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hellomystraightlacedfriend · 2 months

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The Osborns' 'Weird' Relationship: An Analysis

◇ Spectacular Spider-Man #146 - Gerry Conway/Sal Buscema ◇

Okay, so I know it was awhile ago that I said I might write an analysis of some of the emotional dysfunctional aspects of 616 Norman and Harry Osborn’s relationship, but I really struggled with the format and how I was going to present this.

One thing that I ended up having to do was throw out any speculation on the writers' intent. With comics, you have so many different writers - especially with a long ongoing, popular series like Spider-Man - that I decided to focus a lot more on the patterns I was picking up when I was reading.

But before I go any further:

CW: discussions of child abuse, mental illness, and suicidal ideation

Disclaimer: In this analysis, I am trying to provide an explanation for why Norman might behave the way he does. However, this explanation of Norman’s abuse is not meant to be a justification of his behaviour.

Also, before we start, you are absolutely allowed to disagree with this analysis! Every reader sees/interprets things a little differently, but I've seen other people pick up on the Osborns' relationship being well, strange, so I decided to examine that a little closer.

There were certain things I kept noticing in Norman and Harry's relationship that I found abnormal (you know, apart from Norman's extensive verbal abuse). Things like: Harry's really intense and misplaced loyalty to his father (that interfers with his other relationships.) The way in which Harry feels responsible for his father. The way Harry doesn’t have a strong identity outside of his father, and how his father doesn't allow (or think Harry needs) any emotional privacy. Also, just some of the ways Norman talks to his son don’t make it feel like a normal parent-child relationship.

In particular in this analysis, I did want to talk about emotional incest and enmeshment, which I am going to define now.

The psychological definition of emotional (or covert) incest is when a parent relies on their child for emotional support that they should be getting from another adult. They treat their child like a friend or partner, instead of well, a child.

And

An enmeshed family is one where there is a lack of boundaries, and often, the child isn't allowed to have an individual identity.

I think we see a lot of the after affects of this kind of emotional abuse in Harry as an adult, and while we don't see a whole lot of Harry and Norman's relationship dynamic when Harry is growing up, I do want to start from there, using what flash backs and other information we have.

Actually to give some background on why this kind of abuse occurred, I will go back a bit further than that and talk briefly about Norman’s childhood and his relationship with Harry’s mother.

Norman definitely didn't have a great childhood. His father was a bitter and abusive alcoholic who blamed all of his problems on other people, including his son. And while Norman's mother wasn't abusive towards him, she did fail to protect him. This betrayal from an early age from both his parents would have been a huge contributer to Norman's extensive trust issues (and his drive to be in control so he's not hurt again.)

Norman didn't get the emotional support and attention he needed while growing up, so that's really what he was seeking as a young adult, and he found it in Emily Lyman aka Harry's mother.

Now while I don’t think that Norman and Emily's relationship was perfect like he presents it to be, I do think from his point-of-view this was a great time in his life. He was finally out from under his father's thumb. This beautiful woman believed in him. They had their whole lives ahead of them. The possibilities were endless, and then - she died.

Or faked her death and left him because he was so controlling.

Either way, she was gone, and he still a young man was left to go on as a single father.

Interestingly, Norman both blames Harry for Emily's death and compares him to her. Much later in his life, when talking to Harry's grave, Norman says that he tried to be fair to Harry 'even though you were so much like your mother in so many ways.' In this scene, Norman is angry at Harry for dying and thus 'abandoning' him to be alone. And I think that's what Norman felt when Emily died too, this deep sense of abandonment.

◇ Spider-Man: Revenge of the Green Goblin #1 - Roger Stern/Ron Frenz | Peter Parker: Spider-Man #44 - Paul Jenkins/Humberto Ramos ◇

(Later, it's revealed that Harry is not dead. Or maybe he is. I am NOT getting into the whole post-OMD-Harry-is-a-clone mess. For the sake of this analysis, they are the same person. They would have the same memories anyway.)

Now I am going to be piecing some things together and doing a bit of speculating. One thing that always stuck with me is that Harry keeps saying that his and Norman's relationship used to be different, that they used to be 'pals,' and then something changed. While I know a lot of people dismiss this, become Harry is delusional about his father at other points, I do think when Norman became the Green Goblin, there was a shift in their relationship dynamic, and Norman stopped opening up as much to his son.

I still absolutely think Norman was a neglectful and preoccupied father, but I also think that Norman was an emotionally needy person, and once Emily died, Norman (who was most likely extremely depressed and lacking a support system) tried to have Harry meet some of those needs. I say tried to, because Harry was just a little kid, a baby, and he wouldn’t be capable of doing that.

I think a lot about a panel from Spectacular Spider-Man #178 where Harry is talking to his own son Normie Osborn. Normie is a very young child/toddler. While Harry is talking to Normie, and Normie is watching TV, Harry starts hallucinating that his father is in the room. (Both Harry and his father have had psychotic episodes.)

Norman tells Harry that Normie should be listening to Harry, and when Harry says that Normie is just 'a little guy' and 'doesn't really understand all this,' the Norman Sr. hallucination becomes angry and says that Harry was just the same. That Harry was lost in his own head when he was young, and couldn’t hear when Norman talked to him.

◇ Spectacular Spider-Man #178 - J.M. DeMatteis/Sal Buscema ◇

It's interesting the way Norman and Harry differ here. Harry wants his son Normie to be able to enjoy these early years and have this chance to be carefree. Whereas Norman doesn't seem to really understand the concept of childhood and childhood innocence.

I also find it interesting (because I'm obsessed with word choice) that both Norman and Harry use 'pals' to describe their relationship.

◇ Amazing Spider-Man #39 & #40 - Stan Lee/John Romita Sr. ◇

And just in general, Norman and Harry's relationship doesn't seem to fall into the typical parent-child relationship - where the parent takes care of the child and meets the child's emotional needs. Instead, it's more complicated and codependent.

Norman and Harry both view Norman as Harry’s provider and protector. Norman is abusive towards Harry, but he does show deep concern about Harry's safety and worries about what would happen if he (Norman) suddenly died - because he's afraid Harry wouldn't be able to fend for himself.

On the other hand, Norman really doesn't give Harry any tools to become independent or encourage a separate identity, and I think part of that is because subconsciously - as much as he keeps saying he wants Harry to be strong - Norman actually wants Harry to be dependent on him.

Like on one level Norman does want Harry to be strong and be able to think for himself, so that he can take over the company and continue the Osborn legacy (and he is angry at Harry and verbally punishes him for not living up to this). But on a more personal - and like I said before subconscious - level, I do think that Norman wants Harry to have to rely on him. Because Norman doesn't want Harry to be able to leave him. Because he doesn't want to be alone.

And that's the thing, I do think that Norman is also dependent on Harry.

Harry is the nurturer to his father's protector and provider. He cares for and worries about his father a lot, and as much as Norman does not like to be seen as weak, there are quite a few moments where we do see Norman be vulnerable around his son.

Why this happened is probably largely circumstantial. Norman is a very paranoid man, who constantly fears betrayal from those around him. Even with the other adults in Norman's life who he is 'close' to - like J Jonah Jameson and George Stacy, he is not open. He does not trust them. He thinks that people are conspiring against him. However, he doesn't see his young son as a threat, as someone who could turn against him and hurt him. And he pulls Harry into this emotional isolation with him by telling his son not to trust anyone but his family (anyone but Norman.)

◇Amazing Spider-Man #62 - Stan Lee/John Romita Sr. || Amazing Spider-Man #47 - Stan Lee/John Romita Sr. || Amazing Spider-Man #67 - Stan Lee/John Romita Sr. || Spectacular Spider-Man #200 - J.M. DeMatteis/Sal Buscema◇

That puts Harry in a very difficult position, because he has deal with these adult concerns at such a young age, and he also can't fully open up to anyone else. This strain, along with Norman's exacting standards and scathing criticism, puts a lot of pressure of Harry.

However, Harry is used to being his father's confidant, and he becomes extremely anxious if his father shuts him out - or worse if he doesn't know where his father is. In a way, as much as Harry says that his father is strong and great, I think (at some level) Harry must also see his father as (emotionally) fragile.

This is especially noticeable in Amazing Spider-Man #121, where Harry is supposed to be resting because he has just overdosed, but he can't because he's so worried about how his father will react to possible financial ruin. He goes to him, tells his father that he doesn't need to worry about him, that he can take care of himself, that he's just worried about his father. He then proceeds to collapse in Norman's arms because he is not well.

◇ Amazing Spider-Man #40 - Stan Lee/John Romita || Amazing Spider-Man #61 - Stan Lee/John Romita Sr., Don Heck || Amazing Spider-Man #63 - Stan Lee/Don Heck, John Romita || Amazing Spider-Man #121 - Gerry Conway/Gil Kane ◇

This collapse leads Norman to want to rid Peter Parker/Spider-Man from his life (by killing Peter), because he falsely blames Peter for Harry's drug overdose and also the collapse of Osborn Indistries.

Now Peter’s involvement in the Osborns' personal lives is interesting. Peter is the first person that Harry really opens up to outside of his father - when Harry breaks down and complains that his father had been very distant in the last few years. When Peter responds with the emotional support Harry had never gotten from Norman, Harry draws Peter further into his life by asking him to be his roommate. Harry’s demeanour toward Peter also becomes similar to his attitude towards his father, submissive and eager to please. (He even calls Peter 'sir' at one point when he's trying to get his attention - an address he uses towards his father.)

Peter, however, is so caught up in being Spider-Man that, like Norman, Peter often neglects his relationship with Harry. This leads Harry to be rather passive-aggressive. At one point, Harry offers to make Peter breakfast, but when he hears Peter locking his stuff up, he becomes insulted that Peter would think he would steal from him and storms off to see Norman instead.

This becomes an ongoing element, Harry being torn between Norman and Peter, and seeking love/support from both of them, but seemingly unable to get it.

Now I want to make it quite clear that Norman and Peter are not equally responsible here. Peter is Harry’s age and has troubles of his own. Norman should be acting as Harry’s father, but he really isn't, not emotionally anyway. He is meeting his son's material needs (to an excess), but he is emotionally neglecting his son while also emotionally burdening him with his own troubles. Plus Norman is constantly verbally berating Harry for failing to live up to his impossible expectations - leaving Harry feeling worthless and extremely depressed.

Harry takes drugs to cope with these negative feelings - first abusing prescription medication and then moving on to street drugs. There is even already a note of passive suicidal ideation here, as when Peter asks him how many pills he's taking, Harry's response is 'What’s the difference? Who counts?' (Amazing Spider-Man #97 - Stan Lee/Gil Kane.)

Now I refuse to believe that Harry doesn't understand that there's a possibility of overdose here: he's a chemistry (and business) major with a father who sells drugs for a living. He knows that it is a possibility. So, while he's not actively seeking to end his life, he also doesn't really seem to care if he lives or dies - as long as he can escape from his pain.

Harry does eventually overdose - and it's an overdose that leads Norman to go after Peter & also Peter’s girlfriend (and Harry's friend) Gwen. Norman blames all of Harry’s friends for his condition, but especially Peter. And Norman blames himself for failing to protect his son from them. He threatens to kill Gwen if Peter doesn't end his own life, and when Peter doesn't comply, Norman goes ahead with his threat - throwing Gwen Stacy off the George Washington Bridge. (Amazing Spider-Man #121 - Gerry Conway/Gil Kane.)

Peter (as Spider-Man) goes after Norman in revenge, and Norman ends up dying (albeit by his own glider and not Peter’s hand.) Harry eventually figures out that Peter is Spider-Man, and this leads him to think that his and Peter’s friendship wasn't real, that it was entirely a ruse on Peter’s part. That Peter was just getting close to Harry to close in on his father.

Harry ends up forgetting about Peter Parker’s secret identity after his first attack on Peter though, and so for years the threat of Harry's revenge remains dormant. However, even from 'beyond the grave' (Norman, um, kind of faked his death, but Harry didn’t know that) Norman still had a hold on Harry’s psyche.

One early warning sign of the return of Green Goblin might have been that Harry names his child both after his father and himself (Norman Harold Osborn), keeping their names (and identies) close together. Harry also tells young Normie how special a man his grandfather Norman Osborn was. Then Harry begins to hear his father's voice telling him to revenge his death, to kill Spider-Man/Peter Parker.

Harry goes back and forth on how he sees his father. At times, he is able to see his father as who he really was/is, a dangerous criminal who ruined his own life. However, at other points, he calls Norman 'wonderful' and 'the greatest man this world has ever known.' He claims that his father's spirit is in him fuelling all his efforts, and blames Peter for both Norman's and Gwen's deaths.

Of course, it would be hard for anyone to admit that their father killed one of their closest friends, however, I think with Harry it goes even beyond that. Because Harry doesn't have a solid identity outside of his father, he is unable to fully see himself and his father as two separate people. So, in his head, Harry can't admit that his father killed Gwen, because then he would also have to think that he killed Gwen - something I don't think that Harry can wrap his head around doing. It's easier then to blame someone else - Peter/Spider-Man.

When Harry does finally admit that Norman killed Gwen, he still absolutely thinks (pretty understandibly) that it was Peter who ended Norman's life. Because of this, Harry decides that both he and Peter would be better off dead - and that their deaths would protect their loved ones from further harm.

It is only an outpouring of unconditional love from Peter (something Harry had never really felt before) that sways Harry from ending Peter’s life. He carries Peter out of the building where he had set up a timed bomb, but then seemingly dies himself (from side effects of the serum he'd taken to make himself stronger.)

🪻🌷🪻🌷🪻🌷🪻🌷🪻🌷🪻🌷🪻🌷🪻🌷🪻

Break!

🪻🌷🪻🌷🪻🌷🪻🌷🪻🌷🪻🌷🪻🌷🪻🌷🪻

Okay, this is here because this is getting long, but I don’t want to make it a two-parter, but also sometimes people need to take a break and breathe, you know?

I will also be concentrating more on post One More Day Harry in this section, though referring back to earlier comics as well. I will also be talking more about sex and romantic relationships, and how Harry's focus on his father (and Norman seeing himself as the most important person in Harry’s life) complicates things.

The Dan Slott and Joe Kelly runs leading up to and during Dark Reign were the first Spider-Man comics I read, and these were the issues where I first got to see the Osborns' relationship on page. What really struck me then about the relationship was how Norman talks to Harry more like a separated spouse than his grown child: 'I need you,' 'the world could be ours,' 'come home,' 'your place is here, by my side.'

During this period, Harry is pulling away from his father and trying to be independent, and Norman does not like this at all. He mocks Harry’s business ventures, then bombs Harry’s place of business - almost killing Harry’s then girlfriend Lily Hollister in the process. When Harry goes to confront him, Norman says that girlfriends are replaceable and tries to win Harry back. This, however, does not work, and shortly following this, Harry goes no contact.

Norman will not accept this boundary, however, or any boundary really. He admitted earlier to recording and listening to all of Harry’s therapy sessions, and when Harry won't answer his calls or letters, Norman has people spy on his son and report to him on everything Harry is doing. He then gets himself invited to a wedding that Harry is attending.

This is when he tells Harry that he needs him, something that does visibly affect Harry. Peter steps in between Harry and Norman, and tells Norman 'and that's what therapy's for.'

This scene is interesting because Norman does not like admitting that he needs other people, but also because Peter doesn't consider this (entirely) as a ploy on Norman’s part. He does think that Norman is being honest about 'needing' Harry. He just thinks that the way Norman seeks support from his son is unhealthy.

There is also an 'us'-ness in the Norman-Harry relationship, that is more typical of couples. This along with how Harry is thrust into this nurturing role with Norman, makes him (at times) seem more like his father’s spouse than his son.

And when Harry and Norman do end up cutting ties, Harry even says: 'I was never your son.'

◇ Amazing Spider-Man #573 - Dan Slott /John Romita Jr. || Amazing Spider-Man #595 - Joe Kelly/Phil Jimenez || Amazing Spider-Man #598 || Writer: Joe Kelly/Artists: Paulo Siqueira & Marco Checchetto || Amazing Spider-Man #599 - Joe Kelly/Stephen Segovia, Marco Checchetto, Paulo Siqueira ◇

This relationship with his father - before the eventual break up - does also lead to problems in Harry’s romantic relationships.

Because Norman basically sees himself as the centre of the universe and because he is very possessive of the people around him, Harry grew up internalising this idea that he belongs to his father and that he should prioritise Norman above everything else.

And because of this, Harry does tend to elevate and choose his father over his other relationships. Like how when he was seeing Mary Jane Watson, that relationship ended because Harry wouldn’t unlock the door for her - choosing to be alone with his dead father's costume over being with her. His marriage with Liz also deteriorates as Harry obsesses over avenging his father's death and continuing the Osborn legacy.

Of note, in these moments Harry isn't exactly thinking clearly - there are definitely signs of psychic breaks, with Harry having delusions and hallucinations. Still, a huge part of Harry's psyche is consumed by his father - to the detriment of other aspects of his life.

Even after Harry sees Norman as a bad person (acknowledging that his father was Gwen's killer and knowing for sure that Norman has committed countless other heinous crime), Norman still has a hold over his son. Harry still holds out hope for winning his father's love and approval - and completely dismisses his then girlfriend Lily Hollister's encouragement and support. Instead focusing entirely on his father's criticisms.

◇Amazing Spider-Man #595 - Joe Kelly/Phil Jimenez || Amazing Spider-Man Family #4 - J.M. DeMatteis/Val Semeiks || Amazing Spider-Man #390 - J.M. DeMatteis/Mark Bagley◇

◇Amazing Spider-Man #126 - Gerry Conway/Ross Andru || Spectacular Spider-Man #189 - J.M. DeMatteis/Sal Buscema || Amazing Spider-Man #569 - Dan Slott /John Romita Jr.◇

Another thing involving Lily Hollister - a rather controversial decision - was to have her be in sexual relationships with both Harry and Norman Osborn (with the timing being so close together that the paternity of her child was called into question.)

I actually don't think it's so surprising that Norman would go after someone his son was seeing. He is very self-centred and delusion enough to think that he could somehow get away with it.

Also, back in Amazing Spider-Man #96, there was this whole thing about Harry bringing along Norman to watch the girl he was then seeing - Mary Jane Watson - dance. It kind of comes across like Harry is trying to impress his father with how hot his 'girlfriend' is, and Norman is quite publicly enchanted by her.

There is something similar in the Raimi adaption where Harry Osborn wants Mary Jane Watson to dress in black (like Harry’s mother/Norman’s wife used to do) because he wants Norman to be impressed by her/find her attractive. Which people have pointed out is kind of weird/creepy.

Also kind of weird is just how much empathy Harry has towards Lily Hollister after she ditches him for his dad. Like yes, I think it's a coercive relationship, and Norman is much more to blame, but I still think most people would be a little more angry in this situation. And what Harry does say to Lily at the start of her and Norman's relationship is very interesting to me:

'He's an amazing man, Lily...I know, and he takes very special care of his "nice things"...until he doesn't.

I hope you see him for what he is before that happens...

Because when Norman Osborn is through with you, no one gets to have you.'

One) because it's really quite strange to call the father you suspect is sleeping with your ex-girlfriend 'an amazing man'

Two) because the way Harry is saying this makes it seems like it applies to both her and him. The 'I know' in particular stands out, because what he seems to be saying is 'I know exactly what you are feeling/going through right now.'

Which given that she is in 'romantic' relationship with his father certainly raises questions.

◇Amazing Spider-Man: Extra! #3 - Joe Kelly/Dale Eaglesham || Amazing Spider-Man #96 - Stan Lee/Gil Kane◇

In any case, I could probably write more, but this post is already more than long enough. I just find the dynamic between Norman & Harry Osborn fascinating because I don’t think it's one we see as often in fiction, and I love reading about dysfunctional families/relationships.

I also find post-OMD Harry really interesting, because I think it's even rarer to see a person, who was in a relationship like this, have to move on, fully cut ties, and figure out how to build a life for themselves without this person (who they had such codendency with.)

#harry osborn #norman osborn #analysis #spider man #peter parker #gwen stacy #liz allan #lily hollister #marvel comics #marvel 616 #my post

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alienguts · 11 months

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Birthdays (Harley Quinn x GN!Reader HCs)

Warnings: alcohol

Request?: No

A/N: today is movie!Harley's birthday so have some Harley headcanons 🎂

Harley is definitely a birthday girl and wants to go all out as much as she can.

She didn't really get to celebrate her birthday as a child due to her family being so dysfunctional she landed in an orphanage, so you want to help her make her birthday as special as possible to make up for lost time.

Harley tries her best to be chill on her birthday and act like an adult, but she's just too excited.

In the morning she can't wait to open any presents you got her, and even if it's the smallest thing she'll still love it (and you) and be so grateful.

She grew up with basically nothing and was stuck in a lot of shitty situations for a long time so just knowing that someone truly cares about her is more than enough.

But cake is just as good. Sometimes better.

Daytime is for just lazing about and doing whatever Harley wants, whether that's watching TV, trying to go shopping, going out for lunch, or maybe just staying at home and getting hot and heavy.

Night-time, you're going to the club whether you want to or not. You don't have to drink, but she does want you to be there with her.

Considering the clubs she goes to and just how wasted she gets, there's going to be safety in numbers.

If you're not drinking, you expect to be her designated helper because she's going to end up throwing up on somebody's shoes. Let's just hope it's not yours.

When your birthday comes around, Harley will return every favour you've done for her and more. Even if it's just an excuse to party.

#harley quinn x reader #harley quinn x you #harley quinn imagine #harley quinn headcanons #dc x reader #dc x you #dc imagine #dc headcanons #dceu x reader #dceu x you #dceu imagine #dceu headcanons #gn reader #*headcanons #*my writing

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suffarustuffaru · 5 months

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what is your opinion on the fact that tappei intended us to hate reinhard for killing theresia

hello!! :o im not sure if tappei really Intended for us to hate reinhard for that per say—i think more so tappei intends to show the astrea drama in general in a very nuanced manner (unless he proves me wrong and does weird stuff to develop them later on wjfnd but ill stand by this atm because theres a lot of textual evidence i think!!)

the arc 5 astrea drama is the very first time we learn about Any of that, and the way we learn it is interesting. this is AFTER getting attached to reinhard and wilhelm, who prior to arc 5 were established to be good well meaning and respectable people. then heinkel comes in claiming they both did shitty stuff, and of course heinkel makes the worst impression of all time, is shitty himself, AND interrupted wilhelm and reinhards reunion, so we’re not inclined to side with heinkel here. but the more we learn about the astrea family conflict, the more we realize, alongside subaru, that 1. wilhelm is not as great as he seems to be (its like learning that a close family member or friend has done some terrible stuff!! the common reaction to it is to feel Disappointed or Sad or maybe a little angry!!) and subaru also learns that 2. the entire situation is not black and white. it takes a heavy emotional toll on wilhelm, heinkel, and reinhard.

it’s also interesting that we dont Always learn info about it directly from the family members themselves—theresias dead of course and doesnt say much when she briefly comes back (more on this later), reinhard becomes more subdued around his family (which has gotta be a trauma response in an attempt to minimize the conflict), heinkel and wilhelm are unreliable narrators driven by their emotions. we learn some of the bulk of the drama from JULIUS, an outsider, but someone with ties to reinhard personally and the knights. so we’re also getting unreliable info about someone like heinkel (whos got a reputation thats honestly shittier than even his behavior, which i pity him for), and someone like reinhard is extremely hard to read (we just know that hes. you know. Traumatized. and Sad.)

i DO think though that throughout all of this we’re supposed to sympathize with EVERY astrea family member. every single one. we’re meant to understand each of their actions, because they all contribute to the family dysfunction unwillingly or consciously.

we’re given the reasoning behind almost all of their actions in the conflict. wilhelm lashed out because of grief, and hes spent years regretting what he did and not knowing how to fix things. heinkel’s an alcoholic from stress, trauma, and self-hatred, and post-arc 5 we see more of his psyche (which is shown in a very honest sympathetic light as well, hinting at heinkel getting future development and most likely a redemption arc). heinkel then lashes out (which is a Sad pattern in this family given wilhelm also does that... and its implied that heinkel is also like this Because of wilhelm's influence) to deal with all of this too (and because he Genuinely thinks those things now. hes a sad bitter man). we also know from side stories that heinkel used to be a good man who truly loved reinhard, and we do know that heinkel still loves louanna and has spent YEARS searching for a cure. as for reinhard, he was a CHILD (five when it first started!!) throughout almost all of this conflict, and hes the youngest member of his family and still young even as he’s grown up now. and he certainly didnt Intend to kill his own grandma when he was five, and he definitely deals with the guilt of all that years later. he shuts down around his family in the present, for one. and two—reinhard was failed by his family members, who have been ADULTS for the entire conflict and are his father and grandfather respectively. if anything, reinhard has the least blame here. he was a child!! a child thats been conditioned into serving the kingdom at All Costs to himself!! heinkel and wilhelms grief is understandable but it should not cost them their literal child!! they were the ones with the responsibility to pull themselves together and they failed to do that!!

but then reinhard kills theresia.

the thing with reinhard killing theresia is that reinhard was very much not wrong for that. tappei takes the time to show corpse soldier theresia going after heinkel and wilhelm—both of which are too weak in this moment physically and emotionally to stop theresia, WHO IS THEIR MOTHER AND WIFE RESPECTIVELY. and iirc wilhelm was also injured by her. heinkel pisses himself in fear while begging for her to stop—or something along those lines. its Terrifying. and it shows theresia, as she was in that moment, is a threat!! what else was reinhard going to do?? if he doesnt apprehend theresia, shes going to kill the rest of their family T^T

yeah so. reinhard kills theresia. afterwards, heinkel and wilhelm give reinhard shit for it but again, they were going to DIE if reinhard hadnt stepped in. and its clear that reinhard is saddened by what he had to do, even as he says that the corpse soldier theresia ISNT THERESIA. and reinhard is technically kind of right!! that was a corpse soldier!! she was both theresia (her last words to wilhelm are proof of this) and Not Theresia (she already died years ago!! this was a reanimated corpse!!).

its wilhelm and heinkel that misinterpret reinhard’s demeanor as him Not Caring. because he does care, but reinhard has always had an uncanny personality—likely partly because of trauma (remember how i said he shuts down a bit around his family? common trauma response) and partly because of reinhard’s endless divine protections giving him a very. Unique. perspective on everything. so reinhard has difficulty with connecting with others because of all of that. hes Really hard to read, especially in a complicated situation like this where its basically a lose-lose for everyone involved. wilhelm and heinkel are blinded by their grief and fear and anger and because reinhard 1. killed theresia, 2. said that that Wasnt Theresia, and 3. said he didnt regret killing theresia and 4. said that he did the right thing (which is probably because, again, what else could he do, theresia was going to kill heinkel and wilhelm)... yeah so wilhelm and heinkel read reinhard as being cold and unfeeling and callous so they both completely give up on reinhard in this moment. the coffin is. metaphorically and literally closed here, reinhard killing theresia (again. for the second time. if youre heinkel and wilhelm) was the very last nail.

and ultimately like. again, tappei gives us All the narrative tools to understand each member of the astrea family in this conflict. tappei also even notes the detail (iirc. in like a qna somewhere. if someone can find it or whatever please feel free to add!!) of theresia, on her death bed in arc 5, had nothing to say to reinhard and heinkel. its kind of. weird. when she makes SURE that wilhelm knows that she loves him but she doesnt even bother with her son and grandson - and heinkel does note that she looked at them "hatefully" (which. heinkel is an unreliable narrator, but its interesting for tappei to include that detail because heinkel also goes "she looked at us like That, who else could that be but mother?"). so uh. astrea family dynamics are complicated, have likely always been complicated even before everything went wrong with them, and tappei also gives us theresias full backstory in her pov in arc 5. AND he shows that the corpse soldier was still. Theresia. in the end. its extremely complicated. tappei takes the time to show that with every detail.

so anyway. yeah i feel like we're meant to sympathize with everyone in the astrea family. theyre all people with their own flaws, theyve all contributed in some way to the conflict whether they like it or not, they all have various degrees of blame, if you really want to go into whos the Most Guilty for all the dysfunction. even poor louanna contributed indirectly via falling into a coma T^T

but i dont think tappei means for us to like hate any of them. just because tappei Always shows how complicated the situation is. tappei is Always sympathetic to all astrea members as much as tappei also often calls them out for their flaws (heinkel is the most obvious example, tappei also does it with theresia and wilhelm a bit, and reinhard is shown to be a bit stilted in social situations with a habit of stomping on other peoples boundaries sometimes without realizing or because he thinks its for the other persons good, etc). and as much as i love making jokes at wilhelms expense because he did fuck up quite a Lot with his family (same with heinkel... and im a little sus of theresia but she Did care about heinkel in the past, we know that from her named chapter)...

like. i can understand where someone like wilhelm is coming from. do i hate him for lashing out at his five year old grandson and helping turn his son against his grandson? oh yeah. yeah. but i can Understand why he did it and i feel bad for him, which i think was more so tappei's goal here. so the audience can hate any of these characters if you so feel like it, but tappei means for us to deeply deeply get where they're coming from and why they did what they did. so maybe its more so that we're not supposed to hate these characters, maybe we're just supposed to hate Their Actions and wish that things didnt turn out that way. because it couldve been better at any turn - wilhelm couldve just not lashed out and blamed reinhard when he was five, heinkel couldve also pulled himself together, louanna didnt have to go into a coma, theresia didnt have to die twice, etc etc. but thats the point of it all i think. it turned for the worse but all we can do is try to think about How it turned out this way. and i pity all of them, really.

plus, reinhard, wilhelm, heinkel are 1000% getting some kind of further development with this, i'd say. and rezero is Repeatedly about forgiveness and growth, so yeah. i absolutely dont think we're supposed to fully hate any of them. if anything, im rooting for their growth before its. you know. Too Late. but yeah thats just my extremely long opinion/feelings on all of this, people are totally free to disagree of course :o !! hope that answers your question though!!

#rezero #re:zero #ask #reinhard van astrea #theresia van astrea #wilhelm van astrea #heinkel astrea #arc 5 spoilers

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eroticwound · 11 months

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The Parentification of the Berzatto Siblings:

Parentification Primer

Okk i took… so many Fishes notes on my rewatch, and I wanna talk about the Berzatto siblings and how Donna affects all of them. I’ve seen folks discuss Carmy having traits of an adult child of an alcoholic parent or web-weavings that include passages from Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents, but I want to talk about the Berzatto siblings through the perspective of Parentification.

For those who don’t know, Parentification is a form of abuse in which the normal boundaries between a parent and child are blurred, and their roles are reversed. the child takes on the responsibilities of the parent, due to the parent’s dysfunction, sickness, poverty, etc.

There are two types of parentification: Instrumental and Emotional.

Instrumental Parentification occurs when a child takes on tasks and responsibilities beyond their age, such as caring for younger siblings, dealing with finances, and overall supporting their family in concrete ways. Instrumental Parentification is not kids having household chores, it’s kids needing to coordinate lunches and pickups for siblings while also worrying about dinner for the family and the power bill that’s due.

Emotional Parentification, sometimes called Emotional Incest, involves the parent treating their child as a friend or spouse. The parent will confide in the child and lean on them for their emotional support, because support is missing from the adult’s life. This role reversal makes the child responsible for the parent’s emotional wellbeing. The child is expected to soothe their parent, or to listen to their parent vent, or have the child mediate between the parent and others. The adult treats the child like an extension of themselves, and is unable to support the child’s emotional well-being.

Both forms negatively effect children, but the latter, Emotional Parentification, is considered more severe, since it disrupts a child’s emotional development by putting the adult’s emotions over their own.

Parentification can result in a child not developing a clear sense of their own needs and feelings. As an adult, they may find it hard to trust others, manage their own emotions, and form healthy intimate relationships. They face a greater risk of anxiety, depression, substance abuse, and eating disorders.

So now that I’ve provided a little primer, I want to dive into the Parentification of the Berzatto siblings, who are parentified both instrumentally and emotionally. This’ll be a series since there’s a lot to cover. I’ll be discussing all three siblings as well as Richie, the honorary 4th Berzatto sibling.

Mikey Gen / Mikey's Mental State / (I will update this with links to additional posts as I post them)

#michael berzatto #mikey berzatto #donna berzatto #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #natalie berzatto #sugar berzatto #the bear #the bear fx #the bear meta #bear meta #meta #parentification #richie jerimovich

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limi-pie · 11 months

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Longing or love pt. 1

A/N: Okay, so I don’t know how to explain this. But I’m sooo dirty, horny and a BIG thirsty hoe🔞 sooo here is this YuTae fanfiction, initially this was supposed to be just porn and basically a threesome. But somehow it turned to this well-written story and decent somewhat detailed plot…🦥 Also, the summer heat/horniness is really getting to me…🌚 I’m blaming Taeyong’s and Yuta’s Instagram (& ALSO NCT 127’s Hyung line in general‼️🥵 Rip my heart and soul)

– Next part >

Pairing: Nakamoto Yuta, (Specific) Female! Reader, and Lee Taeyong

Contains: Babygirl asf‼️Y/N, Professor! Taeyong, Boss/CEO! Yuta, Comedy, Complicated relationships, Dark themes, Dysfunctional relationships, Financial struggles, Mature themes, Melodrama, NSFW, SMUT, Student/Office worker! Y/N, Romance, Slight age gap (nothing too big or serious tho🦥) Unprotected sex (because I’m scum and dirty🥵)

Warnings: Aftercare, abandonment (idk, I’m just adding it to be safe tbh), abortion (it’s only mentioned tho), alcohol, absent parents, (slight) BDSM, blowjob(m), breast play, consensual sex, cockwarming, cuddles, cursing, cunnilingus, cum eating, cum play, death (it’s mentioned briefly but it’s just a nightmare, don’t worry), daddy issues, divored parents, drinking, dirty talk, face fucking, family dysfunctions, fights, fingering, foreplay, gambling, hair pulling, harassment, kissing, making out, oral sex (f), PDA, pregnancy (also mentioned), praise kink, public sex (semi), tattoos, titty-fucking, two-timing, teasing, unprotected sex, verbal abuse, minor violence (I’m sorry but justice had to be served.😾)

Wordcount: 16,6 K (I’m so sorry😪 but it’s lowkey worth it!)

–🌹–🌺–��–🦋–🌹–🌺–💚–🦋–🌹–🌺–💚–🦋–🌹–🌺–💚–🦋–

Disclaimer: (I wrote this fanfiction purely because of my wild imagination and I finally let my summer horniness loose‼️)

This piece of writing is fanmade and all just my imagination, I have no actual intentions of actually shipping NCT members like this nor do I mean they would behave/act like this in real life. Another thing, the main theme in this story has deep-rooted issues which involves an abusive, toxic and unhealthy relationship with a father, in other words ‘Daddy Issues’. If you have daddy issues (like myself) or is easily triggered by this kind of theme, then I suggest to read this with caution or not read it at all, up to you. It’s not severely bad but it’s a lot about losing trust, abandonment and mentally abuse, etc., see my warnings to get more clear discriptions to avoid feeling uncomfortable and such.

Finally, regardless if you have daddy issues or something else, please remember that you are deeply loved and that your past relationship with your parents don’t define you as a person.💚 Please, love yourself, cherish and take care of yourself, you’re an incredible person.

–🌹–🌺–💚–🦋–🌹–🌺–💚–🦋–🌹–🌺–💚–🦋–🌹–🌺–💚–🦋–

Your love life has always been a big disappointment, you never had a faithful boyfriend or let alone go on a real romantic date. Your life was full of one-night stands that led to nothing more but headaches and the big urge to just watch adult movies by yourself while masturbating. You couldn’t help yourself, life’s a bitch - especially when you're single and an only child. And seeing how your parents’ failed relationship was only reminding you that marriage and love are a lie.

You’re also wondering why loving someone has to be so hard…

You stepped out of your panties as you kissed his neck and body, you embraced the guy you met from Itaewon, but still, why are you chasing love? He unbuttoned his pants as you began sucking him off and moaning, he came within a minute. He chuckled, seeing you covered in semen as he changed into his clothes and left. Not looking back at you just even once.

. . . .

You hugged your knees, sighing heavily as you felt dirty. You looked at the ceiling of the hotel you stayed at. You saw the many lights of Seoul outside your window and exhaled deeply. You went to the bathroom to throw up as you gagged, tears running down your cheeks.

Why should you torture yourself like this?

After everything you’ve been through you somehow still managed to survive, even if you have no desire or passion for anything else. You closed the door of the hotel room and left.

That night you didn’t know if true love did exist, even if it did… Would it change anything?

You listened to Love Exist by Qiqi, walking away from the hotel and heading home.

. . . .

It was the 7th of March 2022, halfway through your second semester…

Looking outside and seeing the pretty pink cherry blossoms fall elegantly and gracefully as you made your way down the long hallway. As your first year had already passed, you didn’t know how you managed to survive this long. At Yonsei University and in hopes of pursuing a degree in sociology was the only thing that you could focus on, aside from also working part-time in an advertising company. You’re Park Y/N, one confident, young, and beautiful Korean woman, in your mid-twenties.

Although you were on bad terms with your Sociology Professor Lee Taeyong, he had always been disappointed by your lousy behavior and your inability to pay attention in his lectures and always failing to deliver your assignments on time. Today was no different, he had summoned you to his private small meeting room before class as you stood there full of the same old excuses.

“I’m truly sorry, professor Lee. I promise that I’ll change,” you bowed your head respectfully as he scoffed, “we had this talk many times already Ms. Park Y/N, I’m afraid this time you’ll be severely punished for your reckless actions.” Mr. Lee sighed heavily, tossing your papers onto his desk as he adjusted his eyeglasses. You were silent, it seemed like you had pissed him off more than usual today. “I said I’m sorry, I just didn’t have time and I’m also working part-time besides university, you know…” You mumbled pathetically, rubbing your arm as he slammed his hands on the desk, he has already and completely lost patience with you.

“I don’t care, Ms. Park Y/N, you obviously don’t take your studies or this degree seriously! You’re one unbelievable woman, it would be a miracle to see you get anything else besides C– and D as your grades.” You looked down, feeling bad as you held your hands together. “I’m sorry, professor Lee.” You bowed, “the next time I see you, we need to have a discussion. Meet me here next Monday, if you truly desire this major.” Mr. Lee got up and walked past you.

The silence fell hard as you frowned before leaving, “I’m so fucking stupid!” You groaned in frustration as it was just another awful start to the week. “Hey, what’s up Y/N,” Yeonwoo asked, locking her arm with yours, “nothing special, I just really fucked up by not sending that stupid assignment ‘Independence Movement Day’ to professor Lee. But he’s seriously furious this time, I’m such an idiot,” you pouted as she giggled. “Come on now, Y/N it’s not that bad, let’s get some coffee and tell me all your frustrations,” she smiled, hugging you as you walked to the Starbucks near campus.

“–You know how professor Lee is, he’s super strict and harsh on you. Because he only wants the best,” Yeonwoo explained, sipping on her Spring Garden Jasmine drink. You sighed, drinking your Spring Strawberry Milk. “But it’s so unfair, he only yells and takes out his frustrations on me only… I haven’t seen him so mad with any other students except for me…” You mumbled, stirring your straw in your glass. “That’s because he knows you’re a dumbass, Y/N,” she scoffed, shaking her head as she took another sip, “yah! That’s not true! I have some good qualities too!” You replied stubbornly as she giggled.

“Well whatever, enough about that. Are you coming to the nightclub in Hongdae?” Yeonwoo smiled, finishing her drink, “omg totally! Wait, I have office work till late evening…” You sighed, checking your calendar, “man, this sucks!” You groaned, “it’s alright, Y/N just join us later,” she added as you finished your drink and walked away to your next class.

“Man, another lecture with professor Lee,” you whined as Yeonwoo giggled, opening her locker, “just pay attention and pretend to be doing something, just don’t fall asleep, okay?” She smiled as you closed your locker, “I know maybe we should avoid sitting together, that way he’ll see you’re serious about changing!” She suggested as you nodded slightly, “I guess I’ll give it a try…” You walked to the lecture hall, you sat down on the back row as Yeonwoo sat on the front row.

“Annyeonghaseyo. Everyone, today we will talk about next week’s exam project, this will be very important if you care about your grades.” Professor Lee announced, looking around as he stared at you in disappointment. “Alright, today’s lecture will be about gender inequality and misogyny.” You already yawned at the sound of his speech and teaching. “Hopefully, you all have prepared by reviewing and reading the books,” Mr. Lee chuckled before looking over at you falling asleep.

“Ah yes professor Lee, I’ve done some research on single mothers in Daegu.” Yeonwoo smiled and spoke, “they’re often met with discrimination and prejudices against them,” explaining when she looked at you snoring. “Thank you, Ms. Lee, that was exceptional research in a wide range of materials. You’ve also shown a great aspect of different methods too.” He applauded her as the other students did the same.

“Appa… help me…” You begged, holding onto the edge of a cliff as you were about to fall, your father stood nearby, staring at you in disbelief, “you’re just like that wench, Y/N-ah,” he scoffed, hands in his pockets as he walked closer, “Appa… I’m sorry, please don’t leave me…” You started to tear up, your breath shaking as you were struggling to hold on.

“I promise not to make you mad anymore… just… please, help me…” You pleaded as he chuckled, “I never wanted you to exist, you were a mistake from the very moment you were born. I’ve always wanted a son, never a daughter.” He held you by the wrist, “Appa…” you cried, feeling helpless while listening to his abusive words. “Park Y/N, die.” Your father said before letting go of your wrist as you fell off the cliff, “Appa!” You screamed desperately falling into the deep ocean as you woke up.

All the students were staring at you as professor Lee shook his head. “Sorry…” You mumbled quietly, bowing your head as Yeonwoo smiled, locking eyes with you.

“–Alright, so today you’ll be working in groups and presenting your presentation by the end of the work,” Professor Lee announced, writing on the blackboard as you sighed, hastily taking notes before he’d erase them.

“Group 1, your main focus is on children’s rights, please use policy briefs and literature reviews as well as other materials online. Group 2, you’ll be focusing on women’s rights, please use statistics and also include the ‘Nth Room’ and any laws regarding the topic. Lastly group 3, your topic is going to be poverty and workers’ rights, those two combined, hence why you are 4 people in this group. You are allowed to use any kind of method for this presentation,” he cleared his throat before speaking again.

“–Except for Ms. Park Y/N, I want you to specifically use these two methods and not anything else. Take this as a lesson for sleeping and not paying attention.” He scoffed as everyone looked at you and started to gossip, “fucking hell…” You sneered while whispering and glaring at everyone in your group.

You tried running away in sneaky manners when he called you, “Ms. Park Y/N, I’d like to talk with you, don’t even think about escaping,” professor Lee smirked, scoffing as he went back inside as you sighed, “Y/N, fighting!” Yeonwoo whispered before waving, “see you later, Yeonwoo…” You sighed, walking back inside as he was waiting for you near his desk.

“Yes, professor Lee?” You asked, looking at him as he was sitting in his chair, tapping his fingertips on the desk, “how was your nap in my lecture?” You gasped as professor Lee shook his head, scoffing, “your kind of attitude is something I’ve seen plenty of in my entire career. Tch, nothing surprises me anymore except for the fact that there are no chances or any progress with a student like you.” He concluded as you felt ashamed and humiliated by his harsh and yet true words.

You were slowly zoning out as it recalled bad memories of your father lecturing you. He’d always have endless and long-life discussions with you. He was always nagging about how you're supposed to be a ‘grown-up’ and how you should live your life. Not to mention the way he belittled your mother, complaining about how irresponsible of a woman she is.

“–Are you even listening, Ms. Park?” Professor Lee demanded as you snapped back to reality, “–yes, sorry, I’m just tired,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze as he sighed, “I don’t have to make myself clear, do I?” He warned you when your eyes widened, seeing him holding a piece of paper that read ‘reason for withdrawal’ from Yonsei University. “Withdrawal from Yonsei University…?” You repeated, looking at him very confused.

“Are you seriously kicking me out of university…?” You asked desperately as he sighed, standing up and putting his hands into his pants pockets. “Sometimes it’s better to stop what you’re doing rather than to keep going. And from what I've observed I believe you should pursue a different career path than the one involving sociology, Ms. Park.” He stated, nodding as you clenched your fists in frustration. “I’ve seen too many dropouts before, you should stop and quit before it’s too late–”

“–Professor Lee. I’m not going to drop out or stop pursuing my degree in sociology. Yonsei University has always been a dream and a goal of mine, I’m not quitting regardless of what you say.” You scoffed, grabbing the paper before crumbling into a ball and tossing it at his desk, and finally walking away. “Heh, I see you still stubborn as ever, Ms. Park Y/N. However, don't come crying back to me - if you do end up regretting your choice.” Professor Lee scoffed softly.

When you stood in the doorway. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to. Because I have no regrets anymore.” You scoffed, slamming the door as you walked away feeling determined more than ever.

“Jeez, Y/N-ah… Your temper is going to bite you in the end,” Yeonwoo shook her head as you pouted, “I guess so… it’s his fault for threatening my scholarship anyways!” You whined, dancing Gashina by Sunmi with her as she giggled. “Gashina! Gashina! Ladies, more energy to your movements!” The instructor said, watching you dance, “yes ma’am!” You both replied.

If there’s one in life you can’t afford to lose in life. It is the sheer determination and pure guts to never give up. Once you’ve set your mind on something you can’t give up or lose to anyone.

You danced energetically and finished the outro flawlessly as the instructor clapped her hands, “great work Y/N-ssi and Yeonwoo-ssi, see you next time,” you and Yeonwoo bowed, “thanks Ms. Hyoyeon,” she smiled before taking her leave. “Are you taking a bath here or at home?” You asked her as she grabbed her bag and headphones, “mhm, I’m showering at home, I’ve to head to the fitness gym later for my short shift.” She smiled and waved before leaving. “See you, Yeonwoo,” you said as you put on your cropped hoodie and walked down the hallway.

You gently pulled your shorts down a little while walking past a group of male students when they looked at you up and down. Perverts… You suddenly stumbled upon professor Lee as you fell, his black hot coffee spilling on your hoodie as you hissed, “o-oww, oww, it’s so hot…” He sighed deeply seeing you in those booty shorts as he blushed a bit, “are you okay, Ms. Park?” You were crawling and gathering your several books, seeing how you were on all fours gave him the absolute wrong thoughts as he shook his head.

“Mmh, I’m sorry professor Lee,” you said, taking off the coffee-soaked hoodie as you were only wearing a sports bra, “it’s alright, don’t think about it… Just be careful next time Ms. Park.” Professor Lee said, flustered by the sight of your squished breasts in that Puma sports bra. “I’ll have to get going, bye-bye professor Lee.” You bowed, walking away quickly as he bowed too, taking one last look at you before heading to his meeting.

Hirai Momo (work)

Momo: “Hello, Boss asks if it would be possible for you to show up earlier today.”

You sighed at the text message, drying your hair and groaning loudly as you got out of the shower.

You: “How early are we talking about?”

Momo: “I mean ASAP, we need some help at the office - since Ms. Im is absent.”

You wore your uncomfortable black high heels and high-waisted lavender wide long pants and a lavender chiffon button-up shirt, you went inside the elevator tying your hair in a low ponytail.

“Good evening, Ms. Park,” the familiar voice caught you off guard as the elevator closed. “Good evening Nakamoto-nim,” you bowed, greeting your boss as you both got off on the 10th floor. “Your outfit is rather informal but I’ll let it slide this time, let’s talk in my office in 15 minutes.” He walked away as you headed to your desk, placing your coat and bag, “how screwed am I?” You mumbled to Ms. Hirai, “very screwed, it seemed like he argued with Yuka,” you sighed, “here, he wanted you to organize this folder before you meet him in his office.” She said, handing you the folder as you bowed, “thanks…”

“It’s Park Y/N…” You knocked on your Boss’ door, “come in,” you entered, bowing deeply, “sit down, please,” he pointed to the chair in front of his desk. “So what do you want to talk about Nakamoto-nim?” You asked, looking at him when he took a quick glimpse of your seamlessly translucent button-up long-sleeve shirt. “I’ve told you before that translucent or see-through clothing is a big ‘no’ under my company, either follow that rule or don’t. This is a final warning: if I see you again in another translucent outfit, I’ll cut half of your salary.” Mr. Nakamoto scoffed as you bowed, “I’m sorry it won’t happen again, Boss…”

“You’re dismissed, please help clean up in the reference room,” he scoffed, typing on his computer as you bowed and left his room. You stood on the ladder, dusting off the shelves as you sneezed, you were sweating like crazy. “Man, this sucks ass…! I get so hot whenever I’m cleaning this shitty room!” You groaned, taking off your shirt as you tied it around your waist, “much better, whew!” You wiped the sweat drops off your forehead as you continued cleaning while humming.

About an hour had passed as you sat on top of the table organizing old and new documents, stacks on either side of your thighs as you clumsily had a pencil placed in between your breasts when Nakamoto-nim walked in, seeing you all concentrated on the several documents and papers around you.

“–Feeling inappropriate are we, huh?” He scoffed, standing in front of you, when you dropped the pencil and looked up, “ah… hello Boss…” You bowed as he looked at your visible chest before you wore your shirt again, “sorry… It was really hot working inside here…” You mumbled when he stared at you in utter disbelief, “finish cleaning up here and head to the main office, we’re going for team dinner so I need you, Mr. Yoo, and Mr. Yamazaki to work on some ideas for this Tinder advertisement.” He informed you before leaving again.

It’s always like this, listening and obeying your superiors’ orders and commands like a good bitch. It’s not like you had any other choices… You were struggling to pay for the small apartment you’re staying at, fully aware that your dad gives zero fucks about your whereabouts and how you’re doing.

You sighed deeply, discarding the old documents as you pressed the elevator button when it didn’t come down. “Come on, it was just working…” You tapped your heel impatiently as Ms. Hirai sent you a text.

Momo: “P.S. The elevator’s not working temporarily - they’re fixing the lights, that’s why. Good luck climbing back to the main office, Park-ssi.”

You were panting as your shirt was opened when you finally reached the 10th floor, Mr. Yamazaki was laughing at your sweaty red face. “Ahaha, holy shit Y/N! You never fail to surprise me,” he clapped his hands as you gave him the middle finger. “Damn, chillax already Y/N,” Mr. Yoo wrapped an arm around you, rubbing his hand on your back as you felt very uncomfortable.

“Hey, Babe… how about we go to the motel with just the three of us?” He cooed as you sighed, shaking your head, “let go of me, you creep.” You glared, slapping his arm as he was pissed off, “fucking bitch, all I want is for us to get along, since we’re all the part-time losers of this company anyways,” he scoffed as Mr. Yamazaki nodded. “Even if we’re losers, we shouldn’t just goof around and waste time, we’re getting paid for this work after all.” You informed them, gathering some papers together as Ms. Myoui sent you pictures of their delicious team dinner.

Must be nice to afford such a delicious dinner meal… You thought in slight envy, gathering blank papers as you tried to brainstorm some ideas for the advertisement. “So boys, any ideas or inputs?” Mr. Yamazaki scoffed before staring at your chest. “I have an idea, Y/N,” he smirked, “great, what is it, Mr. Yamazaki?” You smiled in hopes of a great idea, “you should be in the advertisement and feature those sexy melons of yours, we’ll get massive attention and views that way!” He laughed as Mr. Yoo wheezed, you finally had enough. These two idiots couldn’t provide for anything except pure stress and anger.

“Fucking suckasses.” You fumed and sneered, grabbing the stacks of papers before walking away and turning halfway, “I’ll tell Nakamoto-nim that you two dumbasses don’t want to cooperate - so I’ll handle the task alone.” You scoffed as Mr. Yoo got up, pissed off by your tone, “yah, you crazy bitch!” He opened his ice-cold water bottle and poured it all over your head and shirt, you gasped. “Yeah, take this ugly bitch,” Mr. Yamazaki laughed, throwing his leftover cold coffee on your chest, the empty cup hitting the ground as it broke. You stood there completely shocked and humiliated when everyone came back to witness this.

You turned around when Mr. Nakamoto stood in front of you, “Yamazaki Kento and Yoo Daejoon. In my office now.” He commanded as they nodded obediently, “and you Park come, meet me… After you’ve cleaned up this mess.” He scoffed, staring at you before leaving quickly. “Oh my, are you okay, Ms. Park?” Ms. Myoui asked, rubbing your back as you nodded, trying your hardest not to cry as Ms. Hirai wiped you with some napkins. “They’re some real assholes, I’m sorry, Park-ssi.” You shook your head, “no, no it’s fine. I’m okay, sorry for causing so much trouble. I’ll clean this up–” You stammered and kneeled, picking up the empty, broken cup pieces and plastic bottle. “O-ow…” You hurt yourself by picking up the shattered glass pieces. “–Park Y/N, my office now.”

You got up and tried to button up your shirt, closing it as fast as possible. But it seemed useless seeing how badly damaged it was it wouldn’t close. “You wanted to see me, Nakamoto-nim?” You walked inside, shutting the door and bowing when he turned his swivel chair around to face you. “Did you clean up the mess those fuckers left?” You nodded, “yes Sir,” he nodded, “good. I’ll have you assigned a different task, it seems like the three of you part-timers together is just a fucking joke.” He scoffed as you looked down, feeling ashamed. “I’m sorry…” You mumbled.

“–What happened to you?” Nakamoto-nim asked, looking at your shirt as it was completely covered in coffee stains and ruined, your bra and chest clearly visible as he looked away immediately. “Yamazaki and Daejoon…” You mumbled, struggling to close it as he scoffed, walking up to you. He took a quick look at you when he noticed the small wound on the back of your palm.

“Did these fuckers do this to you too?” He demanded as you shook your head, “no, I tried removing the broken pieces of glass when I hurt myself…” You mumbled sheepishly as he took hold of your hand, “please be careful next time,” Nakamoto sighed, cleaning up your wound as he placed a band-aid. “I’m sorry for all the trouble, Nakamoto-nim,” you bowed your head as he scoffed, patting your hair, “don’t apologize, you did nothing wrong.” You nodded, feeling shy about the way your shirt was wide open when you desperately tried to close it.

“Don’t bother. It’s no use, trying to close it. Just take it off,” he demanded as your eyes met his in slight confusion. “Yes, Nakamoto-nim…” You slowly took off your dirty shirt as you were left in your bra and pants. He went to the bathroom and handed you a clean wet Louis Vuitton handkerchief, “Here, clean yourself,” he said, feeling a bit bad for you as you blushed and bowed, “thank you, Sir…” You gently wiped your face, neck, collarbones, shoulders, and finally your chest. “Here, wear this till you’re off,” he took his blazer off and placed it over your shoulders, “please work inside the room on your right for the rest of the evening.” You looked up to meet his eyes and bowed deeply. “Thank you so much for all your help, Nakamoto-nim.” You smiled, walking into the small room as you continued working.

You yawned as it was almost 10:00 PM, and you decided to stick around, determined to finish your task. You almost fell asleep when Nakamoto-nim walked in to check on you. Papers were scattered all over the table and floor as he found you sprawled and sleeping heavily on the couch, “erhmm, Ms. Park,” he cleared his throat seeing your bra straps off your shoulders as he rolled his eyes, “please wake up, this is not your bedroom, Ms. Park.” He shook your shoulder as you groaned, pressing your chest against him, “sorry, just five more minutes Yeonwoo…” You mumbled in your sleep as he scoffed, feeling your chest against his forearm as he pushed you down on the couch again.

“What a truly unbelievable woman.” He sneered before dialing a girl’s number, “hello Yuka? Yes, sorry, I might sleep at the office tonight, I know I’m sorry. I’ll eat breakfast with you tomorrow, I promise. Goodnight, I love you too.” He hung up as he carried you in his arms. “Mmh… Nakamoto-nim?” You mumbled, squinting before opening your eyes widely as you jumped off his arms, “oh my goodness, what time is it?!” You yelled, feeling completely confused as he scoffed. “It’s past 11:00 PM, sleeping idiot.” He crossed his arms.

You yawned, “sorry Nakamoto-nim…” you bowed as he sighed, “just head home, it’s very late right now.” He looked at you up and down, feeling bad for you somehow, “yes Boss, I’ll get going,” you took off his jacket before handing it to him, “thank you again,” you bowed in gratitude before leaving his office. At least the elevator’s running as normal now, you greeted the security guard on your way out as you waited for your bus. Nakamoto-nim observed you from afar as he began driving past you when he smirked at the way you looked at him before the bus arrived.

“–Yeah, I know it’s so unbelievable!” You groaned, eating ramyun with Youngji and Yeonwoo. “Seriously, I don’t know why you bother working there, Unnie,” Youngji chewed and slurped her Shin Ramyun, “yeah, Youngji’s totally right, you should just get a new job if these jerks harass you again,” Yeonwoo nodded, slurping her chicken Samyang Buldak noodles. You sighed, eating your Samyang Potato Ramyun as you drank a bit of your Coca-Cola.

“I would’ve done it already… if I didn’t need the money so badly,” you groaned, finishing your noodles as you lay down on the floor, sighing heavily. “Fighting Unnie,” Youngji patted your thigh as Yeonwoo giggled, “yeah, you’re strong and stubborn, after all,” she smiled, picking up the bowls and placing them in the sink. You fell asleep as they both giggled, “you take her legs and I’ll take her arms,” they carried you on the couch as you were sleeping heavily in your bra and panties.

“Nighty’ Y/N,” Yeonwoo kissed your cheek as she tugged you with the blanket. “Sweet dreams, Unnie,” Youngji patted your hair as they left your apartment.

“–Another beer, please,” Nakamoto Yuta ordered before clinking his glass with Lee Taeyong, “aish, you’re a real asshole, Yuta, heh,” Taeyong chuckled, shaking his head in utter disbelief after hearing him tell the whole story at the office. He drank his champagne while continuing to listen. “She’s so unbelievably clumsy,” Yuta sipped his beer and poked the inside of his cheek. “Seeing her sprawled and sleeping so peacefully only in a bra really drove me crazy.” He shook his head as his friend chuckled, “you should have more patience, especially with your Yuka, remember?” He sighed, eating a piece of fried squid. “Mhm, don’t bring Yuka-chan into this, I could barely keep it together when those two fuckers harass her while I was gone.” He sneered, rolling his eyes as he thought back to earlier.

“Whose idea was it to do that to Ms. Park?” Yuta demanded, taking his watch off and tossing it to the side, “Boss, don’t blame us, please… Y/N was just acting bitchy and noisy!” Mr. Yamazaki kneeled, begging for forgiveness, “yeah, please we only wanted to teach her a lesson,” Mr. Yoo kneeled too. “Heh, you two fuckers are so quick to beg for forgiveness, fine. Go and apologize to Ms. Park right away - if you feel so bad.” He placed his hands into his pockets. “Wh-what…? Why should we apologize and ask for her forgiveness?” Yamazaki asked, looking up. “Y-Yeah…? She’s the one who was being unreasonable…!”

“I guess it can’t be helped then…” Yuta scoffed, rolling his sleeves up before slapping Mr. Yoo's cheek and then Mr. Yamazaki, they both gasped. Their eyes widened in shock. He scoffed before tilting his head and punching them. “Do you think picking on a younger woman is fun?” He sneered and glared before pulling Yamazaki’s hair as he whimpered, “I’m sorry, Boss,” he rolled his eyes before throwing him, “Boss, please spare us, we didn’t mean to harass her…!” Yoo confessed as Yuta cackled.

“Spare you?” he asked, tilting his head and staring at him begging for mercy, “fuckers like you are nothing but scum.” He punched him as he groaned, falling to the ground as Yamazaki crawled towards him.

“Go ahead, report me to the police for abuse and violence,” Yuta scoffed, tossing Yoo’s phone with the police’s number as he looked desperate.

“–However, if you as much as go near any of my coworkers or even talk to them, I’ll kill you.” Yuta warned and glared, staring at Yamazaki as he looked up in complete terror, “if I made myself clear, then get lost.” They both ran out of the room and never looked back.

“But I’m in an even worse place than you, Yuta,” Taeyong scoffed, eating some pretzels, “my foolish and irresponsible student got an attitude over the fact I told her to drop out.” He chuckled when Yuta laughed, “why would you threaten her like that, Taeyong-Hyung? She’s still a young adult and her career is the only hope she has left, right?” He raised an eyebrow, finishing his beer. “I feel bad for the likes of her… After scolding her, I accidentally spilled hot black coffee on her hoodie while stumbling upon her in the hallway,” he mumbled, feeling slightly guilty as Yuta shook his head.

“She’s quite popular with the male students at Yonsei University, I’ve heard several rumors and things about her,” Taeyong hummed, staring at the ice cubes in his empty glass. “Oh tell me, I wanna know, Hyung,” he smirked, “one rumor I heard was that she has severe Daddy issues…” He scoffed cockingly as he fixed his tie, “what the fuck does that mean, Hyung?”

“Women who tend to date older men and get into dysfunctional relationships as the aftermath of having an absent, poor or neglecting relationship with her father. This results in them having difficult times trusting men in general or getting attached to men with a sense of responsibility,” Taeyong explained as he listened, “what fucking bullshit, guess then she might as well have Mommy issues…” Yuta scoffed, shaking his head at the thought of her. “Second rumor I’ve heard about her is that she used to party a lot in nightclubs of Itaewon and Hongdae, even becoming a regular guest. Hooking up with many guys at different hotels too,” the professor scoffed and stared at him when the CEO smirked. “I guess it’s good to be young and free, huh?”

“Okay last one, Hyung?” Yuta laughed, “this one is more shocking to me… but I’ve heard that her high school homeroom teacher knocked her up and she was forced to get an illegal abortion. After that, her father hasn’t spoken to her since…” Taeyong looked at him when he was speechless. “I sure hope that the rumor is false, 'cause that’s fucked up…” He frowned, just thinking about it.

“You know what would be funny, Hyung?” Yuta cooed, walking with Taeyong in Yeouido Hangang Park, “what?” He scoffed, looking at the riverside as the cherry blossoms fell. “If you and I were talking about the exact woman, heh,” he laughed completely drunk as he scoffed, “what a load of bullshit, Yuta-ya,” he hiccuped as he chuckled, “what would be even more hilarious is if we ever ended up loving and fucking the same girl.” They both laughed and continued, walking away from the park. “Fuck, we’re so drunk…” They wheezed loudly.

The next morning, you took a shower as you were dancing and humming to Twice’s Breakthrough in Korean. You swung your arms just like in the choreography. You dried your hair with the towel as you brushed your teeth when your phone was ringing, “hello? Yeah, I just need to put my clothes on. Really? You’re picking me up?” You asked eagerly as Yeonwoo waited for you near the street.

“Omg, thank you so much Yeonwoo!” You hugged her before getting into the passenger’s seat. “Hehe, did you eat breakfast?” She asked when you shook your head, “no, I have nothing in my fridge. I need to buy groceries after school,” you groaned, buckling your seatbelt as she drove to Yonsei University.

“Thank you Youngji,” you mumbled, eating a chocolate croissant and sipping your vanilla latte, “welcome Unnie, eat well, okay?” She giggled as Yeonwoo ate blueberry yogurt with granola. “You really blacked out yesterday, Y/N-ah,” Yeonwoo hummed, eating her milk bread, “yeah, Unnie probably slept like a rock!” She chuckled when she spotted professor Lee outside making his way to campus.

“Still on bad terms with professor Lee?” Yeonwoo mumbled, drinking her hot cocoa, you nodded and looked around. “Hey, why are you so quiet today, Unnie? Did something happen with professor Lee yesterday?” You recalled the way he tried to convince you to drop out as you shook your head, typing notes on your laptop as you had several tabs opened. You fell asleep yesterday so you forgot to do some research regarding your group presentation.

“–Ms. Park Y/N,” professor Lee knocked on your table as you looked up, meeting his gaze. “Yes… professor Lee?” You said as he scoffed, “after the first module, come and see me in my meeting room, it’s urgent.” He informed you as Youngji and Yeonwoo giggled. “Any progress on how the group presentation is going? Specifically, your part,” he tilted his head, looking at you, “I’m on it, don’t worry, you won’t be disappointed, Sir.” You replied, looking at him before showing your laptop and your written notes, he scoffed, “I see, good luck to you then.” He smiled before walking away.

“Yah, enough about homework and sociology… Anyways, are you coming to Hongdae’s nightclub tonight?” Youngji cooed, wrapping an arm around you as Yeonwoo leaned in, “oh that sounds tempting, Youngji,” she giggled, you sighed heavily and thought deeply.

If you weren’t so bombarded with professor Lee’s sadistic assignments and unfair treatment towards you and along with Nakamoto-nim’s load of paperwork and overworking you like crazy, you wouldn’t feel so bad and guilty about going to nightclubs.

“Sure. Why not? You’re DJ-ing tonight right Youngji?” You giggled, closing your laptop, “yeah exactly, I’m going to light that place on fire too,” she smirked as Yeonwoo smiled, “that’s nice, let’s eat dinner and meet my place then we can get ready together,” she added as you nodded, “sweet, that’s a deal, ladies!” You smiled happily, excited at the thought of partying and letting loose tonight.

It’s not like you were bad with money or in debt, you didn’t grow up in poverty either… just a broke, alcoholic, and gambling dad. You spent most of your youth and childhood with your mother, however, your teenage and high school years went by living with your dad. Being an only child and having divorced parents as if life didn’t just hand you the biggest ‘fuck you’.

You sighed, carrying the plastic bags of groceries upstairs. You would mostly survive off junk and convenience food, if you were lucky fast food as a luxury meal. You cleaned your tiny kitchen and stacked your shelf full of cans of tuna, packs of noodles, and crispy seaweed. You organized your refrigerator and got rid of the expired milk, replacing it with a fresh and newly bought one.

“I should stop by the street market tomorrow for some fresh fruits and veggies, it’ll be cheaper that way.” You smiled to yourself, super satisfied with the grocery haul.

Although you were always struggling emotionally or even financially, you would never show anyone that you were having a hard time or dare to ask anyone for money.

“Mhm, what should we get Yuka-chan?” Nakamoto cooed, pushing the cart as she hummed, “mmm, I don’t know the prices for fruits have gotten so expensive, it’s even cheaper in Japan,” Yuka sighed, looking at green grapes as he chuckled, “you can get whatever you want, money’s not a problem, Sweetie,” he hugged her as she giggled, hugging him. “Fine, I’ll get the cantaloupe melon because it’s my favorite fruit~”

He cut a tiny piece of the medium-rare steak as he ate it. “How does the steak taste? Is it good?” She asked as Mr. Lee nodded, “yeah, it’s alright. Mrs. Hooker?” He looked at her, “yes, Taeyong-Oppa?” She cooed, leaning in, “why don’t you eat dinner with your husband?” He wiped his lips, “because he’s not as handsome as you are, Oppa~” Mrs. Hooker giggled before looking at him with a flirty gaze. “Refrain yourself from calling me, Oppa. I strongly dislike informality when I’m not close with you.” He scoffed, rolling his eyes as he took a sip of his red wine.

“–Seriously, why didn’t you tell me that you had rejected your beloved girlfriend’s proposal last year?” Mrs. Hooker cooed, resting her chin on her palm, “because my personal life and private matters don’t concern you, Mrs. Hooker.” Taeyong snapped, glaring at her, “thanks for the meal though,” he said before thanking her and leaving. “W-wait up, what about dessert? Taeyong-ssi…” She said desperately, “I’m not really a fan of sweet stuff,” he replied and stood up, walking away as she frowned.

It’s not like you were going to impress those despicable men anyways, doing your paperwork or assignments on time - wasn’t going to change how they both looked down on you or how they treated you with little to no respect. So this night was going to free you from all your stress.

“Your hands around my waist, just let the music play. We’re hand in hand, chest to chest, and now, we’re face to face!” Yeonwoo sang, putting her hands in the air as Youngji DJ’ed, “I wanna take you away. Let's escape into the music, DJ, let it play. I just can't refuse it like the way you do this. Keep on rockin' to it. Please don't stop the, please don't stop the music~ I wanna take you away~” You sang loudly, holding your glass in the air as the guys chuckled, seeing you two sing Rihanna’s Don’t Stop the Music.

“Whoo!~” You screamed, cheering your glass of peach Soju with Yeonwoo and Youngji, “that was super awesome, Youngji,” she said, smiling at her. “Thanks, Babe, man I haven’t seen Unnie as lively and loud as tonight,” you giggled, belting your drink as you wrapped your arms around them. “My two girls… I love you so much~” They laughed at the tipsiness that was getting to you.

“Any cute guys?” Youngji cooed as Yeonwoo shook her head, “who would go for someone this loud and drunk?” She replied sassily, “mhm, I’m not so loud, Yeonie~” you whined, hugging her arm. “Heh-heh, come on - wanna help me remix?” Youngji chuckled, nodding as you gladly followed her, blueberry Soju in your hand.

“This next shit is for the girls only, so boys keep it lowkey,” Youngji announced into her microphone as she started to scratch the disc, you clapped your hands as G! Remix by Lil Cherry ft. HYO started playing. “G! G! G! G! Come on Unnie, LET’S GO PYE!” She yelled, hyping up the crowd as you danced, singing along loudly Yeonwoo put her hands into the air as all the girls and women started dancing. Everyone started hyping Youngji up as she started rapping Hyo’s part, “whoo! Go Youngji!” You yelled as Yeonwoo got you a bottle of strawberry Soju as you belted it halfway through it.

Party Rock Anthem by LMFAO, Lauren Bennett, Goonrock. You already finished your third bottle of Soju as you got up from your stool, “holy shit! This song is my shit, move it bitches!” You yelled as the dance floor cleared, you started walking up and you began dancing like crazy, “party rock is in the house tonight!” You sang loudly as Youngji turned on the volume as everyone clapped and yelled, making you the center of the dance circle.

“Woo! You go girl!” Some guy yelled, blushing as you winked at him, “everybody just have a good time~!” Yeonwoo sang her arm around you. “And we gon' make you lose your mind~!” The crowd sang as you vividly remember this to be one of your best nights ever. The guy moved closer, seeing how you did your iconic robot dance, “my name’s Richard by the way, I’m Korean-American, I was wondering if I could get your number by any chance?”

To think that woman would actually change for once… only to spot her at some nightclub in Hongdae. Taeyong scoffed, seeing the center of attention and how drunk you were.

He took a sip of his Whiskey, poking the insides of his cheek and propping his hand to his head. Very annoyed by the guy asking for your number as he observed you from afar. “Nope, she’s not going home with any of you fuckboys~” Yeonwoo smiled, holding you back as you were starting to get flirty around a group of guys. “Mommy, I need to use the bathroom,” you giggled, walking away, “you sure that you’ll be okay on your own, Unnie?” Youngji yelled as you waved, “yeah, yeah… be right back~” you laughed, walking into the bathroom and using the toilet, you washed your hands before staring at yourself in the mirror.

“Fuck… I’m getting so drowsy, I could fall asleep…” You closed your eyes, sighing deeply as your head started to hurt. You went out when you bumped into a random man, “sorry…” You hummed, squinting your eyes as the voice speaking sounded rather familiar, “don’t apologize, but don’t you have something better to do than party all night here?” Professor Lee scoffed as you held onto his arms.

“Mmh… who are you…?” You hummed, smiling as you got a blurry glimpse of his face, “I’ll be waiting for you, hurry up and kiss me.” He cooed temptingly into your ear as you blushed red. “I would but you’re the type of guy to already have a mistress…” You hummed sassily as he pulled you closer, “what a naughty girl,” professor Lee rubbed your lower back, “you look so fucking beautiful, be careful out there.” He leaned in kissing your forehead when he saw your two friends approaching, “got to go Babygirl, but next time don’t forget about me.” He smirked before quickly leaving, “there you are, Unnie!” Youngji wrapped an arm around you.

“Are you okay?” Yeonwoo asked as you mumbled, “I feel I saw professor Lee,” you hummed. “Professor Lee? Are you joking, why would he even be here, Y/N-ah you’re so drunk,” Yeonwoo cackled as Youngji stared at her, “yah, you’re just as drunk as she is, maybe she’s right,” she replied, seeing a man leaving the nightclub.

“Good morning, everyone, I hope you are all refreshed and that you’ve prepared yourself for this test.” Professor Lee said, smiling and placing a stack of papers on the desk. “This test will determine your grades but also think of it as an important lesson to yourself. If you failed or scored a lower grade then you should ask yourself - if this Sociology degree is something for you, or not…” He fixed his tie as all the students looked at each other.

What’s with him, is he threatening or lecturing us again…? He’s acting so weird today.

You shrugged off your shoulders, “everyone, please don’t piss your pants, I’m sure we’ll all do well on this test. After all, we're the best, don’t forget that.” You said cockingly, crossing your arms as professor Lee met your fierce gaze as everyone cheered.

Goddess of Yonsei’s University, huh…? Taeyong thought to himself before scoffing in annoyance.

“Er-hmm, let’s begin,” he said, handing the stacks of paper as they were gradually passed to everyone. “You have one hour and 45 minutes to finish. The test begins now.” Professor Lee announced, setting a timer as he took a sip of his black coffee. You sighed, looking through the pages, searching for the hardest questions to answer first. Your level of concentration was high, you didn’t want to leave Yonsei University like professor Lee suggested to you a few days ago.

“Alright, please put your pencils away. It’s time for your group presentations.” Professor Lee said as you put your test away, “how did it go?” Yeonwoo whispered to you collecting the stacks of papers, “it was alright, I’ve answered all questions.” You replied, setting your hair in a ponytail as you caught his attention. “–Alright, since this group has two topics to cover and an interesting student on board. We’ll start with group 3: poverty and workers’ rights.” He smirked, seeing you sigh as you took your laptop and notes with you.

“Yonsei’s Goddess, huh?” A guy whispered to his friends. “I can’t believe she’s in a group with a bunch of losers and slackers!” A girl giggled, whispering as Yeonwoo stared at them. “Alright, so our main case is about poverty and workers’ rights, and this is the list of methods we’ve used for this presentation.” You hummed, connecting your laptop with the Smartboard and showing your PowerPoint presentation. “We’ve decided to use statistics and interviews to get more concrete and diverse results for poverty,” the girl presented, reading from her piece of paper. A few minutes had passed as everyone had presented their parts, it was finally your turn to finish off and demonstrate the methods professor Lee had assigned to you.

Professor Lee watched you close, expecting you to disappoint him as the selected methods weren’t going to work or assist you. Instead, it was a test to see if you would fall for his traps…

“Professor Lee told me to make use of primary sources and field research. Although they didn’t quite give me the results I needed. However, they were somewhat still useful.” You smiled, looking directly into his eyes.

“Primary sources are often used in history as a way of highlighting your arguments and ideas, you may ask what does history have to do with poverty and workers’ rights?” You shrugged, clicking on your laptop, “–when in fact it has a lot to do with the past and present, having done only primary sources wouldn’t be enough to prove my point. So I decided to add a comparative method alongside it - to get better results.” You explained, showing your statistics and pictures.

“For my field research, I went to Guryong in Gangnam on my own to observe and experience the ‘poorest place’ in Seoul. To my surprise, I found out that the poor people living in the slum; Guryong, were people forced out of poor residents or their houses as a result of redevelopments.” You showed your interviews with the people and articles.

After speaking and proudly presenting your part, you finally concluded the presentation and bowed along with your group mates. “Very well, please give a round of applause to group 3 and their splendid group work.” Professor Lee said as everyone clapped and cheered, Yeonwoo smiled signaling a ‘you did well’ to you as you smiled. “Please, applaud Ms. Park Y/N for her incredible and exceptional execution of research and delivery.” He smiled softly as you scoffed proudly.

A week went by as Mr. Lee sent you an email regarding your test results, you walked down the long hallway as you made your way to the lecture hall.

You finished your last classes for the day, Mr. Lee had asked to meet here again to discuss your test results.

You went inside the lecture hall as professor Lee stood there by his desk, awaiting you. “You’re finally here,” Mr. Lee scoffed softly as you walked up to him. “If it’s about that test, then don’t bother. ‘Cause I already know what you’re going to say.” You replied cockily as he hummed. “So you knew how bad you did,” he stated as you crossed your arms. “Is it a D?” You hummed, looking at him cluelessly.

“It’s an F, Ms. Y/N.” You sighed at the biggest and deepest disappointment in yourself. It seemed like you had lost the bet and now you will have to actually drop out. “Will you let me retake the test, professor Lee?” You asked in pure desperation. “Heh, do you know why you lost the bet?” Professor Lee demanded, holding your F-graded piece of paper, “it’s because you lack passion and patience, many students like you always rush and do things half-assed.” He scoffed, placing it down on the desk as you were silent. “What shame indeed,” he let out a sigh as you were hopeless.

No way around it, huh? Goodbye, Yonsei University…

“I understand professor Lee…” You mumbled sheepishly as he looked at you closely. “It can’t be helped, I can’t change you or force you to change. I can only convince you,” he replied, his tone sounding rather sad than disappointed. “There’s not a single thing I could do to change my final grade, professor Lee…?” You fluttered your eyes and pressed your lips together, leaning against his desk as his eyes looked at you down and up.

You were wearing a dark blue cropped blouse and underneath it, a white button-up shirt, paired with a short blue denim skirt along with a pair of black heels. “There’s one thing. But you may not be up for the task.” Professor Lee scoffed, taking a close look at your maroon-hot lips. “What is it then, Mr. Lee?” You asked desperately, leaning closer as he adjusted his glasses before sighing deeply and recalling the many fanboys you have.

Wouldn’t it be awful if a guy snatched Yonsei’s one and only hottest Goddess? Yeah, so many guys would be jealous and furious the day Park Y/N is taken!

“–Get down on your knees and suck me off.” Professor Lee took his glasses off and demanded, unbuttoning his pants as you stared at him in utter disbelief. “No way in hell am I going to do that! Are you out of your mind?” You scoffed, crossing your arms as he grabbed you by the chin, caressing your soft luscious lips with his thumb, he sat on the chair, “then drop out. You decide, Park Y/N.” He chuckled, leaning back as he was clearly using this to his advantage, leaving you weak and hopeless.

But… you were desperate… such a small and dirty request for your dear Yonsei University and your beloved Sociology bachelor's degree. What other options did you have…?

You sighed deeply, nodding as you locked eyes with him. “Fine… I’ll do it.” You said, slowly tying your hair in a high ponytail, “don’t get used to this, Lee,” you glared, leaning forward and close to his torso. “Oh, don’t worry - I won’t,” Professor smirked, you tugged some hair behind your ear as he cupped your cheek as his thumb rubbed your bottom lip.

Whatever dignity and shame left in your body was completely gone as you decided on this damned decision.

You lifted your blouse and sighed as professor Lee smirked, seeing you act so obedient and submissive. “Smart decision, Ms. Park,” he cooed, pulling his pants down as you saw the hard bulge in his black Celine briefs, you kneeled in front of him. “Professor Lee…” You looked up, unbuttoning your shirt and leaving it on top of his desk as your chest was visible.

“Go ahead and suck me off, Y/N,” He demanded as you nodded, licking a soft stripe of his big veiny cock as you felt beyond humiliated and degraded. You closed your eyes and began licking him, you tasted a few drops of his precum as you looked up, fluttering your eyes. It tasted so light and super salty, you rubbed your hands on his size, gently stroking it as he let out a few moans. “Professor has such a big one…” You blushed, placing small kisses on his length. Your one hand caressed and rubbed his balls as the other one, kept stroking and petting his cock. “Fuck, that feels nice, Y/N…” He groaned, closing his eyes as he stuck his tongue out.

You licked your lips and started sucking small spots of his cock as you eventually sucked on his red sensitive tip. “Professor Lee, mmh… mmh…” You mumbled as he hissed at the way you sucked his tip like a popsicle. Now you had completely doused him in your warm and wet saliva.

“Ahh… Fuck, good girl,” professor Lee cussed, staring at you as he pulled your ponytail, “mmh… mmh…” you mumbled, taking all of his cock inside your mouth as you were sucking him deeply. “See, how good you are when you’re listening to me?” He scoffed, moving inside your mouth as you looked at him all irritated by his remark. “Seeing you quiet and mouth full of my fucking cock, feels really nice, Y/N,” he cooed, throwing his head back as you started to deep-throat him. It wasn’t an awkward and regretful feeling anymore as you kept going, you started to gradually and slowly enjoy this. “Goodness, who has taught you to give such good head, Y/N?~” He cooed, observing you closely as he was truly fascinated by how far you were willing to go.

You didn’t know what drove you like this anymore. Whether it was the long built-up and strong hatred you had for him since the semester first started. Or whether it was the fact that it was so wrong and messed up in so many ways to be doing this in the first place. As a result of listening to him so obediently by simply sucking his big cock off. You just didn’t care anymore, your only target was to please him, and this time you just couldn’t run away from him.

He arched his back as he stood up, fucking your mouth and you gasped, feeling him pull your hair. “Yeah, that’s the spot Y/N, keep going like that, for me,” professor Lee panted as you were gagging on his cock, tears forming as his balls slapped your chin several times. “Fuck!” He yelled, cumming inside your mouth as your bra and chest were covered in his hot sticky semen. “Professor Lee…” You panted, looking up exhaustively as he smirked, “well done, Ms. Y/N,” you panted, trying to catch your breath after just having given the most intense blowjob ever to a man.

“Take that bra off, let me see them,” he growled, rubbing his tip against your laced fabric. You blushed red, looking at him deeply as you slowly unclasped your bra, letting it fall to your lap, you also loosened your hair from the tight ponytail, “ohh professor Lee…” You moaned, feeling his warm cock spread the semen all over your breasts.

I can’t believe it, I got sucked off by the university’s most loved girl. I never knew she’d look so pretty, half-naked right in front of me like this…

“N-nngh, ahh…” You whimpered, feeling him rub his tip against your sensitive nipple, “they’re C+, aren’t they?” You winced as he bit his lips, rubbing in between your soft breasts as you felt him clearly enjoy this. “Professor…” You begged as he was fucking your breasts with his cock. “Such nice titties, for a young lady,” he chuckled cockingly as you whined. “You’re so mean and unbelievable…” You squeezed him tightly, feeling his cock throb at the pure excitement of your warm breasts. “Just a little more, never thought it would feel this good, Y/N.” Professor Lee bit his lips as he was rubbing himself up and down.

A few minutes had passed as your hands were rubbing and jerking his cock off, your hand stroked his length up and down. He rubbed his tip against your right nipple as you whined, this type of pleasure was your weak point and you could swear that you were getting wet. Mr. Lee came again as he sloshed his cum on your breasts, “clean me up, Y/N,” he hissed as you hummed, sucking and licking him clean as he spoke. “You’re so beautiful, Y/N.” Your knees were sore from kneeling down, pleasing and sucking him off. You rolled your neck as he helped you stand up. He placed you on top of his desk as you looked at him while blushing slightly. Looking at professor Lee up close and without his glasses was so dangerously attractive and hot.

“Here, let me clean your breasts,” professor Lee said, wiping them down with wet wipes from his drawer as you were surprised by this sort of aftercare from him. Usually he would belittle or even scold you but seeing this soft side of him today made you feel something different. He kissed them as he picked up your laced bra from the floor, “let me put it on you,” he insisted, closing it as you leaned forward.

“Professor Lee?” You looked at him deeply, “mhm?” You leaned in kissing him deeply, he wanted to reject your unexpected kiss but couldn’t. The feeling of your soft plump lips was his only weakness.

“Thank you for giving me another chance…” You said shyly, bowing your head as you smiled brightly. “Mhm, no need to thank me, you’re an exceptional and talented student,” he confessed, leaning for another kiss as you hummed, wrapping your arms around him as the kisses gradually led to you two making out. “Thank you, professor Lee…” You panted as he looked down at your silver piercing. “Mhm, then don’t disappoint me anymore, Y/N.” He scoffed softly, smiling a little as you chuckled. “I won’t, professor.” You leaned in kissing him deeply as he held you close, “mmh-mmh… ohh, Mr. Lee,” you whined, feeling him passionately make out with you.

It shouldn’t be like this… Making out with your professor shouldn’t feel this intense and so great. But it did…

You were both panting and groaning when he rubbed your thigh. “Just relax, enjoy it, I’m not punishing you anymore,” he cooed as you blushed red, feeling his warm tongue press against yours as you winced, he swallowed your moans. Your maroon lipstick was almost completely smeared off as professor Lee chuckled, making out with you softly. “Mmh… professor Lee…” You whined, grasping onto his shoulder as you felt his hand inside your panties. He kissed you deeply, licking your jawline as you arched your back all of a sudden.

“–To think that you despise me but yet still get so wet after sucking me off~” professor cooed as you moaned, “one day, you’ll let me fuck this sweet pussy,” he smirked as you wrapped your legs around him, feeling him finger you deeply. “Ahh… Mr. Lee… don’t…” You begged, feeling him rub and graze your sensitive clit with his thumb. “No one has touched you like this before have they?” You nodded, feeling completely turned on by his veiny hand, he gently stroked your labia. “Please… Don’t stop.” You whined, closing your eyes as his hands worked like real magic to you, he smirked at your desperate request, “I don’t plan on it, don’t worry, Babygirl.” He kissed your lips in reassurance, sticking a finger inside your pussy as you moaned.

“These male students suck in bed, I know all about it; overhearing your conversations with Yeonwoo. It made me laugh,” he chuckled as you scoffed, “professor Lee you’re such a sadist,” you moaned, “mhm, I may be one. But you like that don’t you?~” he cooed, inserting a second finger inside your pussy, “mmh… professor…” You whined, throwing your head back as he curled his fingers before shoving a third finger inside, you gasped, nodding eagerly. “I like it so much, professor Lee,” you pleaded as he smirked, “I’ll make you feel good, Y/N,” you mewled loudly, feeling your orgasm near, “just call me Taeyong, Beautiful,” he smirked as you bit on your bottom lip. “After all, I’m the only man who can make you feel this good,” Taeyong whispered as you blushed red.

You were panting heavily as he looked under your skirt, he slid your panties down as you whimpered, and you felt his warm tongue touch your pussy roughly, “mmh… Taeyong, it’s so embarrassing…” You whined, feeling him suck on your labia, “mhm, don’t be, you have such a pretty pink pussy, Baby,” he cooed before kissing you as he went back under again. Taeyong began coating your pussy in his wet saliva as you moaned, holding his head as he gave it a few rough licks. “Mhm, mhm,” he hummed before sucking on your clit as you winced. “Taeyong…” You closed your eyes in frustration as he began eating you out.

The way he pleased you was going to drive you crazy, you were nearing your climax too. You pulled his hair and began rocking forward to the rhythm of his mouth. He placed his hand on the inside of your thigh, two fingers on your pussy as he spread your lips. He shoved his tongue in your pussy as he moved it inside thoroughly and roughly. “Aah… Ahh… Professor!” You moaned, before climaxing as he pulled back to look at you. “Mhm, what a pretty girl,” Taeyong cooed as you held your skirt up a little to let him taste and drink your cum.

He lifted his head and licked your cum off his fingers, “professor Taeyong, that felt so incredible…” He kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself. “You taste so sweet, Baby,” Taeyong smirked, licking his lips as you hugged him closely. He wiped your thighs clean as you hummed happily. You began dressing slowly as he buckled his pants, “you’re such a pretty lady,” he cooed, stroking his hand on your torso as he sat down again and admired your tattoos.

You blushed at his sweet compliment, pulling your panties up as you sat on his lap. He looked at you deeply before kissing you, “mmh, professor…” You hummed, feeling him make out with you as his hand fondled your right breast, “mhm, Y/N…” Taeyong sighed before placing you on top of the desk again and taking your nipple inside his mouth, you threw your head back as you patted his hair.

“Ooh… Taeyong…” You moaned, feeling him suck on your nipple so roughly. You rubbed your legs together as he was motorboating your breasts like crazy. “You’re such a pervert…” You whined, feeling him shake, grope and fondle your breasts. “Mhm, I know, Baby,” Taeyong cooed before popping your left nipple into his mouth and sucking on it. You moaned loudly as you hugged him close, getting super wet by this. Finally, he pulled back before standing up and looking into your eyes, you both made out deeply and passionately.

You felt nothing but pure and intense hatred for this man… But right now you only desired him, you wanted him and needed him…

“Professor… Aah… Taeyong…” You were panting, grinding against his boner as Taeyong was rubbing and squeezing your asscheeks, “keep going, Baby,” he made out with you aggressively, “ooh, professor… if I keep going I’m going to–” he interrupted you with a deep kiss, “–squirt again? Let me see it Babygirl,” he ground roughly against the warmth in your panties as you grasped onto him.

“You have no idea how much I like you,” Taeyong scoffed, hoisting you onto the desk again. “Ooh, Taeyong…” You cupped his cheek as he pulled your skirt down, you continued grinding against his hard bulge as you were only left on your panties and bra. “Taeyong, you make me so good,” you moaned, placing a hand into his boxers as you stroked him impatiently. “Mhm, let me see how pretty this girl looks when you squirt,” he cooed, softly tugging your panties down as he touched you roughly.

“So wet, hmm,” he made out with you as you were jerking him off until he came a third time. You licked your fingers, totally greedy for his cum as you finally squirted, Taeyong watched it drip from your pussy as he smirked, “truly a pretty sight, Baby,” he cooed before diving down to lick your juices.

“Thank you so much, Taeyong,” you expressed, kissing him and hopping off his desk. “Come see me if you have any problems, Y/N.” He said, putting his glasses on as he was going to change your grades. “Yes professor Lee,” you nodded when he stood up and pulled you close into a passionate kiss, “mhm, be careful on your way home, Babygirl.” He hummed, cupping your cheek as you nodded, “mmh, I will, thank you, professor Lee,” you thanked him and bowed before taking your leave.

It was 4:45 PM as you left the campus, your thoughts full of your professor. You sighed, playing Like a Cat by AOA in your headphones as you took the bus, heading home.

You couldn’t help but giggle at the thought of sucking Taeyong off in exchange for a better grade, but nothing in this world surprises you anymore. You hummed, blushing red just at the thought of doing it another time.

In the lecture hall, professor Lee Taeyong would always scold you for not paying attention, he made you feel so small and stupid. But today was different, he embraced you and he looked only at you. He desired you and his warmth was enough for you. “Just relax, enjoy it, I’m not punishing you anymore.” That sweet and comforting voice was so reassuring, you felt deeply loved and needed.

🎶Oh talk to me, oh lead me, oh kiss Baby🎶 You hummed, smiling and resting your head against the window.

Professor Lee smirked at the sight of your test, waving the papers to himself in his office. “You’re so full of surprises, Park Y/N.”

“–What is it, Mrs. Hooker?” Mr. Lee scoffed, fixing his tie as he was about to leave the faculty room, “why can’t you treat me to a nice dinner?” She whispered, flashing her chest as he looked away annoyedly, “cut it out Hooker, you’re not my type and I don’t plan on sleeping with you.” He walked past her as she held his arm.

“I heard you and that girl inside your classroom; once I find out who you fucked I will take legal action against you.” Mrs. Hooker threatened as he glared at her. “Try anything funny, and you’ll never see me work here again, so don’t fucking test me.” Taeyong threatened her as he left.

You walked inside the elevator, humming happily as Mr. Nakamoto noticed your cheerful mood, “good evening, Nakamoto-nim!” You bowed and smiled, “good evening Ms. Park. You seem rather optimistic today,” he pressed the 10th floor as it closed. “Oh, you think so?” You giggled, blushing slightly as he chuckled, seeing the visible hickey on your collarbones, “mhm, you seem happier today,” he walked out as you followed him to his office.

“Well done on the task, I let you work under Mr. Watanabe Haruto and Ms. Hirai Momo from now on.” Nakamoto smiled, handing you an envelope. “Wow, is this my paycheck?” You gasped, taking a look inside, “mhm, the Tinder advertisement was a huge success thanks to you,” he folded his arms in amusement, “keep up the good work, Ms. Park.” You bowed and thanked him deeply.

“Looks like someone’s in a good mood, today,” Ms. Im smiled, seeing how enthusiastically you worked at your desk, “yeah, Nayeon-Unnie didn’t you know?” Ms. Myoui giggled, showing the statistics for the advertisement, “Ms. Y/N made a win with her ideas on this one,” she was in awe, seeing the video, and patted your shoulder. “Wow, Ms. Park good job!” Ms. Im nodded as Ms. Myoui chuckled.

“Alright, so we’ll be having a client today,” Ms. Hirai informed you and Ms. Im as the three of you were working inside her office. “Mr. Jung Hyungdon, a banker, huh?” You hummed, carefully reading the client’s descriptions and his request. “I and Ms. Im are going to greet him, but this meeting will be held with the three of us.” She said, gathering the papers as you nodded, “yes, Hirai-Senpai.” She smiled, hearing you use Japanese.

“Hello Mr. Jung Hyungdon and welcome to our advertisement agency.” Ms. Hirai greeted him as he shook her hand, “a pleasure meeting you again, Momo,” he said informally as she tilted her head in confusion, “I believe we should avoid formalities now that I’m going to be a regular client for your agency,” he chuckled, hugging Ms. Im all of a sudden. “And you must be…?” He took a quick look at you, “I’m Park Y/N,” you bowed, staring at him. Mr. Nakamoto walked out to greet him.

You all headed down and out for a team dinner. “Ah, so you’re finally here, great!” Mr. Jung rubbed your back and wrapped an arm around Ms. Hirai. Let’s go and get dinner together, we can discuss much better that way, hahaha!” He laughed loudly as you removed his arm. “What’s wrong with her?” Jung scoffed seeing you behave. You walked next to Ms. Myoui, “I don’t trust him, he seems rather rude,” you whispered. “What? He’s an important client to us…” She whispered, looking back as he had both his arms wrapped around Ms. Hirai and Ms. Im.

“Mr. Jung, please refrain from physically touching my coworkers, I had to fire two former workers because of this issue.” Mr. Nakamoto scoffed, staring at him as he nodded, “sorry, sorry.” He mumbled, letting go of them.

This was your first time actually eating team dinner with the whole crew. You were eager to see what you would be eating.

“I hope you don’t mind Thai food today,” Nakamoto said, holding the menu cart as your eyes widened, looking through the menu in excitement. “Found something, you like Y/N-ssi?” Ms. Im giggled, “I’ve never had Thai food in Seoul before…” You hummed, thinking about picking the Chicken Pad Thai. “Wow, great choice, Ms. Park,” Ms. Myoui smiled and spoke, “I think I’ll go with the Thai Red Curry with chicken.” Mr. Jung looked over at you, noticing the hickey on your neck, and scoffed. “Hmm, I’ll choose the Tom Yum soup,” Ms. Im added, “alright, then I’ll pick the Beef Massaman Curry,” Ms. Hirai smiled, “Boss, what will you have?” She asked, looking over as he hummed, “the Coconut Chicken soup looks delicious, so I’ll take that.”

“Alright has everyone ordered?” Nakamoto placed the menu cart down before calling the waiter as everyone nodded, “yes, Sir what would you like to order?” He asked, looking at you all. “Please excuse me, I will just go wash my hands,” you said and bowed, “wait, Y/N-ssi, let me join you too!” Ms. Im mumbled, getting up from her seat.

“My, is that a hickey on your collarbones?” She giggled poking it as you pulled out your foundation, “I didn’t notice it earlier, that’s probably why Nakamoto-nim laughed earlier…” You mumbled, covering it. “Ah, you didn’t need to use the toilet, Im-Sunbae?” You tilted your head. “No, I actually didn’t need to go but I just needed a reason to escape from that creep, Mr. Jung,” she scoffed, washing her hands. “I feel bad for Momo, he’s probably all up on her right now.”

“So it’s all women tonight, huh? How nice~” Mr. Jung chuckled, looking at us. “Yeah, Mr. Watabane and Mr. Adachi had some business related to take care of,” Mr. Nakamoto replied, taking a sip of water when his phone suddenly rang. “Please excuse me,” he bowed before answering the call, “ah hello, Dori-Ani,” he chuckled, smiling and walking away.

“So how long has this Y/N been working here?” Jung demanded, finishing his beer as Ms. Myoui scoffed before answering, “about two years this summer, why?” He chuckled, “I see that’s why she’s so rude and mean. She’s not gentle and sweet like Momo~” he chuckled, wrapping an arm around her as she clearly felt uncomfortable. “–Yah! Didn’t Nakamoto-nim tell you not to keep your distance?” You yelled, staring at him in disbelief as Ms. Im glared at him as he moved his hand away. “Aish, I forgot, sorry, okay?” Jung scoffed as the food arrived.

“Ah, where’s Boss?” You asked, looking around as you noticed him around the corner speaking on the phone, “Ms. Y/N could you please get me a bottle of ginger ale in the fridge?” Myoui asked as you nodded, standing up, “–get me a bottle of beer too.” He scoffed, looking away as you rolled your eyes.

You walked over to get the drinks when you overheard him speak again. “You know this is why I prefer Japanese women like Momo and Mina, you two are quiet and submissive unlike that bitch,” Ms. Hirai mumbled, “quiet and submissive, just what do you mean by that?” Ms. Im scoffed, crossing her arms, “don’t call Y/N-ssi a bitch just because she dislikes you,” she glared at him. “The three of us all despise you but only hold back because you’re a very important client.” Ms. Myoui frowned, “also refrain from addressing us by our first names, I don’t feel comfortable with clients using informalities.”

You came back with a bottle of ginger ale for her, “here you go, Ms. Myoui,” you smiled, handing her the drink, “thank you, Ms. Park.” Jung scoffed, staring at you, “and where’s my fucking beer?” You sat down, raising an eyebrow, “your drink? Didn’t you just call me a bitch? A really bad bitch like me doesn’t take orders from strangers.” You scoffed as Hirai chuckled. “Aish, you damn wench, you’re a real bad influence to your superiors here!” Jung yelled, pointing at you. “You made Ms. Myoui so cold, Ms. Im so bold, and Ms. Hirai so distant!” He scoffed, getting up and shaking his head.

“Right, I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Nakamoto said before hanging up and walking back to the table.

“Me and Hirai were just getting along so well together… Was going to ask for her number–” Jung scoffed as you got up and slapped him. “You dirty scumbag! You’re no important client! You’re just a huge pervert!” You yelled as he rubbed his cheek, “Ms. Park, what’s going on?” Mr. Nakamoto asked, looking at you, “Boss, this client’s a huge fucker!” You said and pointed at him, “I’m never going to work with you again, you have a lot of crazy bitches in this agency!” Mr. Jung said before storming out of the restaurant.

The rest of the evening you enjoyed the team dinner, no one said a word as it was awkwardly and awfully quiet after what just occurred. “Let’s say it’s this for today, everyone I’ll see you tomorrow.” Mr. Nakamoto said, paying the bill as we stood outside the restaurant. You bowed to the three of them, “–and Ms. Park, you and I in my office. I believe we need a serious talk,” he scoffed as you nodded, following him back to the building.

You explained exactly what happened but it seemed to Nakamoto-nim that you were telling lies. Even though you weren’t, he pushed you onto his black leather couch.

“Don’t look at me like that…” You said as he tied his black tie around your wrists, “not my fault or problem here,” Yuta scoffed, pissed off by your attitude, “now tell me, why did you slap that client?” You tilted your head in annoyance, “I already told you, he was being unreasonable, super disrespectful to Hirai-Senpai and Im-Sunbae.” You sneered. “Fuck, you’re so bad, you stubborn woman,” he hissed, glaring at you as he was above you. “I’m going to punish you, Park Y/N.” He scoffed, lifting your blouse as your chest and lingerie bra were revealed.

It seemed like this time you really angered Nakamoto-nim. There was no way out of this except listening to his orders and warnings… This wasn’t really fazing you as much as you feared.

“Please don’t be so harsh on me, Nakamoto-nim…” You blushed, giving in to his weird way of punishing you, “tch, shut up.” Nakamoto scoffed, “you know how scary I can get - don’t you?” He shook his head as his hand grabbed your chin, making you look directly at him, you frowned, rubbing your thighs together. “Aren’t you fearing what I might end up doing to you, Y/N?” He tilted his head, studying your weak expression as you looked at him deeply.

It was weird, normally you would’ve been startled in this kind of situation, it’s a random man after all. Is he just going to fuck you into behaving better? Your head was full of dirty and wrong thoughts. But somehow CEO Nakamoto Yuta punishing you wasn’t nearly as bad as you thought, maybe it’s because you secretly like being punished…

“Because it’s you, then I’m not afraid. Just do whatever you want to my body, I trust you…” You mumbled, biting your bottom lip and blushing slightly as he scoffed, “what a stubborn woman,” he was annoyed with your answers, he lowered himself, meeting you with a deep and passionate kiss, you were taken back by his sudden change of character. You closed your eyes, not rejecting him at all.

Tch, to think this woman trusts me enough to make love to her, how unbelievable…

“Mmh-mmh, Nakamoto-nim…” You hummed, feeling him make out with you deeply. Then he pulled back and rubbed your lips with his thumb, carefully glancing at them, “–you make it so hard for me… to hate you.” He sucked his teeth, before roughly kissing your neck as your eyes widened in surprise, leaning in for another kiss and deepening it. “–You hate me?” You mumbled as you felt helpless still being tied like this he sighed, letting go of your wrists, and hummed in relief.

“You’re always protecting everyone around you, not thinking twice about yourself.” Nakamoto scoffed, caressing your cheek as he looked at you deeply. “Selfless and kind-hearted people like you… People are going to take advantage of that, Princess,” he cooed, smirking as you patted his chest, causing him to look at your hand as he took it before kissing it.

One more sentence, just once more… Tell me that you truly despise me and I’ll stop tormenting you. Nakamoto thought to himself.

“–If it's you that’s going to take advantage of me, then go ahead, Nakamoto-nim.” You confessed, sitting up to kiss him deeply, he hummed making out with him as you unbuttoned his shirt. You admired his sexy tattoos, you saw that silver piercing as you were surprised, “mhm, like what you see, Princess?~” He cooed, making out with you, “mmh, I love it, you’re so sexy, Boss,” you hummed, blushing red as he pulled the blouse off you.

I can’t seem to fight back the feelings, I got you. And from now on only look at me.

“You’re so full of surprises, Nakamoto-nim, didn’t know you would be the type to have tattoos and even a belly button piercing…” You hummed, feeling him kiss your breasts as he caressed the laced fabric of your bra. “Mhm, at least you’re better than me, covering them with foundation while at work, hmm?” Nakamoto cooed, fondling your breast as you moaned.

“Aah… Yeah, I didn’t want to risk getting fired - if anyone caught me having tattoos. Your stupid rule of no-tattoos policy makes zero sense.” You rolled your eyes, frowning, “mhm, I didn’t implement that rule. It was originally the former CEO of our agency that decided on that. Some old man was salty about the fact that tattoos are a form of artwork and expressing oneself.” You blushed red, feeling him cuddle your breasts, you ran your hands in his hair as he hummed.

“Mmh… Aah… Nakamoto-nim…” You moaned, feeling him kiss your hip bone, “what a gorgeous tattoo you have,” he smirked, tracing his fingertips on the Azurri Blue Satin Hibiscus flower tattoo you had on your left hip bone. (Picture at the bottom🌚) He gently sucked on it leaving a visible hickey as he chuckled, “you’re such a bully, why would you leave a hickey on my hip bone?” You demanded, sitting up as he licked his lips, “because I wanted to. You know what that flower means right?” He leaned in kissing you as you hummed, making out with him, “mhm, the color’s a mix of blue and purple, but its meaning doesn't change.” You confessed, “it represents wealth, royalty, wisdom, and knowledge, as well as mystery or even fear of the unknown.” You pursed your lips as he chuckled.

“You forgot what the blue color’s true meaning, Princess,” he cooed, pulling you by the cheek as you embraced him closely, “it’s fertility and glory, Princess,” he whispered into your ear, nibbling onto your earlobe, you blushed red as he pinned you down, kissing your neck and roughly covering it in hickies.

It’s strange, you’re supposed to be fearing your Boss. But embracing him like this made you feel protected and warm, your body felt so comfortable with his presence.

You looked at him as you unclamped your bra, his eyes gawking at the sight of your pretty round breasts as you placed it on the small table. “Stop looking at them like that…” You covered them shyly as he kept staring, “sorry, I didn’t know you had such pretty breasts,” he kissed you deeply, you hummed in between his kisses, hugging him as he blushed. “Why aren’t you touching them yet?” You whispered as he closed his eyes, “you’re making it hard for me to keep my cool, Doll.” He cooed, rubbing your bare back as you pulled back.

“Nakamoto-nim…” You called, leaning forward and inviting him as he licked his lips. “You really don’t mind? I might not be able to control myself after this one, Babydoll,” he confessed, rubbing circles in your areolas as you whimpered, “Nakamoto-nim…Aah… Ahh…” You moaned loudly as he was playing with your breasts, “please be gentle…” You whined, feeling him kiss your hardened nipples as he smirked, “they’re super sensitive, aren’t they?” You nodded, feeling flustered, patting his hair as you felt him suck on it. You closed your eyes and felt his warm tongue, swirling around it. “You’ve such perfect breasts, Y/N.”

“Aah… Ahh… Nakamoto-nim…” You moaned, pulling his hair as he smirked, your left nipple completely covered in his saliva. He pulled back before wiping his lips, “just call me Yuta, Princess,” he smirked before making out with you passionately, “mmh, Yuta, mmh, Yuta…~” You hummed, feeling your panties get wet by the way he made out with you.

You think anyone would go crazy after being kissed like that. You pouted, leaning in to leave a red hickey on his neck, Yuta chuckled.

“What a meanie, how am I going to explain this to Yuka?” Yuta pointed at the mark you left on him, you giggled as you unbuttoned your skirt, “you’re the meanie, I thought you were going to fire me earlier…” You pouted as he unbuttoned his pants when you noticed the big bulge in his Calvin Klein boxer briefs. “I would never fire you, Doll - what makes you think that?” Yuta cooed, kissing you deeply as you held onto him, grinding against his bulge he groaned lowly. “I don’t know, I thought I might have really angered you… It makes my heart ache.” You confessed, he pulled your skirt down as you were left in your panties.

“Mhm, you care so deeply for your Boss?” He cooed, sucking on your right breast as you moaned, “aah… Of course, I do.” You blushed at your own words as he chuckled, pulling his boxers down as his dick bounced out. The sight of his big dick made you gasp.

How is that big of a dick even going to fit inside you…?

“–Impressed, are we?” Yuta cooed, rubbing the back of his neck as you sat up, staring at his dick, “you’re so big…” You blushed red and stammered, “mhm, Babydoll,” he looked at you, “so big and hard…” You hummed, rubbing his dick as he hissed, a little bit of precum was leaking from his tip. “You wanna taste him?” He cooed as you nodded eagerly.

“Go ahead, Doll.” He scoffed, sitting on the couch, placing his arm on the armrest. “Yuta~ mmh~” you kneeled down and licked his dick desperately as he hissed, “fuck, Babydoll, you’re really good,” he bit his bottom lip as you swirled your tongue around him. “You’ve such a nice big dick, Yuta,” you hummed, sucking on the sensitive red tip like a popsicle as he groaned, “fuck, you’re driving me crazy, Y/N.” He cupped your cheek as you locked eyes with him before winking at him. “What a flirty woman,” he scoffed.

“Mmh, mmh, Yuta,” you hummed, starting to suck him off, he tasted so nice and a little salty, “fuck, your head game’s strong, Princess,” Yuta cooed, holding your head as you rubbed his dick in between your soft breasts, gently squeezing and teasing him, “mmh…” You hummed, sucking on the tip as he threw his head back, rolling his eyes back as he was closer and closer to cuming. “Fuck, Princess, I’m not gonna last like that.~” He moaned, forcing you to take all of him inside your mouth, you whimpered at the sudden movement as he hit the back of your throat, and you gagged a little.

“Too much, Princess?” Yuta asked, looking at you concerned he might’ve gone overboard, you shook your head, “no, I can take you, Yuta…” You started to deepthroat him, inhaling and exhaling as small tears formed in your eyes. He cussed, grabbing onto the armrest as he started to thrust against your mouth, you whimpered, mouth full of him. “Shit, fuck, I’m going to cum,” he hissed before standing up, you looked up, fluttering your eyes as he pulled a fistful of your hair as he started to fuck your mouth.

Yuta had lost all his patience as he started to thrust roughly into your mouth, you choked a bit as he cussed and groaned loudly, “fuck!” He came hard down your throat as it leaked out of your mouth, his semen covered your chin and breasts. You felt overwhelmed and surprised by how much he came. “Sorry, must’ve too much for you to handle, Doll.” He said, helping you sit on his lap.

“Mmh-mmh, I really liked it, Yuta,” you hummed, wrapping your arms around him as you licked your lips and smiled, “you like the taste?~” You nodded eagerly as he leaned in, kissing you and tasting himself, “mhm, not bad I guess,” he cooed, smiling at you. “Mmh… Yuta?” You called out, lying on his couch as he started wiping you clean, “mhm? What is it, Princess?~” You moved forward, kissing him as you pursed your lips. “My, you really love kissing me, don’t you?” You nodded, watching him clean you and take care of you so well.

You weren’t used to men taking care or caring for you, seeing Nakamoto-nim be so protective of you made your heart skip a beat. Despite being completely naked in his office, he kept his usual calm and collected composure.

“All clean, Doll,” he smiled, wiping himself clean as you hugged his arm, “Yuta?” You hummed as he turned to face you, “mhm, mhm, Babydoll,” he cooed, feeling you kiss him deeply as you made out with him. His kisses left you breathless, and wanting more.

“Nakamoto-nim…” You moaned, feeling him tease you with his dick, rubbing against the fabric of your panties, “you don’t know how much I wanna make love to you, Princess,” he scoffed, grinding against your panties as you saw the precum leaking onto your undies. “Fuck me, please…” You begged as Yuta smirked, he knew you were dazed after making out and kissing him like crazy. “You have to beg for it, Y/N,” he cooed, seeing you in slight distress as he sucked on your breast, you whined, “please, please fuck me, Nakamoto-nim…” You pleaded as he clicked his tongue, seeing how desperate and needy you were for him.

“I’ll only do it once, no next extra rounds after this, okay Princess?” He cooed, and you nodded eagerly, “yes Sir,” you smiled at the thought of him making love to you. He reached for the table where he hid a small packet of condom inside the lamp. You ground your panties against him as he smirked, slowly rolling the condom on his dick. “Mhm, I know Babydoll, just be patient, I’ll fuck you in a moment,” Yuta cooed, lowering himself as he removed your panties, gently placing them on the table.

You both looked at each other, he held your hand as you slowly felt the intrusion. “Tell me if it hurts, Princess.” Yuta kissed your temple as you breathed heavily.

“Yuta… Ooh… Aah… Ahh…” You moaned at the sudden plunge, his dick was hard and big, not even all the way inside and it was already driving you crazy, you gasped at each inch that went further inside. “I know he’s a handful, just take it easy, Y/N,” Yuta groaned at how tightly you were clenching and squeezing around his size. He waited for you to adjust to his size and get used to him before he could begin to move. “Ooh, Yuta…” You moaned, feeling him fit all of his dick inside your pussy, his size squirming as you felt yourself wrap around him. “Fuck, you’re so tight, Princess,” he scoffed, moving slightly as you moaned loudly, “you’re so overwhelming and big, I’m surprised th-that I can even take you,” you whimpered and gasped at his slow and deep thrusts.

“You’ll get used to me soon, Y/N. Don’t worry.” Yuta cooed, arching his back as he continued fucking you, seeing how aroused and needy you were for him, making him harder, you held his hands and squeezed them, the thrusts were insufferable and rough but a sense of slight satisfaction followed afterward. “I like your dick so much, it fits me so perfectly,” you whined, sweating a bit as he wiped your forehead before kissing you passionately, “you really like this big dick, mhm?” You nodded, grasping onto his back as he fucked you at a slightly faster pace. The sound of skin slapping and your loud moans of his name were music to Yuta’s ear.

Without noticing it, you had reached your climax and came all over his dick, you were too dazed. When Yuta looked down and smirked, “mhm, do I fuck you this good, Doll?~” You blinked as you realized what just happened, you blushed red, “w-what? I didn’t know I came…” You felt flustered at the mess you left of his torso and thighs, he smirked at the sight of it. “Mhm, doesn’t it just feel incredible?~” He cooed, making out with you, “feels amazing…” You whined, holding onto him tightly.

You were both making out intensely as his thrusts were getting sloppier, “I’m close, Babydoll,” he sighed, pressing his forehead against yours and locking your hands on his lower back. As a result, Yuta got deeper inside as he groaned and cussed at the feeling. “Mmh, harder, Yuta…” You moaned, wrapping your legs around his ass. He scoffed, fucking you at a rougher and faster pace as you were clawing his back. “Goodness, you really like being punished, don’t you?~” He chuckled, sweating a bit as he came inside the condom as you blushed, seeing his face as he bit his lips before panting heavily.

“That was amazing, Princess,” he cooed, lying next to you on the couch as you faced him before giving a quick kiss to his lips, “never had a man fuck me this good, it’s crazy,” you hummed as he chuckled, “mhm, what a naughty girl, having her very own Boss punish her and make love to her in his very office.” Yuta smirked, holding you close as you cuddled him. His chest smelled of Cologne, not too much or too little.

It was just perfect. Perfect - is what Nakamoto Yuta was in your eyes. You didn’t and definitely wouldn’t mind having sex with him a few times if it ever occurred that he needed a little ‘assistance’. Rich, calm, responsible, loyal, and strong, basically the man of your dreams was lying right next to you.

“Can I sleep in your bed tonight…?” You hummed, feeling a little flusteredly to ask such a question, “mhm, can’t do that Babydoll, you know I have Yuka around,” you sighed, “but I really like you…” You pouted as he chuckled, kissing your cheek before patting your shoulder, “mhm, you like me that much?” You nodded, placing your hand on your stomach, “maybe next time, let’s get dressed and leave for now, Y/N,” Yuta hummed, caressing your cheek, “mmh-mmh…” You leaned in, making out with him as he chuckled.

Yuta wiped you clean once again and helped you get dressed as you sat on his desk, “you’re such a pretty woman, Y/N,” he cooed, closing your bra as you kissed him, “mmh, then why aren’t you letting this pretty woman sleep in your bed, Mr. Yuta?~” You cooed, pursing your lips as he scoffed, “because if you end up sleeping in my bed Doll, then I’m afraid I would make love to you all night even with Yuka around.” He whispered as the thought was wilding and tempting to both of you. “Mmh, what a perverted man you are… Aah!” You moaned, feeling his hand rub against your pussy.

“She’s already warm and wet again, does my voice turn you on?~” Yuta cooed, looking into your eyes as you nodded desperately, “ahh, aah… Yuta, you’re such a bully…” You whined, feeling him shove two fingers inside your pussy, “what a naughty girl, having dirty thoughts of her own Boss.” He smirked as you moaned, grasping onto his shoulders, rubbing yourself against his fingers. “Didn’t I just fuck you into place?~” He scoffed in disbelief, seeing how needy you get for him.

“Mmh-mmh…” You wanted to scream but Yuta made out with you, swallowing your cries. You felt a third finger slipping inside and fingering you, “such a good girl,” he hissed, curling his fingers as you closed your eyes. You couldn’t believe the way you were being touched, let alone get so aroused by one man.

If the age gap weren’t a problem you would’ve let this man get you pregnant a long time ago.

“Yuta… I’m going to… Aah…” You moaned, feeling unable to keep it together, “I know Babydoll, let me see you squirt all over my fingers.” Yuta whispered into your ear as you squirted heavily and desperately. You were panting as his hand was covered in your wetness. He slipped two of his fingers inside his mouth and licked the clean, “didn’t know you’d taste so sweet, Y/N,” he held his index finger, pointing at you, “mmh-mmh…” You leaned in, sucking on it and tasting yourself.

He bent down slightly, eating you out as you moaned, patting his hair, his warm lips against your pussy felt good. “Ooh, Yuta… That feels so great…” You threw your head back and wrapped your thighs around him, and he pulled you closer as he was licking you clean, “mhm, Doll,” he smirked, gently teasing your anus with his warm tongue as you winced at the feeling.

You stepped into your panties as he pulled them up, gently patting your ass before groping it, “what a nice ass, Y/N,” Yuta cooed, rubbing it as you blushed, fixing his button-up shirt as you looked at the hickey you left on him earlier. It made you giggle a little, just what was going through your mind to leave such a hickey on your Boss? You fixed his tie as he helped you get your blouse on, you closed his zipper and buckled his belt. “Mmh, Boss’s so hot~” You hummed, wearing your miniskirt as he chuckled at your compliment. “Boss is lucky to fuck such a nice, stubborn, and pretty woman,” he smirked as you made out with him.

He turned off the lights in the main office as you headed inside the elevator, “mhm-mhm, Babydoll~” Yuta cooed, making out with you until you reached the ground level, “do you get home by metro or taxi?” You asked, wearing your coat, “by car, what about you?” You nodded, “I’m taking the bus but seeing how it’s super late, I guess I’ll have to walk my way home,” you hummed, bowing at the security guard on your way out.

“Don’t, it’s too late to be walking at this hour, Y/N.” Yuta said, patting your shoulder as he held your hand, “but the bus won’t be here before another hour,” you walked to the parking spots, “where do you live? Let me drop you off there,” you shook your head, feeling embarrassed. “No, there’s no need to, Nakamoto-nim,” you bowed as he pulled you by the wrist and inside his fancy car. “It’s dangerous at this time, I don’t want something to happen to you, Y/N.” He confessed, caressing your hand.

You blushed at the way he cherished and protected you… That night you were very thankful to Nakamoto Yuta.

You leaned in kissing him deeply as he hummed, “Babydoll, mhm~” Yuta cooed, rubbing your thigh as you made out with him, his kisses were so tempting and lustful. They left you begging and wanting for more. “Mmh… Ooh, Yuta…” You moaned as he started the engine and began driving off.

The car arrived in front of your apartment. “Mhm, mhm, Doll,” Yuta sucked on your tongue, gently rubbing his hand up and down on your thigh. “Mmh, Yuta…” You straddled him, making out with him roughly as he growled.

“–Yah, where are you!?” Yuka yelled into the phone as he panickily chuckled, “–almost there, sorry I had some work to take care of at the office.” Yuta chuckled, biting his lip and unzipping his pants as you were sucking him off, “well, hurry up!” She demanded, before hanging up. “Shit, guess she’s super pissed I wonder if it’s school or one of her friends again…” He patted the back of your neck as you very super focused on his dick, “mmh…” He smiled, patting your hair as you started to deep-throat him. “Gotta go Babydoll. Yuka-chan hates waiting.” You pulled back, swallowing his small amount of cum.

“Thank you, for getting me home safely, Nakamoto-nim,” you bowed when he rolled down the window and kissed you, “sleep well, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Yuta waved and drove off again, “get home safely, Boss!” You waved.

You headed upstairs as you realized you forgot your favorite lipstick in his office. You took your heels off and washed yourself gently with hot water from the sink. You did your skincare routine.

🎶I’m a confident woman, but why are you making me struggle?🎶 You sang while listening to Miniskirt by AOA before heading off to bed.

“Papa! You kept me waiting!” Yuka scoffed and whined before hugging him, Yuta chuckled. “Sorry, sorry, Baby,” he kissed her forehead, “look I made us black sesame cookies~” she smiled, holding the tray.

–💚–🔞–💚–🔞–💚–🔞–💚–🔞–💚–🔞–💚–🔞–💚–🔞–💚–🔞

A/N: 🌚🌝Nehuehue, this is my first time posting something sexy and smut~ I’m finally getting more confident in my writing and also posting more of mature fics! It’s really nice to have a mix of both if you’re interested please go and read my Nakamoto Yuta fanfiction here! I’ve recently post a part 3 to the story and after I’ve published this, I’ll go back and continue working on “Like a butterfly”!

About tattoos...

It’s no surprise Ms. Y/N has tattoos, I mean she’s a baddie after all‼️ I do plan on revealing more of her tattoos and details about her appearance in the next part...

It’s just I had a hard time finding great images of her tats - so please bear with this Walmart edited picture🙏🏽 No blue/purple Hibiscus tattoo on Pinterest really caught my attention, so I had to improvise! This is how I’d imagined her tattoo to look like, the top three petals being purple and the rest being blue.

Also, I got this idea of Y/N working in an advertising agency right before watching this AY-YO video yesterday, lmfao, Doyoung’s the best 😂😭

Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed this as much as I did, were you surprised that CEO Nakamoto also happens to be a dilf?~ Hehe, look forward to more. (Never knew that writing about your professor banging you could be this hot, asdfghj!!!)

–💚–🔞–💚–🔞–💚–🔞–💚–🔞–💚–🔞–💚–🔞–💚–🔞–💚–🔞

– Next part >

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wangxianficfinder · 2 years

Text

In the mood for a Fic...

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1. Hello, Mods! Thanks for all the amazing work that you do, and I hope you’re all well! I’ve been in the mood for WangXian social media AUs lately. Would you have any good ones to share? Thank you!

episodes by kasunn (M, 34k, WangXian, Modern AU, Fluff, basically all fluff, Youtuber WWX, Social Media, Actor LXC, Artist JC, Chef JYL, Babysitting, lowkey kidfic, Surgeon LWJ, Canon typical feels, Taiwanese WWX, Copious amounts of Chinglish, pets!, Secret Relationship, kind of bad pet names, Established Relationship, LSZ is a wen)

🧡don't threaten me with a good time by livinginaworldofnoise (G, 60k, WangXian, Modern AU, Reality TV, The Great British Bake Off Fusion, Fluff and Crack, gbbo au, content warning for absolute unhinged nonsense, Enemies to Lovers, by enemies i mean BAKING RIVALS of course, the last two chapters are the twitter reactions to the show so, Social Media AU)

Circles Pt. 1 by cicisears (M, 173k, WangXian, Modern AU, Mutual Pining, Rare Pairings, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Academic Fraud (Please Do Not Commit), Alcohol, bed sharing, Closeted Gays Working Through It, mentions of abuse, parent death mentioned, Car Accident Referenced, Social Media, And More Social Media, Typos!, But Not Many Typos, Arranged Marriage, Homophobic LQR Homophobia, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort)

like, comment, share & subscribe by detectorist (T, 22k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, YouTube, Social Media, Flirting, Humour, Banter, Getting Together, First Kiss, Texting, so much texting, Youtubers For Social Justice, The Gang Gets Political, Competitive Flirting Via The Medium Of Youtube, it's about the yearning, YouTube Rivals To Lovers)

不忘 | Don't Forget by dragongirlG (E, 50k, WangXian, Modern AU, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Reincarnation, Fix-It of Sorts, Identity Porn, Social Media, Reunions, Family, Angst with a Happy Ending, Light Bondage, References to Canon, Artist WWX, Sexual Content, Pining, POV Multiple, Additional Warnings In Author's Note)

Wangxian Tax Universe Series by adrian_kres (T, 5k, WangXian, Modern AU, Getting Together, Americana,Family Dinners, Dysfunctional Family, Family Feels, Crack, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Sex, POV WWX) has social media aspects

Some of You by tangerinechar (M, 60k, WangXian, Modern AU, Social Media, Actor AU, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Fluff, Love Confessions, Matchmaking, Light Angst) twitter

a baby rabbit is called a kitten and other fun facts by aurora_chiroptera (G, 11k, WangXian, LSZ & WWX, Modern AU, this is really a kid fic in a lot of ways hidden in a youtube/social media au, Mutual Pining, JZX is a trans lesbian and uses she/her pronouns, Child LSZ, Long-Distance Relationship, (kinda?), Fluff, and bunnies, Good Parent WWX, Single Parent WWX, Getting to Know Each Other, Getting Together, Nonbinary NHS, LWJ Has Friends, set in the US)

to see your face (your smile) by sunflowersfield (T, 2k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, Fluff and Angst, Domestic Fluff, Happy Ending, Mutual Pining, Snapchat, and they were ROOMMATES, Declarations Of Love, Social Media, Pining, Set somewhere where Snapchat exists, Fluff) snapchat

Rating: General Audiences by Mishaa (T, 17k, WIP, WangXian, Modern AU, everyone shows up at some point, you don't really need to know them, Meta, Fandom Allusions & Cliches & References, Fans & Fandom, Social Media) Modern AU (in an alternate universe where Lianfang-zun and Zewu-jun were the protagonist and ML of the fictional work “The Untamed”); legendary genfic author WangJi and notorious kink artist Wuxian wind up collaborating on a Big Bang—and shipping the villainous Yiling Laozu with the righteous Hanguang-jun! Featuring most of MXTX’s characters and fandom red in tooth and claw.

No boys allowed (except Lan Wangji) by allollipoppins (M, 118k, WIP, WangXian, QingLi, MM/QS, Q/OZ, ChengSong, NingYangYu, Male-Female Friendship, Modern AU, Crack Treated Seriously, Mathphobic LWJ, Fluff, Slow Burn, Adult Humor, Mutual Pining, Drunken Shenanigans, Identity Porn, Mild Angst, Polyamorous WN, discord fic, Background Madam Jin/Madam Yu Drama, Like soap opera level drama, No Incest, Sexting, Implied Sexual Content) Discord-style chatfic among the female characters (as well as everyone’s favorite brother-in-law); graphics-heavy; the author advises, “For more comfort, this fic is best read on a computer or on a phone/tablet's landscape mode. Don't forget to enable Creator's Style!“

Inflexible by yeaka (E, 3k, WangXian, Modern AU, PWP, Anal Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Established Relationship) livestreaming gamer WWX’s neglected husband picks the middle of a broadcast to exact his Everyday

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2. Any non explicit fics where nmj notices what is up with wwx during sunshot/post sunshot and is like whoa this dude needs help, and actually helps him? With like character development for both/world building. & nie cultivation being resonantly similar to wwx's. Possibly mingxian but not necessarily. And/or nmj recruiting him or slow burn allying with him during this time? Thank you for all you do! :D

Lynchpin by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 103k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Time Travel, Fix-It, Lynchpin [PODFIC] by Opalsong) Not sure that is quite it, it's wangxian and JC POV, but there is NMJ support of wwx and discussion of Nie cultivation.

Better Things to Do with a Flute in Wartime by Anonymous (E, 365k, MingXian, WangXianJue, Sunshot Campaign, Fix-It, Magical Healing Cock, Dual Cultivation, mild Dom/Sub, Undernegotiated Kink, Golden Core Reveal, Breathplay, Choking, Painplay, Subdrop, Topdrop, Major Character Injury, Canon Divergence, What-If, Temperature Play, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Fisting, Spanking, PTSD, Trauma, Self-Harm, (in the pursuit of cultivational badassery) )

The River Runs Forever by Cerusee (T, 129k, wangxian, JYL & WWX & JC, NHS/JYL, WWX & NHS, character death, BAMF WWX, inventor WWX, sect leader WWX, WIP) has some strong friendship/alliance going on btw wwx and nmj during the ssc

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3. hello!! for the next in the mood for, is there any fics where the personality of the yunmeng sibs are swaped? or maybe their ages and dynamics?? like wwx as jyl, jc as wwx, jyl as jc? i don´t know if i explained right but i hope you understand it?? thank you <3

Burying the Hatchet by pearliegloom (T, 9k, WangXian, Body Swap, Comedy, Post-Canon, Brother-in-law (Derogatory), Fluff and Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Family Bonding) these 2 fics have JC and WY switching bodies

A Day in Your Shoes by Blueflower740 (T, 3k, WangXian, Bodyswap, Canon Divergence, Comedy, Possessive LWJ, Angry JC, WWX is a Little Shit, Mentions of Sex, One Shot Collection, Post-Canon) these 2 fics have JC and WY switching bodies

a decade off your shoulders by loosingletters (T, 1k, WIP, JC & JYL & WWX, Older Sibling JC, Younger Sibling WWX, Younger Sibling JYL, Hurt/Comfort, Family, Humor, Fix-It of Sorts, Bad Parent YZY, eldest daughter syndrome, Protective JC, Age Reversal, Non-Chronological, Yúnmèng Siblings Feels, JC-centric)

You & Me Baby, We'll Eclipse The Sun Series by 2501987 (M/E, 130k, WangXian, XiCheng, Modern AU, Canon Divergence, Mafia AU, Gangsters, Murder husbands, Younger Sibling WWX, Older Sibling JC, Torture, Hurt/Comfort, domestic fluff, Murder, Blood and Gore, MIND THE TAGS)

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4. Hello there!!!! I hope that you’re all having a lovely day. Ah, for the next ‘in the mood for’ , can we have some MXTX crossovers??? Especially if it’s Hualian or Bingqiu adopting WWX (cos those are adorable)

💖 Hua Xianle by Tiffany_Guinne (Not rated, 27k, hualian, wangxian, canon divergence, WWX adopted by hualian, not Jiang friendly, madam lan lives, selective mutism, WIP)

💖 Song of Joy and Regrets by HelloKitten (Not Rated, 125k, WIP, hualian, wangxian, Angst, Self-Harm, Child Abuse, Time Travel Fix-it, characters watching the show (mdsz))

💖 echoes from across the void by Nilaic (G, 20k, hualian, wangxian, dimension travel, wangxian adopted by hualian, demonic cultivation, PTSD, hurt/comfort, fluff & angst, families of choice, WIP)

💖 Where the Chaos Is by martyr_syndrome (E, 38k, wangxian, hualian, post-canon, crossover, case fic, accidental voyeurism)

💖 The Red Ribbon by Xiao_Hua (M, 20k, wangxian, hualian, ghost city, cultivation partners, immortality, fluff, supreme ghost king WWX)

💖 For Whom the Bell Rings by DawnCloud (G, 24k, JYL & XL, JYL & HC, fix-it of sorts, calamity!JYL, TGCF/MDZS)

💖 when you’re ready, we’ll turn the page together series by merthurlin (T, 33k, TGCF/MDZS)

💖 Atlas by etymologyplayground (M, 12k, wangxian, hualian, TGCF fusion, getting together, friendship, grief/mourning, smut)

💖 Farmer’s Almanac / 情雨濛濛 by Irrelevancy (T, 13k, WQ/YH, fix-it, TGCF/MDZS)

💖 Hello, Neighbor!!! AU by Dragon_Scribe (M, 70k, bingqiu, wangxian, demon WWX, found family, dimension travel, angst w/ happy ending, mystery, mind control, love confessions)

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5. Hihi! For iitmf - can we get fics where wei ying and lan zhan were betrothed as children?

sweet chaos by eachandeverydimension (G, 86k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Arranged marriage, Fluff, Romance, Light Angst, Falling In Love, Different First Meeting, Qīnghéng-jūn’s A+ Parenting, Night Hunts, Chinese Language, Good Sibling LXC, Good Sibling JYL, POV LWJ, Getting Together, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Chinese Culture, Slow Burn, No Homophobia AU)

seldom all they seem by Fahye (E, 24k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, or rather Arranged Betrothal, followed by Weapons-Grade Thirst)

Neatly Arranged by thunderwear (T, 45k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Angst with a Happy Ending, lwj’s mother is here but only briefly, RIP, Shenanigans, Fix-Itof sorts, Canonical Character Death, but not all, did i forget to tag pining, because this fic is like 90 percent pining, Hurt/Comfort)

the river and the sea by sasamelons (T, 7k, WangXian, Soulmates, Arranged Marriage, Misunderstandings, Angst with a Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Falling In Love, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Mutual Pining)

sweat for me by silverclaw (M, 5k, WangXian, Modern AU, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha WWX, Omega LWJ, Arranged Marriage, Friends With Benefits, kind of, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mating Bites, LWJ owns a perfumery, Secret Relationship)

Hope Series by RoseThorne (G/T, 52k, WIP, WangXian, Transmigration, Time Travel Fix-It, Illnesses, Family, Scars, Memory Loss, Angst, Nightmares, Sharing a Bed, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Good Parent YZY, Referenced Sexual Slavery, Blood and Gore, Sexual Tension, Arranged Marriage, POV Alternating, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Good Parent LQR, Clairvoyance, Butterfly Effect)

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6. Hi ! Can you recommend me some long or completed fics containing A) Wei Wuxian being the loved and coveted and previous person as he deserves. Or B) Wei Wuxian as a scholar everyone (lans) looks up to . I mean him being a very respected cultivator. Also if the word count could be more than 2 or 3k. Preferably very long fics like more than 10k @whateverweilanlovechild

6A)

a waiting warmth by hauntedotamatone (M, 1k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Bathing/Washing, Non-Sexual Intimac, yImplied Sexual Content)

make your good love known to me (tell me 'bout your day) by glitteringmoonlight (T, 6k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Married WangXian, Fluff, a dash of angst, in the form of thoughts about the past, Implied/Referenced Sex)

Littlest Miracles by Vrishchika (M, 5k, WangXian, Dragon LWJ, Dragon WWX, Established Relationship, Dragons, Mpreg, Sort OfTenderness, Non-Explicit Sex, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, supportive families, Not JC Friendly)

Decorate by Vrishchika (E, 4k, WangXian, Smut, Soft WangXian, Possessive LWJ, Established Relationship, Post-Canon, Porn with Feelings, PWP, Married Couple, Clothed Sex, Nipple Play, Tender Sex, Dom/sub Undertones)

Love in all forms, something tender by Vrishchika (T, 4k, WangXian, Post-Canon, married wangxian, Established Relationship, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Family Feels, Sickfic, Sick Character)

Proximity To Knowledge by ChilianXianzi (T, 7k, WangXian, Juniors & WWX, Post-Canon, Married WangXian, Chief Cultivator LWJ, Teacher WWX, Inventor WWX, Not LQR Friendly)

Trust by FlyingMachine1 (G, 8k, WangXian, Juniors & WWX, Junior Quartet Dynamics, Junior Ensemble Shenanigans, background WangXian, BAMF!WWX, Humor, junior quartet is the wwx fan club)

no smoke without fire by glitteringmoonlight (T, 12k, Wens & WWX, WangXian, YL WWX, Angst and Humor, this was meant to be crack but feelings got involved, not technically outsider pov, Burial Mounds Settlement Days)

6B)

Worth of a Good Man by Vrishchika (G, 6k, WangXian, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Not Jiang Sect Friendly, Not JC Friendly, Tumblr Prompt) kinda

one of our own by glitteringmoonlight (G, 7k, WangXian, Post-Canon, wangxian is mentioned but not the focus, this is just the lans being a wwx defense squad, people being nice to wwx, people being mean about wwx but immediately getting shut down, POV Outsider, 5+1 Things) kinda

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7. Hello, dear people!

First of all, thank you so much for your amazing work! Found some real nice fics thanks to you :)

Secondly, do you by any chance know of some fics where Wei Wuxian becomes the Chief Cultivator, either post-canon or in his first life? In not a cracky way and with happy ending for wangxian? Thank you again! @themorrana

Lies and Truth by parodismal (G, 14k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Fluff and Angst, Pining, Protective LWJ, chief cultivator wwx, Sect Leader WWX, Fix-It, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, WWX Lives, Out of Character, Original Character(s), Communication, supportive families)

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8. Iitm for a fic where the juniors or one are protective of wwx or a fic where sm happens and they seek out wwx for comfort or sm along those lines pls. Also i cant beging to explain how this site saves my ass

Proximity To Knowledge by ChilianXianzi (T, 7k, WangXian, Juniors & WWX, Post-Canon, Married WangXian, Chief Cultivator LWJ, Teacher WWX, Inventor WWX, Not LQR Friendly) (link in 6A)Juniors undertaking a campaign of civil disobedience in protection of wwx.

Rotten Work by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 63k, WangXian, WWX & JL, Post-Canon, Protective WWX, Protective JL, Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation, Reluctant Matchmaker JL, [PODFIC] Rotten Work by sakizar) Jin Ling being protective of wwx and basically reverse adopting him.

🧡 the stone-filled sea by yukla (T, 9k, WangXian, LSZ & WWX, Post-Canon, senior wei defense squad, a study of the way prejudice and injustice and anger trickle down from generation to generation) Sizhui dealing with how the world sees WWX.

🧡 The One-Body Problem by metisket (T, 28k, WangXian, LJY & WWX, Canon Divergence, Possession, Cohabitation) (link in 16B) Jingyi being very protective of wwx.

❤️grow by cafecliche (T, 14k, wangxian, post-canon, de-aging, character study) (link in 16B)

Tragedy is Not the End by Hobbsy3 (T, 358k, WangXian, Time Travel, Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Golden Core Reveal, Canon Divergence from Qiongqi Pass, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con)

~*~

9. So I just started reading "the twin demons of mo", and now I really wanna know if there are A) any other fics where mo xuanyu wasn't just passingly known at koi tower, but like directly involved with raising Jin Ling, even a primary caregiver. B) Also any fics where mxy isn't the one to bring back wwx, dying from the mos' abuse instead (or happier ending is in a coma or something) but mxy's ghost ends up showing up to protect jl (and possibly solve crimes/prove innocence)?

9A)

Different Paths to the Same Route by JustAWanderingBabbit (T, 184k, WangXian, 3Zun, Canon Divergence, What-If, Implied Necrophilia, At least they’re talking now, Medicical science in a cultivational world, Magical Genetic Testing, Family Issues) MXY is rescued from his shack at Mo Villa to resume cultivational training; he winds up developing a healthier relationship with JGY and becoming a loving uncle to JL (whom he serves as combat talisman support) as well as JRS (who survives).

@guqin-and-flute's and @littlesmartart's AUs have all JGS’ children surviving and joining forces against Daddy Dearest; MXY is close enough in age to JL, LJY (here the 3Zuns’ adopted son), and Xuanli’s OC kids to be more of a cool big cousin than an uncle—and often the instigator of mischief.

~*~

10. Hi, for the next In the Mood For post do you have any recommendations for fics where yanli and xue yang are friends? I’ve just read Silk over Steel by LadyRachael which is the kind of vibe I’m looking for. Thanks!

I Will Follow You Into the Dark by Lunarwriter75 (T, 4k, JYL & XY, grief/mourning, demonic cultivation, demonic cultivator JYL, JYL centric, implied/referenced character deaths) not 100% sure if this can be counted as friends?

~*~

11. Hellooooo~~ for itmf i'd like fics where wwx and jgy are friends please :D

The Kids Are Okay (I Think) by GossamerGlint (Not Rated, 47k, WIP, WangXian, MY & WWX & XY, Royalty AU, Prince WWX, prince MY, Prince XY, Burial Mounds, Yílíng Wèi Sect, more like yiling xue sect, its... complicated)

Really? Me Too! by mercyandmagic (M, 59k, WangXian, XiYao, JC/QS, WWX & JGY, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crack Treated Seriously)

The Wild Geese's Tomb by The Feels Whale (miscellea) (T, 56k, WangXian, XiYao, Time Travel AU, fixit, Temporary Character Death) their friendship isn't the main theme but it's a great part of the story

Renewed Hope by Fortune_Maiden (T, 5k, MY & WWX, Canon Divergence, First Meetings, Pre-Canon, Hurt/Comfort, fluff and friendship, MY Makes A Friend, Birthday)

One Good Turn by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 3k, MY & WWX, CSSR and WCZ Live, Lore Drop, WWX is Friend Shaped)

Meng Yao vs. the Board of the Homeowner's Association Series by Ariaste (M/T, 119k, WIP, WangXian, XiYao, MY & WWX, Modern AU, Frenemies to Friends, Established Relationship, xiyao and wangxian are both already married, Family Feels, Domestic Fluff, Family Bonding, Slice of Life, Discussions of Past Trauma, wwx's canonical kinks, HOAverse)

Collaboration of Dangerous Minds by JustAWanderingBabbit (T, 14k, JGY & WWX, JGY & QS, WangXian, 3Zun, Canon Divergence, Timeline What Timeline, An unexpected team-up, Making friends while on 'vacation', Waking the Dead, Fix-It, Canonical Sibling Incest, Mojo's Post) JGY, sent by JGS to spy on the Burial Mounds, learns of the actual situation there and befriends WWX and the Wen Remnants

Enfant Perdu, Jouet du Destin by JaenysBloodcourt (T, 15k, WangXian, Prostitution, Brothels, Child Abuse, YZY Being YZY, YZY’s cannon issues, JFM and YZY bad parenting, Found Family, Misunderstandings, Angst and Feels, Family Feels, Parent-Child Relationship, Ghosts and Yiling Patriarch feels, Time Skips, WWX half-grows in a brothel, Bittersweet Ending) shows WWX and JGY as childhood friends, and is canon divergence.

~*~

12. I have an itmf request! Any fics where wwx dips out when people tell him he's unwanted or annoying? Like "sorry for the bother, I've taken too much of your time/attention/food it's clearly better for everyone if I leave." Like this tweet thread (but preferably finished) @tess-is-elated

~*~

13. for the next ITMF!!! do you have any recs for wlw wangxian?? preferably works similar to ao3 user 74243’s fics - i’ve consumed all of them in one sitting cause they are that good 😂. i love the way they write wx’s dynamic ! doesn’t have the be rated E or anything though, and can be any AU! thank you in advance ❤️

We have a new F/F & M/F WangXian comp, if you want to also look through that ^^

~*~

14. Do u have any mcd or very angsty modern or canon anything wangxian fics??? Preferably 50k+ long. I'm in mood for very angsty or sad fic and I can't find anything

salt to the sea by starmins (M, 31k, WangXian, Modern AU, Grief/Mourning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Road Trips, Additional Warnings In Author's Note)

总有一天; a place to hide (can’t find one near) by yiqie (E, 76k, WangXian, Modern AU, Pianist, Getting Together, Mental Health Issues, Suicide Attempt, Suicidal Thoughts, Depression, Hospitals, Overdosing, Eventual Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Additional Warnings In Author's Note)

~*~

15. Hello! Sorry if this has been asked before but do you know of any fics where jc does manage to drag wwx to lotus pier post reserection? Preferably jc unfriendly. Thank you! @feeny

~*~

16. Hey!!! A) Can you recommend something where wwx of different time period meet if possible in only a one shot... B) something with the juniors povs as a focus (post-canon) C) something where wwx doesn't give up his core. (It doesn't matter if there's the Jiang's bashing or anything)Thank you!!!!!

16A)

Wei Wuxian’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good First Meeting With His Future by Enigmatree (T, 3k, WangXian, Time Travel, Cloud Recesses, YL WWX, POV Outsider)

How to Deal with the Conundrum of Your Past Self: A Case Study by anatheme (E, 16k, WangXian, A/B/O Dynamics, YL WWX, Established Relationship, Pining, Sexual Tension, alpha!yiling laozu/alpha!lwj/omega!mxy!wwx: the fic, ft. soft married wangxian, Threesome - M/M/M, Bottom LWJ, Switch wangxian, Knotting, time travel of sorts, Happy Ending)

Crazy Little Thing Called Time by kippalittlefox (T, 11k, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Established Relationship, Angst with a Happy Ending)

16B)

grow by cafecliche (T, 14k, WangXian, Age Regression/De-Aging, Character Study, Post-Canon, [Podfic] Grow by jellyfishfire)

green flame, black flute, red ribbon by Fleetling (T, 3k, WangXian, POV LJY, Hurt/Comfort)

A Dramatic Reading by pupeez4eva (Not Rated, 5k, WangXian, Humor, Post-Canon, Public Confessions, oblivious wangxian, The Juniors accidentally write Wangxian fanfiction on a cursed scroll, Everyone suffers the consquences, Getting Together)

The Full Form of Press by Vamillepudding (G, 12k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Comedy, Wherein the juniors found a newspaper, [Podfic] The Full Form of Press by jellyfishfire)

Life is Very Long by Vamillepudding (T, 12k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Comedy, Protective JC, Protective JL, Misunderstandings, Oblivious WWX, Protective LWJ)

The Absolutely True Story of the Yiling Patriarch: A Manifesto in Many Parts by aubreyli (T, 19k, In-Universe RPF, Romance Novel, Post-Canon Fix-It, primarily drama-canon with cameos from novel-canon, The Absolutely True Story of the Yiling Patriarch: A Manifesto in Many Parts by aubreyli [Podfic] by Rhea314 (Rhea) )

🧡 The One-Body Problem by metisket (T, 28k, WangXian, LJY & WWX, Canon Divergence, Possession, Cohabitation)

16C)

The fault in my core by luckymoonly (M, 16k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, Drama, Angst with a Happy Ending, Mpreg, Pregnant WWX, getting together early, First Time, LQR and his tragic backstory, Fluff, jealous lwj, Oblivious Wwx, Unreliable Narrator WWX, Mildly Dubious Consent, Miscommunication, Miscarriage (not WWX), Attempted Sexual Assault, Matchmaker NHS)

Never Again by Hauntcats (T, 67k, WangXian, WQ & WWX & WN, Canon Divergence, Angst, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, Time Travel Fix-It, Not JC Friendly, BAMF WWX, mentions of abuse, Canon JC traits)

Return to Sender by Thesaurus_with_no_words (M, 72k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence BAMF WWX, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, YL WWX, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, canon JC characteristics, Temporary Amnesia, Partial Memory Loss, Literal Emotional Manipulation, Unreliable Narrator WWX, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Slow Burn)

~*~

17. For the next ' i'm in the mood for ' is there A) any good fics in which wwx is just so obviously gay/bisexual? B) also, any fanfictons of wangxian where wwx is just your hot dom top?

17A)

See all this and more for just ten dollars a month! Series by ScarlettStorm (E, 382k, WIP, WangXian, Modern AU, Getting Together, Pining, Porn, like in the writing and also as a plot point, onlyfans au, repressed lwj, sex worker wwx, Minor Angst, major shenanigans, hornt(tm), mental health, therapy is good actually, Nonbinary NHS, Gender Exploration, Hurt/Comfort, past trauma, genderfluid wwx)

reports of my heterosexuality may have been exaggerated by sysrae (E, 8k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, Getting Together, straight boy lwj, disaster gay wwx, demisexual lwj, the mildest of kink explorations, Heteronormativity, Hockey player WWX, wwx in drag)

Walk, Walk, Passion, Baby by westiec (E, 3k, WangXian, Modern AU, Fantasy, Fashion & Models, Dragon LWJ, Phoenix WWX, Semi-Public Sex, double dragon dick, Frottage, LWJ is a biter, Shameless Smut, Getting Together)

Many happy returns. by orange_crushed (E, 25k, WangXian, Modern AU, Mistaken Identity, Misunderstandings, Grief/Mourning, Loss of Parent(s), Implied/Referenced Suicide, Past Suicide of a Parent, References to Depression, Anxiety, Therapy, References to Anti-Depressant Medications, Escort Service, Loneliness, Everybody's Abandonment Issues, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Moving In Together, Oral Sex, Penetrative Sex, LWJ Likes Mess Actually, Hopeful Ending, Recovery, References to Escorting/Sex Work but No Actual Escorting/Sex Work)

please forgive my most passionate disruptions by pumpkinpaix (E, 65k, WangXian, Modern AU, Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Modern with Magic, Modern: Still Have Powers, stripper!WWX, Graduate School, psych it's stripper au AND grad school au AND cloud recesses AND modern nonsense, Internalized Homophobia, lwj is repressed and sad)

just between you and me by starknjarvis (E, 14k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, Public Display of Affection, Party Kissing, frat party, Mutual Pining, First Time, Alcohol, blackout drinking)

A Sure Thing by vesna (mrsronweasley) (E, 95k, WangXian, Modern AU, Sugar Daddy, Sex Work, Light Dom/sub, Aftercare, Semi-Public Sex, Exhibitionism, Bondage, use of sex toys, boundary setting, Relationship Negotiation, many baths, Barebacking)

🧡tear out the thread one by one from your skin (’til your bones feel embarrassed by all the attention) by lightningalwaysreturns (E, 40k, WangXian, Modern AU, Holidays, Getting Together, Professors, Pining, Spring, Fluff and Smut, Family, single dad lwj, so many novel refs, Explicit Sexual Content, service top lwj/power bottom wwx vibes)

Ticket to Ride by mistresscurvy (E, 18k, WangXian, Modern AU, Online Dating, Road Trips, Service Top, Phone Sex, Dick Pics, Wedding Banquet)

leave all your love and your longing behind by ScarlettStorm (E, 14k, WangXian, Modern AU, no magic, Meet-Ugly, Panic Attacks, autistic lwj, neurodivergent wwx, the neighborhood asshole dog, if you've met one then you know, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Minor Angst, major shenanigans, Happy Ending, for everyone including the asshole dog, Eventual Smut, switch rights, Sex Toys, horny yearning, Masturbation)

17B)

We have a Dom Wei Wuxian Comp that you might find some good fics in ^^

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic recs #i'm in the mood for a fic #the untamed #wangxian fic search #wangxianficfinder #long post

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blizzardsuplex · 8 months

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Roderick Strong Primer Part II: But Who IS He, Tho?

Part I | Part II (you are here) | Part III | Part IV

[CW: mentions of alcohol and drug abuse, dysfunctional familial relationships, and gun violence]

Roderick Strong is the super cool wrestling OC donut steal of one Christopher Lindsey, born on July 26, 1983 in Eau Claire, Wisconsin. However, his family moved to Tampa soon after, which probably epigenetically contributed to him turning out a pretty good example of a Florida Man—or, at least, a Man from Florida. His mother is a paralegal, while his father is a self-taught musician who became/maybe still is an Elvis impersonator (yes, that’s why there was a picture of him as a child dressed in a sparkly jumpsuit on stage during that recent Collision promo); sibling-wise, he has one that we know of, a half-sister who is older than him by four years.

His childhood was…less than perfect. According to him, both in wrestling company-produced backstory blurbs and videos and interviews where he’s just shooting the shit with his buddies, he’d be left alone for hours at a time to basically babysit himself while his age was still in the single digits. His father had problems with alcohol, and would often come home from the bars he performed at around 4 or 5 in the morning; his mother had issues with harder drugs. Said parents would apparently get into screaming matches a lot. He had few friends and was picked on, in part because the family kept moving around Florida and in part because he was an awkward fat kid (to the point that in first grade he learned to pick his nose until it bled, something I didn’t even know you could do, so that he could go home early rather than deal with the fact no one wanted to talk to him at school). He liked math and he played a lot of sports, but because of a particular character trait of his that I will discuss from a kayfabe perspective in part 3 he still struggled to find a place for himself.

Then, of course, there was the incident that was both probably pretty traumatic and, if it didn’t happen, would have maybe meant that he would have never wrestled in the first place: when he was ten or eleven or twelve years old, his mom shot his dad near-fatally. The latter had to go to the hospital; the former spent some time in jail. After his father recovered, for a period of time he had to raise his son as a single parent.

Completely unrelatedly, said dad—who Roderick describes as both athletic and not at the same time—at one point got an invitation to learn how to wrestle under a “former WWE star” (which, especially in the 90s, everyone who ever jobbed on a single show billed themselves as). He agreed—but what to do about his kid while he trained? If they couldn’t afford to get someone to look after him before the incident, they probably still couldn’t on a single person’s salary.

His solution was, of course, to just bring his son with him. He’s not been totally consistent with how he described his initial reaction to tagging along: in 2015 he said he was a big wrestling fan and loved it; in 2023, during his appearance on AEW Unrestricted, he said he liked it beforehand but was a lapsed fan by the time his dad started learning how to wrestle. Either way, for the first month or so he just sat on the grass and watched sweaty, shirtless adults being put through their paces by their trainer—who, it turns out, was an actual former WWE star in Jim “The Anvil” Neidhart.

It was also Anvil who, despite only actively supervising for four or so months, catalyzed Roderick wanting to do wrestling, too. The story goes like this: after a month, he invited Roddy (who was 12 or 13 at the time) to get into the ring. According to the latter, all he did was “mess around a bit” on the top rope; as they were driving home, however, his dad mentioned that Anvil had told him his kid had potential, and that if he kept at it he might be somebody in pro wrestling. Whether or not the guy meant what he said, this was apparently the first time Roderick had been told by anyone who weren’t his parents that he was good at something, and from that point he began training in earnest.

His life was progressing in other ways, too. He was a two-way American football player at his high school, and ended up netting an academic scholarship to the University of South Florida, where he studied business for two years before dropping out.

Going back to wrestling, though, he ended up debuting at something like 14 or 15 and was already getting somewhere in-ring wise. For example, the former WWE wrestler Victoria’s finisher, the Widow’s Peak, is a move Molly Holly (who he’s friends with thanks to the Tampa wrestling circuit connection, by the way) apparently saw Roddy do at 14 in a backyard wrestling ring and recommended to Victoria for her to use. He also helped train, while he was still a teenager, his kayfabe brother and former tag team partner Sedrick Strong—who, if you’re wondering, came up with his ring name first, and was so set on it that, being billed as brothers and all, Roderick Strong had to be named Roderick Strong.

It’s hard to believe now, but initially Sedrick, who ended up retiring from prowres and becoming the branch manager of Tampa Toyota at one point, was the more successful one, participating in the pretty prestigious ECWA Super 8 tournament in 2003. Because of the same character trait I alluded to earlier, Roderick almost quit wrestling entirely in response. Fortunately for me and the 12 other Roddy marks active on the internet, he soon got an offer from Ring of Honor (for those doing the math, he was 19 at the time), ending up in the promotion around the same time as some really famous guys from there were active: Danielson, Punk, Joe…

ROH remained his home promotion for nearly 15 years, and while there, among other accolades, he became their second Triple Crown champion (the first was Eddie Edwards, his partner in the tag team the Dojo Bros). He also, at least in-ring, really got to know his future Undisputed Era stablemates in Kyle O’Reilly and Adam Cole. Roddy worked a lot of places, though, both on the indies and not: in the latter category, he went to Japan to wrestle for places like NOAH (and met Bobby Fish, another UE member, in the back of those tour buses), did TNA, and even had a one-off appearance on WWE Smackdown against Kurt Angle.

One of the independent promotions he worked, meanwhile, was (of course) California’s Pro Wrestling Guerrilla. He had matches there for over 11 years, from 2005 to, as described in the first part of this primer, his five minute championship rematch against ZSJ in 2016 (which also happened to be the event celebrating the promotion’s 13 year anniversary). I haven’t watched a lot of them pre-2014, but the ones I have? Bangers—but I don’t expect anything less from a Roderick Strong match, if I’m being honest.

But pro wrestling is, as much I hate to admit it, about more than technical greatness (though as I will try to touch on in parts 3 and 4, Roddy has been really great at the non-verbal parts of wrestling in general for years, including expressing and eliciting emotion in-ring). One of the most common criticisms lobbied at Roderick Strong until maybe a few months ago was that he had nothing beyond his technique. During his time as PWG heel champ, though, I am of the opinion that he proved those criticisms outdated—though admittedly it took him several years to get there.

In 2013 and before that, he was mostly a goofy face; in 2014, after he beat Adam Cole for the PWG #1 contendership at PWG ELEVEN, he turned heel on that same show by attacking Kyle O'Reilly post-title defense. It was only after losing his own title match to Kyle, though, then winning the championship one show later anyway thanks to goading a Kyle who’d literally just beaten Ricochet into a brutal 20+ minute Guerrilla Warfare match (at an event called, funnily enough, Black Cole Sun; these guys are all connected man LOL), that his heel turn was truly cemented. Armed with his stiff style, letterman jacket, End of Heartache as his entrance music, and his shitty little boots—which, by the way, originated from Trent? making him a t-shirt design with that phrase on it—he proceeded to terrorize the fans via being a massive prick and fight against a laundry list of some really good wrestlers:

Trevor Lee (now Cameron Grimes)

Zack Sabre Jr.

Speedball Mike Bailey

Matt Sydal

Chris Hero

Drew Galloway (now Drew McIntyre)

Mark Andrews

…and I’m not even counting the Mt. Rushmore 2.0/multi-man stuff!

Then ZSJ finally beat him for the title in a great bout and he left indie wrestling for WWE soon after. You know the drill. So, if you’re wondering why I and the previously mentioned 12 Roddy marks freaked out when he came back during PWG’s Mystery Vortex 8—which was also the 20th anniversary of the promotion’s founding!—hopefully this explains why a little. He just feels right in a PWG ring.

But the fact of the matter is he couldn’t come back for nearly seven years, whether to PWG or ROH or the many places all around the world he’s wrestled in. As I’ve mentioned, I didn’t watch NXT at that point, so I’ll let someone else explain that time in his career if ever; I also am making the assumption that if you’re reading this you’re aware of his current AEW run, so I’m not gonna recap that history either. He’s existed for 40 years and been wrestling for well over 20 of them, man, I don’t think I could get to everything he’s done even if I wanted to.

So: a basic history established. You might be wondering, though: throughout his long career…what was he like? As a North American wrestler who wrestles in the North American context, does he have that essential component of pro wrestling? Did he have a character?

The popular answer until recently? No. In part 3, though, I will hopefully provide some evidence that, at least by the time I first watched him, the answer was yes.

#mel's writing tag #roderick strong #part 3 will take longer to make as it requires analysis and also a lot of data gathering :')#but I'll see this through hopefully!

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saradaltoncoaching · 1 year

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What Sacrifices Have You Made In Life?

What sacrifices have you made in life? My sanity. This was a forced sacrifice because it stared when I was a child. It continued into my 19 year marriage. When parents or a spouse force themselves on you, physically or emotionally, it’s called abuse, assault, rape, etc. It’s called taking away your rights and freedom, and this ultimately takes away your sanity. With my parents, I had no choice…

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#12 steps #abuse #aca #adult child of alcoholics and dysfunctional families #dysfunction #emotional abuse #family of origin #happiness #heal your life #marriage #physical abuse #recovery #sacrifice #sanity #sarathlete #what happened to you #you matter

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moonlit-positivity · 23 days

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Things ppl will say to a minor who shows signs of anxiety, depression, eating disorders & self harm:

"Get real! You're too young! You're faking for attention! Go back to your coloring books! Children can't be depressed! You have no reason to be that way! So disrespectful! I bet your parents need to beat it out of you! Wait until you get some "real life" experiences and then we'll talk!"

Things I personally experienced as a minor that gave me those symptoms:

drunk, abusive, physically volatile parents, household full of arguments and physical violence on a daily basis to the point of constant police intervention, child sexual assault perpetuated by all adults in the household, child sexual assault perpetuated by other children in the neighborhood, sexual assault perpetuated by other adults in the community, emotionally unavailable & emotionally immature, volatile, neglectful, and reactive mother who constantly put me down and blamed me for all of her problems, absent father figure, resentment and shame and humiliation at how many other children at school had better families and opportunities than I did, my own mother's eating disorder and dysfunctional diet culture forced onto me from middle school age, growing up in an environment rampant of drugs and alcohol use, growing up in an environment of unstable mental health, growing up in an environment of poverty, having to sacrifice my own childhood and adolescence to work a job at 14 years old to help pay bills because my mother was too drunk and spending all the money we had on beer and drugs, and then having teachers listen to me talk about it and nothing ever got done about it.

Yes, children experience real life symptoms of abuse. Yes, it happens right in front of you. Let's stop downplaying child abuse and call it for what it is- every day life. it's the shitty, abusive, volatile, emotionally regressive parents, home environments, poverty, and lack of community supports. It's the way you yell at your kid for being "lazy" and beat them to distill discipline and "real world" experiences. It's the way you mock and belittle their hopes, dreams, interests, hobbies, personal autonomy, and call them dumb and stupid for ever having dreamed they were worth the effort. It's the way you indoctrinated and condemn them to your own belief systems. It's the way you yell, scream, neglect, and refuse to heal your own generational trauma and bias towards how to raise a child. It's the way you ignore the fact that child sexual abuse exists and it doesn't look like the stereotypical "man with a van" but rather the football coach that works at the local YMCA, the grocery store manager, the church deacon, the woman at the PTA. Its the way you invalidate, deny, enable, and refuse to acknowledge your own part in raising an unsafe home environment. It's the way you gaslight and pick sides when children come forth and speak about their experiences.

Child abuse is not a myth limited to the likes of prime time TV shows and Hollywood documentaries. Child abuse happens every single day. Right in front of you. Let's work harder to call it out. Let's work harder to give children a voice in a society hell bent on taking it away.

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lullabyes22-blog · 7 months

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Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO - Ch: 18 - Sir

Summary: Zaun is free—and must grow into its unfamiliar new dimensions. So must Silco and Jinx. A what-if that diverges midway through the events of episode 8. Found family and fluff, politics and power, smut and slice-of-life, villainy and vengeance.

AO3 - Forward, But Never Forget/XOXO

FFnet - Forward, But Never Forget (XOXO)

Playlist on Youtube

Fanart, Meta, Snippets

Chapters: 1| 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 |8 | 9 | 10 |11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45 | 46 | 47 | 48 | 49 | 50 | 51 | 52 | 53 | 54

CH 18: Silco's and Vander's lives change in significant ways. So does the Undercity.

Tw: mentions of child abuse and severe parental neglect.

Tw: mentions of epidemics, illness, and its aftermath on a societal scale.

Tw: depictions of dysfunctional relationships, romantic and familial.

Tw: for mentions of alcoholism.

Cw: for mentions of audism (discrimination toward deaf people, and the presumptions therein).

There is a deaf character in this chapter. Given deafness is a spectrum, lip-reading or even sign language may not always be the preferred modes of communication (and in case of the former, it's a difficult ability to master). While I've grown up around the Deaf community, I am myself neither deaf nor hard of hearing, and therefore cannot know the lived experience. I wholeheartedly welcome critique and feedback so I can do this character the full justice in future chapters<3

Vexed again, perplexed again Thank God, I can be oversexed again Bewitched, bothered and bewildered - am I

~"Bewitched, Bothered & Bewildered" – Ella Fitzgerald

Two Vekauran girls—strong of limb and fair of face—walk into a bar...

It's the beginning of a famously dirty joke.

It's also how Silco met Nandi.

Better get the phonetics out of the way. It's pronounced nUn-thEE, not Nandy-rhymes-with-Mandy. A secret hot-house flower, that one. She'd been very particular that everyone say her name The way it's supposed to be said. It's only proper that Silco honor it.

Since her death, he's honored little else.

She was a good person. Better than Silco, even then. The admission bears no shame. Silco's rationale was always anchored to liberty—by hook or by crook. A lucky ship dragged with sling-hooks to Zaun's shores. Nandi's was about building that ship themselves, with the sweat of their brows and the strength of their hands.

She had strong hands. He remembers that. She worked at the ore-mines as a girl and at the open kitchens at Janna's Temple as an adult. Her fingers were rough-jointed from hours of drudgework. But her heart was soft as the rest of her. Dark skin, dimples and beautiful hair.

Gods, that hair…

Their affair began after Silco glimpsed her in the blue glare of lanterns at Rotten Row's dance parlor—The Nymph. The only dance parlor in those days that wasn't a brothel. It was a shoddy place: no mirror-balls, no well-stocked wine cellar, no tasteful menu.

In short, it was a world removed from the posh parlors of Piltover.

Silco found it unpretentiously charming. Most taverns in the Undercity operated on Topside licenses. The rest were illegal, with their small advantages (gambling dens, rat-pits, loose women.) But they were always at risk of Enforcer raids. Once Silco gained notoriety as a local firebrand, the publicans grew leerier about him stirring trouble in their places of business.

Ironically, the more genteel establishments opened their doors. Silco was one of the few who could drink and dine on credit, and be trusted to pay later. The Nymph was one such place. It had strict rules governing dress and indoor smoking. But there was also good ale of every gradation on tap, a ragtag band that played hot jazz, and a sunken dance-floor lit by blue fairy-lanterns.

Nandi was sitting at the corner table. She'd come in not to dance, but to escape the chemical rain-squalls—Gnashers—that were becoming distressingly prevalent belowground. Her dress was off-white, a soft rough cotton shift, handwoven and well-cut, the fabric clinging to her from the downpour. A cheap red embroidery-edged shawl was draped around her shoulders.

Stepping inside, she'd quivered once, then regained her composure. Sedately, she took a seat, knees close together, hands in her lap. Her body was fetchingly sylphlike; long legs bare above strappy ankle-boots; wrists elegant under a chime of Vekauran bangles. A dark sculpted face: high cheekbones, a squared-off chin and a curving nose. She had a small harelip, improperly sewn in childhood, that cut a pale white line down her upper-lip.

To Silco, it added to her allure, saving her from the banality of beauty.

Her sister was with her. Nandi's polar opposite every way. Solid and sinewy, dressed in jeans and a scuffed leather jacket. Her skin was a shade darker; her eyes a touch sharper. She moved not with a demure sway but a solid strut. Half the eyeballs in the bar swung her way. She ignored them the way a naturally confident woman is indifferent to petty libidos of uninteresting men.

Greeting the publican with a raucous shout, she cadged a tray of free vodka shots. Afterward, she sat next to Nandi, her legs propped on the table, one arm draped over the back of the chair. Silco remembers she'd kept sucking on lime wedges. Biting them appreciatively with her sharp white teeth, and spitting the seeds into a chipped glass.

It was the most revolting sight Silco had laid eyes on.

Nandi wasn't revolting. Far from it.

What Silco remembers most was her hair. Black as ink, and glittering with raindrops. He couldn't take his eyes off it. It was twisted up off her slender neck by a long wooden pin. As the bell passed, the pin loosened in stages, dark hair slithering silkily around her face. She kept tucking it behind her ear, even as it slid forward again and again.

Deep into the bell, the pin came undone, pure black cascading across her shoulders.

Silco can still picture it. The blue gloaming. Bodies on the dancefloor. Nandi in her damp red shawl. Him in his faded gloveleather vest, striped stovepipe trousers, and heavy-duty boots, sitting just behind her.

The pin tumbled free.

By reflex, he'd reached forward and caught it. Black hair fell over his wrist like thick heavy silk, releasing a burst of warm perfume. Sandalwood with undernotes of something earthier: incense, maybe? His knuckles brushed the nape of her neck. Her whole body jerked, but she didn't make a peep.

Her sister did.

Sevika's neck snapped sideways. Her lips curled on a fearsome snarl, "Who the fuck—?"

Then she spotted Silco and tucked the fledgling fangs away. A smile—half-abashed, half-pleased—showed at one side of her mouth.

"Hey, sir."

Sir.

They always called him that, as if he were a grand Piltie, not the runt from the mines. His time Topside had lent him a quiet polish that many mistook for breeding. It was only when he got down to business did his brass-buttoned roots show. How many Topsiders, after all, knew the difference between a Topper (a violent punch) and a Top-hat (a Warden)? How many, more importantly, had threatened Top-hats with Toppers for the laws that failed to protect them?

What's this new policy mean, sir? the miners would ask, earnestness in the guise of teasing. But then, how many of those miners could read a book? How many could pen their complaints down into petitions to be forwarded to the foremen, rather than spit on the ground and curse their lot?

Not nearly enough.

Silco knew his words carried weight. With the weight came responsibility he was determined to shoulder.

He just wished they'd stop calling him Sir.

After the miner's strike, he'd become a fixture in the Lanes again. His landlord at the Topside flat had terminated his lease. A fire was kindled outside Silco's door. The hallway was engulfed with blackened scorchmarks. The rest of place was riddled with graffiti excoriating the Trencher scum to get back belowground—or get put six feet under.

Given Silco’s newfound notoriety, the latter destination was inevitable.

His neighbors were quick to distance themselves. His landlord was quicker to give him the boot. To his mind, the building was safer without sump-trash stoking rebellion below, and earning justified reprisals above.

Silco loaded his few possessions into a suitcase and returned to the Lanes. Walking down narrow streets with boarded-up windows and fire-gutted stoops, he'd felt an untranslatable sense of bitterness. It went beyond his need for the Undercity to have better—better in every conceivable way—than stagnation and sloth. He wanted them to have everything. To have wealth where Piltover kept them in poverty. To have sophistication when all they knew was crudeness. Respect when all they had was degradation.

Degradation of the spirit and the body. And here he was. Part of its matrix again.

He'd found a room by the Pump Station that overlooked his family's burnt-down tenement. It had been razed into a columbarium, the Undercity's equivalent of a boneyard. Silco's own place was no better: roughly the size of a coffin. It also doubled as his office, stacks of papers everywhere and a second-hand desk that was the gray of a dead tooth.

Here—like Daddy, two decades ago—Silco listened to the laborers' grievances and kept records.

After the miner's strikes, unrest had boiled into fever pitch. The Council had recently passed a Reform Act to enfranchise tradesmen, industrialists and administrators from the Undercity. But the rest—craftsmen, artisans and miners—remained invisible. Just one-tenth of the adult population were allowed to vote in Piltovan-run municipal committees. They had nobody to represent their interests. The hovels they lived in, the gruel they ate, the indignities they suffered.

Silco's records became useful ammunition. Day by day, he gathered the miner's grievances into a docket. If some self-righteous Councilor claimed that the strikes were a ploy, and that Trenchers were lazy, or some such rot, he would refute them with a succinctly-worded letter, and factual copies of the docket, while a second folder was submitted to independent media sources. Later, he'd repeat his assertions in the speeches he made both belowground and above.

The first year after the strike, he'd worked diligently to organize the miners. They'd set up neighborhood committees and elected local reps to represent the different branches of the workforce. They'd drawn up an issues program to address concerns ranging from wages to working conditions to housing. They'd even started a fund for unemployed Fissurefolk and their families.

The older miners were chary of the change. They came from generations of rough-living chancers. They were loyal to tradition, out of fear, or sheer habit. The younger ones were easier to fire up. They were tired of gnawing on the stale crust of poverty. They wanted more than survival.

Their fair slice of the pie called Progress.

As Silco said when he'd first stood at The Sprout's stage, "What we're owed, we will take."

He'd meant it then.

He means it still.

Most miners and foremen knew him by sight. The former tipped their hats to him and called him Sir. Their respect didn't register except as an ill-fitting appellation. Meanwhile, the latter scowled and called him Rat-bastard. Their insult did register. He liked the sound of it, the way it tripped off their tongues.

There's a saying in the Undercity: If you're making enemies, you're doing something right.

By twenty-five, he'd made plenty of enemies.

As his rallies burgeoned, so did the Enforcers patrolling the Lanes. The Wardens weren't stupid. The seething embers of discontent had given them cause to watch closely. Committing the poor's voice to paper wasn't illegal. But trumpeting it from the pulpit was. The Council were quick to sign decrees that forbid gatherings of more than six people, and quash the rest with brute force.

The best way to stymie dissent is to make it seem impossible.

Silco had already been threatened with jail twice for holding political rallies without a permit. He'd also gotten his nose broken during a sit-in at Entresol. He probably would've been trounced to a smear on the pavement. Then Vander had interceded, planting his foot and rearing back at the hips until his flatiron fist nearly touched the ground, before swinging the ugliest overhand right.

It sent the Enforcer stumbling back with cracked teeth spraying from his mouth.

In a trice, they'd been surrounded by loaded guns. The captain, a broad-shouldered woman with an imposing glower, threatened to pin them both for assaulting an officer.

"Well then." Vander squared up with a devil-may-care grin. "Let's make it worth both our while, eh?"

By then, there were reporters with cameras at the scene, lured by the shortwave radios in their bullpens. Silco could feel a dozen snapshots being fired off between the scrum of protestors and Enforcers.

To this day, in Zaun's civic archives, there is a photograph of Vander and himself taken at the scene. A grainy shot, with off-balance framing—as if the photographer was jostled by the crush of bodies. He and Vander side-by-side, in black-and-white, their faces streaked in dark lines of blood. Vander standing tall as skyscraper, fists balled and feet apart, his jaw jutting like a guillotine blade; Silco's eyes shining like a lanternfish's out of a lean whipcord silhouette.

A peculiar fury is gritted into both their postures. In the photo, Silco's left hand is on Vander's shoulder. The right is raised, finger crooked.

If a picture could tell a thousand words, most would hypothesize he was egging Vander on. In fact, he was quietly reasoning with Vander to back down.

Why win the battle, if it cost them the war?

In the Undercity, the scene created a cult of personality around them. In Piltover, an account was published in the newspaper. Two rabblerousers: one on the pulpit and the other on the streets.

The Hound and the Word-Monger, they were dubbed.

Silco remembers reading the pages when they were hot from the newsagent, slouched side-by-side with Vander at the Drop, a bottle of scotch between them.

They'd recently been sprung from jail. Eighty days each, with a hefty fine for disturbing the peace. Silco's nose had healed to a crooked jut. It was an inevitability. Some days, he'd felt nearly handsome, or as if his features were edging towards its approximation. Yet he'd also known he was one roundhouse away from disfiguration.

Few kept their looks for long in the Lanes.

The damage hadn't made a dent on his attitude. Riffling through the newspaper, Silco recited the article with a plummy bombast, the same way he'd once narrated from pornographic novellas at Hope House Orphanage.

"Perhaps the most disquieting aspect of The Word-Monger's speeches is their calculated slant. A dangerous ideologue, his oratory whips the underclasses into a frenzy with illusions of victimhood. Recent months have witnessed an increasing number of disruptions in the Fissures, by those who believe they have a right to exert their influence over the Council's legislations. Indeed, it appears as if social order is no longer sacrosanct. To exploit the unlettered for misguided derring-do is the new order of the day."

Scoffing, Silco tossed the newspaper aside.

"It's by that little gargoyle at the Sun & Tower," he said, "B. Goode."

Vander snorted. "Long as they don't expect us to be good."

"No chance of that."

A smile flickered on Silco's lips, which Vander's mouth caught. Next, they were guffawing, tickled pink by their exploits written up in the newspaper, even anonymously.

The disorder had brought them together when so much could've pushed them apart. Five years of distance. Different temperaments. Different attitudes. As boys, they'd shared everything. As men, they didn't have as many interests in common, though they always made time for each other.

Since Silco's return, they'd resumed their smuggling enterprise. Their network was more expansive than ever. Not just goods but people too. They came from across Runeterra: Ionian farmers savaged by Noxian armies; mages barred from practicing dark magicks in Demacia; sailors fleeing the cutlasses of pirate lords in Bilgewater.

Many were desperate. Some were opportunists. Everyone came to escape something.

To be free.

For Silco, this meant relearning his old ways. Wearing one well-spoken persona in the daylight. Trading it for a rougher breed by twilight. The knife in his boot to replace the pen in his hand. The crisply-penned letters and fiery oratory swapped with belts of whiskey and brightleaf cigarettes. It felt less like a disguise than a second skin. When he spoke, his accent darkened with the guttural patois of the Lanes. By night, he wore a different face altogether.

He took pride in it. Flexibility is a survivor's defining principle. With strangers, he adopted the persona that best suited his needs. By himself or with Vander, he remained the closest to his core self. A double-life, some might call it. But Silco saw no shame in it.

There was shame only in surrender.

As a duo, he and Vander were ruthlessly effective. The perfect alignment of brawn and brains. In the streets, Vander was the frontman, a force of nature. He'd collide violently with any obstacles in his path, toss their broken leftovers aside, and move on. Standing six foot seven and weighing around two-hundred-forty pounds, he was a marvel of unabashed strength. Years later, whenever The Hound was mentioned, most thought of violence first and foremost.

History is like that. One moment, people talk about a man. Next, they talk of a legend.

Silco, meantime, was the strategist. He had a knack for long-term thinking and a head for numbers, softened by a sardonic wit that made him charming if not likeable. Even as a young man, he saw patterns as part of a bigger picture. His mind was always buzzing with ways to edge their latest scheme to its most successful outcome.

When he made plans, things got done. And when he spoke, others listened.

His rallies and Vander's smuggling relied on the same formula: word of mouth. Word spread like fire in the Lanes, and those whispers grew louder as others flocked to their cause.

But all trade comes with risk.

It holds true for criminals. It holds doubly so for revolutionaries.

Silco and Vander were aware of the Wardens’ scrutiny. By night, they might have ruled the Lanes. By day, they kept their heads down. Sometimes, to throw off suspicion, they'd switch up their routines. Vander would lock up the Drop; Silco would put away the dockets.

They'd do as other young men did in the Undercity. Stir up trouble.

Some nights, they went down to the basement-level boxing gyms. There, they'd employ their old boyhood formula. Silco would play master of ceremonies with a showman's flair, reeling in the punters. Vander's sheer size would take care of the rest. In the ring, he'd bash away at a string of unlucky opponents until the bell rang. Grinning, he'd lay his substantial weight on the middle ring rope while Silco collected satchels of coins. Afterward, they'd split them fifty-fifty—Vander into the Drop's coffers, Silco into the miner's emergency fund.

Other nights, they'd hit up the gambling dens. Here, Silco was in his element. He was a natural cardsharp; his face gave nothing away. Vander liked to say that, even if the Kindred came knocking on Silco's door, he'd greet them with a look of perfect blankness. His favorite ploy was the whipsaw, where he and Vander squeezed a player between them, raising and re-raising bets until the third party had no choice but to fold. Afterward, they'd pocket the spoils—though, inevitably, Vander spent his on day-to-day expenses, while Silco stashed his own away for rainy days.

Summers were the dog days. Business slowed to a slog; the heat lay thick as a steam between the walls. Silco and Vander would retreat to the actual steam baths. Their go-to was Baby's Bathwater: cheap, sturdily built, full of glittering mineral pools and subterranean streams. They'd spend the hours before dusk in the tubs, Silco with a tattered paperback novel, Vander with a well-chewed cigarillo. They were always happiest in the swelter, breathing in thick soupy air and sipping on cherry sodas between idle chitchat.

Other times, they'd light out to the Deadlands and retrace their footsteps to the oxbow where they'd taken dips as children. Stripping down, they'd leap into the waters with raucous shouts. Afterward, Vander would laze in the shade, arms outspread, luxuriating in the unnatural stillness. Silco would swim alongside the peculiar eellike fish stirred awake from winter sleep, generating effortless momentum with the barest motion of his arms and legs.

Later, tipsy on cavernfruit liquor, Vander would teach Silco dirty tricks from his boxing repertoire. The Jack-in-the-box, where you let yourself take a blow, fell backwards, then sprang back up, using the momentum to slam your fist against your opponent's chin. Or the Pipe-Punch, where you offered your victim a toke with the right hand, and slammed your left into their jaw, shattering the bone with a single blow.

Most of the time, Silco could take a stiff belt without folding. He was naturally spry from years of roof-runs. But strength was not his forte. He seldom lasted more than two rounds; no threat to his behemoth contender.

Pugilism made no difference in an Enforcer attack. Boxing gloves were no match for bullets.

The Hound and the Word-Monger never visited the same place twice. Sometimes, they'd even avoid each other for a week or two. To give off the air of independence; to lessen suspicion. But their true lives were lived in each other's pockets, and when they met again, they fell in step without missing a beat.

Those days were Silco's happiest.

When they weren't preying on the corrupt or earning a cut from their network, though, he and Vander were neck-deep in arguments. Zaun was their shared dream. But they differed on the ways to make Zaun a reality.

Silco felt that the overthrow of Piltover's rules was necessary to come into their own. Half his methods were through underhanded business and ruthless strategy—away from of the day-to-day skirmishes. But Vander thrived in the street element, and languished in boredom when considering the long-term. Fiercely talented with his fists, he was nonetheless no militarist. War was not a sport he found compelling. His quarrel with Topside was rooted in indignation rather than hatred.

For Silco, it was a bone-deep grudge that had taken an early hold of him. He was ready to give himself to it, in ways he couldn't give himself to anything else. He spent more than he had—time, energy, money—and to hell with the costs.

In the years leading up to the Day of Ash, the Lanes were volatile as a powder-keg. Enforcer raids were common at all hours. Men and women were rounded up on the barest suspicion of wrongdoing. Those who resisted arrest found themselves tossed in holding cells. The unluckier were left floating in the Pilt.

Silco had barely eluded the same fate. On a sweltering night, he'd been crossing home after an underground rally. The alleyways were depthlessly black, like piercing through a veil of ink. Keeping a steady tread, Silco became aware of marching bootsteps behind him.

Enforcers.

Three, maybe four. Their visors glinted in the gloom like insectile eyes.

They called him by name.

Silco turned, nothing but a knife on his belt. Running was unwise—futile—for a number of reasons. Foremost among them was the gut-punch that bent him to the ground. He got a few licks in at the start, but after that it was their game. With their rifle butts and boots, they were vicious. He blacked out a few times, and when he came to on the sidewalk, his face was matted with blood, nose broken and lips split wide. Under his clothes, he was all the colors of the fucking Tereshni rainbow.

They'd left him alive—barely.

Not mercy, but a message: Next time, you won't be so lucky.

Vander was aghast. He refused to let Silco step beyond the Drop until he'd healed enough to stand straight. That took a fortnight. Afterward, at a grim gathering, it was resolved that the Lanes would develop a lookout system. A chain of eyes and ears, on alert for the faintest footfall.

The youngest volunteers were sumpsnipes: boys and girls with quick wits and quicker feet. Silco taught them how to memorize Enforcers' patrol routes. How to blend in, signal, scatter. The second layer were the night-watch. Ex-soldiers, brawlers and bruisers. They knew every intimate nook of the city. If someone needed help, they'd be there to lend a hand. Vander vetted them personally. Taught them how to punch straight, kick hard, duck fast. But when Silco brought up the possibility of investing in real ammunition, he was shot down.

"Gone barkin', have you?" Vander snapped. "The Wardens will come down on us like—"

"So we just stay vigilant?" Silco fired back. "Vigilant and vulnerable?"

"That's not what I'm sayin' at all! Just—what happens if things get uglier? You're talkin' about putting innocents on the line. People we know. People relyin' on us..."

"I'm talking about defending ourselves," Silco said. "Otherwise Topside will crush our movement stone dead."

Something flickered across Vander's face. On guard, as always, for the scaly thing under Silco's skin.

"Look," he said. "You want to take risks, I'm with you. But there's gotta be a limit. Talkin' back to Topside already got you hurt once. Next time they find you, with a smuggled pistol in your jacket, they'll kill you—and the rest. Best to lay low until this blows over.”

“Lay low?”

"You heard me." Vander hesitated. "I've had a talk with Benzo. He suggested you dip into our emergency fund. Buy passage to Bilgewater. You'd be safer there. At least for a while. There's a ship due in port this week..."

Silco was adamant. "No."

"Look, you can't just—"

"I said no, Vander."

Vander heaved a breath, let it go. He seemed agitated. Too agitated to even argue. A kissing-kin sensation—awful, unbalanced—bubbled up inside Silco's gut. The same sensation as when Vander told him to leave for the Academy, years ago.

Softly, he said, "You want me safe? Or gone?"

The question brought Vander up short. His eyes traced the fading bruises on Silco's face. His jaw splotched with spiderwebbing yellow contusions. One eyelid still darkly swollen. A livid stitch on the upper-lip. Beaten and bashed and bloody, but still standing.

Defeated, Vander sighed.

"Doubt you'd stay gone," he said. "You love trouble too much."

"It's the Lanes I love."

"Silco—"

"I belong here. That's why Topside booted me out."

"Don't say that."

Vander wore a hangdog look. A look Silco hated—sticky with shame for their lot. As if Piltover set the standard for the exceptional, and they fell short. They, who worked to their bones for scraps, while Topside barely lifted a finger for riches. They, who lived in a city plagued by disease, decay, disorder. They, for whom resilience was an article of faith, the core of their being. As soon as disaster passed, they snapped back into shape.

Why shouldn't they look at the men above them—literally—and say: I deserve my share.

"I belong here," Silco repeated. "So do you."

"Blut—"

"Not because we don't deserve better, Vander. We belong because we do." Frustration corkscrewed through him. "One month, and eight beatings by Enforcers. Four deaths. That makes one per week. I want us to quit taking punches. I want us to quit eating bullets."

"You want to start shootin' back."

"It's overdue." He dragged both palms through his hair. Those days, he wore it long, a wavy tangle that always swept into his eyes unless he tied it back. "As long as I can remember they've pushed us around, treated us like dirt. Ask any Topsider on the street, they'll tell you what they think we are. It's time to show them what we really are."

"An' what are we?"

"Fighters."

Vander heaved a sigh. "You don't even like fighting."

"There's different kinds of fighting. There's fighting just to get by. Then there's fighting for what you really want in life."

"Yeah, so what?" A matching frustration grinded through Vander's voice. "How many of us fight, and don't get what we want? You think your Dad liked hauling himself to the River at two in the morning to fish out corpses, or mine loved workin' the factory line? They did it 'cause they had people to take care of. They couldn't shirk their duty."

"Yeah, but whose duty?" He stared at Vander. "You're stronger than everyone in the Lanes put together. Why let yourself get shoved around?"

Vander said nothing. He bent into the cabinet. Silco watched his broad back flex. Straightening, he twisted a cap off a bottle, where it landed with a ping in the sink. For the first time, Silco noted the sunken bags under his brother's eyes and the beard furring his jowls.

Concern displaced anger. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Could've fooled me."

Vander's face was sullen stone. But his jaw twitched once. His body-language seldom betrayed the depths of his disturbance. But Silco had an uncanny sense of arrowing into the heart of the matter. With Vander, though, he hit his mark with kindness, never cruelty.

Vander slid on the stool adjacent Silco's. Exhaling, he sipped from the bottle.

"It's Lika."

"What about her?"

"You know we're back together, yeah?"

"Me and half the street."

Vander crooked a brow.

Silco sipped his own scotch, and sneered, "You two will have the building down before you're done."

"Heh." Vander grin was smug. Then he sobered. "You remember when we broke it off four years back?"

"Do I ever. Your moping got on my nerves." Silco paused, recalling. "She lit out with another bloke for Bilgewater, right?"

"Yeah, well." Vander's mouth held a grimace. "Turns out she was pregnant."

An unnamable feeling crept through Silco's gut. He locked it down. His voice held an offhand coolness.

"Like hell."

"I know. I couldn't believe it myself. Thought I'd misheard. Turns out that's why she'd left. She didn't want a baby, especially not then. We were too young. I was too... me." He gave a ragged half-laugh. "So she left. Sailed to one of the islets near Bilgewater. When the other fellow found out she was up the duff, he cut her loose. She stayed for a time at a Missus' Cotworth's. Says it was a ladies’ workhouse. More'n likely was a whore-den." His grimace deepened. "In the end, the Missus began eyeing up the kid for 'work,' so she scarpered. Came back here. Found me. She says the kid's..."

Silco sat there. The world was cold.

"Yours?"

"She swears up and down."

"You believe her?"

Vander shrugged.

Silco fought his kneejerk instinct to probe. He and Vander, whatever intimacy they'd shared in their salad days, was done. They never spoke of it. Never even alluded to it. Sometimes it felt almost unreal to Silco, like something that had happened in a dream. Other times, he felt the unspoken truth kept him and Vander closer rather than apart. To share secrets was one way to share a body, wasn't it?

Except—again—came the wedge.

Lika.

Silco wished he could be a better man. Lika wasn't the bad sort. Though still pitifully skinny from the diet of gruel in the Lanes, she'd matured into a vivacious beauty, naturally witty, with an inventor's mind. She worked as a gadgeteer in Benzo's shop, and like any girl who'd come from a long line of wanderers and wastrels, she had a talent for making mischief.

But she also made good. When Rolak stole a shipment of copper ingots from Benzo's store, Lika set up booby traps along the route to the harbor. The poor bastard didn't make it past the third trap. Afterward, Benzo hailed Lika as his rescuer. Silco got the distinct impression he would've dropped to his knees and proposed to her then and there.

Lika had her eye elsewhere.

For all her good nature, she was an opportunist to her core. She liked having men—big, tough men—on her string. It was, as Silco would confirm later in his own life, Like money in the bank.

And Lika always wanted more.

Vander was top dog in the Lanes. Nobody could match him for sheer strength. With Silco's return, they were attracting attention from all corners. Notoriety had its flipside: adoration. Their smuggling operation raked in coins. And Silco's gift as a fixer gave them access to a network of contacts across the city.

None of this had failed to rekindle Lika's love-light. Vander was her best chance at getting what she truly craved: the good life.

And Vander?

He'd fallen for Lika all over again—and Silco hated it. Hated the mysterious power inherent in Lika's swaying hips, the lilt in her laugh and the swing of her hair. Hated the way it reduced Vander into a whipped-dog passivity. All she wanted from Vander was sex and profit. Yet the latter anchored into an affection that sunk deeper into Vander's heart, while the former had him showering Lika with gifts at every turn: necklaces, tools, trinkets.

She had a ridiculously childish thing for stuffies. Vander was so cunt-struck he’d started a collection for her, one for each letter of the alphabet. He'd just gotten to L when Silco had returned to the Lanes.

Love.

It's a funny thing, isn't it?

Funny like a brain tumor.

Flatly, Silco said, "Stick around too long, they start playing games. I always warn you."

"So you do."

"I also warned you to pay the Protection Racket."

An Undercity saying. It meant: Use a sheath.

Vander tsked. "All the Piltie cunny's spoiled you, Blut."

"I barely got any," Silco retorted. "And what I got wasn't worth the trouble."

Vander chortled, with overtones of Sure, pull the other one.

"It's true. Like screwing a mannequin. They don't move right on the dance floor. They barely move at all on a mattress."

"An' when they come, they announce—"

"I'm arriving, I'm arriving!" Silco said in shrill falsetto, beating Vander to the finish line.

They traded the old handshake of laughter. The burden receded from Vander's shoulders. Silco took the other man's emotional temperature, and dared, "Give me a sweetheart from the Lanes any day."

Vander grinned, a good-natured reflex. "Any day."

Their stares met. The moment prolonged itself into tantalizing possibility…

Hastily, Vander broke eye contact. He looked at the bottle. At his hands. Anywhere but Silco. Silco felt a hot stab of disappointment. Vander's expression was a closed book, as inscrutable as the wall of legend he'd built around himself. The Hound again. Even when his words were friendly, his hands were fists.

Those same hands now white-knuckled the counter.

"A kid," he said. "A little girl." Then, as if the confession had been yanked from him, "I'm scared, Blut."

"Who knows if she's even yours." Silco kept his voice casual. "The father could be anyone. Rafik. Sergei. Hell, even Benzo."

"Silco..."

"What? She's a freewheeler, Lika."

Vander's brows bristled like a wolf's fur. "It's not like that."

"Now you're going to say 'Her life's complicated."

"She's a bit of a handful, yeah. But it's not her fault. Lifetime of men makin' promises, then ditching her. Nowhere to go. No family left. Gives a girl baggage, doesn't it?"

"They all have baggage. Brother, father, husband, son." Silco slid his tongue across his chipped teeth, a sour aftertaste in his mouth. "It's not your responsibility to bear the brunt of every man who did her wrong before you."

Advice he'd never taken as a boy with Mother. Then again, Mother was long gone, the brain tumor warping her thoughts inside-out. Some days, she was little more than a dark blot on the edges of Silco's own mind. Other nights, he felt her loss not as an absence but an unmoving weight, squeezing something inside him until it was sealed bloodlessly shut.

Psychic scar-tissue, one might call it.

Or a son's legacy of guilt.

Find someone, she'd told him, in one of her last lucid moments. Find someone so you've got a home.

Home.

That was why he was back in the Lanes—for good. Back, and not the same Silco as before, in the eyes of the streets he'd left behind. Runt. Rat-bastard. Dirty little thing. He was all that, and yet he'd matured into someone else: respected, even sought after. He wasn't exactly a looker, all angular bones and hooded eyes. But his parents' unique genetic legacy had its upsides: poreless olive skin, jet black hair, and a glide in the stride. He kept immaculately clean and dressed well—or as well as poverty allowed.

Women were taken by the attributes he'd developed Topside: a natural courtesy in opening doors, lighting their cigarettes and never raising his voice. Men admired his head for numbers and his talent for getting a hold of things others coveted: contraband, information, favors.

What drew both was the bright burn of his intensity. In Zaun, he’d found his calling. It gave him ballast, drive, desire.

And people always yearn to be led—or led astray—by someone who knows where they are going.

In the early days, bitter after getting booted from Topside, there had been a cold comfort in accompanying Vander on social outings, and watching the room's attention split between them, where before it was a one-sided contest. On those nights, he'd crash deliberately at the Drop, with some pretty thing, letting Vander hear them through the walls of the basement bedroom.

It wasn't a ploy to stir jealousy. More to prove a point. To himself, if nobody else.

That game had stopped a while ago. Vander remained unprovoked—and Silco wasn't without conscience about using sex as scorekeeping.

Truth told, he found it tiresome. Fucking was fun. But it never satisfied him. It only replaced one emptiness with another. With women, he was always wary. Some were stimulating; others were sweet. But he preferred them at arm's length even when bedding them. With men, it was the opposite. He was comfortable with the roughness, the lack of niceties. But the comfort always lapsed into boredom.

Afterward, he'd lie in bed alone, his body insensate but his mind raging. Here he was, a rat caged with thousands of other rats, right where Topside believed they belonged. Where was the ecstasy, the drama, the catharsis? He had a need for release gnawing inside him, verging on explosion.

Sex couldn't ease it; like his work, it was a stopgap. Some days, he felt ready to die—or kill.

Just as long as the blow was struck for freedom.

Vander's demeanor softened: man-to-man. "You're as bad as Lika."

"Ha ha."

"I mean it. Throwin' your lot in with someone else isn't always throwin' yourself into a fire."

"Until you get burned." Silco pressed his palms on the table. "Worry about yours and let Lika worry about hers."

"What if hers is mine?"

Silco didn't understand Vander's expression. Dubious and yet hopeful, as if there was a chance gold could be spun out of hay. He tried engaging Vander's eye. But his brother wouldn't look at him.

"If it's yours," Silco let off a breath, "Then this kid deserves Zaun as much the rest do."

"That's the dream, isn't it?"

"It won't be a dream forever."

"And until it is?" Vander slugged his beer. "Freedom is a dream, and it's a sweet one. But it takes everythin.' It eats every ounce of your time and heart and soul. S'like the moon shining on the Pilt's water. You can chase it all night and never catch it. No matter what you try or how close you think you're getting."

"I know that," Silco said. "But what does that matter—a bell, a week, a year—if you're free?"

"Silco—"

"We could finally have space to breathe, Vander. Think of it. You, me, Lika, Benzo. All of us. There's nothing like it—that space. It brings something better out in everyone. Something they didn't even know they had. Freedom teaches us what we never knew about ourselves. Else we die strangers. Doesn't that reward make it worth the cost?"

Vander deflated. There was little point in belaboring with Silco, who had honed his skills in Piltover's intellectual battlegrounds. Still, Vander couldn't quite let go.

"Not everything's a matter of cost or reward, Blut."

"Maybe not," Silco said. "But have we ever known anything else?"

Vander stayed silent.

In winter, Lika moved into the Drop.

Her daughter was a few months shy of five. A small, sturdy bundle of strawberry hair and freckled skin. She had a habit of biting her nails down to the quick, and a way of looking at menfolk with her head uptilted as if they were strange animals who'd bite if she made a sudden move. Lika had a penchant for coddling her. Whenever she had the time, she'd carry the girl on her hip, her fingers brushing through the fine curls on the child's crown, rocking and cooing.

Her name was Violet.

When Vander heard the name, his face had broken into a broad smile. Lika had named the girl after the wildflowers that grew in the Sotka riverbanks. The place Vander's mother was from. She'd inherited the same reddish hair and blue eyes. She had the same temper too. Her squalling was thunderous, and Lika, with her high spirits and fragile nerves, was often left at her wits' end.

Vander was the only one who could calm Violet down. He had a knack with her, as if they'd known each other for years. He'd hoist her into his arms and swing her up to the ceiling to shrieks of laughter. When she was cranky, he'd bounce her on his knee, reciting colorful stories until she was giggling and tugging at his beard. Once she was tired out, he'd lay her in the crook of his elbow and gently rock her to sleep.

Violet took to the gregarious giant as if she'd waited her entire life to find him. Soon, she'd begun following him around the Drop like a little duckling. She never called him Daddy or Papa or Vati. Only Vander. But half the Lanes sussed the truth out. Vander, once wary, began to bask in his new role. Once the season turned, he and Lika and Vi were fully absorbed into the surreal dynamic of a family. It spun them within a quivering bubble sheened in something resembling happiness.

Silco tried to be glad for them. Or for Vander. But the kid felt like a wrecking-ball, a demolition crew of one. Overnight, she'd displaced Vander's attention more utterly than Lika. And yet she was just a kid. A red-mottled, round-faced kid, and nothing else whatsoever.

Silco's one redemption? He was good with her.

He was good with most children. Unlike adults, their motives weren't mysterious. They wanted to eat, shit, run, play. What could be simpler? And yet they weren't simple in and of themselves. Each one was a walking object lesson of their parents' dysfunctions. The Lanes bristled with orphans whose only crime was being born in the wrong place.

Silco never wanted to be a father. Even before his teens, he'd vowed never to bring a child to life unless it meant the child had a life.

Shelter. Safety. Freedom.

Violet had none of that.

Yet, Silco thought.

He never volunteered to babysit. But if Lika was elsewhere or Vander preoccupied, he'd find himself with Vi in his lap, or clinging to his leg. He'd even, after once catching her smeared in tar after sneaking into the Drop's boiler-room, given her a bath. A herculean endeavor. She'd bawled up at him, big-eyed, her hair and skin grimed black, her fists balled as if the world was a vast injustice and she had no language to explain why.

Silco hauled out the metal tub, filled it with icewater, and dunked her in while she'd shrieked and squalled. It was a struggle not to lose his temper. He was no fucking nanny. But after he'd lathered the sticky goo from her hair, scrubbed her down and toweled her dry, she'd subsided into stupefied calm. As if he'd pulled off a miracle. And, to his own surprise, he'd found himself feeling the same.

It was the first time he'd performed an act of kindness for someone besides Vander.

Afterward, Violet started to follow him around the Drop, too. Unlike with Vander, her gaze was brimful with curiosity; her mouth held a hundred questions. What happens if you eat toothpaste? Where do rats lay their eggs? Why is your skin that color? Are you Ionian too? If you had a tail, could I pull it?

Silco's solution was to put her to work. She was a diligent little chit. At age four, she could sort and stack, and even fold. He taught her to write her name. How to count cards. How to keep an eye on the street, where to hide if Enforcers came knocking, and when to stow coins into her stockings for emergencies. She had a birthmark on her right knee. A red spot shaped like a rabbit. If you tickled her there, she'd dissolve into peals of laughter.

After which she'd climb into your lap and drowse off.

Stealthily, Silco would slip her into her bedroll and tiptoe out—"Goodnight to you, too, Pet."

Children. They're like landmines. One false move and everything goes boom.

Except children weren't the only landmines in the Undercity. Winter was a hard, hungry season. The Void Wars were in their dying ebb. A slow crawl of refugees clogged the streets. Some gravitated to the caverns below; others to the low-rent districts above. Many took to the Lanes themselves, resorting to pickpocketing and mugging. The streets seethed with violence as if it were smog.

Sometimes it was a skirmish. Other times a bitter farce.

Once, on Silco's way between errands, a stout youth with a geometrical maze of tattoos had threatened to cut his throat in the back-alley. Silco remembered that night vividly. It was one of the coldest in the decade. The boy's breath had misted the air. Yet he was sweating like a melting glacier.

"Gimme your money."

He was Shuriman. Silco could tell by his accent. He'd clutched a grimy tanning knife at an awkward angle. The blade wavered like a feather. Rather than a stabbing, Silco felt more threatened by the prospect of a tickling. He stared into the youth's eyes. He was a big lug; a head taller than Silco, and twice his weight. And yet he jittered like a child with stage fright.

"I have," Silco said, enunciating plainly, "three Hexes in my pocket. I'll give you one if you haul a couple of crates."

The youth gurned in disbelief, "Crates?"

"Benzo's spoonyman is drunk as a skunk. I need someone for heavy lifting. You look strong."

"I ain't no whore," the youth blurted.

"I said haul crates. If I meant let's fuck, I'd have said so. Come along. And give me that knife. It's so filthy you'll give yourself tetanus just touching it."

Bewildered, the youth complied.

His story was typical. Shipwrecked on the southern coast, he'd arrived in the Undercity penniless and hungry, a younger sister latched on to his arm. In desperation, he'd turned to crime to feed them. Wherever he saw the opportunity to steal, he seized it.

Now he lived like a real sumprat, fighting tooth and claw for scraps.

Silco and Vander did their best to help those with guts. Neither of them was a paragon of virtue. But they knew how low an empty belly could lay a boy. They'd put them to work in the Black Lanes as runners. They'd teach them the basics of the trade: Vander playing disciplinarian, Silco playing mentor. The rest—the savvy, the street smarts—the kids picked up on their own.

They had no choice. The Lanes were no death-knell of social Darwinism. They were its ugliest tenets in the unnatural parameters of a petri dish. Life moved in fast-forward, and came with its own inalterable mutations. Those who triumphed did so by shedding old skin—or devouring that of their peers.

Survival was the best teacher of all.

The boy proved competent as a runner. But in a month's time, he'd fallen afoul of Enforcers, and gotten hauled off to Stillwater. Silco wouldn't see him until twelve years later, in a cage match at Rotten Row.

By then, he and Lock would both be altered beyond recognition.

Lock's wasn't the only tragic tale. As the refugees swelled, the Lanes became a crucible of filth. In Piltover, social workers exhorted the wealthy, in a flurry of open letters, to remember their paternalistic duty in offering succor to the disenfranchised, lest they fall to the depredations of vice.

The Council handled the matter at arm's length. In Entresol, a massive glass dome was built to temporarily shelter the heaving masses. Within weeks, it was overrun. Soon thereafter, a citywide epidemic of Grey Lung erupted. So horrific they called it the Ash Plague—hundreds felled in the span of a fortnight. A third were infected; a third perished. Even years later, the survivors were still coughing up phlegm.

Piltover's solution?

A city-wide lockdown.

The entire Undercity was contained in a quarantine zone. Travel across the Bridge was strictly forbidden. In the Lanes, there were rumors the plague had been manufactured by the Wardens to cull the population. Others believed a Piltie factory's chemicals had spilled into the riverwater.

Whatever the case, the Council's response was the same. If a hand was raised in protest, the hammer fell.

In the end, the Undercity was left to fend for itself. The sick were separated from the living. The former were piled up and burned. The latter were left to rot. It was the lowest ebb of the city's history: a time of despair and death. The upper-zones became a cesspool, the Lanes a midden. Silco came down with a racking cough. His lungs felt hotly congested, as if full of smoke. Vander fared no better. Nor did Benzo.

Yet, as the weeks passed, they proved among the lucky. The mines had left them sturdier than most. Even as the winter chill gripped the Undercity and the water ran brown, their strength prevailed. They worked in shifts. Kept the fires stoked. Fed the sick with scraps. Kept the living alive. The streets were silent except for the sound of coughing and the wails of the dying. Those who could work did, though their strength flagged. Many of the strongest died from sheer exhaustion.

Under the glassed dome, bodies lay tangled together like cordwood. The smell was enough to turn stomachs.

By springtime, the Ash Plague had abated. Silco and Vander and Benzo were all right. Vi and Lika were untouched. Yet their lives were forever changed. Vander's face bore a permanent shadowed glower. The light in Lika's eyes had dimmed. They each looked decades older than they felt. Silco had taken to the bottle and chain-smoking. Sometimes he couldn't sleep at all. When he did, his dreams were filled with ravaged bodies.

A voice, deep as the mines, told him, You won't die like this.

He didn't die. He was spared. He survived.

But the dead were left unburied, and the dome remained. A monument to Topside's failure; a symbol of its neglect. The living refugees made it their permanent roost, setting up stalls in its shadow or squatting on its grounds. They peddled everything from fresh fish to stolen wares to used clothes. In time, Silco and Vander began buying and selling from them. Benzo's shop became a hotbed for stolen loot. Soon, the Lanes were back in action. People were still reeling, but they breathed, and that was something.

It was everything.

Soon, the glass dome became a familiar sight. A fixture of the Undercity milieu, like the muck-soaked streets or the clogged sewers or the rusted pipes. Traders and performers were drawn to its bustle. The city's poorest and wealthiest mixed under the same gleaming curvature of glass. The market, once a dead zone, became a cherished destination.

Thus, the seeds of the Skylight Commercia were sown.

For the Council, the Undercity's shifting landscape was proof positive that the Fissurefolk were incapable of self-governance. A census program was instituted to track their movements. The data proved useful only insofar as it confirmed what everyone belowground already knew: that the Undercity's civic records were a cheesecloth of missing pages, crossed out names, and blank spaces.

Most Fissurefolk fell beyond the scope of Piltover's census. Few governing bodies beyond orphanages, schools and prisons were under obligation to collect information. Among Piltovan aristocracy, bloodlines could be traced back over centuries. Among the middle-class, the nuclear family was the bastion of social order. Belowground, there was no concept of either bloodline or traditional families.

While divorce remained unavailable to any social class outside of the aristocrats, common law marriages were frequent. Most could be entered with a simple ceremony and an exchange of rings at Janna’s Temple, as with the union of Vander's parents. Or it could be officiated by an Undercity magistrate, with the birth of each child and the death of each spouse stored in civic records, as was the case with Silco's parents.

More often than not, Fissurefolk entered what was known as a "living-in" arrangement: a temporary union between two parties under the same roof.

Living-ins weren't legally binding. If one party wished to dissolve the relationship, they could leave whenever they chose. Naturally, this meant that abandoned wives and single mothers figured large in the social milieu. Some were widowed. Others saw their menfolk rendered unfit for work through injury, and sought recourse elsewhere. Still others were left behind by men who found conscription to places like Ionia the ideal exit strategy from family life.

Silco warned Vander that he should record Violet's parentage somewhere official. Otherwise, she'd find herself without a name in the event of a separation. That didn't seem to bother Vander in the slightest. To him, Violet's existence was proof enough that she belonged to him. Silco argued that a child needed stability, especially when raised among people who were perpetually veering on the edge.

Vander shrugged it off. He already loved the little girl fiercely.

Come what may, he would protect her.

By himself, Silco contemplated the futility of it all. The dodging and weaving necessary to survive in the Lanes. The dangers lurking from cradle—Violet's cradle—to the grave. And for what? A handful of coins? A few parcels' worth of meat?

They deserved better.

He kept the moodiness to himself. Between manning the Drop on weekends, organizing rallies and running books, he rarely had time to vent. Vander was usually up for a good chin-wag, but lately he had other concerns. His life had taken a decidedly domestic bent since Like and Violet hopped aboard.

Overnight, the Hound had become a father. The pressure was getting to him. His fuse shortened. His temper frayed. More than once, Silco found himself having to step in between Vander and strangers, who'd incurred his wrath simply by looking at Lika the wrong way.

Vi didn't help matters. The Last Drop was no playground. The little girl was constantly underfoot, and catching strains of conversation unfit for her ears. By five, she had a vocabulary sharp enough to strip paint. Weekends were raucous, and she lived on the ragged edge—alternately overstimulated or languishing in boredom.

The only place that restored her equilibrium was the basement. Once Silco's old room, it had been converted into a play area for Vi. In it, the child had a private sanctum of toys and books, free from the chaos above. If Vander was too busy with pouring drinks or Lika was chatting up customers, it fell on Silco to occupy her. He'd tote her downstairs, sit her on the couch in a cozy nest of blankets, and put on a show.

"What'll it be, Pet?" he'd say, pantomiming a performer's bow. "Comedy? Romance? Tragedy?"

"Comedy!" she'd crow.

"Excellent choice." Silco would rifle through the cardboard box of dogeared storybooks. "Today's bill will consist of: The Misadventures of Mavis and Mutthead!"

She'd wriggle with anticipation. "Mutthead's a dumbass."

"Quite," Silco agreed. "But Mavis is clever. She'll teach him a thing or two."

Vi was a rapt audience. Some scenes would have her hooting with glee. Others, groaning in dismay. Silco had a knack for doing voices, and Vi adored the ones he did for Mavis, whose nasal tones and long-winded lectures were a send-up of his Academy professor's. For Mutthead, Silco did a falsetto screech and an eye-rolling grimace that sent Vi into fits. Her giggles were infectious. And, despite himself, Silco would inevitably fall into the rhythm of storytelling. Of playacting.

Of being, briefly, a child.

Other nights, his aim wasn't to rile Vi up, but settle her down. His weapon of choice was song. He regaled her with no daft lullabies of owls and pussycats. Instead, he sang ballads about the Fissures, of miners mired in the seeps and street urchins playing marbles beneath the Bridge. His voice—the tenor inherited from Mother—glided like water, slow and soothing.

Violet liked it. Her eyes would close and her mouth would shape a little 'O', as if she was trying to whistle along. Her favorite song—surefire at knocking her out—was an old sea-shanty called The Wave-Soaked Maiden. Whenever he sang it, she'd fall perfectly still, lulled as if by sea waves:

Behind her lips, her teeth were sharp/Much sharper than his knives/She said to him, "Come closer, sir/And I'll eat you alive."

Once, Vander caught Silco in the act. Leaning a shoulder against the door, he waited until Violet dozed off on Silco's knee. Then he cleared his throat.

Silco started. "What—! Oh."

"Corruptin' my little girl already?"

Vander's mockery was skin-deep. Beneath, he seemed genuinely amused. His silhouette held the looseness it always acquired after a hard day's work and hard drinks. A glimpse into the man beneath the legend. The man with whom Silco had once shared his food, his dreams, his life.

The man with whom he still shared the closest semblance to a home.

The couch creaked as Vander settled beside Silco. Cued, Silco passed over the snoozing morsel. Violet nestled comfortably in the massive crook of Vander's arm. Her plump cheek rested against the slab of his chest. Awake, she never resembled Vander in the slightest. Only in sleep did the lineaments of her features show the same stubbornness in the mouth and jaw.

She'd be a strong girl, Silco knew. Strong like Vander.

"I was only keeping her quiet," he muttered.

Vander chuckled. "She likes you. I can tell."

"She keeps asking if I have a tail."

"With the songs you fill her head with, we're lucky she hasn't sprouted one herself."

Silco shook his head. "I'm still not sure how you deal with it. Day in. Day out. The Drop. The Lanes. Her." He jerked his chin, meaningfully, up instead of down. "It's like your world's shrunk."

"Not my world." Vander grinned, a little wistful. "My girls are a handful, sure. But it's worth it. Just look at her. Isn't she a picture?"

"For now. Wait until she hits her teens. She'll give you the run-around."

"It'll be good practice. For when the Lanes are free. There'll be hundreds of kids like her." Vander laid Violet gently on the cushions, next to her favorite stuffed bunny, and hit the stained-glass nightlight Lika had designed. "This one, though. She'll always be special."

"She's certainly turned you special in the head."

"You'll understand once you've got your own."

"My own what? Live-in migraine?"

"You don't mean that." Vander sighed, bittersweet. "Every night, I count my worries. One through ten. Then she smiles an' I count my joys. One through thousand."

"That's the definition of short-term thinking."

"That's love. And with a kid..." Vander gazed fondly at Violet, his oversized palm smoothing her hair. "Well, there's no bottom to it."

"Just the bottom you have to wash up after."

"Jeer all you like." Vander kissed two fingertips and pressed them to the girl's temple. "But mark me—you'll eat that cleverness one day." A beat, "Sir."

"Don't call me that."

Chuckling, Vander touched his fingertips to Silco's temple. The touch held all the affection of decades of friendship and hardship, so ordinary and yet summoning every iota of solitude that summed up Silco's private life lately. Tonight, it was a splitting ache in his chest: love and envy tugging at each other.

"It's good enough." Vander's voice was soft, as if speaking to himself. "Being here. Being part of somethin' that'll last." His eyes met Silco's. "Maybe even outlive us."

"Zaun," Silco said, equally soft. "You and me, blut. We'll build it together. For all of them."

Their silence caught and held; a handclasp. Violet sighed in her sleep. Their bodies were divided by the little girl: her mouth a sweet pucker of dreams. Their knees were touching. Warmth poured off Vander, and its heat lit an answering glow inside Silco. His thumb touched Silco's lower-lip.

It wasn't a caress. But his eyes held a gleam of promise.

Silco could've closed the space between them. Kissed him. Slipped his palms under his shirt, and dragged his nails down the hard contours of Vander's chest. There'd been a time when the act was routine, and not the gut-deep ache of retrospect. They'd known each other's movements so well once. Made a home in each other's bodies, same as in the Drop. Yet the intimacy had left an aftertaste, like something gone stale with neglect.

"I know that look," Vander rasped.

"What look?"

"The one that says you're thinkin' too hard." His thumb skimmed the softened edge of Silco's mouth. "Better watch it."

"Always wondering what I'm thinking." Silco's smile held a bitter twist. "Never what I'm feeling."

"Blut—"

"Don't." Silco caught Vander's thumb in his teeth, then let go. "Don't make me say it."

"You never say it." Vander's voice was hoarse. "Not since..."

"Since what?"

"We were boys." Vander's gaze dropped to his mouth. "We're not boys anymore."

"No," Silco breathed. "We're not."

Vander's big body was taut. His eyes were dark. Silco could read the yearning in his face. The struggle. He knew that if he reached for him, Vander would let himself be touched. Let himself be led. His breath mingled with Silco’s, a hot cloud. Silco's palm was on his thigh. They were savoring the same air, the same warmth. A taste of what they'd lost so long ago.

Then Vander broke away.

"I can't." He scrubbed a hand across his face. "Not now. Not anymore."

"Because of her." Silco didn't hide his bitterness. "Because you want a real family."

"Don't do that." Vander's tone was a warning. "Don't turn this into somethin' it isn't."

"What's it then?" Silco said, viciously soft. "Why is it so hard to choose?"

"Choose?" Vander laughed. A hollow sound. "I'm not choosing anyone. But if I was, it wouldn't be her. It'd be her." He gestured to the child, lolling peacefully, a thumb wedged between her lips. "My daughter."

"I'm not asking you to give her up, bastard." Silco's throat seized. "I just want—"

"You want a lot of things, Blut. More than anyone I know. You always have." Vander's stare was like the sun, and the sun was burning. "It's what's kept us alive. Kept us goin'. But this... I can't do it. Not anymore."

"Vander—"

Vander's fingertips touched Silco's mouth, stilling the words. "There's always a choice. Always a price to pay. Sometimes, it's best to let things be."

"Best for whom?" Silco shot back. "Us? Or you?"

"Blut—"

"You're drunk." Silco broke the contact. "Go to bed before you say something stupider."

"Silco." Vander's palm grazed his neck. His thumb fitted to the pulsepoint. "Look—"

He stopped. His eyes fell on the stairs.

Lika's fey silhouette was in the doorway. She was smiling, but there was a shadow across her eyes. As if the sight of Silco and Vander seated close, their bodies at intersecting angles, was not a revelation, but its opposite. Vander's hand dropped to his lap. He cleared his throat, a rumble. Then again, louder, as if the sound were stuck inside him.

"Lika," he said. "Didn't hear you come in, sweet."

"No, no." Lika's laugh was brittle as the rest of her. "I'm like that. In and out. All over the place." Her eyes flitted between the two men. "Finish your talk. I'm just here to check on Vi."

"Blut was sayin' we should call it a night." Vander rose, stretching his legs. "Busy day tomorrow."

"Right. Of course." Lika met Silco's eyes. "Silco, can you carry her upstairs?"

Silco was already rising. The mood was ruined; the moment lost. It had been lost since Violet's conception. Maybe before. He lifted the child into his arms: a small solid burden. She didn't stir. Not even when Vander tucked the stuffed bunny under her chin. Silco's could feel Lika's eyes on him as he carefully maneuvered the stairwell. He was relieved to pass her. Her fruit-punch perfume always gave him a headache.

When he reached the top floor, he understood his relief had nothing to do with perfume.

A small hand fisted his shirtfront.

"Don't go," Violet mumbled.

"It's bedtime, Pet. You're dreaming."

"Dreaming?" She nuzzled close. "You're a dream?"

"I am." He tucked her into her bedroll. "A bad, bad dream."

Her mouth curled. She'd be a beauty, one day. Or a terror, depending on the toss of the coin. She'd be Vander's and Lika's legacy, either way.

Silco's legacy lay elsewhere.

Downstairs, he heard the back-and-forth of voices. The words were too low to make out. But their tone was unmistakable. Vander and Lika: fighting. Silco didn't want to listen. But his ears were an unerring trap for sounds. Lika's accusation, high and fast and furious: Are you screwing him again?! And Vander's reply, gruff and defensive: I never was!

Bullshit!

Lika. Enough, all right? You'll make a ruckus.

I'll make a ruckus? Me? Every time he's around, you get this look on your face. Like you could eat him alive. How am I supposed to feel, Vander? When it's written all over you. It's not like I don't see him eyefucking you whenever you're together!

Lika, listen—

Fuck you! Fuck you both!

Sweetheart, please—

Please what? Please don’t say what's plain? That's why he's back in the Lanes, isn't it? Because you two are—

We're not! We never were. I told you—

Oh, I know what you said. And you said you were friends. Childhood buddies. Well, guess what? Childhood's done. Be a man and pick a side, for Janna's sake. Pick a side. Or I'll do it for you.

Lika—

Him or me. Choose. CHOOSE!

The silence was like the void, and the void was endless. Then Vander's voice, so ragged Silco nearly missed it.

The kind of voice a man uses when making a vow.

You, Lika. It'll always be you.

Swear it! Swear to me!

I swear it. On my life. It's always been you. Nothing's ever gonna change that. Nothing. No one. Not even him.

Lika's breath shuddered. Her voice was small as a child's. Promise me?

I promise.

Silence. The rustle of bodies. Lika's muffled sobs. Vander's soothing murmurs. Then the moist sounds of a kiss. Their breathing hitched in sync: Lika gave a soft gasp, Vander a low grunt. The thump of the wall, like two bodies colliding off-balance. Then the creak of the couch. The susurrus of clothing shed. A zipper undone; a belt unbuckling. The wetness of mouths and the roughness of hands. Lika's cries, like she was being tortured. Vander's groans, like the pain was his. The melody blended together, a duet so familiar to Silco, he felt each note throb in his blood.

It was the sound of his own dejection.

The soundtrack spiked, subsided, sated. The last moan was Vander's. Followed by a breathless huff of shared laughter. Then their whispers. Their bodies entwined on the couch, Silco knew, without needing to see. Vander's big hand cradling Lika's head. Their foreheads pressed together, sharing the same air. Like they were the only ones in the world.

The way he used to hold Silco. The way Silco used to hold him.

Vander's murmur, a sandpaper rasp: It's always been you. Always.

And Lika, her stormcloud broken: I love you.

Love you more.

A giggle: Liar.

Never. Vander's whisper was the same one that had always soothed Silco, once. Silco could almost feel his breath against his ear. The soft, sure brush of his lips. Silco's the past. You're everything. That's what I choose. That's what I want. Us. Always.

Silco's thoughts strobed in echo of Lika's voice. Liar. He could still see the scene from fifteen minutes ago: the couch, the two bodies, the way their knees had brushed and the heat had flowed between them. He could see the scene from five years ago: him and Vander, drunk on smuggled scotch and a long day's work, falling into bed together, the same heat flowing. The same scene repeated endlessly: a loop of longing and loss.

Liar, he thought again.

And then: Enough.

A month later, he danced with Nandi.

In the Equinox, The Nymph held all-night hops.

Young couples competed for hours beneath the twinkling blue fairylights. Such tournaments of one-upmanship were no rarity in the Undercity. Dancing had long been the antidote to despair: an excuse for Fissurefolk to laugh and let loose.

The hops were different. The prize was a tantalizing sackful of coins, sometimes as much as three hundred Hexes. It was collected from a neighborhood fund: enough to cover a month's rent, or feed a family for two weeks. Such communal generosity was a fresh development. A sign, really, of how the disparate groups in the Undercity were experiencing a sense of emergent solidarity. But was that so shocking? The lack of justice for the impoverished meant those same factions had to stick together. The efforts to unionize also meant that most trades began to have representative bodies. Class consciousness was on the rise; so was community spirit.

If Piltover had torn apart the Undercity for progress—then progress kept it knitted together.

"An obstinate devotion to lose causes," B. Goode termed it in the Sun & Tower newspaper.

Silco preferred a different term.

Loyalty.

Vander and Lika attended each hop. Vander was the heart of the Lanes. Wherever he went, crowds gathered. He had an affable charm, and a knack for working the room. But in truth he had little interest in shindigs. In fact, he hated dancing.

The only reason he went was for Lika.

Her energy levels always ran high; she hated staying indoors. Vander described her as a butterfly caught in a net. Or a harridan in a hellhole. Whatever metaphor best suited her temperament. Since she'd walked in on the scene in the basement, the Drop had become a pressure cooker. She and Vander could go from bliss to disaster within minutes of each other.

It was an oscillation Silco had triggered, but as time passed, it became apparent that the rift wasn't solely a byproduct of his return. Something was wrong between Vander and Lika. And whatever it was, it was worsening. Their spats were legendary in the Lanes. Rumors abounded: that they were going to pack up and go to Bilgewater (they weren’t); that they fought over Vi's childrearing (constantly); that she was pregnant again (she wasn't).

The hops were their sole outlet. They attended often—ridiculously often, as though unable to endure facing each other without the distraction of music and stranger's voices.

Silco hadn't tagged along so much as gotten strung along. Typically, he spent weekends at the Sprout with the miners. Otherwise he holed up in his apartment with piles of dockets, before Vander fetched him after dark to inventory the black market haul.

But tonight was all on Lika.

Lately, she'd gotten it in her head that double-dates would loosen the strain. So they’d leave Violet under the care of a neighbor, and hit the town: Vander, Lika, Silco, and some friend whom she'd handpicked just for him. They were always the right sort—pretty but partnerless. Each time, Lika would preface the invitation the same way: Be a dove and keep her company?

Each time, Silco agreed with the grudging benevolence of a best friend. Later, he’d dodge with the stealth of a maritime tactician. Once the dance began, Vander and Lika would melt into the crowd. Silco and the girl would be left alone. Within thirty minutes he'd successfully drive her off too.

It was a waiting-game: playing the part of a typical male of the species—self-absorbed and uncommunicative, yet with a natural slyness for evasion. She'd try talking to him, and he'd hum, yielding one-word answers to her questions, lapsing into silence when it suited him. Letting her play her game, while he played his, until her patience waned and she flitted off elsewhere.

Ungallant? Hell, he was downright ungracious. But he resented Lika's attempts to interfere in his life. She was a natural gamester; always playing to win. Silco, a dab hand at social subterfuge, saw right through her tricks. She’d understood his interest in Vander. Understood, too, the risk of reciprocity. She never confronted Silco directly. Only hinted, teased, taunted.

She'd never find proof of anything. But she knew.

So did Silco.

The double-dates—her matchmaking—were her way of making her presence known. Of reminding Silco that Vander was off limits. In retrospect, it's a marvel she hadn't given Vander the ultimatum to stop seeing him outright. Except the Lanes' survival hinged on his and Silco's cooperation. Even Lika wasn't so petty as to jeopardize that.

So long as he kept his distance, she'd keep hers. It was an agreement of convenience, but no less effective.

And, Silco knew, no less grating.

For both of them. All three of them. A knot of emotions, all tangled up.

And Silco was growing sick of it.

Now, he watched the pair sway together under the fairylights. He watched Vander’s and Lika’s bodies say everything that had gone unseen that night in the basement. Everything unspoken out there for the entire room to see. He couldn't deny his fears any longer, that Vander and Lika loved each other. A flawed, clumsy, hopelessly inadequate love. But love nonetheless. Despite the rough waters between, they were family.

Vi linked them together forever.

Vander didn't so much as glance around at Silco. His attention was absorbed by Lika. His smile was entire.

The front door swung open; another couple were admitted. Behind them Silco caught a glimpse of the night, hot and smoky, ready to envelop him. He considered slinking out for a cigarette—damned No Indoor Tobacco rule—and just leaving. He'd hit up old haunts for word on Enforcer crackdowns. He'd talk shop, sip lager, make plans.

Maybe he'd seek out one of the boys or girls he'd taken to keeping on a string, since losing faith in the idea that he'd find anything longer lasting. They were a uniform stripe: unsavory with a side of sluttish. Dreck-magnet, Benzo dubbed Silco, but beneath the derision sat a growing unease. Silco had a penchant for attracting those on the extreme ambit of society: the broken, the battered, the bent. His partners had no qualms about getting their hands dirty. The darker side of their appetites was the flipside to his own.

They were survivors.

His bedfellows had different names: Zita, Harper, Cress. A different one every week. They were all the same in his memory: their kisses and cries, the slide of their bodies against his own. None were the sort to make a home with—but by Janna, the nights. He'd take his pleasure without apology. And then he'd crawl home, alone.

Same as usual.

Vander never noticed. Vander hadn't noticed much of anything lately. And why should he? He had his own family. The five years of separation were too much; Silco had lost him for good. He didn't want to face up to the loss. He could only flee it, from bar to bar, body to body, bed to bed.

Maybe he should just go home—and straight to his own bed.

The door opened again.

Nandi floated into the seat beyond his.

She wasn't a stranger. He'd known her and Sevika since the mines. They'd seldom conversed beyond businesslike exchanges: The spigot is broken—Fetch the iodine—No meals today. As adults, their circles had diverged. Silco had returned from Topside shellacked by self-confidence. Side by side with Vander, he'd taken his place in the heart of the spotlight.

Meanwhile, Nandi remained what she was: a quietly resilient girl from a rough brood.

Her family were known hellions in the Lanes. Two girls, three boys—and between them enough craziness to cow a wolverine. The mother had died birthing the youngest son. The loss drove her husband into a rage that was the inverse of despair.

He was nicknamed the Wharfside Devil. And he sure as hell lived up to it. A conman by trade, a brawler by reputation, and an all-around terror. His favorite haunt was The Rumbler's Den. There, he'd pulverize men to mincemeat in cage-matches. The rest of his time was spent running scams and hustling coins.

He and his children lived in a shantytown at the edge of the Sumps. Their house's walls vibrated nonstop with crashing and cursing. Worse was when it would fall silent—and a feeble scrabbling would be heard behind the walls. More than once, a concerned group of neighbors would force the door open. They'd find the father sprawled out cold among a pile of empties, and his children locked in the closet. Shit on the floor; the floorboards gnawed on.

He'd left them in there so long, they'd tried eating them in desperation.

When Nandi was eleven and Sevika was six, their father was arrested for armed robbery at the grocer's store near the Promenade. He was sentenced to a year. Then he participated in a prison riot and killed three guards. His sentence was bumped up to thirty. The Warden assumed overseership of the children. They were moved from orphanage to orphanage. Eventually, the three boys were shipped off as dockhands to Bilgewater, and the girls were conscripted to do scutwork at the mines.

Tragic, but hardly uncommon.

Sevika had inherited her father's hellion streak. Tough as nails and blunt as a hammer. As a child, she'd narrowly escaped an early death as a mining trapper by working with her sister to train the pit-animals: hoofing the donkeys, keeping the canaries fed, making sure the dogs didn't get the mange.

After the gas explosion, Silco had broken his leg, and Sevika was ordered to lend a hand in stock-piling ore. She'd been a sturdy little thing. Never cried once despite the cold or damp; just bent her head over her work. Afterward, she'd perched on Silco's knee and gratefully gobbled down the bergamots Vander had filched from the foreman's tent.

In later years, whenever she spotted Silco on the streets, she'd follow him and pat his pockets as if expecting more bergamots.

By seventeen, she was a trainee in Silco and Vander's youth squad. After-hours, she'd help them unload the black-market haul, then patrol the zone for trouble. On slow nights, she'd dog Vander's heels for fighting-tips: how to throw a kitchen-sinker, crack a nose, bash in a skull.

Other nights, she'd sit with Silco as he pored through dossiers and tallied up figures, pestering him to play poker with her and punctuating her jokes with punches to his shoulder. Her eyes always held a proprietary gleam, like a child beholding something shiny and worth the risk of a bold touch.

Tread lightly, Blut, Vander sometimes teased. That one’s got her eye on you.

Nandi was different from her thuggish clan. If Sevika was the sinner, she was the saint. Their mother's folk had hailed from Vekaura, a Shuriman border city. A bloodline of nomadic snake-charmers and soothsayers. Nandi took after them. She'd been named for her great-grandmother, who was rumored to possess the gift of foresight. Her visions were so potent, kings would travel from near and far to seek her council.

When the girl was born, they'd named her in hopes of inheriting the gift. Inheriting the money, too. Her grandmother's clan were prosperous. When the family emigrated to Zaun, they'd been part of its merchant elite. Bad business and worse luck had bled their coffers dry.

Nandi was born a pauper, the first in her bloodline to suffer the fate. And she was no seer, to her family’s dismay.

But she did possess a gift for healing. As a child, she could always be counted on to soothe the canaries and coax the dogs to heel. Her satchel was full of poultices, which she’d dispensed among the other children. Everything from salves for blistered feet to ointment for gas-rashes. Whenever the first aid supplies ran out, someone would always run off to find, The quiet girl with the potions.

As an adult, Nandi’s quietness matured into a sagacity that comes from witnessing profound suffering. Instead of soothing troubled animals, she calmed the lost souls who visited Janna's Temple—orphans, addicts, drunken husbands, battered wives.

People liked her. It wasn't hard to see why. Any single photograph would not have done her justice. But in person, her allure was undeniable. Her half-lidded eyes held a serene glow. Her slow-flowing movements called to mind transparent bones beneath her skin.

Riverside birds.

Silco had stared at her from his spot. The room tilted strangely. His senses kept sliding back and forth as if on a rolling boat. Nandi didn't notice his stare. Her body was placidly still. He studied her profile, the lush eyelashes, full lips parted, outlined in the dreamlike blueness. Her hair seemed to glimmer with a life of its own.

A rarity, such lush hair in the Undercity. Most women kept their locks shorn close to the scalp: a precaution against roosting lice. The lye soaps stripped their luster. Poor nutrition took care of the rest. Others, like the tarts, donned wigs in unnatural colors and tacky textures.

Nandi's hair was black as sin. It shone like a saint's halo. The slipping strands curled into silken fingers, beckoning.

When her hairpin fell, Silco reached out and caught it.

Sevika glanced around: "Who the fuck—oh, hey, sir.”

Nodding absently, Silco got out of his seat. He crouched in the aisle beside Nandi. The pin lay in his open palm.

"I think it wants to dance."

Not his wittiest line. But he was only twenty-five.

Nandi's eyes flitted to his. Pretty eyes, dark-gray and wide-set, with tiny fairylights glowing inside them. The kohl encircling them gave the sense of a sea-nymph peering through the waves. A softness so unexpected, Silco felt something in him soften, too. Something he hadn't known was chilled to the bone. Several locks of hair had fallen loose from her updo. They wisped around her face. With a languid motion of one hand, she pushed them aside.

Her lips curved. The smile held a rueful twist: Is that so?

Silco felt a hot unfamiliar tickle in his bones. When Nandi reached for the pin, he made it vanish in a playful sleight of hand. In the next beat, it reappeared by Nandi's ear. Her mouth twitched; a laugh stifled. When she took the proffered pin, he kept his palm open.

"Well?"

Her smile was soft as a feather. "Do you want payment?"

"For what?"

"A good deed."

Her voice was deeper than he'd expected. Husky. She spoke with the slow cadences of someone more accustomed to silence than speech. Her accent was Vekauran. He could almost trace that old magic of Shurima in her vowels. And yet the words themselves were strangely tuned. It sounded like she was humming offkey to herself.

Silco didn't understand—yet—why she kept staring at his mouth.

Innocently, he answered, "I prefer payment by trade."

Her gaze dipped, then met his again. Eye-contact was a well-known part of Vekauran culture—and courtship. "Bold proposition."

"Or a polite invitation."

Nandi's lips parted, then closed. Her gaze disconnected from his. Something in Silco's chest cried No! The hormonal intensity took him aback. He'd long-ago built up a tolerance to the hit-or-miss risk of sweet-talking a girl. It was a skill he'd matured into naturally, the same as rhetoric. As with both, he could adopt a manner either aloof or charming, depending on what suited the moment.

Nandi stared into the distance. The mythic dead-end loomed. Then she gave him a sidelong glance. Somewhat sadly, she pointed to her ears.

Silco stared, first with confusion, then chagrin.

"Ah."

Did he fail to mention before?

Nandi was almost completely deaf.

Mind you, that's deaf with a capital ‘D.' She wasn't born that way. At six years old, her hearing began to fail. By twelve, at the mercy of blasts from the mines, it had all but faded. She tried tonics, tinctures, even talismans, but to no avail. Her world was made of soft whispers and imperfect silence.

With quiet pragmatism, she'd adapted. Lip-reading was the first skill; a vital one to survive in the Lanes. With the right proximity and light, she could accurately gauge speech with only a small margin of error. That's how she'd conversed with Silco; why she'd kept eyeing his mouth. Her real lingua franca—so to speak—was sign-language. She'd learned the basics from soothsayers at Janna's Temple, who were a robust community of the disabled, with their own varied modes of communication. Their fluid, graceful gestures became hers; a poetry of motion.

Silco was fluent in the dialectal sign language from his days at the Hölle Correctional Facility. Warden Lascelles had taught him well. With Nandi, he'd acquire it as a metaphoric second tongue.

As a kingpin, the hand symbols came in handy. Slating men for death in plain sight.

That night, Silco's mind wasn't on death. It was on keeping a straight face while the rest of him scorched with embarrassment. In retrospect, it was obvious. Why else would a pretty girl sit out dance after dance in the corner?

He meant to say something suave. Or face-saving.

Instead, he blurted, "You don't need music to dance."

She smiled as if to say, Do you often dance without music?

He didn't answer, because the answer was no. He hadn't danced since Topside, at the Academy soirees: their plodding minuets and clod-hopping foxtrots. Not that he'd tell her. He could tell she'd been asked to dance before, and the experience hadn't gone well. Probably the fool had insulted her. And he didn't want her to feel like he was insulting her. Or taking pity.

He wasn't. The dance-hall's heat was like a sauna, and the energy percolating through his bones was electric, and his nerves were buzzing beyond reason. He'd have done anything—anything—to break out of the stuffy box the night had become. Even dance with a deaf girl. Especially this one.

Because, he realized, she was captivating.

He'll always know that for a fact. He'd known it then, though he was young. So damnably, stupidly young. Young enough to think, Just one dance, while his heart made a strange grabby gesture: Gimme!

He didn't grab. He signed, slowly, pulling the rhythm from memory: So?

Nandi's eyes lit. She signed back, So what?

Are you dancing or not?

Nandi bit her lip. There was irresolution on her face: half-troubled, half-tempted. At twenty-five, Silco found it charming. In his forties, it is the opposite. Retrospect has a way of stripping the illusions of romance away. He thinks instead of what might have been, and what wasn't. A man he could've been and a life he could've had, until circumstance precluded both.

Perhaps it was the same for Nandi. Perhaps she'd glimpsed the Wolf and Lamb beyond his shoulder. Both would find her in time.

Silco's palm stayed open. She put her hand in his.

In the background, Sevika slumped sulkily into her seat.

The night was a blue hazed-blur.

What Silco remembers now are tactile snatches. The warming curve of his and Nandi's bodies as they swayed to the music. His hand clasped in hers, palm on palm. In Silco's chest: the unexpected shudder, a pulse of shock. On Nandi's face: the blossoming of color, a smile of delight.

She was tall. They met eye to eye. Her nose was dusted with freckles. Her lips were a little chapped but sensuously full. Her hair was silky soft and scented like a cornucopia.

Sandalwood. Rainfall. Incense.

Inhaling, Silco felt at once hungry all over and strangely satisfied.

The dance floor was crowded with colorful shapes. The hot air bubbled with gin, hair burnt in curling irons, cheap perfumes and gimcrack colognes, all with an undernote of sweat. The music was fast, but they moved slow. He took her through the steps, song after song, with the surety of old practice.

Years ago, Vander had taught Silco the right way to throw a punch. Lead with the hips, not the arm. After his sojourn to Piltover, Silco had learnt dancing was the same. He was quick on his feet—always had been. At the perfumed Piltover cabarets, he'd needed to only observe the move of the moment for a few beats, before he caught on.

Topside’s styles paled to the frenetic energy of the Fissures. Especially the Sumpside Waltz.

The dance wasn't a performance. It was a game of pursuit. During the first set, one partner led while the other followed. A persuasion: eye contact sustained and bodies a whisper apart. During the second set, the roles reversed. The tempo kicked up a notch: the theme became one of sensuality and surrender.

It resembled a whirligig on the surface. But even the simplest step required finesse. And stamina. You couldn't afford to falter, lest you trip and break an ankle.

Nandi was awkward at first. But by the third song, she'd learnt to glide with him. Her feet no longer collided with his, but stepped smoothly in sync. Her senses were unmoored from the music. But her muscles responded to the fulcrum of his own, two clockwork gears melding into a frictionless fluidity.

The band struck up Bewitched, Bothered & Bewildered. Silco linked arms with Nandi for the promenade. She laughed as they scoop-stepped counterclockwise around the edge of the dancefloor. The sound was off-key but as lovely as the chime of her bangles.

She signed. I get it.

Get what?

Why you don't dance often. Her hand squeezed his arm. It brings out a devil in you.

She had Silco dead to rights.

One song ended. Another began. He didn't leave Nandi's side; she didn't leave his. For the first time in a long time, he felt at home, out of the shadows, pivoting between the couples under the shimmery blue lanterns. The way she moved with him was seamless. When Silco's gaze drifted from her face down the rest of her, he wasn't sure if he was imagining undressing her, or just tracing the outline of her body for safekeeping in the privacy of his mind.

By the time the musicians broke for a powder, they'd both broken out likewise into a sheen of sweat. Their bodies stayed loosely twined. Inside, Silco felt a slow bubbling warmth. It seemed mutual. But he was wary of overstepping the mark.

Dancing with a girl was easy. Getting her into bed was trickier. Some fell for smart patter and low-key strut. Others favored physical candor.

Silco wasn't sure what category Nandi fell in. Her manner was inviting; her body-language was demure. The mixed signals made him hesitate.

Or maybe it was the damn butterflies. Fluttering in his head, his gut, his groin.

He didn't trust them. Didn't trust his own intentions towards the girl.

They drifted to the bar. He began ordering gin. She declined. After dark, she explained, it was water or nothing. Silco indulged the peculiarity. He ordered two tiny bottles, despite them costing double the gin. They clicked them together—"To your hairpin!"—and slugged them down.

From across the room, Silco heard a familiar whistle. Vander. He was wedged into the corner table with Lika, one big hand wrapped around a nearly empty pint, the other resting casually on Lika's shoulder. Lika's mouth was wide-open with laughter at something Benzo, Sergei or Rafik were saying. She always ended up surrounded by menfolk. It was practically a running gag.

As was Vander's habit of pummeling anyone who got too close.

Tonight, however, Vander's eye wasn't on Lika. It was on Silco. He was smiling, but there was a glint of something else in his stare. Something dark and wistful and wanting. It woke a chill on Silco's skin. The same look from the night at the Drop’s basement; a reminder of things past but never gone. He wondered why it had resurfaced.

Then he understood Vander's jealousy was inflamed by watching Silco with a stranger

Watching him smile.

Watching him dance.

Watching him move on.

Silco felt the fangs of misgiving pierce his body. He tipped his chin at Vander: a query. Vander waved him over, holding up his glass to demand a refill on the way. Silco's misgiving twisted into irritation. Vander still wanted him—yes. But Vander expected it to be on his terms, or not at all. Even now, with the respect of the Lanes bolstering him, Silco still fit into his picture as... what? A sidekick? A side piece?

Fuck that.

Younger, he'd have accepted the role equably. Older, he refused to be bypassed.

Their stares caught and held. Vander's was dark-eyed, expectant. Silco kept his own implacably cool.

Liar.

He turned away.

Nandi was watching him. Her expression was witchy, warm, full of interest in everything. In Silco. He thought once more of Vander, the pull almost visceral, a taste like alcoholism. Then he let Vander slip away in favor of what was right before him.

They sipped water and talked. Well—signed. Nandi had a placid poise that was nearly spectral. Bit beneath it lay a secret playfulness. More than that, a curiosity in the world around her, in the strangeness of human nature. The twinkle in her half-lidded eyes and the touch of her hand on his arm whenever he signed something funny was nearly as charming as her off-key laugh.

In later years, he'd inevitably compare Nandi to her stalwart sister. Both were smart, strong, sultry. His favorite adjectives on a woman. Yet where Sevika burned like dragonfire, with her flashing eyes and fiery temperament, Nandi was a river: silent on the surface, at yet full of secrets barely-glimpsed and ever-deepening. Like Sevika, she was a born survivor. But where Sevika solved her problems with a right hook, Nandi exuded strength through her stillness. She was a natural at sensing the currents of another's mood. She knew when to stand firm; when to flow.

It was an inborn gift—one Silco would likewise acquire.

And put to use. For his own monstrous ends.

I think, Nandi signed, and her eyes slid down, lingering on his mouth again, You must have a lovely voice. Like a merman.

He was taken aback. What makes you say that?

When music plays—she touched her sternum—I feel the beat. Not the sound. The vibrations.

Explains why you dance so fetchingly.

Nandi proved hard to distract; his compliment brought a smile but little else. Your voice is the same. When you were close, I felt it everytime you laughed. Her eyes twinkled. I bet you're quite the singer when nobody's listening.

He felt vaguely flustered. Others had told him he had a smooth voice. But nobody had described it quite so intimately.

He signed, I prefer good company to my own singing.

That got another laugh. You are charming.

For a devil?

Her smile faded. I know devils. Her hand squeezed his arm. But it's poor form to talk of family with strangers.

She'd meant her father, renowned in the Lanes. Silco was tempted to pry, but that was poor form too. Instead, he touched her hand, the briefest skim of fingertips.

Not among friends. A half-smile. But we're only just getting acquainted, aren't we?

She gave his wrist a squeeze. A thrill passed through him. He still remembers how warm her palm was. How strong.

Later, Nandi excused herself to use the outhouse. Silco stayed with their drinks, idly scoping out the bar. His attention fell on Sevika. She slouched at her table. A few punters had dared to ask her for a dance. She'd turned them down with the bluntness of a door slamming shut.

Their eyes met. She colored up and jerked her eyes away. When Nandi returned, she began sullenly inspecting her own fingernails. Sliding one palm repeatedly over the other.

I think she's bored, Silco signed to Nandi.

Nandi frowned. Who?

Your little sister.

She turned, then sobered. A different disposition; almost maternal. She's signing that she wants to leave.

You go everywhere together?

She bit her lip. Don't you and Vander?

Silco conceded with a semblance of flippancy. We go places together, but leave separately.

My sister prefers leaving together.

It sounded like a subtle goodbye. Silco smiled, a smokescreen to strangle his own disappointment. Separation anxiety?

He meant it as a joke. But Nandi nodded. We've been together since our mother died. Our brothers left for good after they were sent to Bilgewater. Our father was...the last straw. We've been inseparable since. We keep each other safe. Give each other a home.

Home.

Silco thought of himself and Vander. How the solitude was once theirs in childhood, back when they understood each other completely, had each other's backs without question. It only made him feel more excluded now, not just from Vander's and Lika's togetherness, but from everything close and connected and worthwhile.

Except Zaun.

The pin at the top-knot of Nandi's hairdo was sliding loose again. Impulsively, he reached out and fixed it in a better place. She dipped her head, and let him touch her. There were high spots of color on her cheeks.

She signed, What brought you here?

What do you mean?

You're usually at The Sprout. Talking with the miners.

Is that a crime?

Her gaze dipped. The Enforcers think so.

Silco's expression shaded. I want the Lanes to have a life, and they want to take it away.

You don't think we have a life now?

A song-and-dance isn't a life.

Her eyes circled the lively hall. These gatherings matter. They bring people together. They take their minds off the troubles.

We're only allowed respite with a Topside permit? He shook his head. That doesn't count.

You don't think we deserve a break?

We deserve much more. Silco took a sip of his drink, before saying out loud. "A life of getting what we want when we want it. Nobody stopping us. Nobody pushing us around. And if they do, we push them back. Push them back hard—so they never forget again."

Nandi stared at him. She couldn't hear his sharpening tone. But she could see the fury in his sinews.

Slowly, she signed, You hate them, don't you?

Silco drew a deep breath, counting to five. He signed back. I hate what they do to us.

Us?

The Lanes. The Undercity.

That's why you're always working. To get even?

To do better.

Nandi stared at him. Silco wasn't sure what she saw. His rants got a rise out of most people. Topside, he'd taken a perverse pleasure in stirring up shock. Belowground, there was a deeper satisfaction in stoking the embers of resentment into resistance. Yet here, he feared somehow slipping in her estimation. Coming across as spiteful rather than squarely in the right.

Changing tacks, he signed, Will you stay for the second set?

Nandi tipped her chin. She seemed tempted by the proposal. Then she shook her head. I lead the prayers in the morning.

Prayers?

At Janna's Temple. I'm an apprenta for the Priestess.

Silco blinked. Faith was never his strong suit. All those madcap mantras of Mother's had put him off. In boyhood, he'd devoured folklore in the dusty old library books. But as a young man, his encyclopedic knowledge of the Undercity's spiritual facets extended more to the tales swapped in bars and brothels.

He signed, How long does it last, this apprenticeship?

I have three years left. In total, it lasts for six.

Six years!

She tipped a shoulder. It's no great thing.

Six years of prayer? Marveling, he met her eyes. Small wonder you seem so serene.

She hid a smile. Say that when you catch me in the Temple's open kitchens.

You volunteer there?

On weekends. I prepare the meals in the refectory.

Silco was bemused. He was many things. Charitable wasn't one of them.

In the Black Lanes, the word was a slippery thing: a byword for Sucker. Yet generosity was no rarity belowground. There is this assumption—erroneous—that when people have scraps, they'll fall upon each other like beasts fighting over bones. The truth is far less black-and-white. The Lanes were always full of self-serving hustlers. But ordinary Fissurefolk did help one another. They only had scraps—but they shared those scraps equally.

There was little choice in an environment with no hope for social mobility. You made do with what you had and made sure your neighbors did too.

His skepticism must have shown on his face. Nandi smiled, like a sage mother imparting wisdom to a young jack. It's not just the food. We work there because it's important to give something back. Our donations come from the Fissurefolk's pockets rather than Uppside's tax-dole. There's no expectation of return beyond the deed itself.

You get no support from Topside at all?

Uppsiders have little patience for mystics. Her smile dimmed. People like us barely exist to them.

Except for criticizing as primitives.

Nandi shrugged. Their criticisms don't matter. There are people here and now who need support. Many see charity as a staircase. The less fortunate have to climb step one after another. Prove their sobriety, or decency, or sanity, to be worthy of aid. The Temple doesn't need them to prove anything. It offers a foundation—a second home—where they are not turned away. No matter how many times they mess up, the doors never close.

An open door—or a vicious cycle?

Nandi remained as immune to his sarcasm as she’d been to his flattery. You know, full well, a moment's respite is not the same as enabling vice. People in our city live on the edge. Hoping for a way out, only to get knocked back down by the violence and deprivation. The Temple gives them something else to focus on. For many, it's the first time anyone has given anything to them. It saves them from a path of isolation—all its cruelties. It shows them they are cared for.

Silco tried imagining what a strange life someone would have lead for such a profound altruïsm to survive intact. He couldn't. For years, he'd kept survival straight in his line-of-sight, all the while chasing the next big thing: bigger scores, bigger deals, bigger opportunities.

His respite came only in the moments when he caught his breath, when he stepped back and saw his efforts as a whole. Not a game of survival but a blueprint towards tomorrow.

Zaun.

It had felt simple in those days. A formula for surefire success; a path with a foregone conclusion.

He signed to Nandi, Seems like a catch-22.

A what?

A catch-22. It's an old military term. When you have two equally terrible choices.

She shook her head. It's a matter of what you put first. Success measured by itself is hollow. What's more tangible a marker is what you can do with what you are given. So we work hard in Janna's Temple. We build good deeds. If we fall short in the eyes of Uppside, well—at least we don't fall short of grace in our own.

Silco felt his lips twitch. Faith in fair trade, hm?

Her eyes were luminous. Do they not discuss faith at your miner's rallies?

We discuss taking what belongs to us.

By force.

By right.

A revolution needs more than that. She met his eyes. I invite you to volunteer at the Temple's kitchens. You might find it an experience.

Silco nixed this with a headshake, My talents lie elsewhere.

Her look turned shrewd. You can't cook, can you?

"Not worth shit," he muttered.

She burst into her off-key laughter again. The tips of Silco's ears reddened. But his belly filled with a foamy warmth. It felt like the sensation of slipping between warm covers after a cold day outside.

Not home—but near enough.

He didn't know it then, but it marked the start of him growing up in a different way. Learning about the Undercity through the lens of not just barstools and smuggling and social policy, but through the lives of its tenderest folk. The ones who loved the city enough to give whatever they had. The ones who believed in doing right by their fellow men.

The ones whose generosity Silco repays now as only a monster can.

Nandi caught her sister’s eye across the room. The two girls exchanged nods. With a synchronicity that marked them—for the first time—as blood-kin, they unfolded smoothly to their feet: tall, swarthy, steady-eyed. Nandi began drifting towards Sevika, taking the tantalizing waft of sandalwood and incense with her.

Impulsively, Silco signed, Shall I see you and your sister off? It’s late.

We can handle ourselves. She softened the demurral with a tease. "Sil."

It's Silco.

The miners keep calling you 'Sil.'

You're off by one letter.

He took her wrist, and drew her hand towards him. With her fingers, he spelled L instead of R. A dark flush stole across her cheeks.

Sir, she signed. That makes more sense.

It makes none to me.

You don't like being called sir?

Silco is all there is to my name. He took a sip of his drink, and eyed her speculatively over the rim. “Unless there's something more fitting you'd like to know me by.”

Nandi's titter was a two-syllable birdsong. Is this flirtation?

I was trying to be subtle.

You weren't. Her hand rested briefly on his wrist. Next time, try harder.

Next time?

Nandi's eyes radiated—or appeared to radiate—a playful promise.

There's a hop next week, she signed. I could dance again.

Silco's heart skipped like a stone over deep water. His pulse kicked up, as if with exciting prospects yet within reach. Warmth. Scent. Sensation.

Nandi.

He signed back, So could I.

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