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helloalycia · 3 years

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secret relationship // wanda maximoff

summary: you're the daughter of the famous Black Widow, which comes with its own set of hurdles such as revealing to her that you're dating the newest Avenger that she also happens to be mentoring – Wanda Maximoff. What could go wrong?

warning/s: minor (implied) violence and injury

author's note: okay so the request was the reader is Natasha's daughter and is struggling to tell Natasha that she's dating Wanda. All I know is I got excited (as usual) and this happened so yeah, enjoy! Also, Wanda’s age is always a mystery to me since it’s interpreted differently with everyone, so I tried my best to explain the age gap between you and natasha so things made sense.

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"Did you know red onion and red cabbage is called 'red' instead of 'purple' because back in the old days, they didn't have enough words for colours so anything purple was defined as red?"

"The mission, Y/N," my mum, Natasha Romanoff, AKA Black Widow, scolded.

I sighed, my attention still focused on my surroundings and my gun directed ahead. "I know, I know. But did you know that the most common internet password is '123456'?"

"Y/N," Wanda, my girlfriend and teammate said with a laugh. "Stop it."

"Yeah, please, quit it," my mum added with an eye roll.

I smiled at Wanda, admiring how beautiful she looked when she hid her laugh. My mum wasn't aware we were dating, so I settled for sending her a playful wink before looking ahead.

I knew I had to focus on the mission – scouting out this abandoned HYDRA den – but it was boring. And it was obviously empty of any threats, so talking was my only pastime.

"Did you know the inventor of Pringles is buried in a Pringles can?" I said after a moment of silence, making my mum stop walking abruptly.

"Okay, you know what? New plan," she said, looking between Wanda and I. "Everyone split up. Take a look around. Stay alert. Keep in contact. Sound good?"

I quirked a brow. "You trying to get rid of me?"

She narrowed her eyes my way. "Yes."

I frowned, making Wanda crack a smile and nudge me in the shoulder.

"You need to learn to have an off button sometimes," she joked, her Sokovian accent shining through despite the voice lessons my mum was giving her. Honestly, I preferred her Sokovian accent to her American one.

"You love it," I teased, giving her a knowing smile, my mother completely unaware of the double meaning.

"Just do as I said," my mum said, already shooing me away. "Wanda, you know what to do. If you see or hear anything suspicious, use your comms."

"Yes, Miss Romanoff," Wanda said obediently, and I tried so hard to hold in laughter at her seriousness. I mean, it was great that she was respectful of my mother and her mentor, but God it was funny to witness.

"Once again, Wanda, you can just call me Nat," my mum said with a wince, trying to be polite. "Go on."

Wanda nodded and walked off, her gun raised as she'd practiced. I grinned at my mum, noticing the way she massaged her temple with mild agitation before her gaze fell to mine.

"Go. Now." She pointed behind me, and I stifled a laugh.

"Bet you love babysitting duty," I joked.

"It's not babysitting if I'm your mother," she pointed out. "Though sometimes, you make me regret not picking the baby instead of you."

"That baby would have been six years old now," I informed her. "If anything, I spared you the whole diaper thing and the outgrowing clothes thing and the– oh yeah! Not being able to speak thing!"

"At least they wouldn't be annoying me with stupid facts," she retorted, hand on her hip. "Now be a good agent and do your job."

I rolled my eyes playfully, knowing she was kidding. Whenever I annoyed her, she'd bring up the story of how it was between twelve year old me and a six-month old baby at the adoption centre. She was worried I'd view her as an older sister or something, hence her choice of adopting the baby instead. But I never did, as she was always way more mature than any twenty-seven year old I'd met or seen at the time. And maybe, I guess, I was really desperate to have a motherly figure, and she just happened to fit the bill.

"Aye, aye, Miss Romanoff," I saluted, making her raise an eyebrow threateningly. "Okay, geez, I'm going."

I wandered off, exploring the dishevelled HYDRA den with full focus. The brief clearly stated it was an abandoned site, but I stayed on alert anyway in case there were stragglers. As usual, I only got given half the facts because of my clearance level, so I knew we were looking for a hard drive, but I had no idea what was on it.

Being a seventeen year old working in S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't exactly how I saw my life going when I grew up in an orphanage. I honestly never thought I'd get adopted, as rumours spread quite quickly through the orphanage that once you hit double digits, nobody wanted you. So, when the beautiful, red-headed Natasha Romanoff came in, looking for an addition to her family, I felt like the luckiest kid in the world because she chose me of all the kids there.

I definitely didn't expect her to be the Black Widow, nor to teach me everything she knew about espionage, stealth, hand-to-hand combat and much more. She ensured I was multi-lingual like her, preparing me for the many S.H.I.E.L.D. missions I would have to go on. There were times when I absolutely despised her, particularly when she overtrained me or stopped me from seeing my friends. And there were times when I wished she'd never adopted me, hating that I couldn't have a normal teenage experience.

But when it came down to it, I knew I couldn't have asked for a more caring, considerate and compassionate mother. I learnt early on into our relationship that she was unable to have kids of her own, hence her interest in adoption. And honestly speaking? That was probably the worst thing in the world because if anybody deserved a child of their own, it was Natasha Romanoff. I guess, in that sense, I was lucky to have all of her love to myself.

Now that I was older, I came to appreciate how awesome she was, especially when we got to go on missions together and I saw her awesomeness upfront. The only thing was, she was extremely overprotective, so it was difficult to get sent on the dangerous missions. Though, I guess, whenever I did, she was always there to have my back and I wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

Her overprotectiveness was also a reason why she didn't know about Wanda and I's relationship. Wanda had joined the Avengers a year ago after losing her brother in the battle against Ultron. She was a year older than me, so naturally we were drawn to each other, and before I knew it, our friendship became more. But of course, my mother could never know that. At least not yet.

"Empty here," I mumbled, rounding a corner into an empty room. As I looked through the rubbish on the desk, I continued, "Empty here... and here... and oh, look, here, too. What a surprise!"

"Y/N, I love you, but God help me I will kill you if you don't turn your damn mic off," my mother's voice came through my comms piece in my ear.

For once, I wasn't trying to piss her off, so I smiled sheepishly to myself and replied, "Sorry. Love you."

I could imagine the eye roll she was giving me in response, so continued to look around for the hard drive I saw on the brief. Still, there was nothing here.

My searching was interrupted when I heard a loud crash from a nearby room, like the sound of bricks tumbling against one another. I spun around, eyes widening with concern.

"Y/N? Wanda? What happened?" my mum's voice came through my ear, slightly reassuring me as it wasn't her who was caught up in anything. But then that meant–

"Wanda! What happened?" I replied worriedly, already rushing out of the room and to the source of the sound.

"I'm okay," Wanda's shaky voice came through my ear, which did nothing to ease my concern.

I found the room Wanda was in quite quickly, seeing her sat on the floor as if she'd been pushed. She had a deep cut on her forehead and looked visibly distressed. Running to her side, I kneeled down beside her and cupped her face, studying her head.

"Oh my God, are you okay?" The words tumbled from my mouth so quickly I wasn't sure if it was understandable.

She nodded slowly, accepting my hand and holding it for reassurance. I followed her gaze, seeing a hole in the wall ahead, bricks crumbling and dust beginning to settle. Laying on the floor through the hole and into the next room was a HYDRA soldier, clearly dead from the impact of hitting the bricks.

Wanda's power was magnificent, but hard to control. A year later and she was still learning its limits, but sometimes slip-ups like this happened. I was, admittedly, in awe of her actions.

"I'm sorry, I should have kept him alive like Miss Ro– Nat said," Wanda apologised suddenly, and I looked back at her to see her shaking her head. "He just– he startled me and I didn't know what I was doing until it happened. I thought–"

"Don't apologise," I cut her off, squeezing her hand gently, before looking back to the cut on her forehead. "I'm just glad you're okay. You did good."

Despite my words, I bit my lower lip to contain a frown, worried about her cut.

"Damn."

Wanda and I both turned to the doorway to see my mum, who stopped and took in the sight of the hole in the wall with partial surprise and partial amazement.

"Mum, we need to get her back to the quinjet," I said, pulling her attention away from the wall. She approached me as I said, "She needs medical assistance."

I didn't let go of Wanda's hand as I moved to the side for my mum to take a look. Gently guiding Wanda's chin to the side, she took a closer look at the gash on her forehead, expression showing nothing as usual.

"You'll be okay, honey," she reassured, letting go. Her eyes drifted to our connected hands briefly, but I figured she wouldn't piece anything together, so I didn't let go. She continued, "Let's get out of here. There's no hard drive anyway."

Wanda nodded and my mum and I helped her to stand up, me still not letting go of her hand.

"The hard drive is on him," Wanda spoke suddenly, nodding to the dead HYDRA agent. "I heard his thoughts before I– yeah."

My mum raised her brows with surprise. "Oh. Perfect. Y/N get the drive and let's go."

I pursed my lips, glancing at Wanda with concerned eyes. She gave me a small, reassuring smile, squeezing my hand subtly before letting go.

"Right, yeah," I said, swallowing hard.

I looked back to my mum, who seemed to be studying my expression, so I cleared my throat and left to get the drive. When I retrieved it, I jogged after Wanda and my mum, checking in on her with a small smile, before leading the way to the quinjet.

When we boarded the plane, I hung around Wanda and my mum as she helped the brunette to take a seat in the back. I noticed Wanda's momentary dizziness as she sat down and felt my chest tighten.

"Hey, you okay?" I asked, kneeling before her as my mum got the first aid kit.

Wanda gave me an endearing smile as I swiped at the blood dripping down her forehead.

"I'll be alright," she said, holding my gaze with comforting green eyes before they flickered to behind me.

"Okay, Y/N, stop hanging about and start the plane whilst I stitch Wanda up," my mum said, appearing from behind me and kneeling beside me.

I nodded, glancing between the needle, thread and disinfectant in her hands and Wanda's head. Reluctantly, I got up and left them both to it as I started up the plane and got us in the air. Once we were in the clear, I flicked on autopilot before heading back to Wanda and my mum to see how things were going.

"We'll have someone look at it properly when we get back to the tower," my mum was saying to Wanda, who was now stitched up and wearing a small bandage, "but it'll hold up for now." With a playful smile, she added, "You're not dying on me just yet."

Wanda cracked a smile and whilst I appreciated how lovely it was to see their closeness in a way I never usually saw, I was still troubled by her injury. Logically, I knew she'd be okay, but it never felt good to see her injured.

"Plane is on autopilot," I announced, making my presence known. My eyes never left Wanda's bandage as I asked, "Everything okay here?"

"You need to calm down," my mum joked, making me look her way. "It's not that serious. Just some stitches."

I smiled awkwardly, but I knew it was much more than that.

"Yeah, relax, it's not a big deal," Wanda added playfully.

Her eyes met mine and I knew she was communicating the same thing through her gaze, holding a seriousness that wasn't able to be shared verbally because of my mum's presence. I tilted my head, giving her a knowing look; she knew I was aware of how big a deal it was. All I wanted to do was give her a hug and kiss and not leave her side until she felt better. And she knew that.

"I'm gonna go fly the plane," my mum said suddenly, and I almost forgot she was standing there until she spoke up. "We'll get back to base quicker..."

I glanced at her, mildly confused at her sudden change of expression. She headed to the front of the quinjet, leaving Wanda and I alone.

"Seriously though, you should relax," Wanda said, sounding like she did when it was just her and I and nobody else. She had an amused smile on her lips as she watched me worry. "I'm fine. All stitched up."

I licked my lips, sulking, as I dragged myself over to the seat beside her. She laced our fingers together, pressing a kiss to the top of my hand before facing me with an easygoing smile.

"I'm fine," she repeated gently, lovingly, sweetly.

I offered her a small smile, before leaning forward to press a kiss to her bandage. "I know. Just don't worry me like that. Especially in front of my mum. I can't take it."

"It's cute," she noted, amusement returning. "It means a lot to know someone cares."

My shoulders relaxed. "I care too much. So, please don't test that."

She laughed and I felt my heart flutter in my chest, never getting used to the sound.

"I promise not to," she said, looking up at me through her lashes.

I leaned my head on her shoulder and kept ahold of her hand, staying with her until we arrived back at base. My mum flew us the whole way back, only coming to get us once we landed. I knew I should have left Wanda's side as to not raise suspicion with my mum, but I couldn't find it in myself to do so. I just hoped she would interpret it as two concerned friends rather than her daughter having a secret girlfriend.

"You should head to the medical wing to get checked out properly," my mum said once we were back at the tower, looking to Wanda.

"Yeah," I agreed a little too eagerly. "I'll go with you."

My mum gave me a curious look. "I mean, that's not necessary."

Wanda must have sensed my eagerness, as she said, "I'd appreciate the company, actually. I don't mind."

She shot me a subtle smile, eyes bright with reassurance.

"I'm happy to accompany you, Wanda," my mum offered, and I felt my mouth go dry.

"It's okay, mum," I said suddenly, making her look to me with pursed lips. "You can go debrief and I'll make sure Wanda is cool with everything."

Glancing between us, my mum finally nodded. "I see. I guess I'll see you both later then." She paused, looking between us once more, before adding, "You did good today. Both of you."

I looked down to my shoes as Wanda shot her a grateful smile. She walked away, leaving us be, and I immediately intertwined my fingers with Wanda's as the two of us headed to the medical wing.

"You may as well write desperate on your forehead," she teased with a beautiful smile.

"So funny," I said sarcastically, though a smile of my own was present. "Let's just get you checked out."

"If it means you'll stop pouting, then sure."

"Real jokester you are. Hilarious, honestly."

Her laughter surrounded me like a warm hug and I could have listened to it forever.

—

Since our mission together, I noticed the distance my mum was putting between her and I, and I had no idea why. I thought I was overthinking it and seeing things that weren't there, so I didn't follow up with it until one evening.

It was a rare occurrence for all of the Avengers to be at the tower at once, so when they were, we'd all have a 'family' dinner for some normalcy. Only, this time, I noticed how strange my mum was acting whenever I spoke to her. She'd either act super dismissive or give one word answers to my questions – once again, I wasn't sure if I was seeing things.

After dinner, everyone went their separate ways and Wanda and I stayed in the living-area to watch some TV. Though it was playing, the volume was lowered and neither of us were watching it. We were just talking about random stuff and enjoying each other's company.

"Okay, how about this one?" I said to Wanda, turning so I was facing her, a grin on my lips. "What did the clock do when it was hungry?"

As with all of my other attempts at making Wanda laugh, she stared at me with an amused smile and a quirked brow.

"Say it...," I encouraged, motioning for her to speak with my hand.

She sighed. "Okay, what did the clock do when it was hungry?" Mumbling, she added, "Even though clocks don't eat..."

I slapped her leg playfully. "Sshhh, you'll ruin the joke. And the answer is, they go back four seconds!"

Wanda didn't laugh, but she seemed entertained as she hid a smile. "Seriously?"

"Because of the number 'four' and the word 'for'," I explained. "C'mon, that's a good one!"

"D'you think you're funny?" she asked, eyeing me playfully. "Because you're not."

I shrugged, playing it off like I wasn't fussed. "I mean, I don't know about that... how about now?"

Before she could question me, I moved forward and began to tickle her sides, watching as she squirmed with laughter.

"Stop it!" she shouted, but her smile was as wide as ever as she was unable to stifle her laughter. "P-please! Y/N!"

"But you said I wasn't funny!" I retorted with a grin, practically straddling her as she attempted to push me off her. "I'm just checking if you still think that!"

Wanda was crying now, tears escaping the corners of her eyes as she continued to laugh. "I'm s-sorry! Y/N, stop!"

Before I could think how to respond, the doors to the living-area opened and in walked Steve Rogers AKA Captain America, a confused expression on his face as he saw me sat on Wanda.

"Hey, ladies," he greeted, raising an eyebrow. "You both good?"

I pulled my hands away from Wanda and breathed out, still smiling as I glanced down at her. She blew a strand of hair from her eyes and glared at me playfully.

"Yeah, just talking," I answered Steve, before being thrown off Wanda and to the floor with a thud.

"Just Y/N harassing me as usual," Wanda corrected, and I sat up to see her sitting up, too, fixing her hair.

Steve chuckled as he headed to the fridge in the connected kitchen. Wanda helped me back onto the couch, nudging me in the side as a response to the tickle fest, before leaning on me and stretching her legs across the couch.

"So, hey, what's up with you and your mum?" Steve asked as I continued to annoy Wanda by flicking her face.

"What do you mean?" I asked, not looking up as I grinned down at Wanda, watching as her eyes glowed red threateningly.

"Don't make me hurt you," she said teasingly, lifting a hand and summoning her powers, red wisps of energy becoming present.

I stopped flicking her and intertwined her hand in mine, watching as her eyes faded to its usual colour.

"She just seemed distant at dinner," Steve continued.

I looked up and saw he was leaning against the counter with a water bottle in his hand. Wanda continued to stretch, practically on top of me, probably to annoy me as I had been doing with her. I moved her hands out of my face as I nodded to Steve.

"So, you saw it too? She was being off, right?" I asked him, glad I wasn't just imagining things.

He nodded, gulping his water, before saying casually, "Definitely. What did you do? Finally tell her about you and Wanda?"

It took me a second to realise what he'd said, but when I did, my eyes widened and I spluttered out a terrible response. "What– what about Wanda and I?"

I glanced at Wanda as she began to sit up properly. She looked more confused than panicked.

"You know, that you're together," Steve said like it was obvious.

I cleared my throat. "What? Why would you think that?"

Steve smiled with confusion. "Wait, so you're not? But I thought–" He paused, pulling a face. "No, you are! Everybody thinks you are!"

I shrugged it off, though inside I was panicking. "I mean, even if that was the case, why do you think my mum knows?"

Steve nodded knowingly. "She's been off with you all night. And then I caught up with her after dinner and she wasn't in a very talkative mood. Just mumbled something like 'new girl, her age, pretty, nice, should have seen it coming'. I assumed she was talking about Wanda."

Heat crept up my neck with embarrassment and when I looked to Wanda, I saw her cheeks dusting a red colour, similar to the energy she could summon. She looked as flustered as I felt.

"Has your mum been okay with you before today?" Steve asked, trying to be helpful.

I chewed on my lower lip and shook my head. "Not since we got back from our last mission..."

Steve scrunched his face with sympathy. "Oof. You should probably talk to her then. You know how much she hates secrets."

I groaned internally. "Thanks for the reminder."

He saluted playfully, his stupid smile on his stupid face, before leaving Wanda and I alone again.

"Well, looks like she knows," I said to Wanda, sinking into the couch with hopes it would swallow me forever.

"She might not," Wanda tried to make me feel better, resting a hand on my leg. "It could be something else."

I gave her a knowing look. "She has to know. It's the only thing that makes sense. You heard Steve."

Wanda sighed, sinking into the couch beside me. "Yeah..." She glanced at me and I looked at her as she said, "I did tell you to tell her."

I forced a smile. "Gee, Wanda, that was helpful. Thanks."

Wanda rolled her eyes before leaning her head on my shoulder. "Sorry..."

I rested my hand on hers. "It's okay, sorry. I just– she's gonna be really mad that I kept this from her."

"Yeah, why did you do that again?" Wanda asked questioningly.

I massaged the tension between my eyebrows. "Because she's too overprotective. It gets too much to handle sometimes... Take my last boyfriend for example. He was some tool that cheated on me and, oh boy, my mum wanted to kill him. I had to physically restrain her from doing so."

"I don't blame her," Wanda quipped, a hint of bitterness in her voice.

I smiled a little, squeezing her hand. "I know... she ended up slashing his tyres and egging his car without telling me. But instead of egging the outside, she broke into it and egged the inside. A thoughtful take on a classic, I must admit."

Wanda laughed, her whole body shaking with pure amusement as she listened to the story. I couldn't help but smile myself, remembering it like it was yesterday. Definitely a fun time.

"I appreciated it, don't get me wrong," I added, smile fading. "I just didn't want that to happen again. I wanted to enjoy our relationship without anyone spying on us, y'know? But now she's gonna be super angry."

Wanda let go of my hand and rolled on top of me, leaning down on my chest so she could look me in the eyes. I wrapped my arms loosely around her to keep her steady.

"She only wants the best for you," Wanda told me gently. "You have to tell her you're sorry. Explain why you did what you did, but hear her out, too. She's your mum. Caring too much isn't a bad thing."

I groaned, knowing she was right. She smiled reassuringly, patting my chest.

"You get the caring too much thing from her by the way," she added, before leaning forward and pressing a haste kiss to my lips. "It's okay though because I love it."

I smiled, never really seeing it like that. Raising my hand, I brushed my thumb over the small bandage on her head; her injury was still healing, but she didn't let it bother her. Very Wanda-like.

"Thanks," I mumbled, meeting her gaze. "You always say the right thing."

"Which is why I'm going to tell you to get up and go to your mum," she ordered playfully, pushing herself off me and holding out her hand.

I let her pull me up before straightening up and taking a deep breath. Wanda was right. I just needed to be open and explain my piece. It would be fine.

—

So, it wasn't fine.

When I entered my mum's living quarters, she wasn't the happiest to see me. In fact, she actively turned her body to face her TV when I came through the door.

"Hey," I started with a small smile, fighting the nerves in my stomach. "Can we, er, can we talk?"

She grabbed the cushion on the couch next to her, hugging it to her chest. Her eyes didn't leave the TV, but the space next to her was free, so I took that as an opportunity to close the door and sit beside her.

The news was playing on the TV – headlines, I think – and they were talking about a new elected congressman in New York.

"Seriously? The news? Even in your free time?" I asked playfully, hoping it would lighten the mood.

She didn't even glance my way as she muttered, "I like to know what's happening in the world."

Losing my smile, I straightened up and cleared my throat. "Right, right..."

It went quiet as the TV played in the background and my mum said absolutely nothing. I grabbed the other cushion on the couch and hugged it to my chest, similar to her. It was a nervous habit that I picked up from, well, from her.

"You said you wanted to talk?" she reminded me. "So, talk."

Having the Black Widow as your mother wasn't something anyone could get used to. She could be the most caring, loving, protective person in the world, but she could also appear quiet, intimidating and ruthless like the trained assassin she was. Not the greatest combination when trying to open up to her.

"I think I know what you're thinking," I started, pinching my hand to distract from my growing anxiety.

Without hesitation, she bent forward to grab the TV remote and turned it off before turning to me with sad eyes.

"That's where you're wrong," she said calmly, and it was way worse than her yelling. I would have preferred her yelling to be honest. The disappointment in her voice was much worse. "You always assume you know what I'm thinking. What I'm going to say or do."

I avoided her eyes guiltily. "Mum, look, I know that I should have told you the truth. And I know how angry you are, but–"

"I'm not angry, Y/N!" she shouted, finally, standing up off the couch and creating space between us.

I winced. "You sound angry."

She put her hands on her hips, looking down to her feet and taking a breath. Her voice at normal volume, she said, "I'm upset. You– you didn't trust me enough to tell me the truth. Instead, I had to put it together when you acted how you did with Wanda after that mission and..." She paused, sighing. "Forget it."

"No, keep going," I pleaded, the guilt piercing through me sharply. "You're right."

She swallowed hard, glancing at me with glassy eyes. "I wouldn't have done anything. I know I have in the past, but this is Wanda we're talking about. I've been her mentor for a year. I care about her and– and– she's good. And she's good for you."

Okay, I definitely misread this whole thing because now my mum was upset, on the verge of tears, and I was the arsehole responsible for it.

"I'm so sorry," I said, standing up and moving forward to hold her arms. "I should have trusted you. I mean, it wasn't even about trust. I was just scared you'd react badly. But it wrong of me to assume that."

She frowned, looking down to her shoes. "I know I can be tough sometimes, but it's only because I care."

I thought back to Wanda's words and gave her a small smile. "I know. I get it from you."

"I am happy for you, you know," she said, glancing at me petulantly.

My expression softened. "Thank you. That means a lot coming from you."

Without another word, she pulled me in for a motherly hug, making me close my eyes and relax in her arms. I still felt horrible for making her feel like I couldn't trust her when it was anything but that.

"I'm sorry," I repeated quietly into her shoulder.

"I forgive you," she said, before pulling away and giving me a small smile. "Now tell me. You're happy?"

The thought of being with Wanda gave me butterflies and I couldn't help but smile in response. With a nod, I said, "I am."

She nodded, squeezing my shoulders gently before fully letting go. "Good. I'm glad you've got her... I know you can take care of yourself, but she's strong, too. She can look out for you when I'm not around anymore."

I shoved her in the shoulder. "Don't joke about that. She isn't replacing you and you're not going anywhere, you hear me?"

She laughed, nodding. "Not yet anyway. But sure, okay."

I relaxed and gave her a nervous smile. "So, you wanna meet Wanda? Like, as my girlfriend and not your student?"

She rolled her eyes playfully. "If I must."

I smiled widely, grabbing her hand and leading her to the door. "She loves you a lot, y'know. She wanted me to tell you about us as soon as we got together. She hated lying to you."

"Yeah because she knows that lying is wrong," she teased me, making me groan loudly. With a chuckle, she added, "I love her, too. She's definitely something."

"Hell yeah she is," I said in agreement, grinning to my mum as I dragged her to the living-area where I last left Wanda.

On the way, we passed Steve in the hall, who took notice of the smiles on our faces and nodded knowingly.

"Glad to see you worked it out," he said supportively.

"Thanks for the heads up," I told him gratefully as we passed him.

When we reached the living-area, I saw Wanda sat on the couch watching TV. When she saw who entered, she straightened up instantly, moving to stand and unsure what else to say or do. It was cute, the respect she had for my mum.

"Did you– I– She told you?" she stumbled over her words, starting to speak to me but eventually looking to my mum.

My mum glanced at me before meeting Wanda's nervous eyes. "She did."

Wanda licked her lips anxiously. "And you're okay with it...? Angry...? Wanna kill me...?"

I watched my mum, nodding encouragingly to her. She sighed before giving Wanda a small smile.

"No killing will be necessary," she reassured my girlfriend. "Unless, of course, you break my daughter's heart. Then in which case, I may have to find you when you're sleeping."

"Mum!" I complained, face falling into my hands with embarrassment.

"I'm just being truthful," my mum said with seriousness, before looking to Wanda expectantly.

Wanda surprisingly took it well, probably used to my mum's personality after training with her for a year. "I understand completely, Nat and I'll hold you to that. I have no intention of breaking Y/N's heart."

A rare, genuine smile appeared on my mother's lips. "I know you don't. Just–" She paused, glancing at me. "Keep her safe, yeah? She's a bit stupid sometimes."

Wanda laughed as my mum smiled with amusement, like it was an inside joke.

"Right here, you know," I reminded them with a wave of my hand.

They only rolled their eyes.

"I will," Wanda promised my mum. "Thank you for being okay with this."

My mum nodded, giving us both a final smile and once over, before saying, "I'll leave you to it. Goodnight."

Wanda and I bid our goodnights, watching her leave before a giant sigh of relief escaped our lips.

"You feel better?" Wanda asked me, grabbing my hand and tugging me to the couch.

She let me fall on her chest easily, snuggling up to her as she wrapped an arm around me and held me close. I inhaled her perfume, a familiar and comforting scent, as my head rested in the crook of her neck.

"I feel better," I answered, closing my eyes and letting her intertwine our fingers.

"I believe this is the part where you say I was right," she prompted, a hint of amusement in her words.

"Don't make me hurt you," I mumbled, making her laugh quietly beneath me.

"You're lucky I love you," she said, kissing the top of my head. "I guess opposites do attract. You're the stupid one and I'm the clever one."

"Wanda?"

"Yeah?"

"Fuck off."

She laughed again, and even though it was at me, I couldn't help the content smile from spreading on my lips.

#wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff #marvel imagine #mcu imagine #marvel #mcu #scarlet witch #elizabeth olsen

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pillarsimps · 3 years

Text

Pillarmen x Streamer! S/O

I.. don’t really know much about streaming 😳 I’ve never done it myself, nor have I watched people stream. So, I’m doing my best! Hope you still like these headcanons though!💓

💜Kars💜

At first, Kars may not be interested in video games at all

No matter how much they beg, he’ll probably refuse to watch them game or even show his face. It’s not just because he doesn’t want to do that, but also because he despises human technology. However, (he will NEVER admit this) he does like how useful things are…

Eventually, he gives in and lets his S/O drag and show him off to their viewers

Literally almost every single viewer starts simping for him

Some might even call him daddy

He does like the attention from them, but will probably not show much interest in them

If Kars shows up in his S/O’s streams, it’ll most likely be just him in the background (if they don’t use a green screen background). But he might also greet his S/O and their viewers

If his S/O does any funny acts, Kars would probably stand there like 🧍 or simply laugh

Lets be honest, the viewers would BEG to see Kars more and S/O would even get more popular!

And bonus! If Kars’s S/O ever convinces him to play games on his own, he would be interested in strategy games! For example, Fire Emblem! He would absolutely choose the most difficult mode. Kars would try to have all his units on an equal level, but when some are just not good enough, he never uses them again and replaces them with another character. Also, he does enjoy playing some rpg games but only for the puzzles they have

🧡Esidisi🧡

Unlike Kars, Esidisi is a lot more fascinated with human technology!

He’ll happily watch his S/O play games. He’ll even read out what their viewers say so they can focus on their game without having to pause or look away from the screen

Honestly, I feel like Esidisi might tease the viewers. Also, he would be affectionate with his S/O while they’re streaming so the viewers are like “God, I wish that was me”

Esidisi definitely shows up a lot more than Kars. He’s more willing to be seen

If he’s there while his S/O is streaming, they should be prepared to get distracted if he starts joking around. They might be too busy laughing to keep playing

Also, if they play horror games, they should be FULLY prepared for Esidisi to sneak up on ur them scare them as their fans desperately try to warn them

Esidisi will go along with any funny acts his S/O does. The viewers love how funny he is!!

Bonus!! Esidisi definitely tries playing games on his own. The ones he mainly enjoys are horror games! He doesn’t get scared often, but he does like how it makes him unsettled! Sometimes, it does scare him too. There’s no particular game I feel like would be his favorite though. I just like rpg horror games 😩 Also, I think Esidisi would also enjoy rhythm games!

💛Wamuu💛

Wamuu does show interest in technology, he thinks it’s impressive!

If his S/O were to drag him into their videos, well actually, he wouldn’t really be dragged! He’ll go along with them and see what kind of games they’re playing

He won’t be talkative if he’s watching them play. He’d be focus on what they’re doing, and if they’re stuck, he’ll tell them what he thinks they should do!

If the viewers start simping for Wamuu, he would get a little flustered and let them know that he only loves his S/O! But he does appreciate what they’re saying (unless it’s… lewd)

He might act similar to Kars if you start doing some funny acts. He’ll either just stare, a bit confused, or just chuckle at them

If S/O is playing a rather difficult game, Wamuu would be their personal cheerleader! He’ll encourage and support them. And if they’re playing a horror game… He’ll support them even more!

Bonus! Wamuu might not play games, but if his S/O wants him to try them out, he will! I can imagine him enjoying fighting games such as Smash Bros. or Street Fighter. He would try out all the characters and become really good at using them all. He probably have no favorites, but I think he would like characters who fight mainly with their fists. However, if any character has a similar ability as him… that’ll be his favorite character

❤️Santana❤️

Out of all the pillarmen.. Santana would be the hardest to convince to watch his S/O stream or even show up. He’d probably rather take a nap to be honest

But when he starts feeling a bit lonely, he will get up to be in the same room as his S/O. That’s when he’ll finally watch them stream!

They might not realize Santana’s there until the viewers start asking “Who’s that in the background??”

Santana refuses to wear clothes so.. He would pretty much be wearing a little loincloth. Would that get you banned from streaming or..?

But anyways, he starts getting interested in watching his S/O stream and play video games!

Unfortunately for the viewers.. he does not care about what they have to say about him. They can simp for him all they want, but he wouldn’t even acknowledge them

Like Kars and Wamuu, he’ll only stare like 😐🧍 but sometimes, he may have a little smile on his face when his S/O does their funny acts for the viewers

Bonus!! Santana probably won’t play video games often, but he’ll try them out!! He’ll like trying out different games. I think he would really like playing games but with the VR! It would be so bizarre to see everything in 3D, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t be fascinated with it all. And at the same time, I feel like he would like simple games such as Kirby. And again… He would like games where he can do whatever he wants like in Breath of the Wild. He just likes a lot of different things (because he has good taste)

✨Requested by @snlangford✨

#jojo’s bizarre adventure #jojo #battle tendency #kars #esidisi #wamuu #santana #kars x reader #esidisi x reader #wamuu x reader #santana x reader #pillarmen x reader #x reader headcanons #headcanons #jjba x reader

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dmsden · 3 years

Text

Make It Mean Something - Making PC deaths meaningful to the other players

Hullo, Gentle Readers. Sometimes the dice are not in a player’s favor. Sometimes three death saves come up awfully fast. Sometimes a death happens, and everyone’s sitting around the table uncertainly, not sure how to react. It is that moment that daddydeputy raised in their Question from a Denizen. They asked if I had any thoughts on “How to make pc deaths more impactful and growthful for the others (and perhaps themselves?)”

DD, it’s a tricky balance to strike. On the one hand, you want the game to have real and dangerous consequences for the actions the characters take. On the other hand, the death of a beloved character can really upset a player or even crash a whole campaign. My players are very mature and accepting of the consequences (although they’ll pull out all the stops to try and stop it from happening to one of their own), but not everyone can be, even if they say they are. Sometimes you don’t know how the death of a character is going to affect you until it happens. I think of myself as a very mature player, but if a character as dear to me as Skittle, my mouse pooka from Changeling the Dreaming, died, I suspect I’d be devastated.

Some campaigns have a very revolving door attitude towards death. Oh, you died? Here’s a revivify spell, or a raise dead spell, or what have you. Other make it harder, possibly keeping those spells out of the hands of the players or requiring skill challenges for raising the dead (a la Critical Role). I suspect DD is wanting to lean more towards the latter, so let’s look at some ways to really make death matter.

Run lower-level campaigns: At low levels, death is a lot more difficult to overcome. By the time you get your fallen friend to a temple, the window for Revivify is long over, and who can afford the diamond for a Raise Dead spell, even assuming you can find a cleric who can cast it for free for you? But most NPC temples I’ve run in my games have been willing to cast Raise Dead for free if the PCs will undertake a quest on behalf of the temple. In a situation like this, the dead PC’s player could potentially play a cleric or paladin of the temple sent along to help, or the temple might cast raise dead in advance and take an oath that they will fulfill the quest. If the temple doesn’t trust them to keep their word, there are always geas spells to make sure of it.

Limit access to spells that return the dead: Maybe not every god grants the ability to raise the dead to their followers. Maybe diamonds are hard to find in your campaign. Whatever the path you take, you can make certain that death isn’t just a revolving door by making the spells difficult to cast. Maybe the deity will only grant the spells to their cleric once the party fulfills a quest or defeats a monster that has been plaguing the faithful. You could change the material component from a diamond to “the deity’s favor.” Casting the spell expends the favor, so now a new service to the deity would be needed before the next chance of casting it.

Make return from death uncertain: One of the things I really like in Critical Role that I intend to adopt in my next campaign (and I even know how I’m going to make the change make sense in my campaign world) is that returning from death via Raise Dead is by no means a certain thing. The Critical Role has a skill challenge like system in which up to three people can contribute to the ritual to return the dead by entreating the dead person to return. If people all want to use the same skill, such as Persuasion, the DC for the second and third people goes up. A PC might be coaxed to return via Performance, Persuasion, Intimidation, Deception...I’d even allow rolls like Arcana for magically coercing the dead spirit to return or Religion to remind a Paladin that their duty to their deity is not yet fulfilled. This had led to some dramatic moments in CR, and I definitely intend to put together my own system for my next campaign.

Make return from death limited: You could very easily put together a system that limited the number of times the same spirit could return from the dead. In older editions of D&D, returning from death required a “System Shock” check, and the body might not survive the attempt to reunite it with its spirit. If you wanted something similar, you could make a system in which one of your attributes represents your ability to return from death, even using Revivify. I would like base it off of your Constitution or Charisma score. You can return from death a number of times equal to 1+your Constitution or Charisma modifier (minimum of 1). That way, characters can die at least once and come back, but it can’t happen dozens of times.

Make the way someone dies directly affect their afterlife: For some players, this will really matter. I once had a ranger who despised dragons in a campaign. He found a dragonslaying sword, made it his business to get the party to face dragons, etc. When he finally died, it was facing two dragons to buy the party time to escape from a canyon where the dragons were in danger of TPKing them. He was killed, but he wounded both dragons quite a bit. The party managed to kill them, and they recovered the body. The ranger’s player absolutely had no intention of coming back from the dead. “How on earth would my character have a cooler death than that?” the player laughed. “That was perfect.” I described how he was received into the afterlife of his culture as a hero, and he was very happy with the end of the story for his ranger. To draw this along further, what if how a PC dies affects their standing in the afterlife? If they die in a super cool way, maybe they get a high place of honor in Valhalla, or whatever you use. A PC who then dies fighting a lich or saving innocents is likely to receive a heroes welcome. This might be preferable to them than going back to life and then possibly getting killed by a trap or a bunch of orcs. This then makes the heroic death more palatable and desirable.

However you decide to make death impactful, I strongly recommend letting story trump rules for dramatic purposes. Technically, a character who has failed three death saving throws is just plain dead, but what fun is that. Instead, consider the possibility of having them be beyond saving instead. Let them be briefly conscious, either to beg the others to find a way to save them (think Spider-Man in Avengers: Infinity War as he gets “dusted”) or to tell them that their death is welcome and to let them go (a la Theoden in Return of the King). I remember a Werewolf game where a beloved PC was dying and telling her beloved pack how much she cared for them. There were many real tears being shed around the table, including by me as the Storyteller. Giving the PC a chance to speak and interact, even though it’s not part of the rules, gave the group a moment that I know I personally will never forget.

The biggest piece of advice I can give is that you must make sure your players are onboard with this. If you want death to be more powerful, impactful, and difficult to return from, DO NOT spring this on your players mid-game. This should be something everyone’s aware of, not something that comes as a surprise. Let everyone know during Session Zero; make sure everyone is okay with it, and, if not, be prepared to either back off from the idea (or else find a different player who’s onboard.) Like the X-card, be prepared to modify this even mid-campaign if someone shows that maybe they’re not as okay with losing Damathran Darkwarden as they thought they were. In the end, it’s just a game. It’s not worth hurting feelings and losing friends over.

I hope that helps, DD. Thanks for the question!

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absolute-flaming-trash-archive · 3 years

Text

Hurt - Part 2

Was not expecting that many people wanting a part 2, but who am I to deny y'all?

Trick question, I myself am insatiable

Pairing: Hisoka x Fem!Reader

Smut and Angst

Word Count: 4′645 This was supposed to be short

Warnings: NSFW, Dubcon (bordering on Noncon), Unprotected Sex, Blood, Hisoka being a cheeky little shit. Semi-edited.

I’m gonna use this opportunity to say that, even if your partner doesn’t outright say “no”, that is NOT consent. Unfinished sentences, hesitation, and no response at all does not mean “yes”. Always check in for consent.

That being said, enjoy my fellow Hisoka fuckers. I loved writing this and I will actually cry if this flops.

Part 1, Part 3

----------------------------------------

The silence that filled the room was palpable, interrupted only by the rhythmic drips of water falling from the cloth into the bowl.

Hisoka had yet to release his hold on you, making you narrow your eyes in annoyance. He licked his lips as he stared down at you, enjoying the direct line of sight he had down your shirt.

“And what if that isn’t my cards, what would you say then~?”

“Then I’d say that if you have enough energy to be thinking about that, then you are capable of cleaning yourself up. Your wounds have stopped bleeding, anyways.” You wrenched your wrist from his hand, trying not to think about how easily he let you go as pushed yourself to your feet. “You know where the shower is, there’s clean towels under the sink as usual.”

He leaned back against the couch, tilting his head slightly as he regarded your aloof attitude with a chuckle, “What if I really do require your... assistance? I have lost a lot of blood, after all.”

You scoffed and folded your arms in front of your chest, “I think we both know it takes a more than a little blood loss to make you lose consciousness.”

He hummed and stood, walking towards you to bring a finger underneath your chin, “Will you be joining me, just to make sure?”

You swallowed thickly as your cheeks burned when his hot breath fanned across your face, and you wanted to kick yourself. His heavy-lidded gaze did nothing to help the feeling that stirred deep in your gut. You pulled yourself away from him, taking a step back to collect yourself and fixing another glare on him, only making his smirk widen. “Don’t be ridiculous, and don’t use up all the hot water.”

I’m gonna need one after cleaning up all your shit

You let out a sigh of relief as he relented, walking towards the bathroom. You hadn’t realized you had been holding your breath.

Running a hand down your face, you slung the bloody cloth over your shoulder and turned your head to examine the damage done to your couch since his arrival. You groaned at the sight. Deep red patches stained the cushions and armrest, there was no way that those were coming out no matter how deep you cleaned. There was only so much that online tips and laundry detergent could do, but that was a problem for later.

Your attention turned to the bloodied shirt that Hisoka had tossed unceremoniously on the floor, grimacing slightly at the way the clotted blood stuck to your fingers when you picked it up. Fuck, it was.... absolutely drenched! How the hell he was even able to stand was a miracle to you, but you didn’t want to think about it too much. That man was an enigma enough as it was.

The faint sound of the shower starting filled the silence in the house, making you relax slightly; the tension from earlier finally beginning to dissipate a little bit. You moved to the kitchen in order to attempt to restore the atrocity in your hands. It would need to soak in cold water for at least an hour before you could even begin to try scrubbing the blood out.

The sound of the sink filling with water aided in calming your nerves further as you held your fingers underneath the stream to test the temperature, tossing the bloody cloth onto the counter. It didn’t take long for the water to reach the halfway point before you turned it off.

The water immediately turned a deep red as soon as you placed the shirt in the sink. You repressed the urge to gag as gobs of clotted blood began to float off and onto your hands. No matter how many times you bandaged him up, you would never get used to the sight of the blood...

You paused briefly; your hands starting to get numb from the cold of the water as your mind wandered. How many times had you done this? How many times had he come into your house whenever he pleased, only for you to treat him without question? You let out a small laugh, shaking your head at yourself. ‘Without question’ wasn’t entirely accurate, but who could blame you for asking the Magician with a death wish what the hell he gets up to every once in a while. You frowned, looking over your shoulder towards the hallway that led to the bathroom. What were you going to do with him?

Guilt began to eat away at your heart as you thought about the gash going down his chest. You made him clean himself up, then again, he deserved it, but you wouldn’t leave him to patch himself up. You sighed, and picked the shirt up out of the water, ringing the material as much as you could before pulling the plug in the sink. You’d have to keep changing the water if you wanted any hope of getting the majority of the blood out.

While the sink filled again, you retrieved your kit from the living room and set it on the counter by the sink; pulling out what you believed you would need. Gauze for sure, it didn’t matter if the wound had stopped bleeding, you would need to pack it. From the state of his clothing though, you figured the worst of the bleeding had stopped before he arrived. Antibiotic ointment was mandatory... so was the compression bandage...

You groaned and massaged your temples in an attempt to relieve the oncoming headache. You couldn’t do stitches, which meant he would have to stay in your home so you could monitor his recovery. Which meant you’d have to get close to him to change his bandages. Multiple times.

The couch was out of commission as a place to sleep on now, given the state it was in...

You wanted to scream.

Hitting the handle on the tap a little harder than necessary, you placed the shirt back in, this time the water turning only a dark pink as it began to soak once again. You worried your bottom lip while wiping your hands with a dishtowel, trying to think of any possible sleeping arrangements that didn’t result in him sharing your bed; your anxiety rising the more you realized that it was looking like he might just have to share your bed...

God. Fucking. Damnit.

You shook your head, glancing over at the stove to read the bright red numbers that displayed the time.

11:06pm

With another sigh, you threw the towel on the counter and turned around to go deal with the couch. What you did not expect was to see Hisoka standing directly behind you, making you flinch in surprise and letting out a startled gasp.

“Holy mother of hell, Hisoka, warn a girl would ya?!” You panted, placing a hand over your now racing heart, sending yet another glare to the offending man in front of you. The glare, however, was short lived as soon as your realized his state of undress. The only thing keeping this man from being entirely stark naked in your kitchen was a grey towel that was slung a little too low on his hips for your comfort. You coughed and averted your eyes, despising the heat you could feel creeping up your neck and onto your cheeks.

“Would it kill you to put a pair of pants on?”

It was difficult to keep yourself from tripping over your words at the sight of him, and you glared at the wall when you heard him laugh in response.

“You’re so red, my dear, am I making you uncomfortable?”

You grit your teeth in frustration, seething at how his casual drawl wasn’t making anything better for you. You closed your eyes, inhaling deeply through your nose in an effort to calm yourself down before looking back over at your newly acquired house guest.

“You are beginning to overstep your bounds when it comes to my hospitality, either cover up or find someone else to treat your wounds.”

It was an empty threat and you both knew it. You both knew you were too kind to kick him out of your house, despite how uneasy he made you. It just wasn’t in your heart to do so. You ran your hand down your face again, your fingers pinching the bridge of your nose as you felt the headache begin to form once again.

“Just... grab the pair of sweatpants from the top left drawer of my dresser at least. I’ll wash your clothes tonight, since that’s the only guess I have for you being naked as a jaybird. I’ll meet you in the living room when you’re done.”

Grabbing your kit and a chair from the kitchen table, you brushed past him as quickly as possible and placed it in front of the one patch of the couch that wasn’t covered in blood and set your kit down on the floor. You peeked over your shoulder to see if he was still standing here.

He wasn’t. Thank god.

He reappeared moments later in the pair of grey sweats that looked way too good on him for how small they were. You felt heat creep back into your cheeks for what felt like the hundredth time that night.

“Take a seat in front of me, please.” You began to pull out what you would need, “it’ll make things easier if I don’t have to crouch in front of you.”

It would also make it harder for him to pull the same stunt he did before. A look you didn’t recognize flashed through his eyes before he complied. You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees, holding your hands under your chin as you began to reassess the damage.

The injury on his torso wasn’t as bad as you initially thought. It was deep and would still require stitches, but with the blood washed away it didn’t look as horrid as before. Clearing your throat, you began to work.

“I’m going to have to do this once or twice a day depending on how you heal,” you said, scooping some antibiotic ointment onto your fingers, “you won’t be able to do any more jobs until the large gash is fully healed, or anything too strenuous really.”

He simply hummed in response as you began to apply the ointment to his chest, trying to ignore how his muscles twitched with every swipe as you worked over his wounds. God, his skin was so hot against your hands...

“That being said, this isn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be,” you began to pack the wound with gauze, being careful not to press to hard on the wound, “with the amount of blood on the couch and on your clothes, I was expecting a lot worse...” you trailed off, the realization hitting you way later than it should have.

The sly smile that graced his face was frightening.

“Most of it isn’t mine, darling”

Your stomach lurched when he confirmed your suspicions out loud, but you forced the bile rising in your throat down; only nodding as you reached for the compression bandage. Your discomfort was still noticed by the magician, however, who leaned forward towards you a little more than necessary as you began to wrap the bandage around his chest.

“Because of the state of your injury, I would suggest you stay here for the next little while so I can keep an eye on your progress.”

You didn’t like the smile that crept across his face at that, or the way he leaned in closer to you when you wrapped the bandage around his back, “How long are we playing house then, hmm~?”

You gulped. His voice was teasing as always, but the implication behind it combined by the fact it was spoken directly in your ear sent shivers down your spine.

“I’d say about week or two.” You didn’t trust yourself to say much more as you secured the bandage with tensor clips. You checked your work over one last time before beginning to gather your things up. A frown tugged at Hisoka’s lips from the less than pleased tone in your voice.

“Don’t you want to play with me~?”

You shot him an unimpressed look as you stood up, wanting to be away from this man sooner rather than later. “I’m not your toy, Hisoka. I’m doing this for the sake of your health, because believe it or not, you are mortal.”

He followed your movements, standing in front of you before you had the chance to create any more distance between the two of you; once again taking your chin in his hand, this time more gently than before. It was.... caring almost.

“And it’s for reasons like that, my dear, that you are my favourite toy, and the idea of... playing with you in such a way is too much to pass up.”

It was your turn to frown at his words, “I don’t know what you mean, and I’m quite sure I don’t want to know.” That was a lie. You got the message loud and clear, but by god you wanted it to be wrong.

A dramatic sigh left his lips before he clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“My my, do you need me to explain it to you more simply?”

He didn’t. Shit.

You stared up at him, his red locks tickling your face from how close he was to you.

“Why me?” Your voice was barely a whisper. He tilted his head almost mockingly so.

“What was that, my dear?”

You narrowed your eyes, a sudden resurgence of bravery. “You could have anyone you want, why me?”

You expected him to give you that insufferable smile of his, or to at least laugh at you for even daring to ask such a question. Instead his eyes bore into you with an intensity that you’d never felt before, “Because you’re the only one that I want. You healed me when you didn’t have to and did so without question. I don’t think you understand what that means, my dear.”

You let out a surprised squeak as his lips collided with you in a kiss that held pure unbridled lust, teeth clashing from the intensity. He left you panting when he pulled back, licking along the shell of your ear. “You’re mine”.

You couldn’t even get your bearings before he kissed you again, just as bruising as before. Your gasps granted him the access to your mouth that he so obviously desired. The feeling of his hands wandering up your sides to your breasts brought you back to your senses enough to pull away from him and send a hand flying towards his face.

The smack resonated around the room, leaving your hand stinging while your chest heaved. You felt dizzy. Too much was happening too fast.

“How fucking dare you,” your voice was barely audible as a whirlwind of emotions ran through you. Hate? Want? Fear? You didn’t know anymore, but all you knew was that it was too much for you to handle, “You mistake my kindness and hospitality for something more. I am not yours, Hisoka.”

His head was still knocked to the side from the force of your slap. He wouldn’t admit it, but you hit harder than he expected. His shock was quickly replaced with a look that could only be described as predatory as he looked back towards you, licking his lips, tasting the blood from the small split you had caused; a mixture of a moan and growl leaving his throat.

“Oh, but you are, Y/N. You have been mine for a long time.”

The dread hit you like a bus. He had never said your name before, never in all the times he had come into your home. He was serious.

Oh fuck... what had you gotten yourself into...

In a last ditch effort, you bolted, but you didn’t get far.

You felt yourself getting yanked back, making you lose your balance and land on the floor; knocking the wind out of you. You wheezed, coughing from the force of the fall, stars littering your vision from your head smacking against the floor.

You regained clarity to the sound of your clothes being torn from your body, making you yelp, kicking and slapping the man on top of you in a vain attempt to get free. He chuckled and easily batted your hands away, gathering them into one hand and pinning them above your head. You whimpered, your clothes around you in ruined strips, leaving you bare beneath the man you had just treated moments ago; a small feeling of betrayal forming in your chest.

You were trapped.

The room was silent as Hisoka stilled above you for a moment, seemingly admiring the view. You were frozen in a state of shock and fear, tears beginning to form in your eyes while he ran his other hand down your body, stopping to cup your sex. You squirmed at the look he gave you when his fingers came away wet. How could you be wet from what he was doing to you?

He began to stroke your folds, letting his head fall into the crook of your neck and letting out a loud groan.

“Why you, you say?” He dipped one of his fingers into you, smirking into your neck as your breath hitched, placing open mouthed kisses along your throat as he began to thrust slowly.

“Because of this.” He punctuated the word by biting into the skin on your collar bone and sucking harshly, making you keen when he inserted another finger. “I’ve dreamt of this~”

You turned your head to the side, refusing to acknowledge the pleasure he was giving to your body when his lips wrapped around one of your nipples; his teeth lightly scraping making you shudder involuntarily. He groaned in response, shifting his heavy-lidded gaze towards your face and releasing your nipple with a pop.

“Oh, no, no, no, my darling~” He quickly withdrew his hand from your cunt hand and gripped your cheeks, forcing your head straight; his nails on his fingers, still wet from your arousal, digging into your skin harshly. You whimpered when your eyes met his, the intensity almost too much for you to bear, “I want you to watch every single thing I do to you.”

He slowly let go of your jaw, dragging his claws lightly down your throat to your breasts, giving them a light squeeze. You flinched, your hands clenched in fists at your side.

“I’ve dreamt of you under me...” He continued; the sentence broken up by wet kisses placed down your body. Your eyes widened, realizing his intentions immediately, but forcing yourself not to look away in fear of what he would do if you did.

“S-stop.” God, you hated how weak you sounded. Tears began to slip down your cheeks as he ventured lower down your body until you could feel his breath right on your cunt. “Please, Hisoka, I-”

A loud growl against your skin killed whatever pleads you had on your lips; the pupil of his eyes blown so wide they nearly swallowed the golden iris. He looked feral.

“I love the way you say my name, Y/N”

A squeal left your throat when you felt his tongue on your slit, your hips bucking on their own accord when the hot muscle dragged from your core up to your aching clit before he latched onto it and sucked harshly; making you toss your head to the side as you squeezed your eyes shut at the burst of pleasure that shot through you, more tears dripping onto the floor.

The breathy moans and growls from Hisoka only added to your reluctant growing arousal as he ate you out like a man starved. His hands gripped you from under your thighs so he could pull you close to his face while holding you down; the sounds coming from his mouth loud and downright lewd as he lapped at the new slick.

“I want you to say my name over, and over again; I want you to scream it so loudly your neighbours can hear exactly who you belong to.”

Your breathing hitched as you felt a familiar tightening beginning to form in your lower stomach. You bucked against him, the last of your resistance starting to die out as your orgasm continued to build. You felt him groan into your core more than you heard him, making you shudder.

“Moan for me darling, don’t hide any of those pretty noises from me.”

You cried out when you felt his fingers back at your entrance, dipping into you with less caution than the first time. You could feel his nails dragging along your walls as he fucked his fingers into you at a steady pace, scratching lightly on your g-spot in a way that should not have felt as good as it did.

“Hisoka!”

“Cum for me, darling, let me hear you~” He purred, suckling on your nub with vigor as he pumped his fingers into you faster.

You came with a chocked sob mixed with a moan, your pussy clamping down on his fingers like a vice, gushing around him. You felt sick as you came down from your high, watching as he released his assault on your clit with a lewd pop, a thin trail of drool connecting his lips to your swollen cunt.

“You’re so good for me, darling.” He cooed. You could only muster up a withering look, your words failing you. This, of course, just made him chuckle as he pushed the grey sweats down his hips, his length springing free and slapping against his stomach. “However, I’d much rather feel you come undone on my cock.”

Your eyes widened... he couldn’t seriously go through with this... could he?

Could he?

“Hisoka wait!”

Your shout made him pause briefly before he kissed his way back up your body, coming to hover just above your lips; that insufferable smirk back on his mouth that shone with your slick. Your face flushed at the sight, and you rolled your head back to the side in shame.

“Please... please don’t...”

Another silence filled the room as he regarded your trembling form pinned beneath him. A spark of hope was reignited in you, his hesitation giving you the courage to bring your hands up, pressing lightly against the bandage on his chest in your attempt to push him away.

That spark was quickly snuffed out when he let out a guttural moan, his eyes rolling back slightly before focusing back on you.

You forgot he liked pain.

“Didn’t I already say, love?” He teased the head of his cock against your swollen clit making you squirm, new tears forming in your eyes from a combination of the stimulation and the hopelessness. Your back arched off the floor and your jaw fell open in a silent scream as he sank into you in a slow, agonizing thrust. He licked a stripe up your neck with a possessive growl, stopping just in front of your ear. “You belong to me.”

He didn’t give you time to adjust to his size before he pulled back and thrust his hips against you harshly, the sound of skin hitting skin echoing throughout the room along with your moans and hiccupping sobs.

“Oh fuck, Y/N...” He gasped, his head tilting back in ecstacy, your walls fluttering around him as he hammered your insides; stretching you out in a painfully blissful way.

You loved it, and you hated yourself for it.

“Oohhhh darling, you were mine the first time you treated me.” He grunted, shifting the angle of his hips to penetrate you deeper. You bit your lip, desperately trying to contain the whines leaving your throat with each brush of his cock on the bundle of nerves deep inside of you, his words only making you flush deeper... if that were even possible.

“I would’ve taken you then and there, had you begging and crying under me like you are now.” You felt his dick twitch inside you at his own words and your pussy clenched around him.

God, what was wrong with you?

He growled, and suddenly pulled away from you. Relief flooded your system for a split second before you felt yourself being flipped over, your hips being pulled back and his cock sheathing back inside you with a thrust that made the whines finally spill from you; your arms laying limply next to your head as he resumed to pound into you at a pace that could only be described as inhuman. His balls slapped against your clit each time he bottomed out, making your breath come out in quick, desperate gasps.

“Do you like that, my dear? Knowing that I could’ve done this to you sooner?”

You only groaned in response, the coil in your abdomen beginning to form again. The tears slipped from your eyes as you weakly shook your head. Why did this feel so good? Why did your body react to him like this?

Your teeth dug into your bottom lip when you felt his hand circle around to your clit, rubbing in rough circles that made your eyes roll back into your head.

You couldn’t take it.

You couldn’t help the wanton moan that passed through your lips as you came, your head hanging loosely as your body continued to bounce from the power of his thrusts; your pussy convulsing around his cock as he fucked you through your orgasm.

“Hmmm~ you didn’t want to cooperate a few minutes ago, look at you now,” He fisted the hair at the base of your skull and pulled you back to his chest, his thrusts never wavering as he spoke into your ear, “coming undone for me a second time.” His chuckle gave way to a breathy moan as his thrusts became more erratic, losing rhythm as he began to slam into you with fever.

“I’m going to fill you up, my dear.” He growled, biting down on the junction between your neck and shoulder, making you cry out when his teeth broke the skin. The sight of your blood making him thrust into you harder and faster. “Then you’ll truly know that you are mine.”

Your moans left you with no restraint, incoherent babbling falling from your lips at the overstimulation. You could no longer think, all your energy focused on the dick that was pistoning in and out of your squelching cunt.

Hisoka’s hips stuttered as he came inside of you, his cock spurting thick hot ropes of cum right against your cervix, coating your walls as he bit down on your neck once more, lazily fucking into you a few more times before he stilled.

Your breathing was ragged as everything slowly came to a stop, the weight of everything crashing over you as your lids dropped with exhaustion. You whined weakly as he pulled out of you, the sudden emptiness now foreign to you. You slumped to the floor, emotional and physical fatigue washing over you as you stared blankly up at the man who had just ruined your trust and your body. Your eyes flickered to the bandage on his chest, a thin line of red beginning to form from your exertions.

Even after all that... you still cared.

Damn him.

He ran a hand through his hair as he stared down at you, a pleased smile on his face as he took in your fucked out form, his dick twitching at the sight.

Oh yes.

He would enjoy playing house with you much more now.

----

Part 1, Part 3

Tag List: @prettycutebunny, @my-child-gaara, @shorkbrian, @luesi, @mynameseri, @yep-seeyalaterbranflakes, @trash-writings

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hongism · 3 years

Text

mists of celeste ➻ 37.5

➻ characters: yeosang, wooyoung, yunho ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst ➻ word count: 3.6k ➻ rating: M ➻ warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba chapter specific warnings: past abuse and dubious consent are discussed - no graphic depictions of any of the above, depictions of piercings and needles. this interim deals with heavy topics relating to a whorehouse and it is not required to read this interim to understand the rest of the story. it is an optional chapter as all interims are, so please skip over this one if you are not comfortable with the warnings tagged ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒ | masterlist

✧✧✧ act five ➻ part 4.5

“I’d like you to give me more piercings.”

“I—”

The blunt statement catches Yunho a bit off-guard, moreso than he would like to admit, and as much as he tries to hide that shock, it still slips through nonetheless. He blinks back at Wooyoung with some wonder in his eyes, enough to make the other man tilt his head in question. Yeosang stands beside him as well though the Elitist’s eyes remain unfocused and noncommittal. It’s been quite some time since Yunho gave Wooyoung any piercings — god, how long has it been? Two years? Maybe three? Surely that can’t be right… — and the doctor is absolutely no stranger to the reasons why Wooyoung would be asking for such a thing now. However, because he tries to be a good and fair doctor, Yunho never goes through with the piercings unless he and Wooyoung have talked things through.

And by that, he means therapy, basically. Checking in on where Wooyoung is at mentally and emotionally before doing anything drastic. Yet that also brings more challenges than anything else because out of everyone Yunho has ever treated in his years being a doctor, Wooyoung is by far the more difficult. He doesn’t like talking about himself, his experiences, his feelings; he despises the thought of sharing intimate and vulnerable parts of himself outside of Yeosang, but according to the Elitist, it’s near impossible to get Wooyoung to speak even when it’s just the two of them together.

Yunho would call it a phenomenon of trauma but frankly, it makes a perfect amount of sense.

Given what Wooyoung has been through and experienced — between being a slave and suffering at the hands of not one but two cruel masters — Yunho truly cannot blame the young man for being so hesitant to talk about his feelings. But, as he said, he knows vaguely how Wooyoung must be feeling if he is coming to Yunho for more piercings now.

“You hardly have any room left on those ears for more piercings, Woo,” Yunho comments through a slightly strained smile. Wooyoung opts to simply wave a hand through the air in response. Yeosang glares at the floor. “Take a seat.”

There is a large amount of struggle in this for Yunho. On one hand, he wants to be firm, stand his ground, and say absolutely not until Wooyoung opens up a little. On the other side of things, Yunho understands that this is what Wooyoung needs to cope with whatever trauma he experienced while being held captive. Yunho doesn’t know all the details, of course, he merely knows that Wooyoung was held in a cell on a ship with San and Mingi for several days before being sold to a whorehouse in Lynder. Then he stayed a few days in that whorehouse. He no doubt had to work against his will, no doubt gave in and didn’t fight what he was told to do even though he didn’t want it, and it no doubt brought back horrid memories from his time as a slave. Yunho isn’t stupid. Such a thing would be taxing for anyone.

The other thing Yunho is grossly over aware of is the fact that pain, to Wooyoung, is nothing. He still has a hard time wrapping his brain around that. Wooyoung… feels pain to a certain degree like any other person would but he has conditioned himself into not feeling it the way others might. The slice of a knife against his arm would be nothing but a pinch of a needle on his skin and wouldn’t bother him one bit; all it is to him is a small pinprick. He asks people to go harder on him when sparring. He punches closed fists against his thighs when he’s upset. He enjoys getting piercings after going through something that would otherwise be traumatic for others. Because it doesn’t hurt. Yunho recalls asking once about it because at the time he didn’t understand that either.

“Why do you ask for piercings as though you want to be hurt? If you don’t really feel that pain? What do you gain from it in that case?”

“Because it’s a pain that I get to choose. All my life I’ve been subjected to pains that are not my own doing or that I didn’t ask for. But in asking for a piercing and choosing where it will go and when it will happen… I get to choose that pain. Getting to have that after suffering pains I didn’t want feels liberating in a way. I enjoy it, as bad as that sounds. It helps me cope with what I’ve been through. Like, for every pain they force on me, I choose a new piercing. Eye for an eye but… on myself, I suppose?”

“Where would you like them?” Yunho inquires, shifting over to shuffle through his cabinets in search of his needles and barbells. “Just one or are we doing more than that?”

“Two this time, I think,” Wooyoung hums as he sits down on the edge of the first bed in his vicinity. Yeosang falls down on the bed next to him without a noise, still staying silent even though Yunho can clearly see how much this bothers him. Which part of it bothers him exactly is a mystery to Yunho because it could be any combination of things. The doctor wants to ask Yeosang if he’s okay with this but that would be a tragic mistake on his part so he bites his tongue instead. It would seem too much like giving Yeosang all the power in Wooyoung’s decisions, and doing such a thing to a former slave would only be detrimental to long-term progress. Besides, he doesn’t need the verbal confirmation when he can clearly see how much Yeosang does not want Wooyoung to do this.

Yunho’s hand hesitates over his growing collection of piercing rods, and he glances back at Wooyoung once more.

“Where are you wanting them?”

“Nipples!” The combination of Wooyoung’s blatant enthusiasm as well as Yeosang’s far too deadpan expression sends Yunho reeling, and he chokes around nothing but air before truly processing Wooyoung’s request.

“A-Ah, I see, of course. One moment,” Yunho murmurs, blinking down at his collection with a bit of bewilderment before picking out what he thinks to be the right size barbells. He’s not unfamiliar with these sorts of piercings — ones on the body that is — and he has found himself well acquainted with certain body parts of the crew to a point where he is no longer uncomfortable with doing things like this for them. Wooyoung is one of the few (the others being Yeosang, Seonghwa, and Y/N) who Yunho is not well acquainted with in that way, however, so this does come as a bit of a surprise. “Your shirt… would you mind taking it off?” Wooyoung strips himself of his top in the next second, and Yunho watches the way the fabric catches on his metal collar before springing loose. Then his eyes settle on the expanse of freshly exposed skin. It elicits a sharp gasp from Yeosang as well, one that Yunho matches in intensity because… well. Yeah. Yunho isn’t sure how to phrase what comes to his mind then.

“Wooyoung,” Yeosang exhales as he balls his fists around the sheets. Wooyoung stares forward at Yunho with a certain expectancy, like he’s challenging the doctor to not breathe a word about the sight before him, but Yunho would rather lose that challenge right now.

There are… bruises against Wooyoung’s waist. Vaguely shaped like large, manly hands that press the outlines of fingers into his tanned skin. They wrap about the young man’s lithe waist and leave little to the imagination about what sort of scenario and position Wooyoung must have been in when receiving such bruises. The sweeping sensation in Yunho’s gut is so strong that it nearly makes him sick on the spot. Yeosang just looks angry at this point, and Yunho cannot blame him all too much for that. With a sigh, the doctor sinks onto his stool and presses closer to the bed until his knees bump against Wooyoung’s.

“Wooyoung, we need to talk about… this.” Yunho motions to the other’s torso, unable to peel his gaze off the ugly marks.

“What is there to talk about?” Wooyoung sounds almost genuine when asking the question. “We all know the nature of working in a whorehouse. There’s nothing to discuss.”

“That’s not — you didn’t — Wooyoung.” Yunho may or may not be bordering on desperation when he exhales this time. He has dealt with a lot of different scenarios and situations as a doctor, but something of this degree is far out of his wheelhouse.

“I asked them to be rough,” Wooyoung admits through a whisper so quiet that Yunho at first thinks he misheard what the man said.

“W-What was that?”

“I said I asked them to be rough.” Wooyoung’s repetition doesn’t make it any easier to hear. Almost worse. Definitely worse. “I told them to rough me up a little, make me hurt some, I asked them to treat me that way.”

Yunho spares a pleading glance in Yeosang’s direction, hoping that the man will have some insight on this part of Wooyoung since that is far from Yunho’s specialty. He doesn’t know… intimate details about Yeosang and Wooyoung’s more physical relationship, but Yeosang would surely be the person to ask for confirmation about this side of the man. Instead of a small nod of approval or some sign that this is normal, all Yunho sees is a horrid scowl.

“You — did you want them to be this rough with you?” Yunho asks, tone falling into a more quiet one now.

“I asked them to make me hurt, Yunho.”

“That wasn’t the question, Wooyoung. Did you want them to do that?”

“I came here to get my fucking nipples pierced, not to be interrogated pointlessly,” Wooyoung snaps back. This time he pushes some venom into his tone but it rolls off Yunho’s shoulders without sticking one bit. “I like pain during sex. I like when Yeosang pushes me around and hits me some even when I’m fully in control. I barely feel it anyways so why should it matter at all? Now are you gonna do this or not because I’m sure I can do it myse—”

Wooyoung moves to push up off the bed and make for the door but Yeosang is quicker to wrap his hand around Wooyoung’s wrist and pull him back without a word.

“Did they do anything you didn’t want?” The Elitist asks through tightly gritted teeth.

The hesitation and silence speak volumes, Yunho is hurdling towards a conclusion he does not want to hear, and he is ready to cry by the time Wooyoung finally opens his mouth and answers the question.

“No, they didn’t. I got lucky. I got fucking lucky, Yeosang. All my clients in those days were fucking kind and only did what I told them they could because the workers knew I was fresh meat. They knew people like me needed to be treated gently for the first few weeks so they only sent clients with good and safe track records to my room. Those clients only ever did what I told them to, only did what I said was okay, didn’t touch me if I said no. I got lucky.” Wooyoung spits the words like he hates himself for speaking them, and Yunho thinks somewhere in the back of his mind that the man was not as lucky as he says he was. He should be relieved, grateful even that he got lucky, but he only sounds enraged.

“Were there…” Yunho starts but his question dies a bit early on his tongue. He swallows around nothing, pulling a pair of latex gloves off his workstation and working his fingers into them as he mulls over his next words. When the last of the latex snaps around his wrist, he finally speaks again. “Were there ones who weren’t lucky?”

“Every fucking night after my clients left, I got to listen to the prostitute next door sob alone in a room with no one to help him. And the very first night I tried to talk to him through the fucking wall and ask him if he was okay and if he was hurt, and he told me I was lucky to be fresh meat. That they would listen to me because I was new and still had some hope left in my eyes. While he didn’t get that chance, he didn’t get to dictate what he wanted or didn’t want because people just took it from him for so long that he lost the will to ask. So yeah, there were ones who didn’t get lucky. There always are.”

Yunho opens his mouth but closes it just as quick, expression a cross between blank and just flat out dumb because he doesn’t know what to say if there even is something to say.

“That’s not your fault, Wooyoung,” Yeosang says instead, but his grip on the other’s wrist releases. “What happened to him is not your fault.”

“What was it that your mother said when you picked me out of a line of slaves? That I was lucky to be picked? But why did I get to be lucky while others suffered? Why did I get to choose not to be hurt or in pain while that prostitute was stripped of that choice? We were all whores for sale in that place so what did I do to deserve being treated better than him? What did he do to deserve being treated worse?”

“Woo…” Somehow the Elitist manages to sound genuinely saddened by the words.

“The very least I could do was ask to be treated the same as him, was it not? But I couldn’t even have the courage to ask for that? The only thing I could do was ask them to hurt me even though I knew it wouldn’t really hurt. How lucky I was, right? If I’m not hurt, then it doesn’t matter who else gets hurt in the process, does it?”

“Wooyoung.” The edge in Yeosang’s tone pushes forward, bordering on threatening, but Wooyoung is hellbent on speaking his mind right now and any threat from Yeosang won’t stop him. Yunho has the thought to intervene and stop them but he knows — he knows how badly Wooyoung needs this right now. If this will help him cope with what he had to go through then Yunho is in no place to stop him.

If this is what he needs to make Yeosang cope with it too, then Yunho again is in no place to stop him.

“How does it feel, Yeosang? Knowing that the only reason I was hurt in there is because I asked for it? Do you still think we got lucky?”

“Don’t ask me questions you don’t want the answers to.”

“No, because if it had been you in there, things would have been different. Because you — you are lucky, Yeosang. You always have been and you always will be. Yet no matter how many times I tell you that, you still refuse it. You—” Wooyoung stabs his index finger hard against Yeosang’s chest, voice coming out a bit choked and wet now “—could have sat there for weeks and listened to that boy next door cry and sob without an ounce of sympathy. Because that’s what an Elitist would do. That what you were raised to do, that’s in your blood, how your brain works. But it’s not how mine works. So you don’t get to sit there and tell me that I made the wrong decision.”

Perhaps Yunho is too used to conflict and gross distortions of communication because when Yeosang stands down rather than fighting back against Wooyoung’s words, he’s overwhelmed. Simply put, he is overwhelmed. He doesn’t know how else to describe the swell of emotions in his chest. But Yeosang just lets his shoulders sag and his face falls flat once more, anger ebbing out of his expression like Wooyoung has a tight grip of control over him. Yeosang isn’t a person to stand down so easily; he’s stubborn, has a short fuse and even shorter patience that causes issues more often than not, and he hates when things don’t go his way. Yunho merely assumed the same would apply to his relationship with Wooyoung.

It doesn’t, as it seems.

“Then what would you have me do, Wooyoung? Let you bend until you break without batting an eye? Watch as you blame yourself for something that happened to a person you didn’t even know? Who had been there well before you? Letting you torture yourself for things that are out of your control is not logical or fair; I don’t need to be an Elitist to realize that.”

“You can be as upset as you want, I don’t mind if you’re upset, that’s not what this is about!” Wooyoung argues back, voice climbing in volume a bit. Yunho takes it upon himself to lean away from the bed a bit, and he does his best to make himself seem as insignificant as possible while prepping his clamps and needles. “It doesn’t matter if it was my fault or not. What matters is that he suffered while I did not. And even asking to be hit and pushed around and bruised wasn’t enough because I was still asking for it. I’m… I’m not saying that I wanted my choice taken away — I would never ever ask for that or want that in any capacity. That’s the worst possible thing that could ever happen to a person. No one deserves that. No one. It just didn’t feel fair enough even though it was all I could do to make it feel fair. So yeah, I got fucking lucky, I guess. But he didn’t do anything to deserve to be unlucky.”

“I’m not saying that he did, Woo,” Yeosang whispers to the space between them. “I’m certain that he was a good person who got a bad hand in life, and I’m sure he deserved much better than what he was given. You always ask me to consider your thoughts and feelings on matters. You tell me that it’s because I’m an Elitist that I can’t understand you. You say I just have to accept things and move on, but you don’t — I’m not some emotionless husk, Wooyoung. Being an Elitist doesn’t make me not feel anything. Just because I think with logic more than emotion doesn’t mean that I can’t have emotions. For every fucking night you were gone from my side, I suffered too. It felt like I was losing you to the fate you wanted to fight together, and there was nothing I could do except wait. I was lucky too. Lucky that I didn’t have to wait longer or fight harder to get you back. Lucky that we got you on the first try. Lucky to have you even sitting before me now. It’s not… the reason I keep saying that we got lucky isn’t because I think everyone else in that whorehouse deserves the fate they were given. It’s because we had the chance to fight what fate gave us and took it.”

Yeosang manages a shaky exhale. He blinks down at his hands without saying anything for several moments, but doesn’t look back up at Wooyoung even when he decides to talk again.

“For the first time in over fourteen years, I didn’t get to be your shield. I wasn’t at your side. It wasn’t as simple as coming home from a mission and having you by my side, in my bed, or being in your arms. None of that was even an option because it wasn’t a mission and there was no guarantee of if you would ever come back. I have dedicated my whole life to protecting you because I promised to never let you be hurt again. So you want the answer to that question? How does it feel knowing that the only reason you were hurt in there was because you asked for it? It feels like you’re fucking spitting in my face, Wooyoung, and taunting me for my failures because I wasn’t there to stop you.”

That causes Wooyoung to backtrack in an instant. Realization sinks through his skin, and Yunho doesn’t doubt that it hurts more than any pain that he could inflict on himself. Because that’s the thing about love — it can simultaneously bring you the greatest joys in life as well as the deepest ruin.

And right now?

Yunho can clearly see the ruin in Wooyoung’s features as much as he tries to contain the emotions. Yeosang doesn’t stop there, and it’s with a small shake of his head that he lifts his chin to look Wooyoung in the eye again.

“I’m not blaming you, Wooyoung. I know the kind of person you are, I know how deeply and strongly you feel, especially towards injustices and unfairness like what that boy experienced in there. I know you did what you thought you had to, and I’m not blaming you for making those decisions. But do not ask me to love you even a fragment less than I do now. I knew a boy who was in that very same position once too. Who didn’t have a choice, who couldn’t make any decisions for himself, who didn’t get to choose his pain. I knew a boy who sat on the other side of a metal divider in a bed too small for his body and cried because of how unfair life was to him. And I promised that boy I would get him out and save him and keep him safe from harm at any and all costs. I can’t keep that promise if you won’t let me.”

The breath of silence that ensues after Yeosang speaks is thick enough to choke Yunho, and he pauses his movements in the wake of that quiet because it just feels utterly wrong to even move right now. Wooyoung is dangerously still, perhaps more still than Yunho has ever seen him before. Then a tear escapes the corner of his eye and rolls down the ball of his cheek to pool at his jawline before dropping to the bed. It breaks the dam of the frozen atmosphere, and Wooyoung careens forward to smack his fist against Yeosang’s shoulder.

“You stupid little — how can you say cute shit with that stupid lovesick look on your face? And I’m supposed to be okay? God, I’m gonna suck the soul out of you later for that, you absolute sap. Then ride you until you cry for good mea—”

“Um, too much information, hello!” Yunho intervenes before Wooyoung can even think about finishing the thought in front of him. “Listen, I’m all for sex but I do not need to hear those kinds of details. Just… practice safe sex and wear protection. That’s all I need to know about your sex lives, please!”

“I’m just trying to show my appreciation here,” Wooyoung argues through a wet sniff, wiping at his nose with the back of his hand.

“Yes, well, save the appreciation for later. I’m still piercing you, am I not?”

“Was that enough talking for you then?” Wooyoung offers a small laugh that sounds more pitiful than anything else, but Yunho isn’t about to call him out on such a thing.

“You tell me, Wooyoung.” Yunho shrugs a bit and glances over to where Yeosang is sitting, watching the way the Elitist folds a hand over Wooyoung’s without hesitation. “This is about how you’re feeling and where you’re at mentally and emotionally. I’m not the person who gets to determine whether it’s enough or not.”

“No, i-its — I feel… better getting to tell someone that. And getting to reassure you guys that it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Even if I still feel a bit of guilt about it, I know I couldn’t change it even if I tried. But yeah, talking about it — that helped.”

“I’m glad,” Yunho hums through a smile of his own. “I know you’re probably sick of hearing me say it over and over, but my door is always open if you’d like to talk more about it. That goes for both of you.”

“I’ll keep it in mind, Yun, don’t worry! But right now I’d like for you to put that needle through my nipples so I can get on with choking on Yeos—”

“Nope, okay! I’ll put this needle through your tongue to shut you up instead, how about that?”

✧✧✧ a/n: okay so!! i felt like this chapter was kinda necessary? considering what we saw wooyoung go through and i didn’t want to bury what he went through or act like it didn’t happen but bec of the heavy nature of the topics i wanted to make sure that it wasn’t absolutely crucial for anyone to read this and feel like they were missing out. these are serious things, they are important things, and as always i tried my best to represent those things as best i could and as realistically as possible to avoid any romanticizing of these topics so i hope i was able to convey that and the feelings the characters had well. please please please take care i love u all as always be safe and stay healthy !! i’ll see you guys soon with another chapter!

also it’s been a minute but this survey is always open for you guys to take whenever you like!

taglist: @faeriewoobin @sugarrimajins @atinyinwonderland @sparklychangbin @jeong-uwu @jeonartemis @anothershorthuman @xxbluestrifexx @haotheheckk @noonawriter @lostscenarios @nlost21 @mirror-juliet @okokokok123-45 @purple-aeon @theoinkypiglet @toothlessshiber @atinyarmyx1 @simpforhyunjin @hwangwoosan @softyubi @drumboydowoon @chatsgotmytongue @just-a-starfruit @babydolljo @scintillating-souls @khjssss @rawrrainn @hewwo-from-the-other-side @icekdy @eggteez @bangtanxberm @uglychildd @lucymultistan @revehosh @choistan @vampyrejimin

#mists of celeste #abuse tw #blood tw #interim #not tagging as usual bc of the heavy nature of the chapter!

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fyasamisato · 4 years

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Character Talk: Korra - Choices and Identity

Hi all! Been such a long time since I’ve done this. I had a absolutely wonderful conversation with a friend yesterday about Korra and I wanted to put it into writing. (Warnings, depression)

It’s difficult for me to express the impact Korra had on me as a character. How much I could relate to her journey and her spirit. We both fell upon dark times together, and watching her overcome, helped me to do the same. It’s that journey into darkness I want to shine a light on. Because in my opinion, Korra’s journey is one of the best written arch’s for a protaginist I’ve ever experienced.

Korra was raised in unique circumstances. Understandably so given the recent history with the avatar. But being raised on a compound, prevented her from experiencing the world beyond the horizon, being taught about the role you are expected to fill, the power and expectation in your legacy and the weight of the world that you will be expected to carry is going to have an effect on who you grow into.

For Korra, that shaped her into a fiery, headstrong, reckless, and even sometimes arrogant young woman. She chose to embrace that legacy with both arms. I’m the avatar, you got to deal with it. She didn’t shy away from her destiny, instead her destiny became who she was. The brightest point in life to look forward to.There was no other option, no other dream and no other option only a desire to measure up to that legacy and to prove she was worthy to carry it.

Being the avatar, was her identity.

So it only makes sense that the series tests that resolve and that identity over and over again.

She expects to change the world for the better. She expects to bring balance to the world because that is what she is told she is meant to do, and thousands have done it before her. Anything that falls short of that idea, that legend, any grey area is going to be considered failure in the eyes of someone who being the Avatar is all they ever wanted. The expectations others put on her, don’t hold a candle to the expectations she put on herself. To measure up. To be what the legends told her she should be. In both books 1 and 2, that identity is put to the test. What can the avatar do for the non benders and their oppressors? What can she do when a civil war divides her loyalties? What choices will she make when the world stands poised to be changed forever? She faces these questions, with mixed results. In both the eyes of the world, and herself. She’s ridiculed and even despised. When you alone stand to make the choice to reunite the spirit and human worlds, you’re going to have second thoughts, you’re going to question if you made the right call. Headstrong as she is, Korra asks herself that question constantly. Is she fulfilling her destiny? Is she doing a good job, or is she making things worse? Could someone else have done better? Could Aang have done better? She was raised to think that she would make a difference. That she was the only one who could.

It’s easy to buckle under that weight when the world is at stake.

Book 3 begins, and Korra is left to question if she made the right decision, opening the spirit portal. It hasn’t made life better for everyone. Human or spirit, none of whom were asked if this is something they wanted. She made the choice for them, because she was the only one that could. Right? She was the avatar, this was her responsibility, no one else. To bring harmony between human and spirit was the point right? Wasn’t that balance? Korra is left to ponder this, racked with so many doubts as to her place and her ability to make the right choices. To question herself more deeply than she had before, and she had before, so many times. Every challenge she faced shook her resolve. Losing her bending, Unalaq’s manipulation. Nothing was as simple as she expected.

So it must come as a huge moment of shock and relief, when she discovers her actions had side effects. That air benders are returning, and that was entirely due to the choices she made. For Korra, this is something of a revelation. The equalist conflict wasn’t clean. The water tribe civil war left its marks. Could things have been handled better? Did she do the right thing? Those are the thoughts gnawing away at her, and yet this? The return of a people? Of her predecessors people? That is an absolute good right? No grey, no complicated motivations, no villains with justified causes. Just something good, that she caused. She did the right thing. Finally she brought unquestionably positive change, like an avatar is supposed to.

But then it has consequences you never imagined.

No one. Could have predicted the air nomads return. What’s more, no one could have predicted what that would lead to. The damage it could cause. What happened next, what Zaheer and the red lotus did, is Korra’s fault. She’s sure of it. Intention doesn’t matter to her, nor how unexpected the results. All that matters is these consequences came as a result of a choice she made. You think you’re doing the right thing, but the world always becomes more complicated than you expect. It would be unfair to blame yourself for that, but that’s exactly what Korra does, and the the world changes. All she can do is try to catch up.

For a brief moment, she felt like the avatar’s of legend. Felt like she was living up to the legacy she so tied her identity to. For once in her life, she was worthy to carry on Aang’s story. The Avatar’s story. Bringing back the air nomads was her proudest moment. The best thing she’d ever done.

To have it turn on her so violently...

What is Korra left with? She faced her most challenging battle. She survived, after the most suffering she’d ever experienced. Suffering no one should have ever had to endure. But the balance is broken, and the earth kingdom is in chaos. Once again, the resolution of one conflict gave birth to another. Something worse, around each corner, and for the first time, she’s in no state to fight it.

And this time, she doesn’t have to. Watching Jinora’s ceremony, and seeing her come into her own. One can’t help but see a glimpse of Avatar Aang in Jinora’s shaved head. The legacy Korra is trying to carry. The shadow she’s lived under the whole of her life.

And that’s when Tenzin, her guide, the living legacy of Aang, comforts her with the best, and worst thing she can hear right now.

They’ll take up the cause. They’ll take up the legacy of balance until she can return. She can rest.

The Avatar isn’t needed.

I don’t think it’s by accident that moment of Korra’s reaction is one of the most talked about and praised moment of the series. Is she happy for Jinora? Of course. Is it a relief to know the world will have someone to protect it? That things won’t fall apart because she’s gone? Yes.

But they shouldn’t have to.

Every conflict in the series, is a direct attack on the Avatar. On it’s role. The world has changed since the hundred year war. Leaving one to wonder if heroes even have a place anymore. Amon attacked her abilities. What was she without them? Unalaq presented her with a dark reflection. What lines could she cross before she goes too far? Zaheer meanwhile struck at something deeper. Her cause. Her legacy. The avatar imposes balance. One person, decides the fate of millions, and now, those people she tried to protect, are beginning to protect themselves.

Of course Zaheer was wrong, but the issues he proposed didn’t slink back into the shadows. They’re present for all to see the flaws in the system.

Her whole life, Korra was told she was needed. That the avatar was needed. They are one and the same in her mind. Now she’s faced with a sobering truth. She’s not needed. The world will move on without her. It’ll survive without her.

If she isn’t needed, if someone else can bring balance, then why should she? Why should she suffer again and again when she doesn’t have to? When no one needs her to? Why should this responsibility be solely hers to carry?

What is Korra to do, when all she’s left with is time to ask herself those very questions?

When she’s alone?

A long time ago, I loved the finale of book 1. Because I asked myself, what Korra’s lowest point could be? When someone so physical, so tied to her own ability to affect change, lost that ability? I thought losing her bending, losing the chance at the avatar state was the lowest point. I bet if we could have asked her that, if we could have peered into her fears in book one, she would have had the same answer. And that made me worried. Where could they go from there?

Thankfully, I was wrong. Losing her abilities, wasn’t her lowest point. Even powerless, an Avatar can still do great things. Still promote the balance of the world.

No, the worst thing that could truly happen for her, the darkest hour would be the revelation that she didn’t have to. That the world would balance itself. That she’d failed more profoundly than being beaten down. Than a villain achieving their goal.

That maybe the world didn’t need an avatar anymore.

Her destiny, that legacy, that responsibility wasn’t needed. Someone else could do her job, and they could do it better than she ever could, cause all she’d done is make mistake after mistake. (This is what she tells herself)

What she’d so wrapped up her own identity with was unraveling. If Korra wasn’t going to be the avatar? What would she be?

The scariest answer of all is the only one she’s left with. Nobody.

Korra never had another dream. Her want, her need, was to be a good Avatar. To live up to that calling. Her childhood on that compound had prepared her for nothing else, no other door was presented to her, no other choice. Her life was decided for her the moment she was born. She was going to be the avatar and that was it. So what is one to do when that’s not enough?

Korra had nothing else to fall back on. Nothing to replace that yearning, that drive in her that burned like fire. All she was left with was a hollow where that fire used to be. With nothing else, she begins a downward spiral. A self perpetuating sense of directionless. A depression that began to eat her up from inside, and that grew worse for three years, until she turned away from her legacy, from her friends, and from her family, because all of them were better off without her.

Those are the things we tell ourselves when we struggle with depression. Achievements? The good we do doesn't seem to break through that fog. The love and support from those we care about, doesn’t seem earned. Leaving us only with the worst doubts our minds can conjure.

There are times it feels like no one can hurt us the way we can hurt ourselves

Depression is something I’ve battled myself, and to this day, I have never connected with a character’s struggle as much as I have Korra’s.

Nor has a triumph ever felt so cathartic.

“If you look for the light, you can often find it.But if you look for the dark that is all you will ever see.” -Iroh

Watching Korra find that light again, helped me to find my own.

Korra defined herself as the Avatar for most of her life. When she at last overcomes that struggle, the avatar is still a part of her identity, but that’s just it. Only a part. Moving forward, she learned that her identity could be more. Was already more. That there were so many wonderful things in this world. Friends, family, and all of it leaves a piece of itself to carry on. Even the antagonistic forces in our lives, present us with a chance to learn. To overcome. Every experience builds up who we are, and what we become, more than titles ever could.

She learned the weight of the worlds didn’t have to rest solely on her shoulders, but that even so, she could still do the right thing. She could still make a difference. Maybe it was more complicated than the world needing an avatar or not. Regardless of title, it needed her. It needed Korra.

Korra began as a character forged by expectations. Both in universe and out. If you’re reading this I doubt have to tell you what she had to overcome along her journey and in the eyes of the fandom itself. The bar she had to clear, was immeasurably high. Expectations of whether she could live up to it all hung over her head, as much as it hung over the series itself.

When that was always the wrong question.

For so long she wanted to be the perfect Avatar, to live up to the heroes that came before. She was trying to forge the legend of the avatar, rather than the Legend of Korra.

Her journey, works so well, because it’s tied to the legacy of the series. The question of how to followup something so brilliant as avatar is the question Korra faced every day. How do you follow up a legend?

Instead of allowing herself to be crushed by the legacies of the past, Korra learned a far more valuable lesson. That the choices we make shape us, not the expectations of legends long gone. That we can forge our own identities, and our own futures. That to be something, isn’t the end all be all. We can define ourselves by more than our responsibilities.

That we will make mistakes, and that those mistakes will have consequences. That we will make choices and sometimes things will go dangerously wrong. That sometimes we will break, shatter into pieces and wonder how we can ever be put back together.

Those are the sorts of things destiny doesn’t prepare you for. Things that get left out of the retelling. A legend, doesn’t have blemishes.

So why would we ever compare ourselves to them? Why would we hold ourselves to those mythic ideals no one could ever match? Why run ourselves bloody and ragged trying to be something we’re not? Something no one ever really was?

A person’s story, isn’t beautiful because it’s flawless. Life, is messier than legend. Failures define us just as much as successes. Those flaws help us to build, to reflect on who we really are and the things we really want.

She never had to be the perfect Avatar, because there’s no such thing.

All she had to be was Korra, and being Korra, was enough.

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littleoddwriter · 3 years

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5'6 victor (zsaszmask fic,, fluff just full of short jokes and reaching for things etcetc dhfbskdfbls)

Short-Comings | Roman Sionis x Victor Zsasz | ZsaszMask

Anon, you're doing the Lord's work with requests like that, thank you, jfdshfgdsk. (Also, I'm about 5'6" (like, I'm 166cm), so, uh- I was literally just attacking myself here, wasn't I? Writing from experiences and all, rip). Hope you enjoy! <3

summary; Just Roman making it his personal agenda to rile up Victor with short jokes, after he's already thoroughly embarrassed himself.

notes; Fluff; Short Jokes; Soft Kisses; Mentions of murderous desires and fantasies; Falling from a chair; Embarrassment.

When the other boys around him have hit their growth spurt, Victor had to find that it never happened for him. He just stopped growing when he was fourteen, never getting past his 5’6”. In itself it didn’t really bother him at all. So what? Then he was a bit shorter than the average guy, it didn’t fucking matter anyway.

Still, when his career path had changed as drastically as it had and he became a serial killer – slash assassin – it became a little frustrating to notice everyone around him just towering over him, thinking they were superior to him because of it.

Sometimes it would even make freeing someone more difficult than it needed to be, when he couldn’t quite reach their neck all too easily, having to resort to stabbing them first, or sweeping their feet from under them to make them kneel, fall, or bend over, only so he could slash their pretty necks to help them fly away.

When he met Roman, he hated to admit it, but he was relieved to find that the other man was only about half a head taller than him. Sure, he still had to look up sometimes when talking to him, but at least it didn’t feel as demeaning as with the other guys who were all six-feet-something.

And yet, sometimes Sionis was being a teasing fucking asshole when he was in the right mood. Not only that, but for some stupid reason most things in their apartment were placed so much higher than was necessary. It may have been only half a head, but fuck, it felt like a lot more sometimes.

Like that time Roman told him to bring him a coffee and he had asked for this really specific mug, which Victor was now wondering if that hadn’t been intentional. Zsasz had opened the cupboard and looked for the coffee mug, only to catch a slight glimpse of it on the highest shelf inside of the cupboard. From where he stood, he could barely see any of it at all; he even had to take a few steps back just to make sure it really was that exact cup he was looking for.

Then he got on his tip toes reaching for the mug. No such luck, he couldn’t even reach the shelf at all. He frowned and considered his options for a second. Roman would absolutely hate it and probably punish him for it, but unless he wanted to actively humiliate himself by asking his boss to reach for it, he was forced to disobey him.

So he grabbed one of the chairs from the dinner table and stepped on it.

It elevated him enough, so that he could finally peek into the shelf, but the mug itself still wasn’t as much in reach. He stretched his arm out, realising that he still wasn’t able to get his hands on it all too easily.

So he leaned forward.

Big mistake.

Promptly, he lost his balance and fell off the chair, which had tipped over.

He should have probably placed it differently.

Victor had landed with his upper body against the counter top and his lower half sprawled on the floor.

Great.

Roman must have gotten curious upon hearing the crash, since he came into the kitchen – only to fucking laugh at Zsasz, who had remained in his awkward position. His cheeks felt hot with embarrassment. At least it shook him out of his shock he’s been trapped in and he finally got up from the floor, glaring at his partner.

If it wasn’t at his expense, Victor might have actually been happy to hear Roman laugh so genuinely, almost hysterically even.

“Oh, fuck!” Sionis exclaimed in-between laughs, wiping away tears that had gathered in the corners of his eyes. “You’re fucking hilarious, little Vicky,” he snickered, a devious grin on his face.

Zsasz would have loved to peel it off of his pretty face, but he wouldn’t dare. Not yet, at least.

“That was low,” Victor retorted his ears and cheeks were burning with the redness that must have spread there. No one but Roman fucking Sionis could make him feel ashamed.

“So are you.” Roman had stopped laughing by then, but his smirk remained.

“I fucking hate you with every inch of my body right now, you know that?”

Roman pursed his lips, “That’s not a lot of inches, baby.” Victor could hear the amusement in his partner’s words.

“Oh, fuck off. You’re only half a head taller, so I don’t know what you’re on about anyway…” Zsasz was pouting now. He couldn’t help it.

Humming pensively, Roman stepped forward, reached up – having to get on his tip toes as well – and got the mug out of the cupboard, grinning triumphantly down at Victor, who just rolled his eyes in response. What a show-off.

“It may only be half a head, but I didn’t have to use a chair to get up there. And fail miserably doing so, either.”

Almost petulantly, Zsasz crossed his arms and looked at his boss, his partner. Unfortunately, with how close they were standing now, only a couple of inches between them, he did have to look up a little bit. It annoyed him more than ever, now. Roman’s really been in a mood that day, making joke after joke, as if he was actively trying to rile Victor up, which wasn’t easy anyway. In contrast to Sionis, he actually had a far better grip on his emotions, not experiencing them a lot as it was.

“Whatever, but if you make another joke about my size, I might actually fucking kill you, boss,” Victor muttered.

“Oh, Mr. Zsasz,” Roman started in this sultry, seductive tone of his that had pleasant shivers run down Victor’s spine, “don’t get short with me, ‘kay?”

“You-,” Victor forced himself to inhale deeply – he didn’t actually stand behind his threat, not with Roman at least, “are really fucking lucky I like you so much.”

Roman grinned and patted Zsasz on the head. His smile softened, and so did his voice, “I know, baby. I am truly lucky.” Then he leaned down a bit, tilting Victor’s head up by his chin with the hand that’s just been on his head, and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips.

In all honesty, Victor despised how much of an effect Roman had on him, especially when he was trying to actually be mad at his partner. But the kiss made him soften up, too. So he uncrossed his arms and pulled Roman closer by the waist to reciprocate it passionately.

“You know I really was just joking, right?” Roman murmured against Zsasz’s lips after a couple of minutes.

“Yeah, I know. It’s alright, Roman.”

“’Kay,” he whispered and kissed him again, more enthusiastically, but not any less soft, probably trying to make up for the embarrassment he’s caused Victor – the coffee completely forgotten for now.

It was nice.

#short jokes #roman sionis #roman sionis fanfiction #victor zsasz #victor zsasz fanfiction #zsaszmask #zsaszmask fanfic #mlm ship #mlm fiction #mlm fanfic #fluff

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dumblydork · 3 years

Text

Wasn't expecting to be back as a writer so soon but I just absolutely CANNOT get enough of writing headcanons and AUs and JUST BEAR WITH ME OKAY

Also I feel like this is super long but it might not be idk

Some more Hinny, with a bit of Romione! So this one is set in the modern magical world. Hope you enjoy! And don't forget, if you have absolutely ANY Hinny headcanons you'd want to see written, please drop me a message or an ask anytime and I'll do my best to write one 3>

"This class just CANNOT get any worse." Ron muttered, drawing lazy lines with his pen on the History of Magic textbook they were reading.

"We literally live in 2020, do we really HAVE to study all this old age crap?" He continued, now shifting to drawing circles as the teacher droned on.

Harry for one, wasn't listening to the professor (though he did vaguely hear him mention 'Goblin War' but that was about it) and neither to Ron. Harry was busy staring out of the window onto the busy streets of London below their high classroom, thinking about a certain redhead.

A certain redhead who also happened his best friend's sister.

"Hi!" Hermione's voice came in an excited whisper as she started taking out her textbook, the dull grey of it made slightly happy with all the colourful muggle stickers (once affronted, she had told Harry that they were called 'Post Its' but Harry just could never bother with the name), full of notes and extra bits. Hermione was careful not to let the professor know that she was suddenly here, a thought which hit Harry when Ron exclaimed almost loudly before Hermione kicked his foot under the table to shut him up.

"I swear to Godric you weren't here literally a minute ago how- Harry?" Ron wondered, calling his best friend.

"Yes it's very odd Ron." Harry almost sighed, back to his brooding. Hermione was doing weird things always- it was nothing new.

"Please be like Harry and stop looking so surprised. Let me focus." Hermione sneered at Ron and whipped out her pencil, furiously noting down from the board whatever the professor had been droning on about for the past 45 minutes.

"And that, is all on the Goblin War of 1785 today. Make sure you finish your homework- remember, 4 pages on the magical strategies used by the two goblin sides to win the war. I need it handed in on Monday. Class dismissed." The professor walked out with his nose in the air, as if he had imparted the knowledge of a lifetime in one single lesson. He waved a lazy hand at the board which wiped off all the notes, releasing a few cries from the back where some kids were still making notes.

"Thank Godric that's over!" Ron could almost cry. Harry was back to paying attention, especially after Hermione slapped his hand. "Earth calling whatever planet Harry Potter is on!" She laughed. The three of them got up and walked out into the corridor.

"What lesson do we have next?" Harry asked absentmindedly.

"What's up with you today? You've been like this since we returned from the Burrow well over a week ago." Ron said thoughtfully, an arm slung carelessly around Hermione's shoulder, who was surprisingly okay with it.

Harry snapped back to reality. If Ron found out, it would be Harry's head and nothing else.

"And what about the two of you? Care to explain," Harry looked at the Ron's arm, "whatever this is? You two have been just finding ways for touching each other, don't think I haven't noticed." Harry finished with a whistle, knowing this was the nerve he had hit. He almost grinned to himself.

"That," Hermione shrug off the arm around her, blushing furiously, "is just two friends being friendly." She finished, but there was a considerable change in the pitch of her voice.

"Yes yes whatever." Harry flicked a lazy hand at the two, knowing fully well they had gotten up to something in the Burrow which was only between the two of them.

The trio had reached the cafeteria where they sat down on one of the empty benches, having half hour free before moving on to Harry's most despised class- Chemistry, or Potions as it was called in the older ages.

Harry let his thoughts move back to the Burrow (courtesy this couple who were now sitting with their sides practically touching). The Burrow was Ron's house, and the trio's favourite hangout. They were there for the summer break, which had ended a week ago, but the memories were still as old as yesterday.

"Oh please, I will kick your ass at Quidditch." Ginny, Ron's younger sister and the youngest Weasley piped, her fiery red hair pulled back into a ponytail.

Quidditch was the one thing Harry really enjoyed- it was rare to have Quidditch matches in school now with so much course load, so these summers were what he lived for.

Particularly this one summer where Ginny had turned up looking just gorgeous, something Harry had failed to notice in the 6 years he had known her. It wasn't as if she wasn't gorgeous before- it just struck him differently this time. Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was the fact that she could make Harry laugh almost always. She was not only gorgeous- Ginny had developed a sense of humour and sarcasm quite unlike her brothers- they were fond of practical jokes, whereas Ginny was more of the sharp tongued type who could make an entire room laugh without as much as waving a hand. And it was absolutely fabulous. Harry had found himself staring at her practically everyday of summer since he came to the Burrow three months ago.

The way she tied her hair up, or how she bit her lip when exasperated with her Math homework and the way her lips opened slowly first when she laughed. The slight, barely perceptible crook in her teeth and the generous sprinkling of freckles all across her face. It was all suddenly very endearing to Harry.

And hence, midway through his last week at the Burrow, Harry had come to the conclusion that he had started fancying Ginevra Weasley, his best friend Ronald Weasley's younger sister. Not to mention practically Hermione's best friend, despite being an year younger.

So that was why Harry was barely able to keep his impulses in check when he saw Ginny in her Quidditch outfit, wearing a red and gold jersey with cream coloured bottoms. But when he thought of how he could have his ears boxed in by Ron, he could very much focus back on the match and not on a heart-achingly stunning redhead.

"Language, Ginny. This girl," Ron's mom, Molly, muttered under her breath, currently putting up laundry by swishing her wand back and forth. All of the Weasley siblings were back home at the Burrow, except for Percy and Bill, who were both busy working.

"Sorry mom! As I was saying Harry, I will definitely kick your bottom in this match." Ginny corrected herself.

"Please, we shall see." Lately it was getting increasingly difficult for him to produce coherent responses in front of the woman he had come to consider as practically a sarcastic goddess. But he was proud of this response- he should continue thinking about Ron's punches.

"Okay, positions, and go!" Harry heard Arthur, Ron's father say and the match began in earnest. Hermione was sitting this one down with a novel, but at the moment was preparing a jug of lemonade the Muggle way.

Ron and Harry were one team, whereas Ginny, George and Fred were another. The game lasted for a good 40 minutes before Harry and Ron won the game by obtaining the 'snitch' (which was actually just an enchanted flying ball, kindly given to them by Arthur who had an obsession for all things Muggle).

"What happened to all that talk of kicking ass, huh?" Harry laughed, almost falling into one of the reclining chairs. Molly was handing out cool glasses of lemonade. "I think mine needs more ice." Harry said, sipping from his glass.

"Oh I totally forgot the ice! My wand is in the kitchen though." She said sheepishly, not wanting to give up her spot on the recliner. Or rather not wanting to get up from her spot next to Ron, who had decided to perch himself on Hermione's recliner despite there being an extra empty one.

"That's okay, I'll get some myself." He grinned. "I'll come too- I need to change out of this." Ginny added. They walked back inside the Burrow which was empty, with the entire family outside in the garden.

Harry waved his wand which was lying on the kitchen counter into a bowl and ice appeared, shining in the sunlight but not melting. Magic.

He added a few to his glass and leaned on the counter, sipping lazily on the drink. It was good to be away from the noise for a minute. Ginny reappeared downstairs, having changed into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and unholy thoughts came rushing back into Harry's brain.

"I'll get some ice too, now that I'm here." Ginny took out an empty glass and filled it with ice, presumably wanting to fill it with lemonade later. But the way she took the ice gave Harry goosebumps- she leant across him instead of asking him to move and picked a few pieces of ice from behind him. Harry was frozen in his place- Ginny made no move whatsoever to stand behind. She stood inches away from Harry, just a few centimetres shorter than him.

"Oh for goodness sakes Harry, kiss me already." She rolled her eyes but the tip of her ears went red.

"What?" Harry spluttered- it was something he had been wanting to do since the start of summer but putting it into words stunned him of sorts. Was he THAT readable?

"Don't think I haven't seen the way you've looked at me all summer, Harry. It's not that difficult to know that you fancy me. A lot. And just so you know, I do too. A lot. Have done so since Ron introduced us.* She whispered, but stepped back after her confession.

Harry was still stunned, but could anyway notice the distance she had put, now slightly unsure after her brazenness. She still stared at him, her lips shaped into an imperceptible 'O', begging to be kissed. So that's what Harry did- he pulled Ginny back towards him by her waist and placed his lips on hers, almost tasting sunlight but with cherry swirled in it. His hands remained at her waist but Ginny moved hers to lock around Harry's neck, slowly playing with the curls at his nape. She smiled into the kiss, parting her lips were slightly, just so Harry could taste her; it was sinful but decadent. Very much like a good bar of chocolate. More than good. An absolutely unbelievable bar of chocolate.

When they finally pulled back after what could have been a lifetime, or an eternity, or a few seconds, Ginny grinned at Harry. "Do you not have anything to say?" She stood there's suddenly a bit shy, with her arms still around Harry's neck.

"You said all of it for me. I do fancy you- maybe way too much." He said, feeling as if Ginny's brazen confidence was transferred into his veins.

"That's a relief, because I might or might not have been looking to get you to kiss me." She said, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

"You what?" Harry stared at her incredulously, before breaking out into a wide smile.

"Don't worry, the bit about me fancying you is real. Have done so since I was 10." She added seriously.

"So are we a thing now?" Harry raised an eyebrow, quite enjoying the small circles he was making on Ginny's side.

"Keep dreaming on, Potter." She removed her hands from around his neck and disappeared like she had reappeared after changing, what felt like ages ago. Harry smiled to himself before walking outside again, his lemonade glass forgotten.

---

"Really Harry, one would think you're in love the way you're zoned out." Ron stared at him, as Harry snapped back into the real world.

"Huh? Oh yeah." He agreed absent mindedly, still reeling a bit from that summer afternoon.

"You're in love?" Hermione asked, an eyebrow raised as she looked up from what looked like homework.

"Forget me, but you do seem to be." Harry glanced at her notebook, which had R+H scribbled messily on the margins. He grinned as Hermione and Ron blushed furiously.

"Okay fine, me and Ron might have kissed at the Burrow." Hermione said, snapping her book shut as Ron stared at her longingly.

"How interesting, because me and Harry did something similar." Ginny suddenly appeared from behind and sat beside Harry, pressing her lips to his cheek.

The two boys stared back and forth. Ron's eyes widened but returned to their normal size, as Ron slung an arm around Hermione again, except this time she actually leaned into him.

"What? Is happening?" Harry looked around, first at the couple in front of him and then at Ginny. This was all extremely confusing.

"Did you think you were the only observant human to ever exist? Hermione Granger is my girlfriend, Harry. Nothing escapes her. Not when one of her best friends kisses another one of her best friends." Ron laughed.

"Wait so you're not mad?" Harry was still shaken. Was his worrying all a waste? If he'd known, he could have spent more time with Ginny, locked behind doors, his lips on hers-

"Why would I be? I'd rather Ginny end up with you rather than some other git from school." Ron's voice cut into his thoughts breezily.

"Oh. Okay." Harry settled before smiling at Ginny and weaving his hand through hers.

They sat in silence for a few moments before Harry's eyes widened.

"Wait. Hermione Granger is your girlfriend?!" The typical Potter late realisation. The three people around him laughed heartily before Harry joined in, shooting Ginny an endearing look, making the tips of her ears turn red.

#hinny au #harry potter #ginny weasley #harry potter headcanon #harry x ginny #hinny headcanon #hinny #headcanon #school #romione #ron x hermione

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amariemelody · 3 years

Text

Under the Bonnet Debate, it Smells like Misogynoir

I know that the discourse over Black women wearing bonnets, scarves, head wraps, do-rags, etc. in public is nothing new. I know a lot of the discussion on what Black women can and cannot, should and should not say or do in public period is nothing new.

I am a Black woman who admittedly would not wear a bonnet (I'll shorten the many coverings we can wear to just "bonnet" from here on out) in public. The most I'll wear it outside is if I'm just checking the mail box, picking up a package outside the door, and/or taking some trash out. Otherwise, I'm inside my home when I wear my head wraps. I sport an afro and admit I've only started wearing coverings regularly as recently as last year. They've helped my hair retain moisture and start to grow even more; they've helped me stop an anxiety tic of mine wherein I pull, tug, twist, etc. at my hair until it's breaking off and my hands have leeched all the moisture out; they’ve also helped protect my hair from the heat of my shower, right under my shower cap.

So I'm a Bonnet-in-the-house Black girl...and I am still 10,000% down for Black women who wear bonnets outside of their home.

There seems to be a reinvigorated camp for those who say that Black women should never wear bonnets outside of their house. I'm not surprised but one of their justifications stands out to me because it is...an empty, dangerous platitude. That platitude is, to paraphrase, "We should want to look and be our best at all times. Because remember one of us represents all of us."

One of us represents all of us.

Initially it can sound...comforting and empowering. Simple social common sense for Black women constantly under besiege from misogynoir. It possibly even echoes of popular expressions and movements like #BlackGirlMagic or #BlackGirlsRock, both of which I use and enjoy quite a bit.

But it's not any of those things.

And I don't despise it simply because it's wrong-I despise it because it's actually only half-true and it is a half-truth Black women the world over should reject.

When it comes to bonnets, we're being told that we shouldn't want to be represented on one side of the half-that is, the half wherein we appear less than presentable in public. And bonnets in public are considered less than presentable.

This is playing into a game that all Black women of all shapes, sizes, shades, socioeconomic status, etc. are well familiar: the game of body policing.

Body policing based upon white supremacist, kyriarchal standards. Body policing that neither really benefits anyone nor lets anyone win-not even cishet, able-bodied, conventional white men can win at the end of the day and certainly never Black women.

And truly the policing of bonnets is but a longtime sibling of overall body policing, which begins even before anyone cares about what we do and do not put on our heads. And that body policing is not just dangerous because of the immense psychological and emotional damage it can create, but because for the most part 1.) black women cannot readily escape our bodies and 2.) a lot of the vitriolic misogynoir is often directed at how our bodies simply naturally occur.

Take my natural body for example. Regardless of the fact that I don't wear bonnets in public myself.

I am a plus-sized, dark-skinned black woman. I am 5"6; weigh well over 200 lbs (stress been making me gain weight long before the pandemic); have broad/wide shoulders; have a natural 'fro; and did I mention that I'm plus-sized?

From the time of my childhood, because of the intersections of misogynoir, sizeism, and fatphobia against my natural body, I have been made to feel that:

Just by existing in public, I automatically take up too much space/more than my fair share of space. It is always space that I do not deserve and I should always work to shrink myself as much as possible and stay out of other people’s way.

I am automatically aggressive, antagonistic, and angry/easy to anger. I'm a hair trigger always just waiting for my moment.

I am naturally dirty/unhygienic and unkempt.

I am neither attractive/desirable (at least not within the context of my own agency and consent) nor should I even think about expressing attraction/desire for someone else.

There's no way in the world I possess any kind of varied, valuable intelligence and thoughts.

There's no way in the world I possess any kind of healthy, mature communication skills.

That was a lot to unpack in not so many bullet points.

And understand this is just what I've learned is projected onto my body as it naturally occurs. This is before I even open my mouth to say "Hello". This is before getting to what I’m wearing. This is before getting to my actual demeanor/aura.

All of this comes before whatever I may or may not be wearing on my head.

On a side note, I hadn't realized how much of this I had subconsciously internalized and how it influenced how the way I moved and navigated my body in public. For example if I need to brush past people, I of course always say, "Excuse me"; I also often give a smile if the person can see it. I do this so easily that it's all but a reflex. But because of the breadth of my body and the brownness of my skin, there's been many a time when I feel that I actually bowled the other person over and shouted at them to get out of my way.

I'm still working on feeling safe and comfortable enough to naturally claim public space.

But yes, that is my natural body which, again, is something that I can neither readily change nor escape. It is often found quite wanting for being positive representation of my fellow Black women.

That means that I have to contend with one side of that half-truth: my natural body as it simply exists is deemed not positive representation of Black women as a whole, is considered to be the rule proven.

And the rule is that, as a Black woman, I am not presentable no matter what I step out of the house looking like. Bonnet or no bonnet.

Now when you get to my personality, traits, habits, etc…I’m very much the opposite of what is projected onto my body. The contradiction people don’t expect often starts with my voice: it’s naturally soft, pretty low in volume, and a little high in pitch. I smile readily and easily (hell, sometimes I smile and make funny faces in my bathroom mirror to make myself feel better). I’m often so agreeable and companionable that when I was a senior in high school I won the senior superlative of “Friendliest” out of 400+ other senior students. And to this day people still say that I am [one of] the sweetest, kindest people they’ve ever met.

I am a giant nerd who absolutely loves to learn and has generally done well in school all my life; when I can quiet and clear my mind enough for it, I am an avid reader. As an adult, I still often find myself being as inquisitive about the world around me as when I was a child.

More or less to White and non-Black people of color, all of these are considered positive representations of a Black woman. And people typically just have to get to the “Hello” phase with me to find out one of my above traits.

But when those positive traits are brought to light-and they’re often brought to light quickly-I am now pigeonholed on the other end of the spectrum. That is, I am no longer the rule proven but the exception to the rule.

The psyche of bigotry cannot and does not want to conceive that their target can ever be anything other than the negativities and deficiencies it projects onto them. When said target proves those projections wrong, it is just often far too difficult-possibly even unthinkable-that that single positive can renew and refresh the perception of the whole. Instead, it is much easier for the single positive be treated as an outlier, an exception so that the perception of the whole can remain the same.

White supremacy has many neuroses in place that make sure to always allow White people to win while people of color, especially Black people, always lose. One such neurosis is that when people of color have negative attributes, setbacks, traits, etc. applied to them, they remain the sore thumb that proves the rule, but if they have positive attributes, accomplishments, traits, etc. applied to them…they then become an exception to the rule.

The true phenomenon is not, “Black women, every time you step out of your house, you represent all of us as a whole” but actually, “Black women, every time you step out of your house and you say/do/are something bad or simply perceived as bad (i.e, wearing bonnets in public), then you represent us as a whole. But every time you step out of your house and you say/do/are something positive or simply perceived as positive (i.e, not wearing bonnets in public), then and only then do you represent yourself as an exception to the rule.”

And to digress a little, in my experience it honestly is not fun being deemed the positive exception. It caused me to grow up suffering a huge disassociation between who I was and what I was. From everyone including other Black girls that bullied me for being different from them to well-meaning White teachers, I started to internalize that my personality meant I was not a typical Black girl. Or barely a Black girl at all.

Long story short, it wasn’t until about my early twenties that I was able to start on the road to un-internalize that terrible mess. I learned that I can say that I am nice and kind and smart and giggly and still Black. I am a lot of good things and I am also Black Black Blackity Black. Generally positive traits are not paradoxical with Blackness because to be Black is not a bad thing that must compensated for.

Black girls and women can be and are a lot of good things and our Blackness is one of those good things.

So I’m definitely not saying that being considered an exception to the rule is any kind of accomplishment. It can actually be very psychologically damaging and take a long, long time to unlearn it.

It’s true that Black women will always be burdened with the dichotomy of the half-truth “One of us represents all of us!” because it is an inescapable part of the many neuroses of white supremacy-we lose no matter what we step out of the house looking like.

The core of the issue is not Black women leaving their houses and being visible in public with bonnets on, but Black women leaving their houses and being visible in public period. For goodness’ sake, once upon a time it was the law for Black women to cover their hair in public-hello there, Tignon.

But being unable to escape such a burden does not mean we should be surrendering to it.

We shouldn’t want to believe and buy into the idea that part of taking care of each other is taking on the impossible strain of all of us representing each other. That is not an empowering statement-it is disempowering to the extreme because it’s perpetuating the mindset that we are a monolith undeserving of our individuality. My god, we Black women come in every kind of shade and shape and size and music taste and food taste and language and dialect and we don’t all know each other and we don’t always even like each other.

I just…I’m not yet that old, but the older I get the more and more I feel that sometimes as black women we can not only be our own worst enemies and each other’s worst policers. And I wish deeply and desperately that black women would stop policing each other and policing each other for, of all things, an arbitrary acceptance that ultimately means nothing even if we could achieve it.

One of us represents just that: one of us.

#Misogynoir #Internalized misogynoir #Anti-black racism #Black hair #Anxiety tw #Amarie talks

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ladyshandioftheendless · 3 years

Text

~Crüe AU writings 21~

I guess the chapters are gonna be as long as they need to be to tell the narrative I wanna tell. They may be short but I hope you enjoy regardless!

~Shandi

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~VAMPIRE AU II Part 3~

Summary: Vulnerability is dangerous for a Vampire, but sometimes it can’t be helped.. (told from Paul’s POV)

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I will adjust to this place in time. It's true that I had been on the run for what seems like an endless time and I do miss the lavishness that I had grown accustomed to in New York, but Los Angeles is my new home now, has been for months. And I was going to have to adapt to living with others again. It's still difficult sometimes. I have lost much. My home. My friends. My greatest protector and lover. All to that Hunter. I am still afraid that he will find me. Kill everyone I know. Then when I have nothing left, he will take my life. But I mustn't allow such thoughts to cloud my judgment. I must keep myself out of sight. I believe Heather when she says that she will help me. She is the only true friend I have left. The two I live with now..they are still such mystery to me..but an intriguing one~

Mick is clearly an Elder. He is level headed. Logical. Intelligent. He knows how to survive. Not bad looking either~ And then there's Nikki. He despises me. I see it in his eyes. He has the mannerisms of one who has had a difficult life before being given this one. Possibly abuse. The poor darling little Pup. I must take care to not be a source of trauma. Perhaps he will speak of it at a later time.

I can’t help but be annoyed as I brush my hair. One of the things I actually miss about my humanity is being able to look at my own reflection. I must always look my absolute best. Always. Even as I sleep. Nikki just rolls his eyes and shuts himself into his coffin, but Mick is intrigued. His eyes linger on me. "What's the point if you're just goin' to sleep?" I just chuckle. "Force of habit. You will find that I am extremely vain~"

"I could tell that from the way you were dressed."

"Do you think I'm beautiful~?"

"Would you throw a tantrum if I said no?"

"Would you say no?"

"Course I wouldn't."

"Then you do~"

"I think the answer is obvious."

"You're teasing me~"

"If I were teasing you, you would know."

"Ohhhh would I~?"

He takes my brush from my hand and starts running it through my hair. "Believe me..you would."

How fascinating he is~ I can't really figure him out, probably because he doesn't want me to..which makes him all the more desirable~

No.

I am moving too quickly. I cannot allow myself to form a bond with another. The Hunter could find me at any time and.. "I-I think that's good enough..thank you." I quickly take the brush from his hand and move away. He crosses his arms. "Thought we were havin' a moment there."

"I'm sorry..it's too soon."

"What is?"

"I can't let that Hunter take everything away from me again."

"He's not gonna find you here."

"You don't know that for certain! He's not like other humans. He's obsessed. Fanatical! He won't stop until he gets me!"

I'm frantic. I'm panicking. I can't think straight. All I can see is the Hunter standing over the corpses of my friends and aiming his crossbow at me. There's nowhere to run. Nowhere!

"Not this time."

I feel someone's arms envelope me, holding me tightly. It's so comforting..

"Come back."

That voice..it's Mick. Everything comes into focus again. "I..I'm sorry.."

"None of that. I get that you're worried. But I promised Heather that you would be safe here, and I'll make sure of that. You get me?"

"Y-yes."

"Good. Rest now. We'll figure out the rest when night comes."

"Alright~"

I watch him go to his coffin and lift the lid. I don't know how he managed to do what he did. Who knew that just feeling arms around me like that would make me feel so calm? So cared for?

"If you don't wanna sleep alone tonight.." I look up at him when he speaks again. "..there's room for one more." If I were still human, I'm certain I would have blushed~ "What a gentleman you are, Mick Mars. There is nothing I would enjoy more than sharing a coffin with you~"

I have not slept well since I lost my lover. In his arms..perhaps I will truly rest peacefully~

To be Continued!!

#Shandi's drabbles #Crüe AU writings #Vampy Sixx~#Vampire AU Part 2!#Mick Mars #Paul Stanley

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kookiebunnii · 4 years

Text

duty to the kingdom || choi youngjae

→ summary: one of the things you hated the most was being looked down upon. unfortunately, as a princess, there were plenty of times where one of the royals would treat you as if you hadn’t a thought in that pretty head of yours. you absolutely despised it. imagine your outrage then, when the king picks your betrothed for you one fateful day. even if you rarely defy the king’s orders, this felt like a personal challenge to your independence and free choice. as you fight against your arranged marriage to prince youngjae, you eventually begin to wonder if your hardheadedness and anger are misplaced.

→ pairing: prince!youngjae x princess!reader

→ genre: arranged marriage au, lots of self-reflection and fluff

→ word count: 5.4k

→ warnings: n/a

→ a/n: proud to make my 100th post about youngjae. slightly late birthday fic, but i hope y’all will continue to give him the love he deserves!

✧✧✧✧✧

The royal court is nothing if not prone to gossip. Every day, you’re forced to be in attendance despite every fiber of your being aching to be in bed instead with a good book. Not only would it be far more interesting, but you also wouldn’t have to worry so much about sitting prim and proper in front of the kingdom’s gaggle of royals.

Appearances were everything here.

Sitting beside the king, you chance a glance at him as you give up on following the topic of the current conversation. It feels like it is only yesterday that your father had laughed and played with you in the castle’s rose garden, your mother smiling through the windows as she watched the two of you. But now, his hair is streaked with grey and his face aged with wrinkles. You couldn’t remember the last time you heard his booming laugh; a rarity ever since the queen passed.

“Y/N, there is an important matter I must speak to you about.”

Not expecting him to address you like this, you hurriedly bow your head in acceptance. A soft ‘yes father’ escapes your parted lips, hoping that it does not catch the attention of any court ladies in the vicinity. They were like a fish to water with rumors, so you learned your lesson at an early age not to ever trust them with important issues.

The remainder of the discussion ends on a rather promising note, as the king gathers a lot of promising intel on his supporters’ current situations and his neighboring kingdom’s allegiances. Enduring the mindless chatter of the royal court was most definitely a chore, but it is also essential in maintaining power. The one with the most knowledge will always be one step ahead.

You rise alongside your father, watching as the owners of estates across your kingdom bow in reverence. Even if they were doing this out of fear for your father, and not you, the action motivates you to wield the same authority someday. When you are this kingdom’s ruler, you will not tolerate anything less that what your father achieves.

Following the king out of the throne room, you dismiss a servant as she rushes to follow after you. As she leaves after giving you a deep bow, you begin to feel the tingle of anticipation against your spine. You rarely held private conversations with your father, given how busy he has been managing his duties. The crops did not grow as well as anticipated this year and there have been plenty of potential threats against the kingdom, so to say he had his plate full would be an understatement.

He leads you into his study, and you take some time to briefly examine the bookshelves surrounding the room. Each row is neatly organized based on subject matter, from battle tactics to formal letter writing. There used to be an entire bookcase dedicated to children’s stories when you were young, since you loved hearing your father read to you before bed. You wonder momentarily where those books are now.

Breaking out of your stupor, you notice the king standing with his back facing to you as he observes the palace grounds from the large windows behind his desk. Closing the door behind you with a soft locking sound, you walk forward to stand beside him. The soldiers are making their rounds, following neatly divided paths leading to various areas of the palace. Their march is methodical and focused, and the rhythm is hypnotizing.

“How have you been faring?” the king finally asks, regarding you with his usual gaze.

“Well enough. The tutor has been doing great. He says I am improving very fast,” you note, pulling your eyes away from the window to meet your father’s.

“That is good to hear,” he says before adding, “You will make a great queen.”

The king’s praise is hard to come by, especially as he has grown more demanding of you as time passes. With each year, he expects you to become more informed about your role as a member of the royal family and more mature about your decision-making for the kingdom’s future. You do your best to hide your satisfaction, but it is difficult.

“Thank you, father.”

He makes a noise of affirmation before looking out the window again. You cannot pinpoint exactly what he is observing, so perhaps he is simply seeing something in his mind’s eye. The sigh that follows worries you, wondering if the news he wanted to speak to you about was actually a bad one.

“With every great ruler, is a great partner,” he states simply, and from his melancholy tone you sensed his continued sadness regarding your mother’s early death.

Your heart sinking to the pit of your stomach, you fold your hands and nod.

“I’m sure you are aware of our talks with the closest kingdom to our North. Alongside our treaty agreements to share grain stores and defend each other in the case of invasion, we have also discussed formally uniting outside of a contract.”

The puzzle pieces were slowly snapping together in your head, and the dismay traps itself within your vocal cords. You are afraid to speak, afraid that if you voiced your concerns, it meant that your father had truly used you as a bargaining chip.

“Prince Youngjae will make a good king. I’m sure the two of you will bring about a second Golden Age for our people.”

When you finally say something, the deathly monotonous sound of your words sounds like that of a stranger’s. Amid your disappointment in your father, you have become a stranger to yourself.

“No. I object to this union,” you grit, nails biting into your palm as you struggle to maintain the little power you thought you had. Yelling and crying would just expose your weakness and lose what credibility you had.

“It is not a suggestion, Y/N,” if it were possible for the king to look even more weary than he did earlier, than it surely accurately describes his current state.

“Father you cannot seriously hand me over to a complete stranger. A man I do not know, do not love.”

His silence just angers you further, as you begin to feel increasingly alone. Not only will you never be able to confide in your mother again, but now you have lost your worth to your remaining parent. If he truly wanted what’s best for you, he would not have added you to a bargain like a prized cattle for sale.

“I have done nothing but obey you, your majesty. Do not confine me to a future of unhappiness,” you warn, hoping that your anger masks the fear and hurt you feel at this development.

Instead, the man you once affectionately called father simply barks, “It is a command. The marriage will be held a month from now. I suggest you correct your attitude before then.”

You allow yourself to let the first tear fall when he finally leaves the room, leaving nothing but a swish of his robes and the loud slam of large oak doors.

✧✧✧✧✧

“You’ll sooner see me die than marry that man.”

To your servant’s credit, she does not acknowledge your angry words. Instead, she continues to help you get dressed for the day. While you continue to criticize the king for doing this to you, yourself for being too weak to defend your autonomy, and eventually your betrothed for even daring to be involved, she finally speaks.

“Your highness, you do not know if Prince Youngjae deserves the way you speak of him.”

You hesitate, acknowledging that she did bring up a good point. Arranged marriages in and of themselves are horrendous affairs in your mind, the lack of free will causing you to complete turn your nose up on the idea. The prince could be a decent individual, but he could also be a gruff man with zero awareness of your feelings. If he is anything like the dukes your father entertains daily, you would sooner escape for a life of exile than stay as a sitting duck.

“Perhaps not. But Luce, I’m being commanded to marry a man I’ve never met. Is that not, in and of itself, an injustice?” you inquire, watching as she gets on her knees to smooth out the remaining wrinkles at the hem of your dress.

When she finally stands, dusting off her apron as she does so, she gives you a small curtsy before replying, “Pardon me for my honesty, but there are far worse things in life. Perhaps for a royal, the loss of the ability to choose and make decisions for oneself is a terrible punishment. However, I advise you give the boy a chance. It is in your best interest to make this work.”

“Luce, we’ve grown up together. You’ve been my personal servant since we were both 13. You know that I cannot allow decisions affecting my future to be made for me. I have spent hours studying, confined to books when others play outside on sunny days. Am I not allowed to think for myself for a change, instead of the kingdom?” you want your closest friend to agree with you, if only to reassure you that you had a right to be outraged.

“Born to two of the king’s servants, my purpose is to serve the royal family until I die. Born to Utopia’s king and queen, your purpose is to serve Utopia’s people until your last breath,” Luce finally gives you a small smile as she pins the last gold leaf into your hair, “You will do the right thing. I know it.”

Brushing the wetness appearing in your eyes, she chastises you softly for ruining the makeup she used to try and get rid of the puffiness from yesterday’s bout of crying. You swallow thickly, thanking her for preparing you for the morning before getting ready to meet the king’s entourage for breakfast. When the door to your room opens, Luce returns to her demure position a few feet away from you, looking everything like the perfectly submissive servant castle etiquette instructs her to be.

Breakfast is a sordid ordeal. Stirring your porridge with distaste, you nibble on the freshly baked bread from the kitchens and think about your meeting with Prince Youngjae in a few hours. You originally considered openly refusing to go or disappearing conveniently as soon as you spot his carriage entering the castle walls, but after Luce’s words this morning, you’re forced to reconsider.

Picking apart the remainder of your honey bun, you realize that, regardless of whether this man assigned to you turns out to be decent person or not, you harbored no romantic feelings for him. Marrying him would then become nothing but an obligation, and you would be nothing but a task he completes for the sake of his kingdom. You did not want to share your bed with a stranger for the rest of your years, nor bear his children for the sake of duty. When would your royal duty end and your free will begin? It all seemed terrible.

When breakfast is finally removed and you have no choice but to meet the royals of the neighboring kingdom your father discussed yesterday, you regret eating that pastry. Even though you’d only had a few bites, the anxiety was causing you to grow nauseous.

Maybe if you threw up on the prince’s shoes, he’d cancel the engagement.

Hiding your smile behind a gloved hand, you do your best to keep up with the strong amble of the king before you. Servants bow at the two of you as you pass through the corridor, only continuing their work when they are out of your sight. These people depended on you completely for shelter, safety, and purpose. Luce’s earlier warning rings through your ears, and the heaviness of the responsibility of your birthright feels more stifling today than any other day.

When you enter the throne room, you notice that it looks shinier than it had yesterday. Perhaps for the sake of good first impressions, it was subjected to a thorough cleaning the night before. Your father returns to his seat on the throne, and you allow yourself to imagine yourself on that seat in a few years’ time. Would the throne feel heady with limitless power or cold with loneliness?

The seat you typically had next to the throne has been removed today, so you simply stand next to your father with your hands crossed over your abdomen. As soon as you’ve adjusted your skirts, the guards open the doors and you do your best to maintain the neutral expression on your features—regardless of who steps in through the entrance.

As the trio approaches the throne, they incline their heads in greeting to the king. Acknowledging Elysia’s king and queen, you return their gaze with a deep bow of your own. Pausing for a few long seconds, you finally straighten to immediately regard their son who was standing only a few paces away.

The first thing you notice, albeit with some shame, is that he is very good-looking. His locks are slightly tousled in a stylish way, and are as dark as his eyes that are openly observing you as well. A small smile graces his lips, a lightly pink contrast to the fairness of his skin. Briefly wondering how a man could look so calmly attractive, you only break your unabashed stare when your king speaks.

“Welcome to Utopia. The princess and I hope the travel was without issue,” your father says, giving your future in-laws their due respect.

“Elysia and Utopia have always been close neighbors. Visiting is no trouble to us,” Elysia’s king replies, and even through your first impressions, he seemed to be a kind yet commanding individual.

“We are honored to finally meet Princess Y/N, she is as lovely as they say,” the queen adds, and the way she openly beams reminds you too much of your own mother.

Heart stinging, you whisper, “You are too kind, your highness.”

The remainder of the discussion revolves mainly around the adults in the room, as you begin to feel like a toddler waiting for your parents to stop talking to the other adults. Doing everything you could to avoid looking at Prince Youngjae again, you could feel him taking short peeks at you, and it makes you oddly nervous. You wonder what his first impression of you could be.

As if that mattered. Your ultimate goal was to prevent yourself from being saddled to him.

When the conversation finally ends, you only let the sigh of relief escape when the royal family exits to have a tour of the palace grounds. Your father chuckles at your response, standing to rest a hand on your shoulder before asking, “Was that really so frightening?”

“My duty is cementing our treaty with Elysia. I still do not consent to marriage,” you reply, looking your father in his eyes in direct challenge.

Instead of striking fear into the old man, he simply gives you an amused smile before exiting. You are left standing alone, left behind to consider your next step.

✧✧✧✧✧

Turns out, Prince Youngjae would be staying for the next month within the castle. You wondered whether Elysia was foolishly trusting or rightfully confident in simply leaving their heir in the hands of another kingdom’s rulers. As you head to your room to retire for the night, you hesitate in front of one of the best guestrooms you had to offer. The man you were to wed was inside, miles away from the home he grew up in. You wonder if he is afraid.

Settling in your favorite chair by the fire, the pages of your newest novel feeling crisp against your fingertips, you fail to notice how quickly the night moves. You reckon it is fairly late when you finally finish, setting the book on your table. You used to play chess with your mother on this table. It is well worn with age, but you couldn’t throw anything away that held essences of your time with her.

If she were here, she’d never let this happen.

Stretching out your limbs, you rub your weary eyes and wonder if the kitchen would have leftover slices of the pumpkin pie from dinner earlier. It was extremely well-made tonight, perhaps due to the need to impress, but you only confined yourself to a single slice.

Slipping on a warm shawl, you open your bedroom door slightly to examine the hallway. Empty except for the pale moonlight slipping in from the giant windows, you tiptoe against the marble floors. Even in the middle of the night, you need not see clearly to find your way. You grew up within these walls, each nook and cranny familiar in a way that you knew them like the back of your hand.

You are only a few steps from your heavenly dessert, the creaminess of this year’s pumpkin crop on the tip of your tongue, when someone’s voice stops you in your tracks. Ducking your head around the corner, you notice an unfamiliar figure sitting within a small alcove, looking up at the stars outside the vaulted glass windows.

Draped in shadows and moonlight, he sings a bittersweet song. Even though you didn’t recognize the words, you are transfixed on the intricate melodies that are holding you in place. The singer is talented for sure, given the ease of each delivered note and the sugar hanging on his clear tone. It is like nothing you have ever experienced.

When the tune ends, you’re left with a sense of unexplainable emptiness. You have half the mind to demand an encore when the figure turns his head to acknowledge you for the first time.

“Princess, what are you doing up so late?” Youngjae asks, surprise shining in his eyes as he scrambles to his feet and gives you a bow. His slightly clumsy movements are a bit endearing, as you press your shawl to your mouth to cover the smile underneath.

“Ah, you know…just having a walk,” you grimace, wondering if he’ll judge you if you were telling him you were trying to have a second helping of dessert.

“Interesting choice,” he grins.

You wave him off, hoping he understood that he didn’t need to be so formal with you. He seems to understand your insinuation immediately, because he returns to his spot in the alcove before waving you over. You hesitate, wondering if you wanted to be caught in such a compromising way.

Screw it, you needed to figure out where he learned to sing so damned well.

Tucking your skirts underneath you, you take a look at the beautifully round full moon hanging in the sky before regarding Elysia’s prince for the second time today. If it were possible for someone to look better up close, this man would be the prime candidate. His eyes are shining with stars and kindness, and in his casually neat shirt, he is the epitome of a princely figure.

“What were you singing earlier?” you ask, fiddling with a stray thread on your shawl.

He pauses for a moment, as if wondering whether he should tell you, before he answers, “An Elysian lullaby. My mother used to sing to me as a child. This one was my favorite.”

“It’s beautiful. I don’t speak Elysian but, you sing really well—better than any performer I’ve ever heard,” you admit, hoping you weren’t putting a dent in your plans by complimenting the prince.

His singing ability had to be acknowledged, so you’ll give yourself a pass for now.

He blushes, and the way he shyly laughs is adorable. Your next breath lodges in your lungs as you try your best to stop the sudden increase in heart rate you experience. Maybe you should’ve just gotten your pie and returned to your room.

“Thank you, princess. That’ll be a source of great encouragement for me,” he says, giving you another interesting look before he returns his gaze to the night outside. You wonder if he’s homesick, and you figure that he probably is. As much as you hated having to spend the next month surrounded by the reminder of your impending marriage to a stranger, he probably had his own share of trouble. He was trapped within a foreign land, with no allies to his name. Completely and utterly alone, perhaps the least you could do was make him comfortable. Even if you didn’t love him, that didn’t mean you couldn’t at least treat him respectfully.

“Have you ever performed?” you inquire suddenly, and the suggestion seems to catch him off guard.

“No, it’s unheard of for a royal to perform. That is usually reserved for the court jesters.”

You laugh, imaging the prince in a jester’s costume and telling jokes in front of the royal crowd. It was certainly a funny thought, but you were also slightly disappointed that Prince Youngjae’s singing might never be shared beyond his intimate family. It truly is a tragedy for the world, not to hear such talent.

“Do you want anything from the kitchen? In case you haven’t had enough at dinner, I’m sure there’s plenty of leftovers,” you hint, hoping that he agrees so you can have your planned pastry.

“I’m quite alright princess, thank you.”

You try not to let the disappointment appear on your face, and even though you’re typically very good at hiding your emotions, Youngjae seems to catch on immediately. When he hums in acknowledgement, you hide your face when he asks, “Did you want something princess?”

You shake your head adamantly, “I’m quite alright as well, prince.”

A grin quickly appears on his face, as he teases you further, “Are you sure? I do remember someone finishing their slice of pumpkin pie in less than 10 seconds. Perhaps we should call one of the scribes to commemorate such a prestigious record.”

“Maybe we should call the scribe to commemorate the nosiest royal to be alive this century!” you quip, quickly clapping a hand over your mouth when you realize how disrespectfully you’ve spoken to Prince Youngjae. As you wonder how quickly the man would squeal to his parents, and realizing you could’ve completely ruined Utopia-Elysia relations, the sound of loud hearty laughter saves you from your thoughts.

You had thought someone had caught the two of you, but you quickly realize that the laughter is coming from the prince himself. He holds his stomach in laughter, mouth wide open as his eyes momentarily disappear with each laugh. You watch, completely mesmerized, as pure amusement pours from the boy. He suddenly seemed so much younger, laughing like this.

Beginning to giggle yourself, you quickly pressed your hands to his mouth when you see candlelight flickering in the hallway. Pulling him upright, you dash off to the bedrooms as quickly as you could without making too much noise. You hated to find what rumors would develop if the two of you were found together this late in the evening. To his credit, the prince mirrors your speed and silence all the way to the guest bedroom.

Checking to ensure you weren’t followed, you whip your head back towards him. He’s still hiding his grin behind his hand, and doing a poor job at it, when you glare at him.

“Did you really need to laugh that loudly?” you hiss, but the boy simply looks like he’s about to start laughing again.

You sigh, unable to hide how funny the situation is to you, so you just giggle and dart off with a wave. Pumpkin pie forgotten, when you finally return to the safety of your room, you stay up to stare at your ceiling. Turning over in your sheets, you wonder-- when was the last time you felt that much excitement?

✧✧✧✧✧

The next time you see him, Prince Youngjae is taking a stroll through the palace gardens. Even though the blooms aren’t as spectacular as they are in spring, your mother had chosen equally beautiful flowers that blossomed during the winter. You catch him admiring the cheerful winter jasmines lining each row, framed by snowdrop flowers. Considering whether approaching him would be the right move, you once again throw caution to the wind when Youngjae catches you staring and gives you a small wave.

“Do you have a favorite?” you ask once you’ve walked close enough for him to hear you.

“Not really,” he replies, letting go of the fallen petal in his hand, “It’s enough for me to admire the beauty each one offers.”

“Well said,” you say with a grin.

“We didn’t get your dessert that night. My apologies, princess,” he jokes, and it strikes you then that the prince is a cute but mischievous sort. He appeared to love riling you up, but only as far as you would allow him.

“Not a great first impression,” you admit, letting yourself fully appreciate his laughter now that the two of you were in a more proper environment.

Finding a place to sit and talk further, you allow yourself to acknowledge the truth that you really did enjoy this man’s presence. Even though you were holding onto the notion that you needed to prove that you weren’t just an airheaded princess waiting to be married off, perhaps under different circumstances, Youngjae could’ve been your friend. After all, it wasn’t everyday that you met a royal who wasn’t stuck-up or entitled. It seemed that this prince genuinely appreciates everything life has to offer, and he isn’t afraid of having fun with what he finds.

“Call me Y/N. I think after the trouble we went through, it seems fitting enough,” you say, once the conversation takes a short lull.

“You’ll have to call me Youngjae then,” he adds, and you show your agreement by repeating the new title he offers you. He seems to like the way it sounds on your tongue, because his eyes are aglow with delight.

“Do you miss home?” you ask afterwards, curious to see how your new friend is faring.

“Definitely. No matter how many times I’ve left Elysia, I always miss it with the same fervor,” he admits, and you appreciate the way he opens up to you. It was almost as if he were unafraid of appearances in front of you, and his abrupt honesty was completely foreign to you.

“You leave often then?”

“A few instances. I’ve had to be involved in some skirmishes at our borders recently,” he sighs, and it appears that Youngjae is also not a big fan of warfare. You note that as well, realizing how much you were growing to admire each of the characteristics of this new prince.

“I suppose that’s why all of this is happening…making alliances to appear strong,” you briefly relent, acknowledging that as much as this union would hurt your pride, it had its use. It was not a frivolous decision for either part, which only made your choice that much more difficult to execute.

“If it’s to protect my people, it’s a sacrifice to make,” he agrees, “I apologize that you will not be marrying for love, Y/N, but I promise I’ll do my best to not make it torturous.”

He tacks on a joke at the end to ease the tension, but it doesn’t hide the fact that his words make your heart waver. Youngjae recognizes what you were giving up and he sympathizes with you. Unlike you, however, he was accepting his fate. Even though he doesn’t mention it, you know that he is giving up his free will as well by agreeing to marry you. He would also be closing the door of “what if?” because he cared for the citizens under his protection.

You think back to the servants who never fail to curtsy in your presence, the cooks who always let you have a taste of whatever’s cooking because they didn’t stand a chance to your puppy-dog eyes, and your closest friend Luce who always takes care of you without a complaint. You remember how her worn hands glide across your skin with the finest skincare in the land, just to ensure that your skin stays youthful at the expense of hers. Your heart pounds with pain.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe, as you struggle not to cry in front of Youngjae.

He grasps your wrist in confusion, worried eyes seeking yours when he says, “Did I say something wrong?”

You pat the back of his hand and try to smile amidst your guilt. Nodding slowly, you say, “I thought that I deserved to fight against this marriage because without my autonomy, I’d be nothing. But your words, you made me realize that perhaps there are greater things.”

He looks at you with the utmost care and sympathy when he replies, “Agreeing to this doesn’t make you weak, Y/N. You will be the strongest queen Utopia has known because you sacrifice for your people.”

When he hugs you in a much-needed, warm embrace, you don’t stop him.

✧✧✧✧✧

The month passes by in the blink of an eye, and before long, you’ve let Youngjae into your life more than you’d like to admit. The boy made you much more playful, as you began skipping some of your studying to join him in playing outside. He seemed like an energetic individual, always wearing a smile and excited to see you. You did your best to keep your distance, but ever since he opened up to you it almost felt natural to do the same.

The day of the wedding rolls around, and even as Luce and a few other servants help you get dressed for the special occasion; you can’t help but doubt whether you were making the right decision. Of course, there would be worse men to be in an arranged marriage with, but ultimately this was a choice that would stick by your side for the rest of your reign. You shouldn’t tread lightly.

“Luce…” you mumble as soon as the other girls leave to let her braid your hair in an elegant bun in peace.

“Today is a special day in your life your highness…your life and Prince Youngjae’s,” Luce begins, giving you her reassuring smile as she braids silver flowers into your braid.

“I know that, I know this is important for our kingdoms, and yet I feel afraid.”

“Fear is understandable. It’s important to fear because it will push you to act. You are not just making a decision for yourself, but for thousands of people,” she finishes with your locks before finally giving your shaking hands a squeeze, “You have never let us down.”

You give Luce a grateful hug, thankful for her comforting words. When you stand, admiring the long train behind you, the reality of everything begins hitting you all at once. You were marrying Youngjae, the man that recently makes your stomach burst with butterflies and your palms sweaty just from looking at him. You were crazy enough to think that you could eventually love him, and you hoped to the heavens that he considered you in the same way.

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you. I wouldn’t worry,” Luce muses before opening the door as your entourage stands at the ready outside. You would fire back at her to say that you weren’t worried at all, but the sight of the dozen knights standing in full armor to escort you to the grand ballroom is enough to dry your mouth completely.

You knew that the ballroom would be transformed for the wedding, but you didn’t expect the beauty dazzling from the high ceilings. Each corner had a fresh bouquet, the beautiful pastel roses making your eyes widen with wonder. The guests consisted of the royals whom previously paid you no heed, but now are openly observing you with interest. You knew that they now respect your new position, and you would soon have to play palace politics. The dread paled in comparison to the surprise that catches in your throat when you see the groom standing at the altar.

Youngjae is dressed in a standard princely attire, but the sparkling crown atop his head and the big grin on his face make all the difference. Seeing him standing ahead of you, waiting for you to be by his side, force you to reconcile with your feelings once again. You were falling for him, from the moment he sang you his favorite song and laughed without a care in the world, you were smitten. He not only acknowledged your fears but reassured you through them, and for that, he was more than deserving to rule alongside you.

“Ready?” he whispers after receiving your hand from your father.

With one look at his deep brown eyes swirling with affection, you announce proudly, “I’m ready.”

✧

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joiedecombat · 3 years

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Continuing in the vein of common Pride and Prejudice AU plots: Elizabeth marries someone else!

A lot of the time this is just to set her up as a wealthy widow of a peer and turn the disparity of social standing on its head, but sometimes the writers are out for blood.

Prime example: The Events at Branxbourne by Caitlin Williams.

This is The Worst Timeline. Okay, maybe Amy D'Orazio's Mysteries of Pemberley has it beat for overall bleakness, but Mysteries is a Gothic, they're supposed to be bleak. I'm not sure what Branxbourne's excuse is.

By the beginning of this book, almost the entire cast is miserable. Jane died of a fever shortly after Elizabeth's sojourn in Kent. Mr Bennet had what appears to have been a stroke, and though he survived it's left him physically impaired. Charles Bingley doesn't speak to Darcy any more since Jane's death; Darcy has spent the last several years burying himself in Derbyshire while Georgiana, in the care of her Fitzwilliam relatives in London, has fallen in with the bad influences of the shallow fashionable set. Colonel Fitzwilliam married Anne de Bourgh and didn't realize how much he loved her until she died giving birth to his son. And Elizabeth is married to an Earl who is mentally ill, abusive, deeply in debt and might have murdered his last wife.

GOOD TIMES. The only characters doing at all well for themselves are, oddly enough, Lydia and Wickham... but not with each other.

Naturally things only get worse from there once Darcy crosses Elizabeth's path again for the first time in years and starts to realize just how bad a situation that she's in.

"Do not cry, Elizabeth. I could bear anything but that."

She trembles. Looking about, seeing we are half-hidden by the trees and that there is no one around, I reach out and press her hand, squeeze her fingers tightly, but only for a moment. "My love, do not cry."

"Your love. Is that what I am?"

"Can I be plainer?"

"Yes, please." She surprises me with a broad smile. "Please do be very plain about it."

"You are my love," I tell her. "My only love, till the end of time. Whatever else my happen, and we may expect dark days ahead, never doubt that in this moment, beneath this perfect, blue sky, on this warm September day, you are loved as no other woman has ever been loved before. You are loved for all that you are, for what you once were, for all you will come to be."

"Mr Darcy, if only you had not once hidden your talent for compliments so well, then we might not be in this terrible mess."

I love a good Darcy To The Rescue story as much as anybody, but this one's A Lot. You've gotta be in a mood to wallow in the melodrama, to want to see these characters pushed to their limits by a situation that can't be endured and which their society's laws and mores offer no palatable solution for.

The happy ending comes as it should, but the trip there is an especially rough ride with little comic relief.

Content warning: domestic abuse, depiction of mental illness, infidelity (emotional if not physical), angst, first person present tense narration.

"If you, too, would enter into this marriage for practical reasons, I would be more easy with the notion. Then we would give to each other only what was received."

He smiled faintly. "Alas, my desire to marry you is formed by the wishes of my heart, not my head, so I cannot oblige you."

"If I did feel myself forming a more romantic attachment, I would welcome it. I just want you to understand that I do not know whether it will occur. It must be yours to decide whether or not you can be in an unequal marriage."

"I have considered it," he admitted after a thoughtful pause. "I see how you loved your husband, and I did not expect to supplant that. I shall readily admit that I am a jealous man, and to know that your heart belongs to him is difficult for me to accept. However, my choice is for an unequal marriage no matter what we decide. Either I can be with you--the one I love--or I can marry another and, thus, be with one who might love me but whom I do not love. You see, just as your heart is for Henry, mine is for you. That will not change.

"So, fully apprehending your hesitation, I say yes, I do agree to a practical marriage with you, accepting whatever amount of affection you give to me because I cannot live without you."

Amy D'Orazio's The Best Part of Love, meanwhile, has Elizabeth already married and widowed by the time she meets Darcy. Her husband was murdered in a treasonous plot that required her to live incognito with her family in Hertfordshire for a couple of years, allowing Darcy to make his usual astonishingly bad first impression at the Meryton assembly and fall in love more or less at first sight.

Rather than Branxbourne's unrelenting angst, this book is a whole soap opera: unnecessarily complicated backstory, misunderstandings and mistaken identities, high emotion, a mystery, and a sharp plunge into acute misery in the third act when it turns out that Elizabeth's late husband might be considerably less dead than advertised, to the dismay of nearly everyone involved.

It's a very well-written soap opera, and worth reading if you're looking for that kind of emotional roller coaster.

The essence of the problem was that there was simply nothing he could do for the situation. He had never before been faced with a challenge for which some action could not be taken. He could neither buy anything nor persuade anyone, work at something nor study a topic, take himself away from his pain nor have the pain removed. He did not even have the comfort of despising someone. There was no one to despise, not even himself, for all had acted with honour and integrity and done the best they could with the hand they had been dealt. It was nothing more than a circumstance beyond anyone's control, and that made it insupportable.

After leaving him to wallow about in his despair for a fortnight, his cousins came for him as he had suspected they eventually would.

"Have you left your house at all, Darcy?" Fitzwilliam's face bore a look of vexing kindliness.

"What do you think--that I sit here all day pining for her?" he snapped.

"That is precisely what I think," Saye replied, tousling Darcy's hair as he walked by and then further compounding his sin by not even looking to see the angry scowl Darcy gave him.

This book also contains my favorite version ever of Colonel Fitzwilliam's older brother, here (as in all of the rest of D'Orazio's Pride and Prejudice fiction) named Viscount Saye and characterized as a languid, almost terminally unflappable dandy with very few social filters to speak of and absolutely no fucks to give. He's an affectionate cousin to Darcy and usually gleefully awful, and is a character I enjoy very much.

Content warning: very brief reference to suicidal thoughts, high melodrama.

#the events at branxbourne #the best part of love #pride and prejudice #ongoing adventures in austen pastiche #honestly I wish I could recc more of d'orazio's books #but she has this tendency to do one supporting character dirty each time #the thing with mr bennet in mysteries of pemberley wasn't too bad #but goddamn leave bingley and col fitzwilliam alone

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