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papermatisse · 4 months

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the ultimatum || J.WW

♗ pairing: jeon wonwoo x f!reader

♗ genre: angst

♗ word count: 6.3k

♗ warnings: argument, break up, family problems, depression, overthinking, uhh

♗ synopsis: wonwoo is living a peaceful and happy mundane life with his partner, though outside forces and responsibilities prompt wonwoo to make a tough decision.

♗ (a/n): hello :) I have written smth :) this is for this request that I got in october and I've only just now gotten to writing it bc I finished my semester finally :)) thank you anon for your unrelenting patience I am so so so sorry for taking this long to write this. I v much so appreciate your understanding and your leniency on me 😭🙏❤️

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It was silent. Nothing but the low hum of his radiator whirring somewhere in the background, serving as the sole ambience to fill the dreadful, awful silence that plagued the dingey, rundown apartment. He sat on his couch, the rough material scratching along the back of his neck as he looked up at the ceiling with this dazed, thousand mile stare. The haze of delirium had haunted him for days now, at first merely muddling his thoughts into this droning ambiguity that left him empty and monotonous. Though soon it seeped into the outer edges of his character, skin paling like death, lips settled into a permanent scowl, eyes clouded with no emotion—or perhaps that look was him drowning and wrought with every emotion his feeble mind could conjure up.

There were specks of happiness dabbled in the disordered web of thoughts in his mind. They derived from the lot of memories in the archives of his head, playing on repeat and reminding him of better days.

When he first met (y/n), bemused by the sight of this girl dressed to the nines yet soaked to the bone. A flimsy jacket, just as drenched as she, lay helplessly above her head as a makeshift and utterly unsuccessful umbrella of sorts from the storm raging outside. He watched her carefully, glancing every so often as he wiped away at the counter. She at first stood there, taking in her surroundings with what seemed to be a mixture of confusion and awe. Though soon, she seemed to catch her bearings as she navigated over to his bar, carefully sliding onto a booth as if it were an entirely new contraption to her.

"What's your poison?" He asked her as he made his way to her side. The sound of his voice had startled her greatly, as she near jumped out of her seat, head whirling to face the sudden addition to her solitude.

"I'm sorry?" She replied. Her own voice was far too soft for a bar setting, though he was thankfully able to catch on to her and the utterly hopeless stare she gave him. With a soft chuckle, he leant over the bar, drawing as close as he could to her without invading her space.

"What drink can I get you?"

She was quiet at first with this stunned expression, blinking at him in a stupor. Quickly shaking her head, she averted her gaze to the countertop.

"I'll just have water please."

A simple request, though he couldn't really argue, merely filling a glass with water and sliding it over.

"Can I at least get you a lemon to top off your beverage?"

"Sure," She replied, a small smile spreading across her face at his inquiry, and he felt just the slightest bit accomplished in his duties as a bartender.

Again, he watched her carefully as he continued with work and as she nursed the drink before her. She had finally shed the useless article of clothing from her head, placing it in her lap with a defeated sigh. She really was quite overdressed for a bar setting, wearing a designer dress suited more for a business meeting than for day drinking. It only served to further pique his curiosity, and as the time passed by and the rain outside refused to let, he saw his moment to answer his questions.

"So what brings you to this fine establishment? Aside from the obviously satisfying atmosphere." He smiled to himself as she chuckled at his mannerisms.

"As much as I love this fine establishment so far," she began, widening his smile at her own jests, "it was the first place I could run into when the rains started." He hummed, still looking at her with unwavering eyes, and she attempted to meet his strong gaze, though faltered at the end. With a sigh, she continued, falling under the silent peer pressure of his eyes urging her to continue. "I attended a meeting for my dad. It didn't really agree with me, so I left. Before I could catch a ride home, it started raining, so I ran here."

"Sounds like a pretty rough day." She agreed with a nod, fingers absentmindedly tracing over the condensation clinging to her glass. He could see she was trying to shrink away from his presence, though he was never one to back down. "How about I give you a ride home?"

"Pardon?"

"My shift's just about to end now. I'd hate to leave you here knowing you're trapped 'cause of the rain." She looked at him again with that same stunned appearance as she had when he first made his presence known to her. Sparkling eyes with this dazed nature to them, as if not fully there at the moment—entrenched in her thoughts with nowhere else to direct her attention. The realization brought another grin to his face, and he waited expectantly for her answer to arrive.

"I don't even know your name, though." Her words were laced with hesitancy, as if not even she was fully committed to the concluding limitations she had made of his offer. Because he knew it was a good deal for her, and for him, as a part of him truly didn't feel right leaving her all alone without knowing for a fact that she was safe at home.

"Wonwoo." He replied easily, sliding his hand over to her. Her eyes had watched the movement, lingering on him for a moment more, before she slid her own hand into his in a subtle, noncommittal handshake. "I can't take a stranger in my car though. What's your name?"

Another chuckle out of her, and another boost to Wonwoo's ego for the day.

"(y/n)."

It was out of character for him, as he usually pays no mind to drifters of any sort, though he can't find it in himself to ever regret having stepped out of his comfort zone to bring a smile to her face that day. And what had started as a mere happenstance crossing of paths had soon morphed into frequent visits with (y/n) wandering into the bar and waiting for Wonwoo to serve her a drink before taking her home.

It was near inevitable for the two to grow feelings for one another, and soon blossom a relationship.

Wonwoo felt the corners of his lips twitch up just the slightest bit, remembering how nervous (y/n) had been to ask him out one of the days he dropped her off home. The memory of how she avoided his gaze, fiddled with her hoodie, stumbled over her words, and all he did was sit there and wait patiently, heart bursting at the seams at the sight of her trying to profess her love in some meaningful way on a random Tuesday evening.

It had all been so heavenly at the start. His apartment was small and old, yet she brought this vitality to it that made him feel more alive everyday. The kitchen which once was strictly for sustaining his nutrients now became a haven where the two cooked anything and everything together. The living room which was once merely a middle ground for him to pass the time by with nothing better to do was now where they spent their days watching movies and talking to each other endlessly. The bedroom where he once fell asleep and woke up as is became his sanctuary, where he could fall asleep and wake up to the sight of her right beside him.

Though now as he recounted these memories, that happiness in him soon twinged into a bittersweet sadness, wincing at the reminder of when it had all started going wrong.

Wonwoo had become well aware of (y/n)'s background in living a comfortable life with her family's old money. How could he not with how flippant she seemed to be with her finances. He had been initially concerned with the steady stream of money she tossed away at things he'd deem inconvenient or unnecessary, though it all started to make sense in due time. The way (y/n) went about life with such little worries, at times even seeming naive in Wonwoo's eyes. Though it never bothered him. He was always glad to be there for her. To help her in things she didn't understand, be the helping hand as she experienced many firsts in the world, and he could tell she was just as happy to have him by her side helping. A mutualistic relationship, in which both parties thrived in each other's differences.

At that point was when Wonwoo knew he was in love, and he hadn't hesitated in telling (y/n) that on a random night where they debated what to watch and wound up deciding on perhaps the worst B-movie they've ever seen. Through their fits of laughter, tears in their eyes and stomachs sore, Wonwoo took a moment to admire (y/n) as she was. Freshly showered and smelling of his body wash, adorned in his old raggedy clothes, bright eyed and smiley, absolutely jubilant in his arms. It was an undeniable fact. Something he couldn't refute, nor anyone else for that matter.

“I love you.”

(y/n) had glanced up at him, laughter slowly dying down, though her smile remained in place, only growing by the second as she processed his words.

“Really?” He nodded, lips tugging up at her infectious giggles bubbling up as she nestled closer to him. “I love you, too.”

It had only taken a few weeks after their confession for her to deem it acceptable to introduce him to her family, which is how Wonwoo found himself at the doorstep of an imposingly large manor, adorned with his old button up that had been tossed in the back of his closet, and a bouquet of flowers in hand.

The mother was the first to greet them as they entered the house, appreciatively accepting Wonwoo's floral offering. Next had been her grandmother, who had been absolutely floored by Wonwoo’s looks, praising the Lord above for her granddaughter having found such a good looking man.

Then he met her father. A man who seemed to be the epitome of stoicism. A permanent scowl was etched into the aged lines on his face, and every advance on Wonwoo’s part was greeted by a cold glare and an indifferent grunt. None of the others were in any way taken aback by his mannerisms, however, and so Wonwoo could only assume this was just how his character was.

Some days had passed since the initial meet and greet, and Wonwoo found himself being unexpectedly invited once more to the manor by none other than the man of the house. How he had obtained his number was beyond him, but upon the request of a one on one session between the two, Wonwoo couldn't really care less about the ordeal of his privacy, merely relieved at the possibility that he hadn't completely ruined his reputation with his significant other's father.

Or so he was led to believe.

“I'm sorry?” Wonwoo spoke, voice low and barely above a whisper, yet strained as he attempted to piece together the sudden turn of events without outright creating a potentially unnecessary fiasco in this man’s office.

“I want you to break up with my daughter.”

Okay, so he hadn't heard wrong. He truly was just given the demand to break up with his girlfriend for seemingly no reason. Shocked couldn't even begin to explain the emotions swirling in his head, mouth agape as he attempted to make any semblance of the situation at hand.

The man remained seated across from him, briefly returning to his documents as if Wonwoo’s presence alone was nothing more than a hindrance to his schedule. Merely a minor detour in his work flow that didn't deserve even his full attention.

Gritting his teeth, Wonwoo summoned every ounce of strength within him in order to maintain his calm facade, pressing on with as steady a time as he could muster.

“May I ask for what reason you've sprung this upon me?” The older man paused to look at Wonwoo, giving him an unimpressed once over before returning to his work.

“Mr. Jeon, you seem to be a very good man. Strong, capable, good looking. You're practically everything a father wants for his daughter. Just not my daughter.”

To say he was taken aback would be the understatement of the year, because Wonwoo found himself practically reeling whilst trying to gather his thoughts and make sense of the situation. He felt his eye twitch momentarily, fists clenching by his side as he allowed the man to proceed with whatever motives he had in summoning Wonwoo in the first place.

“My daughter is scatterbrained as is. The last thing she needs is financial struggles to add to her carefree thought process.”

“I'm not rich enough for you?” Wonwoo spat out, venom laced in his tone. His head quirked to the side, a sharp glare directed at the man, challenging him to press on with his offense. Yet the man seemed unaffected by Wonwoo’s clear disdain, merely huffing an amused sigh as he continued.

“Don't take it to heart, kid. You'll understand when you have your own daughter in the future.” Wonwoo watched as he stood from his seat, rounding his desk to be face to face with him. “You know (y/n) as well as I do. She's not built for the harsh world out there.”

“You want to keep her sheltered in your little fantasy world? Coddle her until you're on your deathbed?”

“The world's less harsh for our kind.”

Wonwoo felt his blood boil, though remained as is. Jaw clenched, eyes narrowed, staring daggers into the man and his blatant ignorance.

“She's a grown woman,” Wonwoo began, voice low because he feared any alternative would involve shouting. “A grown woman capable of making her own decisions. Falling in love with whoever she wants to. Dealing with her own struggles without her father hovering over her.”

“She'll get just that if she stays with the likes of you.”

At this, Wonwoo found his composure faltering, brows furrowed in concentration, attempting to piece together what the man could possibly be insinuating. Judging from the prior turns of their conversation thus far, Wonwoo could only imagine the lengths this man would go to rid his life of Wonwoo’s presence.

A sly smile crossed the face of the man. Perhaps the first expression outside that of his permanent scowl. Wonwoo felt immediate discomfort from the sight, at the apathy emanating from beyond the man’s eyes. This cold, resolute stare that seemed near sociopathic almost.

“What are you insinuating?”

“If my daughter is to remain with the likes of you, a certified liability upon her, then I'd have no choice but to cut her off entirely.” Wonwoo felt his heart drop at the monotonous words coming out of this man's mouth, uncaring as if it were nothing more than a business transaction. “Cut off her finances, her access to my estate. Even her relations with myself and my family.” Wonwoo attempted to meet the hard and calculative stare trained on him, but his resolve was beginning to crumble with every new thing spoken. “You wouldn't want to be the cause of (y/n) being disowned, now would you?”

No, he wouldn't. It was a shitty ultimatum. Break up with my daughter or she'll be completely removed from her family. It was downright psychotic behavior. Something which shook Wonwoo to his core. He had only ever seen this type of character in fiction. Someone this unmoving, completely devoid of empathy. His thoughts and concerns only revolved around himself, only ever using the facade of concern for his daughter. Though in actuality, it had become perfectly clear to Wonwoo that the man only cared about his own personal image which would be impacted by his daughter's unworthy match.

He wanted to leave immediately. He wanted to actively punch the man before leaving this accursed manor. He wanted to whisk (y/n) away from the pitiful excuse of a father trying adamantly to control her every waking moment. He wanted to run away with her, live their own life without the crushing weight of societal expectations dampening the tranquility of their relationship. He wanted to return home where (y/n) would be waiting for him, safe from the outside world in the sanctity of their four walls. He wanted to make her laugh until her head was tipped back and her sides ached. He wanted to comfort her when times got too tough for her to manage on her own. He wanted to be the one to embrace all of the love she had to offer. He wanted to be her first and her last in everything.

Though he couldn't bear the guilt of having forced this ultimatum upon her. He didn't want to tarnish the image of her family because of the tyrant claiming to be her father. He didn't want to have her choose between her family or her significant other. The mere image of (y/n)’s agony wreaked havoc upon his poor battered heart. Images of when he first met (y/n), walking into the bar like a confused, wet puppy flitted through his memories, and he couldn't handle bearing witness to it once more.

That day, he left the manor without another word and without another glance behind him. He couldn't recall much of what happened following his departure, though sooner rather than later, he found himself walking into his apartment once more. His mind felt frenzied with thoughts and concerns, calculating his options and reevaluating his morals. Yet in a conflicting sense, he felt absolutely empty. Numb to the outside world, barely conscious enough to even discern how much time had passed since he had returned home.

By the time he had come to, he hadn't come to a decision. Or perhaps he just hadn't come to a decision he liked. There was a logical answer, one that took into consideration everyone's circumstances, one that accounted the world and the way it functions outside his own life. And then there was his selfish answer. The one that accounted for all of these factors, yet ignored them nevertheless in lieu of his own desires. The one that resulted in his own happiness, though at the cost of everybody else's.

It felt like an internal strife was dismantling the very foundation of his life, eating away at him until he was nothing left. A vessel devoid of its soul, wading listlessly in the universe, awaiting for, dreading the moment he'll have to make his choice. Or more correctly, make the only feasible choice in the matter. Because no matter how desperate he wants (y/n) in his life, and no matter how heinous of a being her father is, the guilt of the matter which derived from the conditions forced upon him overrode that of anything else. He couldn't possibly revoke (y/n)’s entire life, everything she's ever been accustomed to, merely for his own selfishness. He knew this was exactly what her father hoped for. Exploiting the way Wonwoo cared for (y/n) with every fiber of his being. And as much as Wonwoo wanted to deny it, his plan worked.

The sound of his door unlocking was what managed to jostle Wonwoo from his stupor, albeit only a microscopic amount, though enough for him to blink away his delirium and look up just as (y/n) came walking into the room, bright smile on display the moment her eyes landed upon the man seated on the couch.

“Wonwoo!” The jubilance in her voice managed to soothe the turmoil wrought in his heart, a wry smile curling at the corners of his lips. From where he sat, he watched as she mosied about the apartment as naturally as one breathes. Toeing off her shoes, tossing her things onto the counter, raiding the fridge for whatever beverage she can find to cool off. All the while, she rambled endlessly of her day, from the very beginning when she woke up to the traffic on her way to work, the new place her and her friends visited for lunch, anything to fill the void that usually enshrouds Wonwoo's apartment. And his smile grew more and more fond, impossible to even deny for a moment how happy he was in her presence. It was how they always worked. What he was, she was the opposite. In the silence Wonwoo had grown accustomed to, resided for most of his life, she offered that peaceful white noise to settle his nerves and quell his rampant thoughts. “You're awfully quiet today. Is everything alright?”

(y/n) had made her way to the living room, collapsing on the couch beside him, naturally nestling against his side. All the while, her soft eyes remained on him, never pushing him to talk, though assuring him he was always free to. The clarity of her emotions and the way she expressed them to him was always something he admired, and meeting those loving eyes for perhaps the last time finally broke his resolve.

“It's nothing, really.” He quickly turned away, not wanting her to see the way his eyes glossed over with unshed tears.

“Well, obviously it's something if it's got you like this.” Her voice was low, just above a whisper, preserving the still of the atmosphere set around them. The hum of the radiator filled the room, providing that subtle medium for Wonwoo to concentrate on and avoid the spiraling thoughts swirling in his head. Beside him, he could feel (y/n)’s gentle touch on his hand, thumb lightly brushing against his knuckles. He loved the way she treated him so tenderly, taking her time and speaking lightly, touches sweet and demure no matter how imposing he may seem to others. The thought of tarnishing this tranquility, destroying the relationship they both worked so hard to build up, killed Wonwoo inside.

His heart ached as he sat there, seconds ticking by, battling himself every step of the way. (y/n)’s persistent patience didn't help his cause in any way. Her presence which usually served as an anchor weighing him down to earth now felt like a damning weight upon his shoulders. The arrangement forced upon him by her father revolved around his thoughts, an ever recurring reminder that he can't preserve this. He can't keep this happiness anymore. He can't have (y/n) any longer.

“I…” His voice trembled, cracking through the gravely undertone from his silence that day. He hesitantly turned his head to face her, though couldn't find it in himself to look up at her.

He was a coward, he knew this. Everything in this situation only further proved this revelation of his. He was a coward, and even if he did choose the selfish route in this predicament, in what world did he even deserve (y/n) in the first place?

He gulped, breath shaky as he finally dared a glance her way. As always, the (y/n) before him was as lovely as ever. Eyes remaining on him, an edge of concern in her furrowed brows. Her hand in his continued to soothingly stroke his skin, comforting him for as long as he needed. Averting his eyes once more, he felt his body tremble with wrought emotion, knowing what was to come, yet attempting to delay it.

He truly didn't deserve (y/n).

“I think we should break up,” he finally spoke, voice weak, forced out in a broken whisper.

Silence settled over them, the radiator persisting with its low hum, yet this time, it couldn't mask the heavy tension slowly accumulating in the room. Wonwoo’s body seemed to vibrate with the effort exerted in detaining himself, preventing him from retracting his words, reaching out to (y/n) and apologizing for ever even amusing such an outlandish idea. But he remained as is, nervously scratching at the rough material of his jean clad legs, torturously waiting for a response from (y/n).

The silence he met was perhaps the most harrowing response he could've received, not having the slightest clue of what could be going through her head, especially since his eyes refused to stray her way. Though he could feel her gaze upon him, and it killed him inside. Completely and utterly at a loss for himself with only the fleeting strength he'd managed to scrape up to preserve the facade of monotony across his countenance.

“Break up?” She asked, the only words she could muster with his sudden proposition. Her voice was once more soft, though instead of the comforting lull it usually carried, it seemed weak almost. Barely able to slip past her lips, barely loud enough for Wonwoo himself to hear. His heart clenched upon itself at the sound of those words coming from her, as if a taboo phrase never meant to be uttered by either of them. And the realization that the two have both broken that unspoken promise made the situation all the more real. “Why?”

Why?

It was a simple question. Inevitable, even. But somehow it threw Wonwoo for a loop. He couldn't just outright expose her family for what they were, more specifically that of her father. It wasn't his place. And he wouldn't dare place that burden upon her. It was why he was deciding to break up with her now. He just couldn't say that to her directly…

“I…” He paused to clear his throat, averting his gaze to his lap now, perhaps his one safe haven in a room which reminded him of (y/n) far too much.

Every memory they ever made together. Where they first said I love you, where they shared countless meals together, where she'd fall asleep unknowingly in his arms and heal his soul with her presence alone. Every hug and every kiss, every loving word and tender touch. Their milestones, their fights, their heart to hearts. Every aspect of their relationship is imprinted upon the aspects of his apartment, like a time capsule commemorating the moments they shared together.

“I don't think… we're a good match…”

“Why?” This why came much faster than the previous one, and Wonwoo found himself momentarily floundering upon the realization that this would result in a back and forth with which he'd have to give her a proper reason for giving up on their relationship.

“I don't want to hold you back.”

“Hold me back?” She questioned. “Where would you have gotten that assumption from? In what ways are you holding me back?”

At the sound of her frustrated tone, Wonwoo gave in and finally met her gaze. Though her voice wavered with restrained disappointment, her eyes betrayed her motive, watering as she finally met Wonwoo's own conflicted stare.

“I mean… You're you… and I'm me. You have your life and I have mine. And I don't…” He paused once more, swallowing down the lump in his throat to continue. “You have your friends, your family, and—”

“My family?” She asked, drowning in confusion at his utterance. “What about my family? Did something happen?”

Wonwoo sat there for a moment, panic broiling within him. An opportunity presenting itself. His final chance to back out.

Either he confesses to everything. Tells her how her father pulled him aside on purpose so he would be the one to decide, in order to save face with his own daughter. Tells her how she would be forced to start anew in life if she were to stay with him. Cut off from everything she'd ever known in life. Money, family, businesses, properties. All of it no longer at her disposal. Merely as a consequence for choosing him at the end of the day.

Or he continues with his initial goal in mind. Revoking her right to decide merely because it was too tasking of a decision to make for him, let alone for her. Force her to live in blissful ignorance alongside her family, abandon Wonwoo and the life they built together, allow her to continue with the way of life she'd grown so accustomed to.

Could she handle the pressures of starting adulthood from scratch? With her only resources being Wonwoo and whatever he was capable of giving to her? Could she handle the debilitating trauma of being disowned and banished by the people who raised her? Merely to stay with him? Was he even worth such a grand decision?

Perhaps deep down, Wonwoo actually feared what her answer would be. Because there was always a high probability she'd choose her family and her comfortable life over him and their relationship. Perhaps that's why he felt the need to make the decision on his own. Perhaps that's why he chose to punish himself rather than to let her do it for him. Perhaps that's why he suddenly found himself spewing whatever nonsense his jumbled mind could conjure to complete this objective.

“This has nothing to do with your family.” (y/n) quieted down at the sudden resolve in Wonwoo’s tone, and Wonwoo himself was shocked to find how steady his voice had become in a mere few seconds passed. “It has everything to do with the fact that we are just not compatible.”

“Not compatible…” (y/n) repeated in awe, words mumbled as she attempted to process what he said to her.

“You come from an affluent background, so it was already a given we'd find differences in the way we perceived the world and engage in it. Your terms of spending and saving differ vastly to my own. Though you may seem indifferent to the way I live my life, I am not in regards to your own.” His words sounded almost rehearsed with the way he spoke in such a steady and monotonous manner. One brief glance towards (y/n) only served to validate his own observations of himself, and he quickly averted his gaze once more lest the unbridled emotion enshrouding her eyes tempt him into retreat. “With the obvious aside, I find myself struggling to find meaning in this relationship that we've somehow stumbled our way into.” He paused to gather his bearings, taking as discrete an inhale as he could to try and quell the nerves firing within him. “I find you clingy in that you've occupied my apartment for weeks at a time and have essentially weaseled your way into my living space. I think you're immature in the way you spend your money, but also shameless as you also attempt to monitor my own finances. You're sheltered and you don't understand the real world, including my own and all those around us. You—”

A swift slap across his face halted Wonwoo from proceeding. It hadn't hurt him in any physical way, merely resulting in the combination of silencing him, turning his head in another direction, and perhaps a slight sting at most. Though what truly struck at Wonwoo's heartstrings was the sharp gasp that followed the initial impact, and in his peripheral vision he could see (y/n) grasping the hand that had slapped him, as if offended by her own action.

He took the suddenness of the situation to gather himself once more, regaining his composure to the best of his abilities before slowly turning to meet (y/n).

His breath had become shaky upon the sight of her. Tears streaming down her face, hands clamped over her mouth in a feeble attempt to silence the sobs bubbling out of her. Her body trembled with the whirlwind of emotions broiling within her, and Wonwoo could see it all as clear as ever. Shock that she'd ever strike Wonwoo in such a way, never in her wildest dreams had she envisioned inflicting any harm to him. Confusion, seemingly in reference to both the slap that catapulted them into this moment of silence though also to the events which had led up to it. Desperation, as if wanting it all to end, not wanting to experience another moment of this ordeal, hoping it would all end soon, or even better if it would have never even happened in the first place. Though the most overwhelming emotion riddled all through her tear ridden gaze was that of despair. Because no matter how much she reflected upon herself and Wonwoo, no matter how much she prayed that this was all a sick figment of her imagination, there was no denying that what had transpired was in fact very real, and unchanging. Wonwoo said what he said, and as the silence grew longer and longer, it was clear there was no chance of him denying his words.

He inhaled shakily, at this point fully rendering the permanence of this situation, and thus allowing himself to momentarily falter in his stoicism.

“Must I continue?”

The next few seconds felt like a blur. One moment he was staring at (y/n), eyes darting to every feature he could, memorizing the curves and lines of her face, imprinting the image into his mind. Allowing himself to admire her one last time in person, even if the image before him would forever haunt his dreams. Every time he'll think back to her, he'll be met with the cruel reality that he allowed her to leave his side for the final time as a broken, defeated woman. Though perhaps it was what he deserved. To be forever reminded of his transgressions, and to forever reflect on what he's done to the one he loves.

Though this hadn't lasted long, for in the next moment, she was quickly rising from the couch and away from him. He sat still, unmoving as he listened to the raucous behind him. Her grabbing her things from the counter, sliding her shoes back on, and then the opening and closing of the door.

What he hadn't heard was the lock behind her, a telltale sign that the one thing she made sure to leave behind was the extra set of keys he had given to her. And at that point, alone in his apartment with the lone hum of the radiator to accompany him, he allowed himself to finally let go, releasing the broken sobs that he'd tried so desperately to restrain whilst in her presence. His cries wracked through his body, loud and pained with reckless abandon. His body gave up, caving in on himself and collapsing onto the floor, barely even strong enough to catch himself before he had curled into the cold, unforgiving hardwood floor.

Once more, time felt more a construct than ever before, for he hadn't any idea the duration of time he spent there, grieving for what he had lost. The pit in his stomach grew cavernous, churning with the absolute nothingness now occupying his insides. Despair consumed his being, imbibed in every fiber of his person, ensuring there wasn't a single remnant of the joy (y/n) had once instilled into him. Regret coincided with his downfall, memories of what once was now being met with memories of what had just occurred. Images of (y/n) smiling at him collided violently with images of her final mortified expression, alongside the onslaught of tears staining her face that he had been the cause of. Though the one all encompassing emotion that overrode everything else was that of pain. Pain riddled his entire body, clawing away at him, scarring him forever. This overwhelming emotion that burrowed into his soul and demanded his attention. He felt it in his gut, his chest, his head, though it soon bled to every square inch of his body, reminding him that it wouldn't be leaving any time soon.

Days had gone by since the break up, and Wonwoo found himself once more sitting at his couch, staring at his ceiling, listening to the radiator hum away. It was sickening to him how time continued to march by, not sparing him even a moment to recover from the plight he'd gotten himself into. Time continued, and so did life. The mundane routine he had made for himself returned like clockwork. Bartending throughout the week before returning home. Though even if he had lived through life like this for longer than he could recall, the now apparent emptiness of it all lingered tauntingly before him.

The lack of shoes to greet him when he'd return home to toe off his own. The silent kitchen as he cooked for one. The TV had remained off ever since, and instead he spent most of his spare time in front of his monitor playing games in hopes of it distracting him from the loneliness now consuming his life.

This was the first day he actually decided to sit on the couch since. The first day he sat in front of the TV, albeit with the screen still completely black. The first day he allowed himself to try and confront what had happened.

His head lolled to the side where (y/n) last sat, and in his self deluded mind, he could practically see the manifested image of her beside him. The clear image of what she looked like that day still fresh in his mind. Though the longer he recalled, the more he could remember of (y/n).

He could still feel the touch of her lips upon his own, her breath hitting the shell of his ear as she whispered sweet nothings to him, the warmth she'd radiate as she cradled him against her. The memories of her felt not only alive with the surroundings of his apartment where they lived together, but also forever imprinted on his person alone.

Weakly, he pulled himself forward, leant against his knees as he attempted to ground himself back to reality. As sweet and oftentimes bitter the memories were to him, they served no purpose other than tormenting him. He needed to move on first before he could think back fondly at what they once had. Though it was always easier said than done.

His hand swiped down his face, rubbing away the exhaustion from his eyes as he reached for the mail he had haphazardly tossed onto his coffee table.

Flipping through the stack, he was met with his usual itinerary of garbage and junk mail. Though one crisp envelope captured his attention. Unmarked, though from the quality alone, Wonwoo could tell it held some significance to it.

Mindlessly, he tore open the letter and extracted the singular sheet of paper within. An unmarked check, signed by none other than (y/n)’s father with only one remark written on it.

“Thank you for your cooperation.”

♗ (a/n): hello! this was my first request and also my first like pure angst fic! I do feel really bad for having suddenly dropped off the face of the earth for a good two months, so I hope this is okay. I had fun writing! I mostly sat there reflecting on some psychology 101 type of ethics lol.

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charliemotha · 2 months

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Hazbin Hotel headcanons sorted by character

Charlie:

favorite color is "rainbow" (real answer is red)

autism, ocd, npd, codependent personality disorder

tail sometimes manifests solely for stimming purposes

growls when very excited like a dog

very keen sense of smell

horns manifest when turned on (something something horny)

in case this gets disproven im listing it here: her legs are furred

manifested her wings once around vaggie near the beginning of her relationship and it upset her, never did it again

can walk up 45° angle walls (goat hooves lol)

Vaggie:

hair is actually feathers

depression, gad, ptsd, bpd (charlie is her fp obv)

retractable claws that are naturally black

teeth are all flat, fangs only come out when angry

the scars from her initial casting from heaven remained even after she regained her wings

when regaining her wings she also got feathers that cover her chest and upper back

died via suicide and was drafted into the exorcist army simply because adam found her attractive and was completely surprised when she was able to learn to fight easily and quickly

her gloves and socks are to cover up self harm scars

feet are like a moth's, like angel she is self conscious about them

wings do not disappear or retract, they simply fold under her hair

will misjudge distance/placement of things due to lack of depth perception. extremely embarrassed when it happens

its difficult for her to read things from a distance, charlie will often read things to her

her and angel dust are exes, has lingering feelings which is part of the cause of her hostility towards him

coos like a pigeon when relaxed/content

Angel Dust:

homoflexible

depression, adhd, hypersexual (ofc)

any pronouns user

says he's cis but genuinely doesn't care what he's called

qpps with cherri bomb

random nosebleeds due to drug overuse

charlie will call him anthony when she's mad at him like a parent using your full name

his venom causes an intense high and multiple demons have drugged him so they can uhm. well the scientific term for getting venom from a spider is milking but im not saying it

very fidgety and feels anxious if he's not moving at all times

Sir Pentious:

had an interdental lisp and was a snake oil salesman in life, hence his snakelike appearance

pansexual

autistim, npd

tail is more eel-like than snake-like

as an angel, his hood doubles as wings; in his full angel form he gets additional pairs of wings and more eyes along his tail

buries every egg boi he loses

venomous bite that causes delirium and sometimes temporary paralysis

sheds his skin and leaves the empty skins around the hotel, doesn't realize it until he hears charlie scream upon finding it

his hat is in fact sentient but is an extension of him and can change forms (as opposed to all the hats he's shown wearing being individual headpieces)

Alastor:

deer tail .

acearo in the sense that he does not get pleasure from sex but rather from tormenting/torturing others

hated his ears and antlers at first, similar to husk he's accepted them but still doesn't like them

if you touch either he will launch you into the sky

ONLY wears all red

qpps with rosie

vox is his ex, he's long moved on but vox hasn't

his hands have claw fingers those are NOT gloves Fuck You

has hooves but his legs are not digitgrade like charlie's

he can feel and hear through his microphone

Husk:

depression, alcoholic (duh), bpd, ptsd

either hated cats or had a pet cat when he was alive that he killed while drunk

either way his discomfort with his demon form is obvious

full demon form is quadruped

acute senses except for sight

pretty much always at least tipsy

tail usually drags on the floor

really wants to perform his magic tricks to the hotel patrons but is afraid of being mocked

Niffty:

died eitherfrom mixing chemicals in a closed room or climbing into the chimney to clean it and ended up getting stuck

was a maid in life, probably killed someone but was able to dispose of the body so well she never got caught

heteroflexible

still thinks angel dust is a woman cause he never corrects her

#hazbin hotel headcanon #i hope these sre comprehensible my insomnia mefs are kicking kn #angel dust #charlie morningstar #vsggie #sir pentious #alastor #husk #niffty #hazbin hotel

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persesphonestears · 1 year

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More cod incorrect quotes

A/N: There is an obvious pattern cause I used a generator lmao anyway

C/W: uh swearing? i think thats it for once

Ghost: Favourite horror movie?

Soap: It

Price: Saw

Gaz: Annabelle

R/n: High School Musical. after watching it I spent all my middle school years terrified that the entire school would start singing something and I’d be the only one who didn’t know the lyrics

Price: You're a loose cannon, Ghost.

Ghost: No, I'm not. I'm a cannon maybe, but a loose cannon? Is that what you think of me?

Soap: I think you play by your own rules.

Gaz: No way, they think rules were made to be broken.

Price: Those are all attributes of a loose cannon.

Ghost: No, I'm just a reckless renegade. R/n is a loose cannon.

R/n: *smashes a chair*

Price: Good morning.

Ghost: Good morning.

Soap: Good morning.

Gaz: You all sound like robots, try spicing it up a bit.

R/n: MORNING MOTHERFUCKERS

Price: Where's Ghost, Soap, and Gaz?

R/n: They're playing hide and seek.

Price: Where?

R/n: I don't think you get how this game works.

Price: You really put aside everything and came all this way for me? How did you even get here so fast?

Ghost: Several traffic violations.

Soap: Three counts of resisting arrest.

Gaz: Roughly thirteen cans of energy drinks.

R/n: Also, that’s not our car.

Price: Nothing in life is free.

Ghost: Love is free!

Soap: Adventure is free.

Gaz: Knowledge is free.

R/n: Everything is free if you take it without paying.

R/n: We need more help. Maybe I should call my friends.

Ghost: ... Your what?

R/n: My friends.

Price: Are they saying “friends”?

Gaz: I think they're being sarcastic.

Soap: No, no, no, this is delirium, they've cracked from being awake all night. Hey, R/n! All of your friends are in this room.

R/n: I have other friends! You asked me to make new friends, I made new friends! It was a task. I complete tasks.

Price: Good responses for being stabbed with a knife?

Gaz: Rude.

Soap: That’s fair.

Ghost: Not again.

R/n: Are you going to want this back? Or can I keep it?

R/n: Is having a penis fun?

Ghost: It has its ups and downs.

Soap: Sometimes it’s a little hard.

Gaz: It’s a pain in the ass.

R/n: Oh, Jesus, fuck, guys, come on.

Gaz: That's it, we're gonna go out and find what we need!

Price: To the city?

Gaz: Yeah, no matter what!

R/n: Well- How exactly do you propose we do that, exactly?

Gaz: I... I don't know!

Ghost: Oh come off it, be serious!

Gaz: I am serious!

Ghost: You're insane!

Soap: Why, if only we were all wiener dogs, our problems would be solved!

Everyone:

Price: What???

Soap: Or maybe it was a basset hound!

R/n: no no maybe Soap is onto something..

Ghost, panicked: YOU'RE ALL INSANE!

Price: We’ve been conducting an ongoing study to see what R/n will and will not eat.

Ghost: Grass? Yes!

Price: Moss? Yes!!

Ghost: Leaves? Ohh, yes!

Price: Shoelaces? Strange but true!

Ghost: Worms? Sometimes!

Price: Rocks? Usually not.

Ghost: Twigs? Usually!

Price: Soap's cooking? Inconclusive!

Gaz: How did you… test this?

Price: You just hand them stuff and say ‘eat this’ and if they eat it, they eat it.

Gaz: ... I don’t know how to feel about this.

Soap: IS THAT WHERE ALL MY SPARE SHOELACES WENT?

Price: Are we really going to let R/n keep the cat?

Gaz: Hey we kept R/n.

Price: Why isn’t the statue smirking at me?

Ghost: It isn’t smirking at anyone, they’re all just imagining it.

Price: Three of us saw it, Ghost. How do you explain that?

Ghost: *points at Soap* Sleep deprivation. *points at Gaz* Paranoia. *points at R/n* Delusional personality disorder.

Price, trying to convince R/n to join the task force: You know... I thought it'd be good to have someone alongside us who's really... smart!

Gaz: And loud!

Soap: And grumpy!

Ghost: And oblivious to reality

R/n:

Price: Bridge the generation gap by combining old and new slang into one!

Gaz: Tubular AF!

Soap: Mood to the max!

Ghost, annoyed: Groovy, I hate it.

R/n, just as annoyed: If she breathes, she’s a square.

Price: Tf

Price: Imagine if someone handed you a box full of all the items you have lost throughout your life

Ghost: Self-esteem, haven't seen you in years

Soap: Oh wow, my innocence! Thank you for finding this!

Gaz: I knew I lost that potential somewhere!

R/n: My entire childhood and happiness, is that you?

Price:

Price: I was just gonna show you this cool trunk my mother left me but do you guys need a hug?

Price: What does 'take out' mean?

Soap: Food

Gaz: Dating

Ghost: Murder.

R/n: IT CAN MEAN ALL THREE IF YOU'RE NOT A LIL BITCH.

Price: Anyone d-

Ghost: Depressed?

Gaz: Drained?

Soap: Dumb?

R/n: Done with life?

Price: -done with their work... need to get Laswell to get you all therapy …

Price: So uhhh... question: my ‘friend’ keeps on going into the pantry and grabbing handfuls of fettuccine... uncooked...

Gaz: I would hope they're not grabbing handfuls of cooked fettuccine!

Soap: In your pantry!

Price: Yeah... and eating them raw, and they keep calling them 'chips'. ... How do I make them stop?

Ghost: Is your friend here?

Price, motioning to R/n: Yeah.

Gaz, to R/n: You're a monster! Words MEAN things! >:(

Soap: Does anybody remember- I haven't been to Olive Garden in many moons- but they DO have a like- fettuccine bottle that you can just- grab em out of and chew-

Soap: HOLD ON. WAS THIS A PRANK YOU GUYS PULLED ON ME WHEN WE WENT TO OLIVE GARDEN AFTER THAT MISSION?!

Soap: NO, STOP. EVERYBODY SHUT UP. DO THEY GIVE YOU RAW FETTUCCINE TO CHEW ON IN THE LOBBY OF THE OLIVE GARDEN

Everyone else: No.

Soap, to Gaz and R/n: YOU FUCKIN BASTARDS

Gaz: YAAAAAAAAY!

R/n: THE PRESTIGE!

Price: What did you guys get in your yearbook?

Gaz: 'Prettiest Smile'

Soap: 'Nicest Personality'

Ghost: 'Most likely to start a bar fight'

R/n: 'Least likely to start a bar fight, but most likely to win one'

Price: What if the person who named Walkie Talkies named everything?

Soap: Pregnancy tests are Maybe Babies

R/n: Socks are Feetie Heaties

Gaz: Forks are Stabby Grabbies

Soap: Defibrillators are Heartie Starties

R/n: Nightmares are Dreamy Screamies

Gaz: Stamps are Lickie Stickies

Ghost, annoyed: You are disappointments

Price to Ghost: You agreed to join the team.

Soap: I’m an idiot.

Ghost:

Price:

Gaz:

R/n:

Soap:

R/n: If you’re waiting for us to disagree, this is going to be a long day.

This stupid long omg, uh anyway I used a incorrect quote generator cause I'm lazy but edited most of them so the make some more sense :>

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thealpacaavenger · 3 months

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Prisoners of War, the Effects of Solitary Confinement, and Sonic the Hedgehog

Remember when Sonic was a prisoner of war? Well turns out, that can damage your brain in some pretty awful ways (https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov). It’s been revealed in several studies that being a POW can cause schizophrenic disorders, anxiety, debility, etc.

But, this is just the tip of the iceberg. Let’s talk about the torture that happened in those six months.

Sonic Forces is said by many fans to employ the term “torture” loosely, that simply being confined to an empty room for an extended period of time (six months in this case) is no warrant for the term. While yes, the game certainly does not address the event properly, making it seem as if this circumstance is no big deal, in reality, being confined to an empty room with no human contact is what is defined as “solitary confinement”, a punishment becoming more and more infamous for its adverse effects on those it is inflicted onto.

The various consequences of solitary confinement on a person’s psyche go as follows (Stuart Grassian, Psychiatric Effects of Solitary Confinement):

-Hyperresponsivity to external stimuli, including ordinary things such as the sound of plumbing in another room.

-Perceptual distortions, illusions, and hallucinations, mostly auditory, but may be visual depending on the individual

-Panic attacks

-Difficulties with thinking, Concentration, and Memory

-Intrusive thoughts, typically those of violence against captors

-Paranoia

-Lack of impulse control

-Delirium

Furthermore, the effects and issues with solitary confinement are so severe, that a UN human rights expert stated that solitary confinement for more than 15 days has every right to be labeled as psychological torture (https//www.ohchr.org).

I’ll drop a bit of the professional tone because, well, this is Tumblr, but on with the hedgehog.

As shown here, Sonic has cuffs around both his wrists and ankles. In all honesty, this is even worse than being locked up in a small room. All proper movement for him was restricted. There was no proper stimuli around him, he was locked in a metal prison. Once again, this was for six months. Sonic already struggles with staying still, he feels the need to run most constantly. Being restricted for that long could not have been good for him.

The thing is, you don’t even have to stretch to say that Sonic was tortured, because solitary confinement is torture. Perhaps it would explain why he didn’t give Tails a proper hug upon his return. After all those months with no proper contact, it might have been too much for him at the moment.

“Yawnfest” is nowhere near the proper term to describe these conditions. The proper term is said in the game itself: “torture”.

Maybe this was why Infinite said Sonic “reeked of fear”. Sure, it could easily be interpreted as infinite stroking his massive fucking ego, but what if Sonic truely was afraid? Not only was he defeated (easily) by him, but also Infinite locked him in solitary confinement (ie: torture) for six months.

You don’t have to come up with a bunch of stuff not shown on screen to feed your angst needs (I mean, if you want to, all power to you). You’ve got all the ingredients for a delicious angst-pie right here.

Edit: Just realized that solitary confinement and torture were said as two separate thoughts in the original dialogue. Jesus fucking Christ.

#sonic the hedgehog #tails the fox #miles tails prower #sonic forces #infinite the jackal #sonic angst #Why say torture if you’re not gonna delve into it man #Like c’mon #Man I hope a fanfic writer reads this and gets inspired or something I need more fanfics

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charseraph · 1 year

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On Trumpet Bad Data Disorder

If a trumpet is blown into a storm, it may lose a significant number of its sensory and data nodes, leaving it blind and confused.

Trumpets missing key predators become barren from prey populations eating producers, making the trumpet perceptive but incapable of memory.

If it is missing herbivores, their predators starve, and their producers overtake the body. The trumpet can no longer sense, but has access to memories that are increasingly harder to find in a larger and larger memory space.

If sensory nodes are unable to store information in vegetation, their minds, unfit for storage of irrelevant data, will corrupt memories. If this memory is accessed by another node, the corruption will persist, sometimes being further compromised from more forwarding.

Bad data are misremembered memories, wrong commands, and self-duplicating thoughts. Similar to prions or cancers on Earth, bad data disorders originate from within, only becoming a problem after a chance mistake in the trumpets’ internal systems. Bad data is communicable if taken in by another trumpet’s nodes.

Corrupted memories can become inaccessible, garbled, undeletable, and overwritten (leading to decisions made on false assumptions or lies. E.g. throwing nodes off the main body because it’s “known” that it leads to food being found). Corrupted memories may implode as soon as they develop, sometimes taking healthy memories with them. They may implode after propagating, creating a wave of deletions across the trumpet’s memory.

Bad commands can overwhelm nodes unfit to fulfill the commands (such as directing a grounded node to fly with nonexistent wings), send nodes into infinite loops of action, or compel nodes to share their compromised data with other nodes.

Self-duplicating thoughts are mundane in content, but when grown out of control, they can consume the majority of a trumpet’s mind, overwriting memories and crowding out communication until nodes forget how to operate.

Normally, a trumpet that detects bad data would develop a fever, weeding out corrupted nodes in exchange for a recoverable loss in population. But with too few healthy nodes or too many corrupted nodes for every safe one, a trumpet may never initiate a fever, or kill off too many to stay conscious.

This state of no longer collaborating among their species from too much or too little data transfer is called delirium. These trumpets either appear very still or aimlessly active, and are no longer conscious.

Trumpets typically avoid anyone exhibiting delirium, but some desperate individuals will take the risk and scavenge one for resources. As a failsafe against taking on bad data, these scavengers will send in nodes that will be abandoned if they report loops or lies in recovered memories. Abandoned nodes live ferally, no longer connected to a network, sometimes maintaining the ecosystem for just a little while longer if they fill a niche left empty.

Quietly or violently, these trumpets’ ecosystems will collapse. As a last ditch effort, nodes will instinctually remain on the body in hopes of keeping data contained. If a delirious body falls, no nodes will abandon it.

Post-integration, trumpets develop therapy cures for corrupted nodes. Depending on the bad data type, trumpet therapists can heal looping, self-duplicating data, deletions, and lies. Trumpets in the future live longer, healthier lives.

Bad Data Disorder in trumpets presented a formidable hurdle in trumpet development, stifling congregation until the first remedies were developed—memory exercises in the form of solitaires, reality checks using physical records, and rehabilitation of corrupted nodes through a medium of information transfer impenetrable by bad data: language.

#char speaks #trumpets #speculative biology

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deliriumandmelancholia · 30 days

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I’m in one of those “nothing matters because it’s all fake anyway and I am going to die just like I am right now no matter what so it doesn’t matter” head-spaces lately and I don’t know how to get myself out of it. I’ve been spending money I don’t have yet despite wanting to save for the future because in my brain right now there is no future there is only this moment, and this moment is fucking boring, lonely, anxious, and exhausted. I want it to be fucking spring already I mean for fuck’s fucking sake how long does winter have to drag on in this goth-forsaken country? I hate it. I hate it so much. I hate my brain. I hate being like this. I hate feeling like she doesn’t even exist when I can’t talk to her and see her. I hate how lonely I am. I hate how no one wants to talk to me as much as I want to talk to them. I hate how I have all this time and absolutely no one to spend it with. I hate going back to maladaptive daydreaming and watching TV for so long I have to stop it from automatically turning off twice. It’s every six hours I think. I hate being stuck in this town. I hate the fact that I’m all alone. I hate it when people tell me I’m not and that I can call anytime but when I try to call they rarely pick up. I hate being told I’m not alone when I literally am? I am so alone. It doesn’t matter why people don’t have time for me; I’m not saying it’s their fault but the truth is if no one has time for me, I am alone. Alone. I’m drowning in my own negativity and it becomes a downward spiral and I need others to pull me out of it because I’m useless at caring for myself, for myself. I resent the fact that the same people who tell me not to off myself are the same people who don’t have time for me. I’m alone. I’m alone and I can’t kill myself because everyone would blame themselves instead of understanding I am just so sick of the loneliness. It never goes away. I wasn’t meant for corporeal life.

#delirium and melancholia #bpd #mental illness #borderline personality disorder #stream of consciousness #dark writing #cw sui thoughts #cw sui #have i tried reaching out to people?#yes in the most cryptic ways you’d need to be a mind reader to understand

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karamazovposting · 2 months

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On Ivan and bipolar disorder (part two)

Before continuing from where I left off in part one I have to say something: I go over some heavier stuff in here. Nothing that isn't already present in the book and that I haven't seen mentioned in other people's metas, but I still want to give you a heads up: the main focus of part two is suicide/suicidal ideation and childhood trauma. I mean, this is a The Brothers Karamazov meta about a bipolar coded character so I think you all already knew these things were going to be in here, but I think that if you have bipolar disorder or are close to someone who has it some things could be upsetting or remind you of some unpleasant (to put it mildly) experiences. Writing certain things hits me at least (though not in a triggering way), but I think it's important to touch certain topics as they are core topics when it comes to bipolar disorder and it's impossible to talk about it without going over the ugly stuff. I've also been on meds and in therapy for years and I'm doing fairly well in life now so that's all in the past. Anyway don't worry, this is the only part of this essay that includes these topics.

This said, here's what I'll go over in this post: mostly what Ivan says in The brothers get acquainted, Rebellion, and The Grand Inquisitor, focusing more on the former two than the latter, as I personally find a particular passage of The brothers get acquainted to be one of the most beautiful and bipolar things I've ever read and we need to talk about Rebellion to further understand Ivan's inner world. The Grand Inquisitor isn't really that useful in this case but there's one thing that caught my attention.

As I already said in part one, The brothers get acquainted is the chapter that made me decide that Ivan is bipolar coded. I've even written a specific part of it down and read it to my therapist because I am, in fact, clinically insane. At this point I don't think I can hide how biased I am anymore, not that I ever really tried anyway, so I'll start by saying that this is my favorite part of the whole book. It may seem strange because it seems like such a small and simple chapter: it's not The Grand Inquisitor, it doesn't have the dreamlike atmosphere of Cana of Galilee or the chaotic passion of Delirium; it's not the courtroom scene or the epilogue. No one's getting murdered or hallucinating the devil or getting falsely accused, just Ivan talking about himself and letting us see his humanity like we had never before. We get to know him in the same way and at the same time his own brother does.

Why is this, in my opinion, the most crucial passage? What does it tell us? This is the first window on Ivan's inner world we get and the first thing it tells us, through Alyosha, is that there's a significant gap between how other people see Ivan and how he actually is. I mean, we already had a glimpse of that in the previous chapters through Miusov, Dmitri and even Fyodor, but Ivan was never there. The difference here is not only that Ivan is present, but also that Alyosha managed to see right through him in a way the others didn't, and it's telling that Alyosha asks Ivan if he'll get angry and feel insulted after hearing what he picked up on, considering that it's just that Ivan is after all a regular twenty-three year old. Alyosha even tells him he's nice! The thing is that Alyosha thinks that to Ivan the offense wouldn't be in what he managed to see in him, but in the fact that he managed to see it in the first place. I think I'll go over this and the other characters' perception of Ivan in part three because it doesn't really fit with this part's themes and also I have a feeling this post will get long even without it (sorry!).

Ivan is not angry at all though, he's amused and he takes this opportunity to open up; after all he did say he wanted Alyosha to get to know him (and viceversa!). I think it's important to note that he ends up pretty much monologuing for three chapters straight, almost as if he's used to bottling up his feelings and keeping his thoughts to himself (I'm pretty sure it's actually stated somewhere that he does, I had some little notes I wrote in my phone mentioning something like that but my notes app crashed before I could save them and I can't for the life of me find it in the book, but I swear it's there).

Here we get to see Ivan's rather unusual attitude towards life: he's not actively suicidal in that moment, but he doesn't exclude the possibility of suicide later in life, and not only this is a very bipolar feeling on its own, but the origin of this feeling and the way he explains his reasons also are. Ivan is very tired, both physically and mentally, it's stated multiple times through the novel, but he doesn't necessarily hate life even though he has mixed feelings towards it; on one hand he says there is no kind of misery, no matter how deep, capable of making him want to stop living (after all, bipolar disorder is all about bouncing back up no matter what), but on the other hand he's repulsed by life and that's why he describes his lust for it as inconvenient and against logic. He wants to live but he hates that he wants to live and he knows he'll eventually get tired of it and just quit, and it's something he feels very strongly, all of it. The thing that really sticks out to me and that struck me is that his passive suicidal ideation is very thought out (unlike Dmitri's which feels more impulsive to me but that's another story for another post), like he's gone through miserable periods of his life several times (I mean, the narrator does also say it) and he came to the conclusion that yes, this is bearable, but only for a limited number of years. He says he asked himself a thousand times if it's worth it and after a thousand times he gave himself the illusion of choice: I will kill myself but I won't succumb to my misery, I'll just be too tired to keep living, it will be my choice. With Ivan (just like with bipolar disorder in general) it's all about control and it's something that hits very close to home to me to the point I had to stop reading to stare at the wall and go he gets it. He really does, this is a very common sentiment and experience among people with bipolar disorder and that's why it's sadly one of the mental disorders with the highest suicide rate (and most historical figures with bipolar disorder I know about actually did die by suicide). The constant up and down is exhausting and that's exactly the feeling Ivan's words gave me, he describes the bipolar experience so well I was genuinely impressed considering The Brothers Karamazov was written and is set in the second half of the 1800s, when psychiatry and psychology were just starting to be born. I think it's also important to mention that he doesn't really give himself much time either: he's only twenty-three and he set his own life to end at thirty. It's only seven years, but seven years can seem like an infinite amount of time when you have to deal with what we have to, especially if we consider my interpretation of Ivan and his childhood. What do I mean by that? I mean that this is about to get interesting (and kind of personal).

Now, in the past almost two-hundred years, no one has still figured out the exact cause of bipolar disorder as the exact mechanism behind it is still unclear (to the point we don't even know why the meds used to treat it work, we just know that for some reason they do) but it mostly comes down to two factors: genetic and environmental. It's usually a mix of the two and it's most likely that once again it varies between individuals, but a very common bipolar experience is the one of a traumatic and overwhelming childhood: many of us had to deal with a mentally ill parent growing up due to the genetic factor and many of us went through so much stress and trauma that the end result could be nothing but bipolar disorder. And this is where Ivan's character stumbles in: I think his protectiveness towards children and his impossibility to accept their suffering stem from his impossibility to accept his own traumatic childhood. Let's be clear, all four brothers had a traumatic childhood, but Ivan seems to be the one who's most impacted by it. Dmitri was abandoned by his mother at the age of three and his father forgot about him (just like he forgot about Ivan and Ivan also seems deeply affected by that considering how he reacts when Fyodor doesn't remember Aleksej's mother was also his own), Pavel never got to know his due to her death in childbirth, and Aleksej's only memories of his mother are fuzzy and dreamlike, which leaves Ivan as the only one who actually has clear memories of his mother: an ill woman who probably couldn't take care of him and his little brother properly because of that and who died young (very traumatic for a child); he probably still remembers her screams. There's a very well written post about how each brother was affected by their respective missing mother figure so I won't go into that because there's no need and it doesn't really fit in here, but I think this is a very important part of Ivan's life that also obviously reflects in his adulthood (again, I'll talk about it in the future), and that we have to take into consideration as an example of what kind of pain a child has to go through to turn out a certain way.

But why am I saying this? I'll be honest with you: mere projection. Ivan's words on the injustice of children's suffering resonated with me so much, especially in relation to his refusal to accept God's existence in a world that allows such things to happen. As you probably figured, I'm an atheist myself and I am for the same reasons he is. There's a quote by Sylvia Plath, who also had bipolar disorder: I talk to God but the sky is empty. I won't elaborate because I don't feel like this is the place, but I relate to it a lot and I think it's applicable to Ivan as well. Mind you that I'm not here to talk about religion, I mean no disrespect and I wouldn't have mentioned my atheism if it hadn't been relevant, so please don't say anything unnecessary about that.

My projection went even further when I realised that Ivan is young (we're the same age actually!), what business does he have to be talking like that? Why does he talk like that but his brothers don't? But I also talk like that so here's that and here's connecting the dots, as I started doing a couple paragraphs ago.

Symptoms of bipolar disorder on average start manifesting during early adulthood, which checks out because Ivan is twenty-three. But he already seems to have a lot of experience "on the field" and it's unusual for someone that age, so it got me thinking a lot, mostly about my own experience. I was "lucky" enough (I still haven't figured out if I'm being sarcastic or not, as it can be both a blessing and a curse, how ironic) to develop symptoms way earlier than the usual onset age of twenty-five, which led me to being diagnosed and starting treatment as a teenager (blessing, the earlier you start treatment the more effective it is on the long run), but which also means I was a terrified child fighting for my life on a daily basis (curse, for obvious reasons) and I thought that maybe Ivan's background could be similar to mine considering what I said earlier about his very strong feelings towards the suffering of children; it's still projection but at least it makes sense. I genuinely don't know how common this experience is, apparently cases like mine are quite rare (I've had this disorder for most of my life), so I guess I also take some sort of comfort in Ivan's character due to this.

And with that, we're done with both The brothers get acquainted and Rebellion, so where does this leave The Grand Inquisitor? As I said earlier, there isn't much to say about it in my opinion when it comes to the point I'm trying to make, but there is one particular thing that I noticed: Ivan thanks Alyosha for listening to him, he thanks him for caring. I found it very sweet but also quite sad and I think it's useful insight about how Ivan lives his life and his relationships with other people. If everything goes as planned, part three should be mostly focused on that and Ivan's particular (and partially self-inflicted) loneliness (which is also tied to how other people perceive him, I already mentioned that, I know) so I won't talk about it now. I also want to highlight that Ivan makes a joke! It's not the usual kind of joke he makes though, as we previously see that Ivan's humor consists mostly of taking the piss out of people he doesn't particularly like or agree with, this time he makes a lighthearted joke about his poem that isn't at the expense of anyone ("that's plagiarism") and he's even described as being delighted in that moment. I personally found that cute and I think we don't talk about this side of Ivan enough.

I'll stop here because I think I covered everything I wanted to regarding these particular parts of the book. I'm not completely satisfied with this, but I got stuck for days because it was a little hard for me to write this part, I wanted to get it over with as soon as possible because I had to treat matters I'm sensitive about (hence the slight change of tone between this and my other posts, I noticed and I hope it wasn't too depressing, I tried throwing in some humor here and there), so I wrote in as little sittings as possible and I barely gave this a couple rereads, sorry. It feels more emotional than part one, which is something I am not a fan of but I'm not surprised and there isn't much I can do about it (other than fix my own discomfort with human emotions I guess but I'm working on it). I wanted to write this but at the same time I didn't but there was no way for me to completely exclude my personal experience as it's the main reason why I saw what I saw in Ivan and I'm writing this essay in the first place, but please don't dwell too much on it. I managed to edit most of it out anyway but still.

I wanted to go over Ivan's implied problem with alcohol as well and also the comparison with Dmitri (I mentioned him at the beginning for this reason) because I see the two of them as being two sides of the same coin, but I didn't really know how to include them (I think I'll briefly talk about the former in one of the next parts but I'm not sure how or when) and then I realised these topics can be treated together (as I think they're related) in a separate and more elaborate post that is not part of this essay, so look forward to that (and the rest of this long ass thing).

#writing this was a pain in the ass because I had to Expose Myself to a certain degree and I hate doing that #but now that I'm done I can finally move on to the other parts of the essay that don't make me think about my own life #the brothers karamazov #ivan karamazov #bipolar ivan karamazov agenda #thoughts #mine

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decayingrealityx · 7 months

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I just learned today from my psychiatrist that it's not only my severe anxiety that makes so hard for me to get a job, it's the fact that I have mental delirium( I think it's in English) and paranoia about it and that why I'm so afraid. I love my life so much. There is no second I wish I was dead.

#severe anxiety #anxienty #borderline personality disorder #anxitey #bordeline #bpd #actually bpd #bpd thoughts #bpd vent #unalive #tw suicide #suicidal #delirium #paranoia

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randomshyperson · 1 year

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Yellow Curtains - Chapter Three - Wanda Maximoff Series

Summary: Wanda Maximoff's senior year at Novi Grad School is duly planned for her. She has good friends, good grades, and a good system to hide who she really is. Or, the one based on Evak from the Norway Skam series, where Wanda is queer and tries to survive the last year without anyone knowing about it.

Warnings: (+18), general warnings about language and violence, legal drug use, mentions of underage drinking, high school, internalized homophobia and discovery of sexuality, explicit mentions of mental disorders (bipolarity and depression), dysfunctional family, making out, and eventual smut.

Skamverse | Series | General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad

--//--

Chapter Tree - The Pool

Sreda, 13:25 (Wednesday, 13:25 am)

It had been almost a month since the cabin, and Wanda had developed a foolproof system to keep her thoughts away from you.

Step one, she convinced herself that the almost kiss was a delirium of her mind and that you had simply bent down to pick up the bottle, and she never confessed that she was only paying attention to Vision because she was afraid of being alone. She wouldn't have done that in good conscience, so of course, it was a delusion.

Step two, whenever Wanda's brain persisted in thinking about you - which happened mostly in history class, when it was impossible not to notice you, or when Carol was around, and consequently brought you along - Wanda forced herself to remember that you had a boyfriend.

A handsome, popular, intelligent boyfriend that everyone adored.

The third step was the most childish of all, but Wanda needed ground under her feet after she caught herself checking your Instagram like an obsessed stalker, and after accidentally (as if) visualizing and liking a post after three seconds, to which you replied her with a wink and a 'stop stalking me, Maximoff' that was clearly a joke, but which made Wanda blush so much that Pietro asked if she had a fever in the middle of the cafeteria; Wanda blocked you everywhere. It was childish and made you cast doubtful glances at her for the next few days, but fortunately, you didn't touch the subject.

The last step disgusted her. Vision was a genuinely nice guy, and Wanda was determined to stay with him because that was as it should be. They exchanged numbers, and when he wasn't working, he would call her to talk about anything. She tried to like him as much as she could.

He was the invitation to college parties, so her friends thought the relationship was the best thing Wanda had come up with.

On days like today, when you looked so casual and adorable in a geek hoodie, writing the assignment only two chairs away, Wanda wondered if the whole plan was worth anything.

"Miss Maximoff?"

The whole room looked at her, and Nat gave her a warning nudge. Wanda blinked away from you, blushing heavily at the attention.

"W-what?"

T'Challa laughed softly. "The question, Miss Maximoff." He repeated, and Wanda stared briefly at the board behind them, with several topics to which she paid no attention at all. Seeing her complete confusion, the professor sighed. "Wanda, stay after class. I'd like to have a word with you."

The room giggled, but T'Challa silenced them immediately as Wanda cringed in her chair in shame.

When the period ended, Wanda ignored for the sake of her own sanity, the soft look you cast at her before gathering your books and leaving the room, Natasha engaged in conversation with you and went to the next class period as well.

Wanda dragged herself to T'Chall's desk with her backpack slung over her shoulder. "I'm sorry, sir, I'll try to be more attentive to..." A quick glance at the blackboard. "Sokovian revolutionaries."

T'Challa chuckled softly, pulling from a pile of activities a corrected paper that he held out to Wanda.

"Here, Miss Maximoff." He says. "It's your lowest grade in eight years of school. In your favorite subject, so imagine my surprise."

Wanda swallows dryly, staring at the red F for half a second. "I-I..."

"Wanda, do you need to talk to someone?" T'Challa asked gently. "I know you've had some tough months at home, your parents are present in the school community. If you need to talk to someone, it doesn't have to be a teacher, it can be our psychologist or-"

"I'm fine." Wanda cuts in with a soft grimace, shoving the exam in her backpack. "Really, Sir, I'm fine. I've just had some trouble sleeping lately, but I- I'll be fine. I won't fail again, okay?"

T'Challa doesn't seem to believe much but nods in understanding. "Just know that we're here for whatever you need, Wanda."

She forces a smile, muttering a goodbye before practically running out of the room. Wanda has a period of Chemistry now, but instead of following the flow of students into the room, she makes her way the opposite way to the empty rooms on the third floor.

She can't get there. On the second floor, she is not breathing normally.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." She gasps leaning her hands on the wall, trying to keep the tears in her eyes. The place is empty, and she thanks the gods for privacy. She manages to find a bathroom, and when she finally sits down on the floor, she is crying.

She hasn't had a panic attack in years, but it's as bad as she remembered. Fighting for air, she tries breathing exercises. It doesn't take more than five minutes, yet Wanda feels like it's been an eternity before she can breathe normally. The worst part is going back to class and pretending there's nothing wrong so as not to worry her twin.

–//–

Sobota, 19.40 (Saturday, 7:40pm)

She looked pretty, people said.

Even Pietro, who always tormented her at every opportunity, saw her leaving the room in her chosen outfit and whistled playfully.

"Vision is a lucky guy." He teased, and Wanda rolled her eyes.

"Shut up."

"Use protection, I'm too young to be an uncle." He scoffed, and Wanda raised her middle finger at him before walking off down the hall.

Her mother, who was working on a laptop in the living room, gave her a kiss on the cheek and complimented her appearance as well. Wanda wanted to go back to bed, but her cell phone vibrated.

"I'm outside. As you asked." It was Vis, and the last part brought a pang of soft guilt to her chest. They had been going out for a month and a half and Wanda had yet to officially introduce him to anyone. There were no labels, and although he had been patient until now, Vision was starting to find it strange.

"When am I going to meet this boy, huh, young lady?" Natalya asked as soon as Wanda grabbed her keys to leave. It was clearly a tease, from the tone used, yet it still left Wanda feeling uneasy.

"Soon, mama." She muttered. "See you later."

She opens the door, but Natalya asks, "Should I wait for you?"

Wanda feels her stomach turn. "Ne, mama." She murmurs and walks out the door.

Vision drives to a local bar. He smells of expensive perfume and aftershave lotion. It reminds her of Tony. Wanda wonders how many belongings they share now that they live together.

He also tells her that she looks pretty. The only thing Wanda feels like is an imposter anyway.

She steals glances at him as he tells her about the intense day he had at work, and as he talks about reports, she tries to imagine what it would be like to have sex with him.

Vision has been very respectful, but he clearly had his needs. Wanda can blushed, from embarrassment more than anything else, when she remembers feeling him hard during the few make-out sessions they shared.

He wanted her, but she was not sure she could say the same.

"You'll like it here. It's sophisticated, and it's a friend's shift today." He comments as he parks, and Wanda forces a smile, for the thousandth time in the night. But it doesn't bother her. Lately, she's been faking a lot of things.

Vision doesn't lie about the bar, it really is very fancy and elegant. The drinks cost a fortune, she notices as she looks at the menu on the wall. Despite this, it is crowded and must be a place known to couples because these makeup almost 90 percent of the customers around.

There is a hand on her back gently pushing her to the nearest table and Wanda feels part of her brain shut down.

"I have to say I was glad when you agreed to come tonight, Wanda." Vision comments between topics of conversation. He has already ordered service, but from the number of people, they have not been served yet. "I was beginning to think you wanted nothing to do with me." He says with a laugh. It's bait, Wanda knows. Natasha and Jen spent weeks giving her a hundred tips on how to flirt with boys, and how relationships work after they found out she was dating him. And after years of watching her friends flirt, it's not that hard to recognize when a guy is trying to figure out what she's thinking.

She deflects the innuendo, giving a chuckle. "I've just been busy, with school and all. I'll have more time to date now."

Vision's gaze lights up. He looks ready to ask for her hand, but the waiter arrives. And when she recognizes the blonde hair, Wanda almost falls out of her chair.

"Carol?"

"Oh, hey Maximoff! Good to see you here!" Declares Danvers cheerfully, a little surprised but evidently pleased with Wanda's presence. "And you too Vision!"

They engaged in gentle compliments, but Wanda circled her gaze around almost in desperation. Would you be here too?

She only realized that Vision had ordered her drinks for her when Carol left the table.

"Are you okay, you look a little pale." Vision comments worriedly, and Wanda shakes her head to disguise it.

Forcing a smile, she gets to her feet. "Sorry, I need to go to the bathroom." That's the excuse she makes up, leaving the worried boy at the table.

Wanda makes her way outside, however, and the night air helps her breathe normally.

This had to be a test of the universe was clear. She rests her hands on the railing of the stairs, and takes a deep breath, keeping her breathing in check. No panic attacks on date night.

"Hey, Wanda!" Someone calls out to her contentedly, and she lifts her face mortified.

Peter Parker is wearing a casual outfit, dark jeans, and a white shirt. His arm is around your shoulders, and you are both approaching the entrance to the bar, coming out of the parking lot.

Wanda's stomach does a complete somersault as she meets your gaze, but she adjusts her posture and forces a smile. Peter catches up to her and kisses her cheek in greeting.

"What a coincidence to find you here. Did you come alone?"

She can only respond with a negative nod, unable to formulate words because you approached to greet her and kissed her cheek.

Peter looks inside through the window and finds Vision alone. He enthuses. "Awesome, let's all sit together!" He says, stepping out into the bar to call the other.

You look at her. "You look beautiful, Wanda." You so sincerely remark that she swallows dryly, her face burning. For the first time in the night, she believes it.

Pushing the door open again, you step in front, and Wanda follows you inside.

–//–

Sobota, 20.40 (Saturday, 8:40pm)

The most embarrassing period of her life is what she would call this night.

Vis's hand on her thigh weighed as heavy as your death stare in their direction, and Wanda didn't think she would survive another hour of this.

Vision and Peter seemed to be having the best fucking time in the world, but that was to be expected since more than half of the empty glasses on the table were theirs.

"I can't believe we've never met here before, Peter!" Vision commented excitedly. "I've been coming here all summer because Carol gets Tony and his friends a discount on the drinks."

"Well, it's clearly never too late." Peter retorts half-drunk, raising a glass again. He gives a toast before a long sip, and Wanda adjusts uncomfortably in her chair as Vision squeezes her thigh again. "Tell me, what are you majoring in any way?"

"Robotics Engineering."

"Fancy." Peter comments getting a laugh from Vision, who then shrugs his shoulders.

"I guess so." He says. "Tony tells me you're pretty brainy, maybe you'll get some internship at Stark Industries during your first year..."

Peter looks surprised, turning a bit red. "Oh, I'd be honored. I don't think I'm that bright though."

"Come on, I'm sure that-"

"Sorry, Vis, he's not available." You cut in with a forced smile, clearly not having the slightest patience for the whole interaction. Vision blinks in confusion, and Peter hesitates. "Big boy here is going to England next year. Internship at Oscorp Industries."

Vision raises an eyebrow. "Wow, that's impressive." The man comments, raising his glass to Peter. "That deserves a toast."

Peter smiles wryly, but you roll your eyes and stand up. "I'll take a break from the sycophant moment you two are having." You cut in irritation, but when you make mention of leaving, Peter grabs your wrist tightly.

"Y/N, come on, don't be rude. We're just talking-"

"Don't fucking hold me!" You explode, pulling your arm away. "What the fuck are you even still doing here, eh Peter? England is waiting."

"For the love of god, are you really going to put on a show now, in the middle of the bar, in front of our friends-"

"They're not my friends." You retort annoyed, moving away from the table and heading for the exit.

Peter sighs loudly and looks at the couple with a regretful expression on his face.

"Look, guys, I'm sorry about that." He asks before running after you.

Vision gives a confused laugh once there are only two of them at the table. "Damn, I was told that Carol's sister was a little crazy but I didn't think that..."

"Don't talk about her like that." Wanda cuts him off drily, pushing his hand off her thigh and getting up behind the ones who just left.

You and Peter are outside on the sidewalk, yelling at each other.

"[...] I don't know why you keep freaking out about this! I love you, England is not going to change that! I've invited you dozens of times, if the distance is the problem why don't you just come with me?" Peter questions.

You hesitate with tears in your eyes. "My life is here, when will you understand that?" You shout back. By now, half the customers outside are watching the commotion as well.

Peter steps forward. "But what about us, Y/N? If you could just..." He licks his lips, trying to find the right words. " Wouldn't you come with me?"

You laugh tearfully. "And what is there in England for me?"

"Me." He retorts with emotion. "There's me, Y/N! But I guess that was never what you wanted, was it?"

You don't answer, tears streaming down your cheeks. Peter tears too, but he sniffles and pushes the emotion away.

"I..."

"No, you don't have to come up with excuses." He cuts you off with emotion. "We won't work at long distance. We don't work even close to each other. So I do what you've been trying to do since I got the damn internship letter. We're done."

Peter walks up to you, kisses your forehead, and walks off down the street. You hug your own body and don't try to call him back.

"Wanda, I think I'll give him a ride. He is far from home." Vision announces behind her, and only now does Wanda acknowledge his presence at all. She nods, and he is too distracted to notice that she turns her face away when he goes to kiss her.

Vision nods to you out of politeness, before walking off around the corner where Peter went.

Wanda comes down the stairs from the entrance and walks up to you.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

She offers gently, managing to make you smile. But you deny it with your head.

"Let's get out of here." You declare, wiping your face before grabbing Wanda's hand.

"I don't think anyone paid..."

"Don't worry, Carol covers for us." You reassured her, pulling her into the parking lot.

Wanda recognizes the motorcycle, this time with two helmets.

"Where...?"

"Just trust me." You interrupt her gently, and Wanda decides to do so.

–//–

Sobota, 21:21 (Saturday, 9:21pm)

Wanda was laughing so hard her stomach was hurting.

She couldn't remember, even if she tried, the last time she felt so at ease, that she had so much fun.

You drove through the city for many minutes, Wanda's hands firmly on your waist, her face pressed against your back. Until you reached the main boulevard tunnels, and you told her to risk it.

"You've gone crazy." Wanda retorted, but you chuckled.

"Come on Maximoff! Take a risk!" You insisted between laughs. And Wanda backed up, standing on the bike, arms outstretched as the strong wind ruffled her hair. She shouted with happiness, and you followed her until the tunnel reached the end.

The residential district was empty because of the time, so when you finally stopped, you bought drinks. Wanda didn't ask about the non-alcoholic beer, because she was distracted by your proximity to her face, making some joke that she didn't quite catch.

You walked around, exchanging drinks, stories. It was comfortable. Good.

"Fuck, look at that pool." You gasped suddenly as you passed through a fence that overlooked the backyard of one of the houses on the street. Wanda stood beside you, with a nearly empty can of Coke in her hand. "Imagine living in a big house like that."

"I think swimming pools are overrated." She murmurs, making you look at her curiously. Wanda was thinking about her father's house, where there was a huge luxury pool, and how she wouldn't trade any time in her suburban home with her mother for it. "Luxury doesn't make any place a home."

You smiled at her, but it was almost mischievous. "But it can be a lot of fun. Come on."

Wanda barely had time to react and you were already running away, skirting the fence, and then the garden. She left her bag of cans somewhere in the grass because you pulled her through a gate.

"Y/N, we can't..."

"Shh, stop thinking." You insisted, bringing her inside, the pool behind you. Wanda swallowed dryly, hyperaware that she had just broken into a house and your hands were still in hers. "Rich people are never home."

"I don't think that's true." She mutters nervously, but you only laugh, releasing her hands to remove your blouse. Wanda blushes heavily, looking away.

You don't mind, working on the pants and then the shoes. But you giggle when she remains static.

"Come swim with me, Wands." You ask, and it is the first time you have used a nickname, and she loves it. How it sounds on the tip of your tongue, how affectionate. She thinks she even loves the way her stomach does two flips when she hears it.

"Okay." She murmurs in agreement, and you stand right there, staring as she takes off her clothes. Wanda can feel her face burn, but she doesn't back down. Once she's only in her underwear, you bite your lip, scanning from top to bottom as if you can't help yourself. "Is it cold?"

She asks, and you blink away, turning to check the temperature with your foot. Wanda takes the opportunity to push you inside.

Her laughter is contagious over your expression of indignation as you emerge from the water again.

"I trusted you, Rose!" You shout dramatically, and she continues to chuckle, moving closer as you extend a hand in the air. "Come, jump off the Titanic with me."

Wanda giggles, leaning over to take your hand and step calmly into the pool. So, of course, you then pull her in with a tug.

You are laughing as she emerges back, and though she laughs too, she throws some water at you, before hugging her own body.

"It's freezing, Y/N!" She complains clenching her teeth, and you giggle mischievously, swimming around her.

"I think a little exercise will warm you up, Maximoff." You tease. "Let's race. To the other side of the pool."

She laughs but follows your cue. "On three?" She suggests, but despite your hums in agreement, you swim off shortly after one, and Wanda grunts indignantly before following you.

You both gasp for air, laughing and throwing water at each other for a moment when you win the race.

"It's not fair! You burned the start." She complains without really sounding angry, but all you do is laugh and swim around her.

"oprosti (sorry)." You mutter, staring at her in a way that makes Wanda twitch. "But it was all a tactic. The adrenaline of swimming out after me warmed you up, didn't it?" You tease, and Wanda rolls her eyes, laughing a little.

"Oh, what a clever plan." She wryly makes you smile.

You swim closer, and Wanda swallows dryly.

"Let's play another game then." You suggest. "Since you're such a terrible swimmer."

Wanda slaps some water in your face, raising an eyebrow. "Excuse me you, I'm an excellent swimmer."

You chuckle, now considerably closer. When did it get so hard to breathe?

"The game is simple, Maximoff." You whisper. "First one out of the water loses."

Wanda swallows dryly, nodding in agreement. "No cheating this time." She whispers back, feeling the pool wall on her back.

"I wouldn't dream of it." You retort with a small smile, then raise an eyebrow. "On three? One, two..."

Wanda dove in the same second you did and all sounds were muffled underwater. With held breath, she opened her eyes. You were looking at her too, and you smiled, tilting your head to make her smile too.

She could hear her heart racing but continued to hold her breath. You reached out to her, making her instinctively pull back, but you didn't give up, poking her in the ribs. Two tickles later, Wanda couldn't hold on under the water and emerged gasping for air.

You did the same, grinning. "I won!" You celebrate breathlessly for the dive and Wanda laughs indignantly.

"You cheated! Again!"

"I think you're just a bad loser, Maximoff." You tease, grinning at the wave of water she throws at you. "Okay, okay, you want a rematch?"

She laughs, shaking her head still in disbelief. "No cheating this time."

You make an innocent expression, and Wanda laughs before diving in first. You swallow dryly before following her underwater.

Your gaze meets hers, and Wanda thinks for a moment, there is only the two of you in the whole world, underwater, protected from all problems. You tilt your head gently, and she blinks before moving forward.

You are taken aback by the feel of her lips, and you breathe, emerging at the same moment.

Wanda rises the next second, a breathless laugh as she says, "I won this time." She declares equally affected, but you face her completely surprised by the kiss. Wanda swallows dryly. "You want a rematch?"

"Yeah." You gasp, smiling at her in confirmation before you dive in together.

This time, underwater, you only give Wanda a seconds to get used to the depth before you advance against her, kissing her on the mouth.

She kisses you back at the same moment, and can't hold her breath, emerging with you glued to her.

It's messy on the surface - Your hands circle her hips, and you gasp into each other's mouths, pressing your lips together with need. Wanda feels like she's burning from the inside out. Is this what kissing someone should feel like?

Her hands squeeze your shoulders, your hair. She thinks that if she doesn't hold on to something she will melt into the water again.

And you kiss her until she is breathless, with tongue and teeth, with a boiling desire that she shares.

Suddenly you let her go because there is a flashlight in your face.

"Who's there?" it's a male voice coming from inside the residence, definitely a security guard.

"Oh, shit. Run!" It's your only warning before you swim away, and Wanda follows you clumsily, as desperate to escape as you are.

You grab your clothes at the edge of the pool and stumblingly reach the fence at the same time the housekeeper reaches the pool. Luckily, he doesn't see your faces.

And when you return to the street, you are both laughing.

–//–

Nedelja 9:46 (Sunday 9:46 am)

Wanda wakes up with a stupid smile on her face and tries to hide it in her pillow.

It doesn't do much good. She feels so light. Happy.

Her cell phone is unloaded in some corner of the room, and she grunts softly as she hears knocks on the door.

"Come in." She says, and the next minute, her twin is inside her bedroom, leaning on the doorknob.

"Are you awake?" He asked, managing a short laugh.

"No, I talk in my sleep." She retorts with a mischievous little smile and eyes still closed. Pietro doesn't laugh.

"Papa is downstairs, Wanda." He declares and she immediately opens her eyes, her body tensing. Adjusting herself on the bed, she looks at her brother, noticing the casual clothes he wears instead of pajamas. His expression is equally dissatisfied. "I told him you were asleep, but he insisted that he wanted a word with you. He said he didn't drive halfway across town to be treated like someone dispensable."

Wanda grunted impatiently. "God, why does he have to be that way?"

Pietro shrugs. "I don't know, but from experience, you'd better listen to him or he might cause some trouble. You know Mom can't afford this place by herself..."

"I know, Pietro." Wanda cuts off annoyed, pushing the covers away to get up. As she goes to the bathroom to brush her teeth, Pietro closes the door.

"Hey, where were you last night?" He asks, and she grimaces, staring at him through the mirror. He leans on the bathroom door, his hands in his pockets.

"With Vision?"

Pietro raises an eyebrow. "Yeah, but later." He insists, and Wanda feels her stomach sink. "He texted me, asking if you had gotten home safely because he couldn't find you at the bar. But, well, you only arrived in way later after his text."

Wanda took a deep breath, and then looked at the sink. "I was wandering around in town. I needed to think."

Pietro sighed. "You could have called me, I'd keep you company. It's not very safe to be walking around alone. Being a girl, I mean."

"Well, I'm safe and sound." Wanda cuts in impatiently, finishing brushing her teeth while her brother mutters that he didn't mean to offend her. As she wipes her mouth, and leaves the bathroom to change clothes, Pietro crosses his arms.

"You don't have to tell me what you don't want, just...be careful with this Vision, okay?"

Wanda grimaces, looking at her brother in surprise. "Excuse me?"

Pietro sighs. "I know he's Tony's brother, and he seems decent, but... I don't know, he's a 21 guy who's in college. What does he want with a 17-year-old girl?"

Wanda sighs. "I'll be 18 in a few months..."

"I know." Pietro retorts. "It's just weird. Or maybe, I don't know, I'm being an overprotective brother."

She giggles. "I think it's the latter option." She comments, and Pietro smiles.

"Whatever." He murmurs, and waits for Wanda to get dressed before looking at her again. "I just want you to be happy, sestra."

Wanda smiles, moving closer to hug Pietro briefly. "I know, Pietro, thank you." He kisses the tip of her head, and they leave the room.

Nedelja 9:46 (Sunday 10:46 am)

Wanda was not surprised that her father turned that morning into an awkward time for everyone.

They were sitting at an outside table in a bakery two blocks from her house. Pietro managed to keep up a friendly conversation with his father for a while, telling him about school or the running team.

But it was like a time bomb that the subject came back to Wanda, and the impossible standards of perfection her father expected her to achieve.

"I hope you are maintaining the excellence required for NYU." Erik declares as he cuts a piece of cheese on his plate.

Wanda bites her tongue, resisting the urge to get up and leave that breakfast. Pietro clears his throat quietly.

"Papa, I-"

Erik holds up a finger, interrupting the boy with a small smile on his lips. "We've already talked about your academic life, Pietro. My business now is with your sister."

The boy swallows dryly, ducking his head. Wanda looks beyond the window, at the people walking around the street. And Erik speaks again in the background.

"[...] of course Harvard or Columbia would be acceptable options or risk something in Europe like Oxford or Cambridge, but we have to consider that-Wanda!" Erik slaps the table, and the girl jumps in fright, turning her attention back to her father. "I'm talking to you!"

Pietro places a hand over hers under the table. Erik sighs, pulling himself together. She stares at him, "I'm all ears." She replies, releasing Pietro's hand and drawing it into her own lap again. "What do you want me to say?"

Erik culls a piece of cheese with his gaze burning with anger. He swallows, and retorts:

"I'm still the head reference person at your school." He says. "They notify me that you got a bad grade. Nothing to affect your record, yet..."

She snorts indignantly. "Are you policing me?" She questions angrily, and Erik locks his jaw.

"Don't raise your voice at me." He retorts seriously, pointing a finger in her direction. "I pay for everything, I never leave a single thing missing for you two, and what do you want to do in return? Throw your future away! I let you act like a spoiled brat, give away your precious freedom to sully the name of this family. Running away from your responsibilities to the school, to our faith! Erik accuses angrily. "Let you behave like an ungrateful child!"

"Papa, enough, please!" Pietro interferes, watching the way Wanda has shrunk into the seat and looks on the verge of tears.

Their father takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He takes a long sip of coffee, and a few closer customers steal glances at the table.

"I'm sorry for losing my temper." Erik says calmer, pressing his hands together in front of his body. "You both know how hard your mother and I fought to earn what we have today. I just want you to have better opportunities. That you don't waste your potential. Hobbies and worldly pleasures can come later. In moderation, of course." Erik offers his son a wink, and Wanda wants to throw up. For Pietro, the son, it's fine to encourage him to enjoy life. For the daughter? Wanda couldn't even imagine her father saying anything of the sort to her. Be happy daughter. Have fun. Sounds ridiculous.

Erik orders tea for them, and Wanda keeps looking between the window and her own lap. Her father drinks a little before trying to sound more casual:

"How was the Shabbat?"

Pietro smiles awkwardly. "It was quiet, I rested." Says the boy, getting a smile from his father.

"Did you say your prayers?" Pietro agrees, and Erik's attention falls on Wanda again. His jaw quivers, but he keeps his voice calm. "What about you, sweetheart?"

Wanda looks him in the eye. "I got drunk, broke into a house, and made out with a girl."

Erik blinks and then bursts into laughter, the real thing, tears welling up in his eyes. Pietro laughs too, a little more restrained. They both think it's a joke, and Wanda swallows dryly.

"I've missed your sense of humor dear." Erik comments as he calms down. "A little harsh, but always funny." Wanda sighs not knowing what to say next. Erik sips more tea, before commenting. "Speaking of this subject, I have an invitation for you. Next week, we are having a Bar-Mitzvah at my house. Lorna is turning 12 and-"

"No." Wanda interrupts, ignoring the gentle squeeze Pietro gives her wrist. Erik raises an eyebrow. But unlike the entire breakfast, he looks almost sad.

"Honey, I'd like to have you two there." He gently insists. "Even Natalya would be welcome."

"How kind of you, isn't that papa? Inviting the ex-wife to the bastard's Bar-Mitzvah?"

Erik slams the table, but this time Wanda doesn't back down, her gaze irritated like her father's. "Don't you dare talk to me like that!"

"I would rather not talk to you at all!"

"Wanda, please..." Pietro tries to appease but Erik laughs wryly, shaking his head.

"You're impossible, Wanda, I swear." He declares, pulling out his wallet from inside his jacket. He pulls out some change from there, which he throws on the table in front of her. " For the bus. I don't want to see your face today any longer."

"Papa!" Pietro complains, but Wanda is already getting up, ignoring the money on the table. Pietro grabs the notes and follows his sister out while Erik continues drinking his tea. He catches up with her at the corner of the bakery. "Wanda, wait, please."

"I'm walking home, Pietro, leave me alone." She retorts with her arms crossed, and the twin rushes to stand in her way, his hands on her shoulders.

"Please, he didn't mean it. You two-"

Wanda pushes his hands away. "It's so easy for you to take his side, isn't it?" She shouts impatiently. "It's not your life that's falling apart."

Pietro laughs surprised by her aggressiveness. "Come on, I'd hardly call a scholarship at a university falling apart-"

"It's not what I want!" Wanda interrupts him, tears of frustration in her eyes. He is completely surprised. "But I don't think that matters to anyone."

Pietro steps forward. "Hey, but you always said you'd be a doctor..."

"Because papa wanted that." Wanda murmurs tearfully. "Fuck, what difference does it make now, it's senior year already." She says, wiping away the falling tears. "I need to be alone Pietro, I'm sorry." She pulls aside before he can touch her, and the twin calls out to her, but she doesn't look back.

–//–

Ponedeljek 10:30 (Monday 10:30 am)

Loud heavy metal music was playing in Wanda's headphones from the exit of the history class to the cafeteria. Maybe that's why she didn't hear you call out, and was startled when you held her shoulders.

You chuckle, lowering your hands as she takes the headphones off. "Sorry for the scare." You asked, looking at her in a weird way. Wanda swallowed dryly, staring at you doubtfully.

"Do you need anything?"

You blinked hesitantly at the aggressiveness but still smiled.

"Yeah...I think I'm still blocked, and it is hard to ask you out like that."

Wanda's stomach did a whole turn, and she felt her eyes burn. You acted so casual about everything, you were so happy.

"Sorry, I think you got it wrong." The words came out before Wanda could think them through completely. You frown in confusion, "I'm not interested."

She makes mention of leaving, but you don't move from your seat. "You gave me a different idea on Saturday, you know? You were the one who kissed me." Your tone was not loud, yet Wanda looked around as if everyone in the school was listening and judging that conversation.

She lifted her chin. "I was drunk."

"Wanda, come on..." You try to touch her and she pushes at your notebook, knocking the item to the floor. You sigh.

"You got me drunk and made me break into a house. And then you grabbed me. I could go to the police."

You stare at her, and the confusion turns to hurt. Wanda wants to take it all back, but you shake your head, pick up the notebook from the floor, and stare at her. "Get your shit together before you go around using other people, Maximoff." You spit it out, turning your back on her.

Wanda, with her eyes filled with tears, turns her face toward you. "Whatever, dyke."

A few people stare, but no one says anything. You stop walking, and Wanda bites her lips to hold back a sob.

"Y/N, I'm sorry, I didn’t-" She gasps, but you adjust your bag on your shoulder and disappear into the next crowd of students.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #skamverse collection #alt er love series #yellow curtains

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