you found your way to a bathroom—but not without being followed in. 

“What the fuck?” you said immediately as the door behind you shut. 

“We need to talk,” Patrick said plainly, locking the door behind him. 

“Unlock that,” you demanded, not because you were all that afraid of your safety, but because you wanted a quick exit plan if he started to really piss you off. 

“Fine,” he conceded, unlocking the door. “But don’t act weird if someone walks in on us.”

“Walks in on us?” you laughed, parroting his words. “There won’t be anything to walk in on. I mean, you can’t seriously think I’m going to fuck you at a family dinner.”

You were about 95% sure of your words, but that other 5% was thinking about the logistics of getting your tight dress off in that small bathroom.

“I didn’t come in here to fuck you,” he explained.

“Then what are you here for?” you asked, confused about what else he could possibly want from you. 

“We need to get our story straight. I can’t have a repeat of that conversation with my mom.”

“Why does it matter? I’ll just stay away from you for the rest of the night. I’ll expect you to do the same, then there won’t be any issues.”

“That won’t work. Have you seen the seating chart for tonight?”

“Seating chart?” you scoffed. It seemed ridiculous, but it made sense. For people rich enough to create and fund scholarships, it made sense that a large dinner for friends and family members would come equipped with a seating chart. Besides, you were sure there were people with dietary restrictions in your midst. “How would I have known there was a seating chart, let alone look at it ahead of time?”

“Well, a little spoiler: you and I are sitting next to each other.”

“What the hell? Who did that?” 

“I don’t know! Stop looking at me like this is my fault.” Now that he mentioned it, you were currently glaring at Patrick. “It must’ve been my mom. I swear she’s been telling everyone that you and I need to get together. Everyone’s been telling me all night that we need to meet.”

“God, I thought it was just me. Is this a family of matchmakers or something? Or are they trying to help you out with your fear of commitment?”

“I don’t have- can you just focus instead of trying to be funny? We’re gonna be next to each other all night and people are going to be asking us questions. So what are we going to tell them?”

“You don’t want to tell them about you leading me on for months?” you asked innocently, not trying very hard to hide the contempt behind your words. 

“No, you’re right,” Patrick agreed with you, fake thoughtfulness in his tone. “Now that I think about it, maybe we should tell them about the love spell you paid some Etsy witch to put on me.”

You instantly felt your cheeks warm at the mention of such an embarrassing action.

“That was a joke and you know it.” It wasn’t a joke. It was a dark period of time for you. “So what do you suggest we tell them?”

“That we’re just friends,” he said simply. 

“They aren’t gonna be suspicious that you’ve never brought me up before?” you probed, part of you wondering the logic behind his decision, and the other part of you wondering if he’d ever brought you, his situationship, up to his friends or family. 

“Doubt it,” he dismissed with ease.

You were only a little disappointed, but not at all surprised. “So what’s the story?”

“That we met when I was visiting Stanford.”

“That’s true, though.”

“Just leave it at that. We met once or twice through mutual friends,” he directed. 

“Okay,” you shrugged. “Anything else I should know?”

“Just that you look really hot tonight,” he said, biting his lip and unabashedly checking you out. 

“Okay. Goodbye,” you didn’t bother humoring him, though his words did satisfy you. You left the bathroom and didn’t spare a glance back, even as you heard him leave a few minutes later. 

After the torture that was socializing with people whose sole purpose seemed to be setting you up with your ex fling, you’d all been summoned to sit down for dinner. Just as Patrick warned you, you sat down at a seat that was directly next to him. You wished you could switch seats with someone else, putting their nameplate next to him and hoping that no one would be any wiser, but you couldn’t see a world where that would work out for you.

Eventually, Patrick sat down next to you, clearly trying his best not to look at you too closely, lest someone catch on to the fact that you two knew each other. 

You did your best to be a fly on the wall in the conversation that the people around you were having. You poked around at your salad and wondered if you focused hard enough on the leaves, if you’d be able to disappear. 

“So, have you two had the chance to meet?” someone asked from across the table, directing the question to you and Patrick. Clearly, your plan of disappearing hadn’t worked out after all.

“Yeah! We actually know each other already,” you explained, directing a friendly smile towards whatever cousin or family friend you were speaking to. Clearly, Patrick didn’t trust your answering abilities, as he butt into the conversation before you could finish speaking.

“We have some mutual friends, so we’ve crossed paths once or twice,” Patrick clarified, attempting to give more context to your relationship. Technically, it was true. While you weren’t necessarily friends with the man who inadvertently set you up, you’d been invited to a party being hosted by some tennis player in your accounting class who played with Patrick at some point, and met at that very event. 

Despite the many partygoers, Patrick seemed instantly drawn to you, or at least, was instantly attracted to you, based on the way that he openly checked you out as he approached you. Normally, that kind of thing would make you roll your eyes and walk away, but you’d been intrigued by his looks and his shameless demeanor. If only you could go back in time to tell yourself to roll your eyes and walk away. 

“But we don’t know each other very well,” you added. That, you firmly believed was true. Patrick may have known what position made you cum quickest, but he didn’t know a thing that actually mattered about you. He probably couldn’t even tell you what your major was. 

“What a coincidence you ended up here, then,” the other man, whose name you couldn’t remember, commented. “Did Patrick help you get the scholarship?”

“What?” you tried not to sound too offended, though you very much were. You tried to remind yourself that saying the wrong thing could cost you your entire higher education, and ended up laughing off the very rude allegation. “It’s really just a funny coincidence.”

To your surprise, Patrick jumped to your defense. “Unlike you and your seat on the board, there’s no nepotism here. We met long after she already got the scholarship, which she earned. She’s one of the most dedicated students I know.”

His words surprised you. The argumentative ones calling out his relative, not so much, but you were a little impressed by the way that he stood firm on the fact that you were a good student. Sure, he witnessed you studying for midterms in your dorm room every now and then—even if at the time he’d been trying to distract you from your work to get some attention—and now that you were thinking about it, he did bring you flowers after he found out you’d made it onto the Dean’s List. 

Maybe Patrick hadn’t been all that bad of a… you didn’t even know what, after all. But that was certainly a thought you were only entertaining due to his sweet behavior he was currently exhibiting. The fact that you were a whole year out from your entanglement and still couldn’t define what the hell happened between the two of you was a testament to how much of a mess your relationship was. 

“Not that you know too many students,” his relative laughed in that stuck-up rich person's laugh they all seemed to have. You tried to ignore how you were already getting caught in family politics, getting your academic ability called into question in the crossfire of an easy insult Patrick dealt to his family member. “Pat’s too busy going around the world hitting balls. How’s that going, by the way?”

From what you’d observed in your own efforts to see what he was up to, they weren’t going great. Notably, after you’d cut things off with him, his performance decreased significantly. 

“It’s going well,” Patrick said with false confidence that you saw right through. If you could see right through it, you were sure that his family members were able to do the same. A brief glance at the woman in front of you who was clearly attempting to suppress a laugh confirmed this for you immediately. 

It was almost a little pathetic to see, watching Patrick lie so obviously to an audience that couldn’t even pretend to believe him. Seeing how he stepped in to help you out, it was only fair that you did the same for him. Even if he hadn’t done so, you were starting to become embarrassed for him.

“Have you been to any of his matches recently?” you asked, interrupting their mockery of Patrick. “He did a really great job at the French Open. I mean, even making it to the French Open is really impressive.”

Not that you’d been at any of the matches, but you occasionally Googled his name to see what he was up to. Even more occasionally, you turned on ESPN to see if you could catch any footage of him playing. But it wasn’t like you even really cared. 

Okay. You cared a little bit. 

Most of the time, you were rooting for him to fail, as is the right of all bitter exes. But now was not the time for you to share that information. Not when Patrick was looking at you like you were crazy, and his family members were eyeing you suspiciously. 

That was when you remembered that the two of you weren’t supposed to know each other very well. You instantly tried your best to cover up your tracks. “But I don’t know a lot about tennis, that’s just what our friend told me.” Considering that you hadn’t spoken to Art since Accounting 223 ended, he did not actually share this information with you.

“Huh. Do you guys talk about Patrick a lot?” you were trying your best not to fold under the skeptical look she was giving you. 

“Only when he’s doing something cool. Which isn’t very often,” it was a good save, which left the rest of the table laughing at your little dig at Patrick. You were starting to understand his family dynamic a little more, and it didn’t exactly seem like a pleasant one. 

You could practically feel his betrayed gaze searing into you, but you did your best to ignore it. You were already feeling guilt gnaw into you about hanging him back out to dry with a family who already liked to pick on him. 

“You know, that actually reminds me. You said you don’t know much about tennis, but I remember seeing you play a little bit. How’s that going?” Patrick asked you, his question obviously trying to reveal something embarrassing about you. You instantly felt the blood drain from your face at the mention of your attempt to play the sport.

Your brief stint with tennis was mainly born out of your desire to see Patrick more often. After your run-in at his friend’s party, you were determined to put yourself in the type of situations that would allow you to ‘accidentally’ run into Patrick. 

You started off simple, going to the tennis matches for Stanford’s men’s team, hoping that Patrick would eventually show up in the stands to support his friend. Despite your incessant searching of the stands, you were never able to find Patrick amongst the crowd of students, fans, and supportive family members. 

Never one to give up easily, you decided to take matters into your own hands. Maybe if you were a little sportier, Patrick would take an interest in you, reaching out to you so you wouldn’t ever have to make the first move. You spent the evening perusing sporting goods stores with your roommate, putting cute tennis outfits and equipment that you couldn’t really afford on a credit card. 

The next morning, the two of you got up bright and early to hit the tennis courts before anyone else arrived. The game seemed simple enough, but proved to be far more difficult than either of you anticipated. After half an hour of attempting to play with frankly awful technique, you decided to call it quits and do a photoshoot instead. 

Feeling satisfied with pictures that featured your best angles and the slightest hint of breeze blowing up your skirt, you decided to post your photos on social media with a caption about how much you loved tennis. That was sure to get Patrick’s attention.

Just as you’d suspected, not long after you posted, you received a message from Patrick, casually asking about how things were going with you. Your faux interest in tennis had been promptly abandoned. 

Surprised at the fact that Patrick was bringing up your very blatant bait of him, you were caught slightly off guard. “Oh, I was never really super into it,” you attempted to dismiss.

“That’s news to me,” he chuckled. “I swear, you told me about how you were super into tennis. Was that just a phase, or…?”

He eyed you mischievously, clearly challenging you to a match of whatever mind game it was that he wanted to play with you. Unluckily for him, you were in the mood to play–and win.

“Something like that. I guess I just figured out that tennis really wasn’t for me. But you know, college is a time to try out new things. See what you like, what you don’t like. And man, I really didn’t like tennis.”

Obviously, you weren’t talking just about tennis. You hoped that Patrick was able to catch onto the not-so-subtle subtext. 

“I don’t know, I thought you liked tennis a lot. Thought it was good for you,” Patrick commented casually, going back to his food before looking back at you.

“It was surprisingly pretty toxic,” you replied easily.

“Are you sure you didn’t share a part in that toxicity? With a sport like tennis, you really get out what you put in.”

“Sure, but I didn’t put in nearly as much toxicity as I was getting from it.”

“Of course you’d think that,” Patrick murmured. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked.

“It means that you think you’re so guiltless, but you played a bigger role in… tennis not working out than you’re acting like you did.”

“Please, enlighten me on how I could’ve made tennis work out better for me.”

“I just think maybe you’re being a little too hard on tennis in comparison to what really happened.”

“Just because you have a nice racket and a little more experience than me doesn’t mean you’re an expert on how bad things were for me. Seriously, Patrick. You actually don’t have a clue about what I was going through.”

“Are you guys still talking about tennis?” someone asked with a forced laugh, breaking the thick tension at the table. There was a stiff, awkward chuckle from your fellow dinner companions. It was almost as if you’d forgotten that you were at his family’s dinner, bitterly arguing with Patrick in loosely coded language. You should have the shame to feel embarrassed, but you mostly felt agitated with Patrick. 

“Obviously,” Patrick replied. “What else would we be talking about?”

“Oh yeah. Obviously,” they said stiffly. “So like, are you sure you two don’t know each other that well?”

“We really don’t,” you quickly replied.

“Why would we lie about that?” Patrick said, your voices overlapping.

As if arguing about something that was very obviously a metaphor for your relationship wasn’t suspicious enough, this reaction certainly didn’t help your case. It was ridiculous to attempt to keep up this façade when it was becoming more and more clear to anyone at the table with eyes to see and ears to hear that you two were more than casual, mutual friends.

“Actually, we did lie. We were friends for a little while,” you confessed.

“Friends?” Patrick parroted with a scoff. He looked at you with disbelief before shaking his head. “Excuse me,” he announced before standing up and walking off from the table.

The rest of the table looked at you expectantly, which you took as your cue to follow Patrick to wherever he was sulking off to. “Sorry. Excuse me.”

The two of you said nothing as you followed Patrick out to his back patio. The fresh, cold air felt nice after a suffocating, stressful evening. As Patrick sat down on a piece of comfortable furniture, you wordlessly sat across from him.

“Just go. Back inside, back home, I don’t give a shit. I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“Clearly you do,” you replied, watching him dig in his pocket for a cigarette to no avail. He finally found a loose cigarette and brought it to his lips, ignoring you as he lit it up. 

“Don’t blow it in my face,” you warned him, though you wouldn’t mind taking a drag or two from it. 

“I won’t,” he replied, words muffled around the cigarette at his lips. 

The two of you sat in silence before he spoke once more. “Do you seriously feel like we were just friends?”

“Jesus,” you laughed at the question, unbelieving that Patrick would think all of your desperate acts to try to get him to commit to you could be interpreted as anything but romantic. “Of course we weren’t just friends. But you try describing what we had to someone who wasn’t a witness to the train wreck that was our relationship.”

“We were…” he trailed off as he thought about how to describe your relationship. “Friends with benefits?”

“Sure,” you replied, though you obviously disagreed with him. “You know, this is exactly why things didn’t work out. I wanted to be with you so badly and you refused to acknowledge that we had a connection any deeper than physical until it was convenient for you.”

“Did you expect me to spell out how I felt about you when I was showing you how I felt?” he asked as if it were the most obvious question in the world.

“Actually, yes. Clearly we were not on the same page about how we felt if you thought that you were being so obvious while I was over-analyzing every single word you’d ever said to me to try to figure out how you felt about me.”

“Are you serious? You were the one who was impossible to understand. One day you wanted me to take you out on a date and hold you in your little twin sized bed afterward, and the next you didn’t want to speak to me. How was I supposed to interpret that?”

“Patrick, you were doing the same thing to me! I was just so mad at you. Like, constantly. Even though I had feelings for you. My friends were always telling me I’m an idiot for letting you treat me that way, so obviously I tried to start pushing you away. But even with everything, I still really liked you, so I couldn’t fully stay away from you,” you explained, hoping that your disjointed words would make sense to him. 

It truly was a very complicated situation. Part of you wondered if you had communicated this earlier, if things might have ended differently for you. 

Patrick seemed to be thinking deeply about your words before he spoke again. “Do you ever still think about me?”

You had two options for approaching his question. You could lie, like you hadn’t made it abundantly clear earlier that you still, at the very least, pay attention to his tennis career, or you could tell the truth and risk having your feelings hurt again. 

“Sometimes,” you confessed, going with the latter. “I’m mostly still really annoyed with the way you treated me, and the fact that I let you treat me that way. But sometimes I miss you, anyway.”

“Then let’s do things differently this time,” he proposed as if it was the best and brightest idea he’d ever had. “I miss you, too. It shouldn’t have taken us breaking up for me to realize how much I need you in my life, but it did.”

“What are you saying, Patrick?” you asked, trying to make sure that you fully understood his proposition. Was he trying to get you back?

“I want you to be my girlfriend,” he spelled out for you. “I want to treat you better than I ever did before. I’ve thought about everything that went down between us, and I think that we can make it work this time if we just try to be honest with each other. What do you think?”

You were shocked at the offer. If someone had told you going into this dinner that you would end it with your former situationship asking you to be with him, you would’ve laughed in their face. Yet, his proposition, and the fact that you wanted to say yes, didn’t exactly feel like a laughing matter.

You paused as you stopped to consider your options. Your gut instinct was to say yes—you’d wanted him for so long, and he clearly wasn’t over you. You obviously had some things you needed to work through before you really made this relationship work, but the feelings were there. The more logical part of your brain was telling you to say no—Patrick had hurt you so many times before, that there was no telling if he would hurt you again. 

“Sure. Let’s try it,” you said, ignoring all of the logic in your head and fully following where the passion in your heart wanted to take you. 

You couldn’t be sure if this would end in another heartbreak for you, but you weren’t so sure that you cared either.

[twig-tea]

Taiwanese Talk Show The BL Era

Thank you @thisonelikesaliens for shouting out the Taiwanese talk show miniseries The BL Era: Taiwan's Spotlight, it was really well put together and gave me some good insights into the Taiwanese BL market. And thanks @my-rose-tinted-glasses for pointing out Aliens' posts to me when I've been mostly off tumblr.

Aliens has posted about all of the episodes on their tag, which I recommend going through (all of the episodes are linked there).

Here are my main takeaways from all 6 episodes, in case it helps anyone decide if they want to watch/which eps may be of most interest:

Ep1 on Unknown and The On1y One: The discussion about the adaptation choices in both of these shows (as both of these were adapted from danmei) was really interesting, though the lack of discussion about where to end the first season of On1y One was glaring to me. I did like that this episode talked about what made both of these stand out (the build of the feelings between the characters) and how much emphasis this episode put on good writing. There was an offhand comment that Director Liu Kuang Hi made about not needing a shower scene that made me wonder if he regretted that scene in Your Name Engraved Herein (I for one am very glad it was in the film as a critical character moment). That last bit is just me speculating BTW, I don't mean to put words in his mouth.

Ep2 on HIStory 3: Make Our Days Count: It was new information for me that this aired in a time where Taiwanese culture more broadly was interested in tragic stories, I liked having that additional context. Also I was interested to hear confirmed by writers and creators that there was a lot of pressure post-MODC to write only happy endings, though some of the fans interviewed talked about how a sad ending can be acceptable if it's earned. This was such a tumultuous experience for BL fandom, if you didn't experience it in real time I recommend watching this episode to get a sense of the impact.

Ep3 on VBL: This was my favourite episode of the series; it was the most interesting to me because it got into a side of the business I really don't pay a lot of attention to: Fandom management outside of the series itself. I learned a lot about the VBL series including that it was produced in partnership with a Japanese company and that it was the first BL since 2018 to air on TV in Taiwan. I also hadn't realized that this company had worked hard to build fandom around the pairs outside of the show itself, and that was a part of why it was so successful. I had no idea that this set of shows did such a good job managing fan engagement. It was really interesting hearing the network person talk about how they think about the show as just one part of a whole that they are selling, and how managing how it lands and what impact it has and what trends is another part. All of that was fascinating. I also liked hearing the actors talk about what it's like being in a CP. This episode did not hold back that the writing in the VBL series felt shallow and that the actors were green, which I was impressed by--I appreciate creators who acknowledge their own gaps especially when they then talk about wanting to see those improve.

Ep4 on Kiseki: Dear to Me: Placing this right after the VBL episode was smart because they talked about the effect of the fanmeet flop and its subsequent handling failure and the impact on the show, which is given more context from the previous ep. I knew almost nothing about this other than that the pressure on the secondary CP in this show was high, so getting this BTS insight into what happened from fan and industry perspective was fascinating. I did not realize that Taiwanese BL producers experienced expectations formed by Thai fanmeets (which differ from Taiwanese fanmeet styles) from both international fans and from Taiwanese BL fans. The framing of expectation and the question of whether Taiwan should follow the Thai model or just do its own thing but better set expectations in advance is an interesting one.

Ep5 on HIStory 2: I'm so glad HIStory 2 got some attention because it's my favourite season that I rewatch regularly. The news that they had a plan to have an check-in on the family from Right or Wrong hurts my heart; how dare they pain me with this info. That being said, the actor Steven Chiang writing what is essentially fanfic for his own character made me very happy. The idea of the Thai market being a one-stop shop and Taiwan still experimenting with small producers that don't have a production line or 360 business model was very interesting. I also loved the Taiwanese pride in this episode, and the frustration that came through when they were talking about how Taiwan has great IP to adapt too, it's just hard to get it off the ground. It was smart to end on this episode, as a speculation on how Taiwanese BL should move forward in the context of everything above: Its legacy, it's fumbles, the international pressures and the realities of the Taiwanese industry. Also, LIN PEI YU PRODUCING A TAIWANESE GL IN 2025?! GIVE IT TO ME!!!

[peachysunrize]

SMOTHER | chapter 1

Summary: Every moment she spends in his presence makes her shake with anger, now more than ever with holding his hand in hers, bowing their heads to the king as the law changes. She would look back at her younger self, see the resentment she held for him in her eyes, and she still holds that hatred towards him, if not more, if not worse.

Aemond Targaryen returns to King’s Landing after three years from the end of the war he became the hero of, meeting his niece once again, and their tale begins.

Warnings: mentions of Winter fever, Aegon’s injuries, alcohol consumption (which isn’t weird given the era lmao), English isn’t my first language<3

Taglist: fill this form to be added to the taglist!

Notes: full chapter is uploaded on ao3!

“Princess,” the knight bows his head, opening the door to the King’s solar, “Your father awaits you.”

  “Thank you, Ser Marston,” she smiles at him, stepping inside the dimly lit room, greeting the Maester and the maids as they move from one corner to another, hands full with salves and fresh bandages for the king.

  She moves graciously among them, a simple hello here and there while she steps in front of the sheer curtains around her father’s bed. Pushing them aside, she smiles warily at him, finding him already prepped up on the mountain of feather pillows with clean clothes hiding the scars from the world.

  “Good morrow, my sweet,” Aegon says, groaning as he reaches for her hand, gently running the pad of his burned fingers over her soft, smooth skin, “What a lovely way to start my day.”

  “Lovely way indeed,” she cups his hand in hers, grazing the edge of the burned skin with her finger. “You look much better, Father. The new ointment from the free cities is doing miracles on your wounds.”

  “Yes, the wounds are healing, but the scars will remain. No one would like to see a king so hideous,” Aegon says, coughing slightly.

  “You are not hideous, Father,” she gently reminds him, leaning to bring the cup of wine to his lips. “These scars are the proof of Targaryen blood. They are making songs of that, they call you ‘The man who danced in the flames of the beasts and survived ’. I quite like it.”

  “Aegon the Magnanimous has a much better ring to it than this—“ he waves his hand, a teasing tone hidden under his words.

  She knows him well enough to know when he’s trying to be funny; this time, it isn’t one of those. Her father’s pain is never-ending; it’s always present, and it surges deep into his bones. His flesh smells of a dead boar, and the scent of the ointment does not help to cover all of it.

  He is in pain, more so than anyone, and it breaks her heart.

  “Tell me,” Aegon says, pulling her out of her thoughts with a gentle squeeze of his hand, “How is your sister? I’ve heard she is growing to like her chambers.”

  “Sweet Jaehaera… she is learning to like it. Her quiet moments have increased, but fear not, Father; she is well and content,” Saera explains, her calm tone soothing Aegon’s worries. For a second, she remembers how she always read for him until he stopped withering in pain; her voice always puts him at ease. “She accompanies me and Lord Hand to the court sometimes. She likes to observe, listen, and ponder in silence.”

  “A quality you have too,” Aegon smiles, looking at his daughter with nothing but adoration, “Taken after your mother you have. She was the same; quiet yet beautiful.”

  “You will never get tired of calling her beautiful, will you?” She laughs softly, reaching to gently stroke Aegon’s scarred head, leaning down to press a kiss on his forehead before she resumes talking, “I do not think you are at fault, though. She was the epitome of beauty.”

  “That she was,” he chuckles, coughing suddenly when his voice gets stuck in his throat. He tries to stifle them, but the more he coughs, the worse they get. The sound makes her tremble slightly in fear before she looks at his nightstand and finds a pitcher of wine. Saera, with shaky hands, reaches for the jar and the glass, pouring the red liquid for her father before helping him sit up to drink.

  “No–“ Aegon coughs a few times more, grabbing Saera’s arm tightly as he doubles over and the rough movements of his chest get the better of his body, trying to whisper the word between the coughs, “Water.”

  “Yes, water—“ she stands up frantically, putting the wine on the table before looking around the room to find a servant coming inside the chambers with a tray of food and a goblet of water next to the plates. Saera walks towards the servant quickly, playing with her rings until she reaches her, gently taking the cup in her hands before rushing back to Aegon, frowning slightly as she sits next to him and brings the edge of the cup to his chapped lips.

  “Thank you,” Aegon exhales deeply, finally calming down from the coughs, holding her wrist gently to lower the cup, closing his eyes to enjoy the few moments of peace he can get. “Sweet girl, we must talk.”

  “I reckoned something must have happened to put you in such distress,” Saera sighs, tracing her finger over the veins on the back of her father’s hand, looking out of the window. “I have heard whispers among the ladies and lords; some are… worrisome. But the council is what I believe you wish to discuss. The lords are anxious about the future, Master of Coins more than anyone.”

  “Jason the fucking cunt—“

  “Father!” She chuckles, looking back at Aegon with a soft smile that turns into a huge grin when he rolls his eyes at her, exhaling sharply as his scars start itching but Saera stops him from doing anything to make the pain worse, “Do not do something that’ll make your condition more unbearable, please.”

  “Alright,” Aegon closes his eyes, taking a deep breath before he resumes talking, “There are matters that need urgent attention, my little dragon, and I believe you have the power to help us through it.”

  “I would be more than willing to help you, Father. I have done it for the past year; held an Audience with the common folks, held your small council. I could have been your Hand if only you were not so obsessed with Lord Stark.”

  “Ah, Cregan, he has been with us since the war ended,” he sighs again, this time his attention solely on her. “I wish to discuss something of very importance with you. There are many concerns about my successor.”

  “I know, I’ve heard,” Saera replies, rubbing her neck with her free hand, trying her best not to let her worries bubble up to the surface. “There are some concerns about the future of our house. I do not blame them, you see. It is indeed important to carry on the legacy and traditions, as much as I would hate to say so.”

  “You have an heir, Father—“

  “Yes, I have you—“

READ THE FULL CHAPTER HERE!!!!!

[velvees-archive]

art cr: @cokiicookies on twitter

Tags: Love Confessions, Bratfeen, Art Student Feenie, Law Student Bratworth, Ace Attorney-typical cringefail, Canon Divergence

and many others!

HEAVILY inspired by @cokiicookies's bratfeen art on twitter! check out the full comic there!!!

"Hey...so...uh..." Phoenix coughs out, voice scratchy from his most recent line repetitions. It's a small mistake, not unsalvageable. All he has to do is stick to the script. Stick to the script. Stick... His eyes flick down to his note cards. He swears he’d printed them in his best penmanship, atop one of the library's extra premium desks, but everything is spinning and he feels faintly like he's going to throw up. "Did you uh," he starts, letters swirling in his eyes. "Did...you fall out of heaven...?" Genius prosecutor-in-training Miles Edgeworth regards him with a blank stare. Phoenix thinks now would be an opportune time for him to locate the nearest possible bridge and promptly jump off of it. - The joys and woes (mostly woes) of being in love, as told by BratFeen.

so i caved and wrote narumitsu. another huge thank you to @cokiicookies on twitter for allowing me to write an accompanying fic for their work. i attached some of the comic here in an attempt to entice you to look at their comic (well? are you enticed?!), but if you wanna see the full thing, please do give their art a like, a retweet, a comment, and all the love on twitter! fic screenshots below:

misc commentary/musings under the cut :)

the way i wrote feenie inner monologue and narration parallels my informal writing style, so writing his freak outs weren't challenging. consciously changing sentence structures/verbiage to be more or less extra, on the other hand, totally was.

the bulk of my pain came from writing fluff in the first place, stumbling through dialogue exchanges (as always), and attempting larry dialogue...all of which i honestly think i failed at pretty badly HAHA. who cares tho? it's my work!

bratfeen is one of my favorite narumitsu "eras" if you will. i've always wanted to write them. i didn't know the opportunity would come so soon (and at my expense considering i still have a zine fic to finalize for a diff fandom), but i took the shot. the full fic was written over the course of a day which i do not recommend anyone experience. i was on a writing hiatus for months and wrote 8k words as soon as i came back. do you see why i burnt out in the first place?

the easiest part about writing bratfeen is that none of the things i write are exaggerated for the purpose of carrying the plot forward. feenie believing that bratworth is better of a human being than everyone makes him out to be? sounds about right. feenie insisting to others that miles is the best thing since grilled cheese? his raging savior complex says that's likely to occur. feenie fumbling the bag because he thinks miles is the prettiest thing he's ever seen? yeah, 20 y/o feenie would! feenie shoving the asshole who talked shit abt miles? we saw the exact same thing with doug swallow (and we all know how that ended...). all of it is in line w his character. also miles being a try hard. that's a given.

i am hoping i can showcase more of my technical skill aka the angst writer in me with my next work, though i've been closely following fictober (haven't been publishing because, again, zine fic obligations) and have plenty of angsty fics stored in my drafts. i hope you enjoy my poor attempt at humor and fluff. may i muster the strength to finish the rest of my zine fic...please...

[centrally-unplanned]

IRL (In Real Life) - Buffydom Propaganda And The Internet-That-Was

It is 1997. You just got back from the latest Hot Topic run to restock on whatever the most raven-black bomb of Manic Panic they have on the shelves is, so you can do double-duty bleaching your hair in the shower while watching a CRT TV precariously mounted on the lip of your sink. On that TV is the Season 1 finale of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and you are obsessed. Unfortunately for you, no one else in Bowling Green, Ohio, shares your passion for a CW WB show about vampire hunting teens who purposefully fumble their line deliveries. You are alone, and you have shit you gotta say about it to someone, anyone, who will understand.

Fortunately for you, the marketing team at ye old WB anticipated that their audience would be a bunch of fucking nerds, and boy do they have a solution to your problem! Welcome to the Bronze:

A while back I stumbled upon the inexplicable existence of "IRL (In Real Life)", a 2007 documentary about the community that formed around the aforementioned Buffy fan discussion forum/chatboard. Officially running from around the launch of the show until it switched over to UPN after its fifth season (with the forum dying a dramatic death in the process), The Bronze was a highly active center for the Buffy fandom, which generated several spillovers into real life. In particular, it was famous for the creatives and even actors on the show occasionally posting on the forum, which culminated in members of the community organizing a yearly party in Los Angeles where posters would fly out and be joined by said cast and crew. This documentary charts its culture & history via interviewing an array of its members.

As always, I am not here to give the blow-by-blow; instead, what is the narrative this documentary is trying to sell?

My previous documentary write-up was about nerd culture in the 2010’s; newly ascendant, growing confident in its own values and looking to justify that to itself, wealthy and with a developed enough ecosystem for crowdfunding to create professional, polished documentaries of its own heroes. None of that is true for IRL. Filmed on whatever camcorder/potato hybrid proto-Ebay would cough up from its zero-bid listings in a series of hotel rooms and people’s living rooms in 2003-2004 after the forum had died, this is the era of nerd culture at its most conflicted and insecure; mocked by the mainstream and unsure if it should be proud of that fact or deeply ashamed of it. And this documentary wears this conflict right on its sleeve; one of its opening lines is a confident assurance to the audience of “don’t worry, we aren’t like those nerds”:

Throwing Trekkies under the bus in the process, cold! Particularly given how it proceeds to barely even blink before pivoting to explaining their hobby of running “WITTs”, multi-day-long collaborative roleplays:

You are exactly those Trekkies my dudes; you weren’t just at the devil’s sacrament you were hosting it! "WITT" stands for Whedon Improvisational Theatre Troupe, you can't recover from that guys.

(I love how “dozens” is large by the way - it was for the internet in 2001, right?)

Anyway, beyond documenting the forum and its members, the conclusion this documentary wants you to hold is that the Bronze was a special place of real community, and it is a community of “normal” people, who made real relationships. And in particular, that internet relationships can be just as real as those found in meatspace, that these relationships transcended the digital and entered the physical; and that this is what fandom can be about.

I want to start with the ways that narrative was correct within the context of the time. I can actually explain that Klingon comment! I have one extant interview with the director of the film, Stephanie Tuszynski, and she put her motivation as follows: 

FFN: What made you decide to study Buffy fandom, particularly the Bronze, for your documentary? ST: The idea to do a documentary film about the Bronze actually came to me very early on, because "Trekkies" came out in the late 1990s so I was already a Bronzer at that point. And when I saw it I started throwing things at my television. I was incensed. That wasn't a documentary about the fandom experience, it was "hey let's find the most extreme examples possible and have a freak show!" It infuriated me […] It reinforced every awful stereotype about media fans while purporting to be objective.

It wasn’t a random example - the 1997 documentary Trekkies set the “standard” view of fandom as extremist oddballs, and Tuszynski specifically wanted to counter that. It was the early 2000’s after all, nerd stereotypes were strong, you had to fight them explicitly! In a society where there is strong background hostility to one’s identity, you will attempt to normalize it using known reference points; and certainly the people on these forums were more “normal” than the stereotypes admitted to because that entire binary framework is a dead end.

More importantly to the narrative is the online aspect, “making friends on the internet”. Another find I have is a blog post from a professor who used the film in a class; and in the film’s narrative of “people with no one ‘irl’ to share their hobby with finding friends online” triggered a debate around if the online relationships are “taking away” from in-person relationships that are presumed to be more valuable. A debate that still rages to this day over social media! But the contours were different back then, the internet was presumed to be niche, ancillary, and relationships made online in a completely separate box from “in person” friendships. The documentary goes to great lengths to explain that they were a real community because that idea is so contested. Ironically, they do this by emphasizing that they met up in person, hung out, attended each other's weddings, etc; as if only by meeting up in person could the relationships be validated as real? But you can’t truly fault them for meeting their implicit critics halfway in making their case.

So what can I fault them for?

*****

I was perpetually amused when watching the doc that they included two married couples in the filming, and for both one of the spouses would talk and the other would sit there, in silence, the entire time. Maybe they were members of the community and just not talkers; maybe their lines got cut in post. But what I kept thinking was that they were there selling normality to me; married couples are just inherently less oddball, less threatening, and in the era where “nerd = virgin” just less nerdy. Like with the Klingon line, there is an intentionality to the “just like you” vibe.

Which, as mentioned with the extensive forum roleplay, inevitably breaks down once the reality of forum activity is dug into. And I buried the lede here - you may have seen the title of the “longest” roleplay was “RTBS Soul Restoration Project”, but what does that mean? RTBS was a forum member’s name, and well:

Oh yeah, we are saving our friend from “a fate worse than death: worshiping Britney Spears” - welcome to 2001 baby! This is peak “nerd wars” stuff, the normies hate our shit so we hate the normie shit right back. Which is exactly how nerd culture was in the 2000's. I am not at all throwing shade at their tongue-in-cheek roleplay, resplendent in the ludicrously purple prose and asterisk-laden action descriptions as required by the early internet; but it sits in clear tension with some of the other messaging in this film. Leave Britney alone guys!

The documentary highlights a number of common practices from the forum - people doing daily greetings, the way that it being one unending massive chain of posts with no threading or topics meant people would mass-tag individual people to respond to and form “circles” that way - but there are things it leaves out. I did what any normal person would do after watching this documentary and read through over a year of archived posts on The Bronze to understand the community - but man did I not have to, as on literally the first page of my archived link I see:

And through God’s good grace that second link is archived:

Yes there are pictures at the link, and yes later on it does compare Buffy’s cleavage to the Mona Lisa. (The Giles link is not quite functional, but I was able to find it; sadly it is not nearly as thirsty)

I also found these “onboarding” sites for new members. Remember, this forum was the official forum, which meant there were no community mods or ability to “pin rules”, it was pure anarchy - so advice filled the gaps. And one of the bigger ones, in its *sighs and rubs forehead* blue font on black background, warns against “hottie posting” aka talking about how hot say Angel is, not because it isn’t allowed, but because it is like “pointing out the sky is blue” - it is so common that it will just get washed out.

It might seem like a similarly sky-is-blue comment to note that this forum was heavily about shipping, hotness discussion, fanfiction, and the like. Of course it was, right? These website “senior members” were trying to minimize it, police it, but it broke through constantly and also simmered under the surface through discussions and RP’s from my own review of the forum. The documentary, however, spends incredibly little time on it. Brief mentions of Angel fics, and no mention (iirc) of discussion of how hot the women were at all. Because once again those details really don’t fit into the narrative it is trying to sell.

At one point in the documentary someone notes how diverse all the friends they met in this community were? Which I broke out laughing over. In one way it is not wrong, I get it! Midwest college kids meeting people from all over the country, ages 40 to 14, talking about something no one in their podunk town understands. But on the other hand, you could not come up with a more standardized slice of humanity if you tried to rig it. Everyone here is an American+ with computer access in 1998, it is a grab bag of sys admins, nerd creatives, and comp sci majors.  I did a random sampling googling the people interviewed to see what they are up to now, and literally a third of them are librarians. Even their fashion is like God played a prank on this director; not even a 2000’s anime con panel lineup is this stereotypical in the combinations of alt-goth lit girls and nerdcore computer bros.

The evolutionary process of joining this forum -> liking it enough to go to the live meetups -> liking that enough to participate in a documentary about it was a pressure cooker spitting out only a certain kind of person. Which is truly fascinating to see on display! This is the internet-that-was; and it bleeds through the grainy film despite the director’s efforts at times to the contrary.

Though even then it was only a very specific slice of the internet-that-was, because this is a very special breed of Online; namely, the professionals.

*****

Something that is decidedly not typical of The Bronze as an online community is that, as mentioned before, Joss Whedon and other creatives posted on the web forum, answering questions and also just playing around, and how that led to in-person parties where both forum members and cast/crew attended - the Posting Board Parties, or PBP’s. At these they hosted fundraisers, talked about the show, and in the documentary one girl reverently describes with incredible Repressed Lesbian Energy her experience of seeing Eliza Dushku dancing next to her. The PBP had a panel of party organizers, admission systems to keep out the “undesirables”, budgets, the works.

All this the documentary shares openly; it is a peak moment where the digital becomes real in a transcendent way, opening doors analog reality never could. It is also a cold-sweat-waking nightmare story from the lens of a modern Hollywood social media manager; one person in the documentary tells the tale of how one time lead actress Allyson Hannigan posted her phone number on the forum asking people to leave her cute voicemails. The person in question immediately called, and got Hannigan herself instead of the voicemail, so they chatted for a bit (The guy telling this tale is obviously lovestruck; his wife is sitting in typical silence next to him). Today this would be a code-red, nuke your phone situation; but the circle was so cloistered, and the rules so unwritten, that no one cared in these early years.

What they share less openly is all the drama that went into this event. They wax nostalgic about how the parties brought them together, but what isn’t mentioned is the church schism it caused, as the moment cast from the show started attending the party it got mobbed by outsiders. By its ~3rd year there were approximately 400 guests but only ~50 or so were from the forum. They had a huge fight about it, the head of PFP planning committee - “Morbius the Vampire”, who was later jailed for financial fraud btw - told the dissenting faction why don’t they just throw their own party if they hate his so much, and so they did. There was more fighting about it, and eventually they held a peace summit at an LA joint called Mel’s Diner to merge the two factions together. (My source for this is a book, which I will link later)

Hilarious, for sure, but while so much of what we have discussed is “proto online nerd communities”, this part is most decidedly not. The typical web forum absolutely cannot replicate the experience of roleplay-posting your way into shaking hands with Joss Whedon and having a shitfight over party budgets in LA. But most posters never got to attend these parties, of course, this didn’t mean much to them. While for those who did, you cannot help but imagine that this played a gigantic role in making them all become a “real” community. And care enough about that circle to, well after the forum was gone, schlep to a hotel room to be interviewed for a documentary about it. Participating in a documentary is always, in some way, an exercise in selection bias; but here the pruning is turned up to 11 - this is a very elite slice of a very unique fandom experience.

*****

I have one deeper level to go on this thread, somewhat buried in time today, that further shaped the participants here: “Whedon Studies”. The 2000’s was not the birth of media studies as an academic discipline; but it was the birth of fandom-driven media studies, and Buffy was nearly unassailably the leading light of that movement. Academics hosted entire conferences (and inexplicably still do!) on Buffy, Firefly, etc; almost all from the lens of gender & media, as Buffy’s brand was deeply entrenched in that deconstructive milieu. This movement would die a fiery death during the 2010’s shift in media & gender politics, and when the controversies around the toxic working conditions on the set of Buffy/Angel led to Joss Whedon’s near-total expulsion from creative pursuits. The whole edifice is, in a deep way, “cringe” for many of its former participants today.

But what is relevant for our story is that director Stephanie Tuszynski was a full member of that movement; while composing this film she was, for example, giving talks like these at conferences devoted to the Buffyverse:

God that is a lot of talks. This film itself was her thesis project for her I believe philosophy masters, and in our scant interviews lists other fandom-academic film projects she wanted to tackle (which as best I can tell fizzled out later). And the interview subjects were often participants in the same space as well! Academic-types doing media studies with a Buffy bent, or things like culture writers for new media outlets. One of them, writer Allyson Beatrice, even published a book about the Buffy fandom that was in regular bookstores:

To quote the blurb:

A hilarious collection of true stories from Allyson's days as one of the Internet's leading cult TV fan gurus, her mind-boggling escapades include meetings with network executives in dark steakhouses to try to save doomed TV shows and one hastily arranged wedding for two committed Buffy fans. 

I highlight this not to say that academics cannot make documentaries, they certainly can. What I am saying is that if you point your camera at career Buffyverse writer Allyson Beatrice, and label her as a typical forum member giving you the hometown everygirl perspective on the community, you are, however unintentionally, lying to your audience. In its quest to give you the just-like-me Buffy fandom experience, what this documentary elides is that it is often giving you the lens of people who are fans of Buffy as a career. Those people are going to be bringing very different experiences to the table - of course they are concerned with sanitization, with nerd culture debates, the works. That is their bread-and-butter trade.

This dynamic bled into the forum’s day-to-day; there was a very clear hierarchy of “veterans” and “top” posters, who organize the live parties, have deep roots in the community, and even the ear of the show team...and everyone else. Particularly because as mentioned there were no rules on the forum, but since that can’t actually function in practice they self-generated community rules and thus their own leadership class. Cliques and groups were common and named, and veteran posters even had formally designated groupies:

I had also by this time become a groupie. I so enjoyed one particular Bronzer’s posts that she allowed me to become the seventh of her groupies. It was through groupie-dom that I got my first taste of firsthand WITT: several Bronzers, on the occasion of the birthday of she-to-whom-we-group, each took turns grabbing the microphone and praising the day that she was born. In retrospect, I’m not sure why we did this. But it was fun, and very funny, too, as we each took turns waxing melodramatic off the top of our heads. And from work, no less.

The source for this by the way is a 400 page ethnography of The Bronze posted by academic who did *cough* “field research” there; I am sure their membership in the “Bronzers Adoring Darla” fangroup was purely for comprehensive data collection purposes.

And to emphasize, I am not saying this is problematic or anything - the groupie things were all in good fun, best I can tell. I simply aim to showcase how the Bronze wasn’t just a baby version of online fandom forum dynamics; but also a baby version of e-celebrity mechanics. Something the documentary does not even attempt to touch on because that would be something normal people would not understand.

*****

All of the above may have come off like one big roast, and it is a little bit, but as I have mentioned before every documentary is propaganda. It is just impossible to have a tight film building a narrative out of the pieces of letting people speak to the camera without that narrative being but a slice of the truth those people want you to know. The Bronze web forum was a very special place to these highly invested fans, and this documentary is not lying to you about that.

But it is also a big part of early internet fandom! The Bronze was famous at the time, and it is right there at the beginning of so many shifts; the first generation of non-technical internet users, a new era of ‘fantasy’ media with the trappings of prestige and social critique, a boom in critique-as-community, and more. I very much want the full picture of that community; who made it up, what did they want from it and what did they get from it, and so on. No film could offer the full picture; this film’s homebrew rawness gives a valuable piece of it, and I enjoyed it for that. I just aimed here to draw out not only what the broader, more accurate dynamics of The Bronze were, but also the cultural question of why the film focuses on what it does, hides what it refuses to show, and what that says about 2000’s internet & nerd culture. Hopefully I succeeded in that.

And also to have fun looking at some incredibly dated Buffy fandom bullshit. May it have been fun for you too! {hugs you and waves goodbye}