on a slightly related note, i know we joke about ichigo being a dumbass (and sometimes he is), but he's also so much smarter than people give him credit for. i remember initially being frustrated by chapter 479, where ichigo "forgives" ukitake and soul society for stalking him using the combat pass, but i trust ichigo and it's interesting to see in retrospect that this is the same chapter where ichigo asks them to let him take ginjou's body back. the shinigami express outrage at this, and soi fon and shinji specifically mention all the awful things ginjou has done (especially to ichigo's family and friends), but ichigo says "it's not about forgiving or not forgiving; he was a deputy soul reaper"

this is essentially ichigo saying to soul society, "give him dignity for his services and i can trust that you'll do the same for me when my time comes." while ginjou went full-hostile-mode against soul society, ichigo plays his cards a little more cleverly. soul society needs ichigo, and ichigo needs his shinigami powers, so he's willing to take the first step of forgiving their transgressions so they'll (hopefully) pay him the same respect

I reread Patsy Stoneman’s essay, “Catherine Earnshaw's Journey to Her Home among the Dead: Fresh Thoughts on Wuthering Heights and 'Epipsychidion,” and my feelings towards it pretty similar to how I feel about J. Hillis Miller’s essays. I enjoyed reading it but I don’t agree with 85% of it. I haven’t reread any of Miller’s takes (since there are a plethora of metaphysical interpretations it would be so repetitive) and that probably allows for me to still appreciate his essays as much as I do...I think rereading Stoneman’s essay was a bad idea because reading it a second time made it much less enjoyable and I read it much more critically.

There are a lot of similarities between the metaphysical and Romantic love narratives, and they also share a lot of the same failings. They tend to be very selective about what scenes are analyzed and they aren’t put into a larger context, and they tend to be the most poetic scenes. Typically these arguments cannot place the meaning of the 2nd generation into the context of the novel either. I’ve already said quite a bit about the metaphysical arguments, so I’m going to try and discuss just the points in this specific essay. Sorry parts may be a little repetitive because critics often bring up the same quotes and ideas again and again. And this will be very long.

First, Stoneman identifies that there are two popular theories about Catherine and Heathcliff’s relationship: “One is the myth of star-crossed lovers, who are cheated of marriage by social forces,” and then the metaphysical argument which, “presents Catherine and Heathcliff’s love as of a kind which is in itself incapable of social consummation.” She then volunteers a third option that is based on concepts of free love and/or “twin love” that can found in Romantic literature.

It is interesting, but I’m pretty sure Catherine also thinks she betrayed her own heart? She does tell Nelly she knows in her heart and soul she shouldn’t marry Edgar, and on her deathbed, she says “If I’ve done wrong, I’m dying for it.” I know some take it to mean she thinks that she didn’t do what was wrong to her, but she does add “You left me too” so I think she does agree with Heathcliff that she, in a way, left him. 

There is ample room in the novel to compare Heathcliff and Edgar as there are few similarities between them. The society in which they live is violent and hierarchical and that never seems to be questioned by any character - I think that is an important backdrop and allows for commentary on class, race, and gender. I don’t think this particularly has to do with how we view exclusive relationships. And based on the reasons Catherine gives for why she would marry one and not the other, I think Catherine understands she is limited by this society. Her reasons for marrying Edgar are all very practical.

Instead of any fulfillment, from the start, Nelly says Catherine struggled and had an “objection to her two friends meeting at all.” Catherine is aware they dislike each other from the start and this makes things more difficult for her as Hindley wants her to marry Edgar, Heathcliff is more and more remote, and the two of them are stuck suffering Hindley’s cruelty. Nelly even says during this time, “I’ve had many a laugh at her perplexities and untold troubles, which she vainly strove to hide from my mockery.” If what Stoneman says is true she would have to be beyond naive, if not utterly foolish, to think that a relationship with both Edgar and Heathcliff would be desirable for spiritual fulfillment after Heathcliff’s treatment at the Grange, or his throwing applesauce on Edgar (which this scene brings her to tears and she blames Edgar for Heathcliff’s resulting punishment). 

Stoneman does attempt to reconcile the Catherine confiding in Nelly that she knows in her heart and soul she is wrong to accept Linton’s proposal - she says this statement is negated by her insistence of never being parted from Heathcliff and that therefore means her love for him must simply be different and Romantic, rather than romantic/marriage-oriented. I’ve written a lot about this already but so I’ll just say that is pretty selective of the whole conversation with Nelly. 

Stoneman says, that from this scene and how we see Catherine greet Heathcliff this shows, “No sense of tragic irony seems to enter into her consciousness, nor any foreboding of difficulties.”? Seems to be a bit of an overstatement when you consider that Edgar’s proposal brings Catherine to tears because she feels she isn’t meant to be with him. She doesn’t excitedly tell Nelly that she loves them both, and she doesn’t seem very optimistic when she says Edgar, “must shake off his antipathy, and tolerate him, at least.” While idealistic in thinking Edgar would help Heathcliff she is still pragmatic in understanding how few options she has. She fears Heathcliff listening to this conversation and will be hurt by this, or him finding out how much she loves him. Is her "delirious” joy upon Heathcliff’s return really a sign of her lack of conformity and utter loss at understanding their jealously? Or is it more likely because she thought he might be dead for those three years? She also tirelessly spends the next 3 months balancing Heathcliff’s dislike of Edgar (which I believe also spurs her to continue concealing her feelings towards him), Edgar’s jealously, and a new fun problem: Isabella’s infatuation with Heathcliff. 

I won’t go into too much detail in this because it’s so similar to the metaphysical argument, but Stoneman notes that in Shelley’s ‘Epipsychidion’ there isn’t just the concept of free love but of “twin love” between 2 of the 3 person triangle, so it assumes that Catherine/Heathcliff could more platonic or at least asexual. 

In this interpretation Catherine “revises the traditional masculinity” of the “Romantic lover:” 

“Shelly’s experiment depended on women’s readiness to be generous and co-operative, and Catherine’s similar plan founders on the combative notion of masculinity endorsed by our culture. Attempting to ‘divide’ her love between men who seem to her too different to be rivals, she finds them transformed into the ‘chained friend’ and ‘jealous foe’ of convention.”

I don’t agree with the idea that Catherine sees them as too different to be rivals? She does compare them which casts them as two men vying for the position of her husband. Also, she based her decision to marry one and not the other on socioeconomic advantage, not who she loves more, or how they differ as people and might give her different kinds of love, although she points out her changing/more superficial and limited love for Edgar compared to the love she has for Heathcliff which are like the “eternal rocks beneath.”

Her love for Edgar is full of stipulations - she would “only pity him—hate him, perhaps, if he were ugly, and a clown.” Heathcliff’s degraded state does nothing to change her love, which is why I say her love for them is unequal. I honestly think saying she loves them equally yet differently, or that she is totally unaware of their jealousies is so preposterous based on the text, I don’t understand how so many critics, that have written extensively on the book all parrot it? Yet Stoneman continues to assert Catherine is “innocent” and “baffled” by their jealously. With almost everything she says about Catherine I find myself thinking, “well yes, but no?” For example, with this idea: 

“Catherine’s apparent self-destruction has to be seen, not as willful egotism, but as a despairing response to her two lovers’ failure to love her enough to share her attention”

I do think this is mostly true. It is not willful egotism, and she is upset that they can’t tolerate each other - but Catherine’s illness is a long-running problem that is closely associated with her relationship with Heathcliff and his absence that began after he first runs away. Through the next three years, she says she “endured very, very bitter misery.” I’d say it has nothing to do with her feelings towards Edgar who she has been making herself distant during this whole time while telling Heathcliff (in spirit since he isn’t actually in the room): “If I dare you now, will you venture? If you do, I’ll keep you.”

Again I do somewhat agree with Stoneman’s interpretation of Catherine telling Heathcliff, “you and Edgar have broken my heart,” which Stoneman says, “can only be explained if we accept that while Catherine still relates to both her lovers, Edgar and Heathcliff have broken her heart by defining love as exclusive.” I think they do break her heart by their selfishness over her, and I think she never intends to hurt either of them. She has at different times suffered to protect one or the other. But this still doesn’t change her stronger, unconditional, yet socially unacceptable and thwarted love for Heathcliff. Her issue isn’t the loss of Edgar, they broke her heart by both behaving in a way that cast Heathcliff from her company. Divorce was not really an option for her - the most dysfunctional couple in the novel, Heathcliff and Isabella, never legally separate even. So why wouldn’t she try to keep the peace between them to be near Heathcliff? The Romantic love interpretation is difficult to reconcile with her rejection of Edgar which happens on a few occasions and most apparent when she tells him, “What you touch at present you may have; but my soul will be on that hill top before you lay hands on me again. I don’t want you, Edgar: I’m past wanting you. Return to your books. I’m glad you possess a consolation, for all you had in me is gone.” 

As the essay went on I felt it got weaker. Stoneman says Catherine’s haunting of Heathcliff must be read as an “appeal against his failures of generosity.” Not because she wishes she was never parted from him, as Catherine herself said? Catherine doesn’t seem to die with any animosity towards Heathcliff - she forgives him for leaving her, asks for forgiveness, and tells him, “You never harmed me in your life.” 

**** EDIT *** I just meant that he goal isn’t to punish Heathcliff, since before her death she makes it clear she doesn’t want to parted from him. I do prefer the theory that she she haunts him in part to call him off his revenge and harming those she loves and to bring him back to her. I don’t think her ghost is static or simply a “reward” for Heathcliff despite all the wrong he did. I think she does become “incomparably above and beyond” them all and remains a force as she was in her life. Or she could be not a ghost at all and he encounters with could be proof of Heathcliff’s madness and later becomes a simple old folktale and superstition. (I’ll admit I like to view the ghosts are real and I think there number of references to them by other characters do suggest that we are meant to read them that way). ***

After Catherine’s death, Stoneman says, “There is, after all, something in the haunting which the usual readings of the novel fail to explain. If the ghost of Catherine wails to be let in, and Heathcliff begs her to return, what is it that keeps them apart?” I think we’d have to all agree that what Lockwood saw was actually a ghost, and I have seen this interpreted a million times? Stoneman says it is Heathcliff’s own “implacable obsession with revenge, which effectively shuts her out of his consciousness.” Which I could agree if we are reading it assuming the ghosts are real...but then she says that Heathcliff reaches his heaven only as he abandons his revenge against Edgar and “at last he ‘comprehends in his person’ the preposterous simultaneity of her loves.” This made no sense to me. I don’t see any reason for thinking he begins to accept Catherine’s love for Edgar, which he kind of already had? He tells Nelly that he doesn’t physically hurt him for that reason, he just also believes she loves him more. And I would say he does defeat Edgar and Hindley? Just because he can’t also destroy Hareton and Cathy II doesn’t negate that in his lifetime he outlives his enemies and has control of everything and everyone at Wuthering Heights and Thrushcross Grange (which he never shows signs of regretting his actions). It might not have gone as far as he originally planned, but I would say he does sort of win. And his abandonment of revenge isn’t ever associated with Edgar? Heathcliff does give some insight to what causes him to lose interest in his plot, an aspect of it being the connection to Hareton. In a discussion between him and Nelly he tells her she may think he’s insane “if I try to describe the thousand forms of past associations and ideas he (Hareton) awakens or embodies.” It is because of this intense association with him that he says, “his society is no benefit; rather an aggravation of the constant torment I suffer: and it partly contributes to render me regardless how he and his cousin go on together. I can give them no attention any more.” I believe the last time Heathcliff mentions Edgar is right after his death and he tells Nelly that, “I wish he’d been soldered in lead,” and goes on to describe yet another plot against Edgar by having his and Catherine’s graves opened on the side nearest each other so that they don’t have any barriers between them and then, "by the time Linton gets to us he’ll not know which is which!” So the idea he softens towards Edgar or becomes more willing to share Catherine in any way is...improbable to me. 

The theory also suffers (like so many others), in ignoring the ending when forming the narrative. Stoneman mentions the three graves and says that the people seeing Heathcliff and Catherine’s ghosts are basically country folk who are inclined to sympathize with “Heathcliff's final possession of his 'woman’” and also most readers fall into these same “hegemonic constructions” by not considering that the "the sleepers in that quiet earth” are at peace together. I agree with @princesssarisa that it doesn’t quite fit into the fact that many of the people that see the ghosts didn’t support or even know of Heathcliff and Catherine’s relationship - the young shepherd boy doesn’t seem to know who Catherine even is. To also say that the reader is projecting their desired ending doesn’t feel right because the ending is something that Heathcliff and Catherine have been foreshadowing through the whole book. Catherine says, “I’ll not lie there by myself: they may bury me twelve feet deep, and throw the church down over me, but I won’t rest till you are with me. I never will!” She doesn’t refer to Edgar, who she says can be buried anywhere, it doesn’t matter to her (poor Edgar). She also tells Heathcliff, “I shall not be at peace,” and “I only wish us never to be parted,” as well as other similar quotes implying that she will be waiting for Heathcliff to come to her. I don’t like the view that Catherine is so lacking agency in her relationship with Heathcliff either - I’ve never thought that he “possesses” her. She’s the one who makes the demand that he leave the world behind and join her - the end does seem to be him finally following her, as she says he always does. 

And then, what of Cathy and Hareton? How do we reconcile the narrative with the features of the second generation? It would seem, if we assume Catherine has a differing yet equal love of the two men, and wished for a relationship where they can be peaceful together, and then the only scene we have of them together is in their graves, it feels pessimistic. Our one Shelleyan model is dead and buried with two people incapable of overcoming their jealousies and possessiveness. When considering the ending with Hareton and Cathy, would we have to conclude this a cautionary tale of Catherine’s naivety? Stoneman does make almost this suggestion and says it could also be because Emily had watched Branwell and Charlotte get hurt by love married people, so it could be showing what tragedy befalls if love is selfish and possessive. Though there is nothing to suggest that Hareton and Cathy love isn’t any of those things? 

I must be terribly boring because I think the easiest way of describing Catherine and Heathcliff is that they are, “star-crossed lovers, who are cheated of marriage by social forces.” Obviously, that is simplistic and glosses over their more spiritual aspects and certainly, they are not how the 1939 film interpreted them, which Stoneman rightly says, “recasts the novel in class terms as 'the story of the stable-boy and the lady’” - but I still think its closer than saying they are models of Freudian psychology, siblings, celestial beings, or Shelleyan. There certainly is spirituality and complexities in their love, and throughout the plot, as well as other characters, but it is still very much possible to read too deeply into double meanings and what is left unsaid.

My end take - some lyricism of Epipsychidion is echoed in quotations from Catherine and I would have much preferred to compare and contrast the two works rather than the attempt to shoehorn the rest of the story into a similar narrative. I think if you made a comparison to just the part after Heathcliff returns, a really interesting and strong argument could be made about how Catherine does try to create a similar relationship as described in Shelley’s work. I don’t think the situation was ever her ideal, but she certainly has no desire to be cunning or vampish - that’s not in her nature, and her relationship with Heathcliff doesn’t necessitate them having sex. She does try to put into practice a semi-Romantic love triangle but I don’t think she harbors any delusions of Edgar’s and Heathcliff’s animosity. Rather than a bohemian approach, it is her forcefulness and controlling that keep them both at bay. Tellingly she tells Nelly, “I believe I might kill him (Edgar), and he wouldn’t wish to retaliate.” She feels confident in her sway over him to get what she wants and she wants to be able to continue her relationship with Heathcliff in any way she can. It’s not necessary to revise and add new narratives to situations in the novel that are clearly able to be discerned from the text - such as Heathcliff’s failing desire for revenge or people seeing their ghosts at the end. I don’t think Epipsychidion is a terribly good lens to read Catherine through as her love can also be jealous, selfish, and possessive. There are too many aspects of Catherine’s character that conflict with the ideas Epipsychidion expresses.

Bone China

So, @bat-yo-us​ submitted this ages ago, but I hit writer’s block with it, since (imo) there’s no way Jumin would touch Rika with a barge pole, let alone his ween, after learning what she did to V. So this is what came out of that. MC is the idiot, not him dfgfdfgd 

No I am not over That After End. Yes this is a vent fic :’)

Jumin x MC | Mystic Messenger | Warning: contains depictions of bodily harm and dead bodies | No smut, just pain

~*~

When he thought of MC, many things came to mind.

Jumin recalled her sense of humour; her ability to laugh out loud at even the most minor of things. A single phrase in a magazine had her in stitches, a cat video on the internet left her shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

He remembered her hair too; a shade that glimmered radiantly in the morning sun. Sometimes he laid beside her, watching as it went from one equally beautiful shade to the next. She used a shampoo that smelled sweeter than his and left perfume behind on her pillow. When she wasn’t there, his head would find it, enveloping himself in her scent where he could not her.

He remembered her favourite wine, her favourite shoes. He remembered the way she positioned her phone in the crook of her neck as she prepared breakfast or buttoned her shirt.

He knew her better than anyone and there was still so much he had left to discover. He did not know her inside out, did not know her completely. She indulged his curiosities with a smile, never questioning the more obscure examples. When he thought of her, it was her patience that often came to mind, explaining her opinion on things he did not understand.

He wanted her face to be the last thing he saw; her hair to be the last scent he ever knew.

It seemed a cruel irony that she should be gone so soon. That two words could erase her so completely.

“No survivors.”

In that moment, he fell cold, her voice a distant memory and her scent on the pillow rapidly fading. The more he cast his mind back to her, the more difficult it was to remember her as she was. He still had her clothes but could not imagine her in them.

In almost every sense, she was replaced by other things; fire and ashes and mysterious castles belonging to ghosts. Her name on his lips felt more foreign than “Mint Eye”, the sympathetic tones of medical practitioners all over the country at his pathetic attempts to describe her.

He did not know how to explain her, could not try and contain her in something as primitive as words. The doctors, increasingly apologetic, had never known her as he had. Within weeks he visited every Jane Doe in the county only to find that not one of them had her smile. Many of them did not recognise him at all.

His friends and family reminded him of the same thing: that he had a good deal to remember her by and she had loved him dearly when she loved him at all. He could not accept their kindness however; could not see beyond ashes and the graves left behind. Wherever she was, he could not go.

‘No survivors’ lingered at the back of his mind and imagination, far more so than any of her jokes.

Sometimes he hated her for going somewhere he could never follow. She had kissed him so sweetly the last time he ever saw her and it filled him a rage that he could not explain. If it was to be their last kiss, why had she never warned him? Why hadn’t she told him to hold her tighter, to bury himself in her body and take all of her in?

In the end, he hated himself most of all. So many things came to mind when he recalled her, yet he could not grasp a single one in detail. She was the one who left, but he was the one who forgot.

A sad irony, for that singular detail haunted him far more than any aspect of her.

~*~

One year ago

“Don’t you think this is a little...excessive?”

MC paused from icing the cupcakes in front of her, a hint of rose coloured frosting on her cheek. Despite his criticisms, Jumin couldn’t help but smile and reach to brush it off.

“This class is going to be hard for them,” she said, “I want everything to be just right.”

MC was almost too kind, an obvious fact even to people who didn’t see her as often as he did. She was the type to apologize when other people walked into her; to hand over the last slice of cake or offer up her jacket. She put her heart and soul into helping the RFA even before she knew them well. She had researched charity after charity for the party and convinced everyone to attend, likely because her sincerity practically bled through each of her emails. Jumin had no doubts that if he had not so openly expressed his disgust with Sarah and Glam Choi, MC would have shrugged off any hope of pursuing him.

She felt too much and couldn’t bring herself to hate anyone-a fact that had become only too apparent in recent weeks. Rika and her other acolytes had finally gone to trial, having spent the best part of three months in varying stages of recovery. The Mint Eye catastrophe had proven to be so widespread and deliberately vague even to its followers that individual charges ranged from fines to several years in jail. Rika herself was jailed for life, with other high profile members serving twenty year sentences. Many acolytes had suffered such extensive damage to body and mind that they were sent to recover in psychiatric wings instead of jail, which was the reason for MC’s sudden burst of inspiration. She was determined to help the victims make a full recovery and have all of the support they needed to make a successful return to society.

How exactly that correlated to cupcakes, Jumin wasn’t sure, only that she had insisted on attending one of their group meetings. He wondered if anyone present would guess or even believe she had baked and iced them all herself. Likely not, but recognition-as she frequently repeated-wasn’t her ultimate goal

“I was thinking the other day,” she said, examining her handiwork, “how long it must have been since any of them met. They spent so much time in the castle, at meetings and prayer...meeting again like this will be difficult, but it’s the right thing to do. No one understands their experiences more than they do…”

She reached for her cake tin with a weak smile.

“I can’t understand them or take away their suffering, but at least I can give them something sweet to look forward to.”

Jumin sighed, both in awe and exhausted by the kindness of his wife; the love in her heart that he hoped would never be stolen.

“Just...be careful.”

~*~

Nine months ago

“I want to see Rika.”

Jumin paused, wineglass millimetres from his lips.

He had taken MC to dinner at one of his favourite restaurants, having noticed a shift in her mood, which he almost automatically attributed it to her frequent visits to the support group. Hearing the extent of Mint Eye’s activities and intentions had not been easy on her and she had poked and prodded at her steak since its arrival in front of her.

He had had a number of guesses as to what she was thinking, but the words she actually blurted out were the last he might have guessed.

He didn’t know how to respond and lowered his glass to the table, ultimately making the most obvious observation.

“Rika is in jail.”

“I know.”

“A high security jail.”

“I know.”

She set aside her fork and reached for his hand across the table, stroking her thumb against his almost automatically.

He knew what she was going to ask and the answer he was obliged to give. His family were influential, but not above the law.

“No.”

“But, Jumin…”

“I’m sorry,” he said, reaching for his wine. “I can’t.”

“Can’t... or won’t?”

~*~

Seven Months Ago

Things were different between them after that.

MC still hummed as she baked; still curled her hair and put on smart dresses when she visited the recovery group. She still chatted to him and laughed, though in an increasingly halfhearted fashion. They had once been perfect, but now their relationship was a broken vase-immaculate from a distance, but irreparably cracked close up.

She spent more time than usual at the support group, leaving at the same time that he departed for work and returning much later. She rarely took cupcakes or food anymore, instead packing notebooks and drawing paper.

He wondered what on earth was going on at the group meetings that kept her away from the house for so long. Whatever it was, it left dark circles under her eyes.

He discovered the truth by accident-a phone call he almost talked himself out of making. MC was late home and he had organised a chef for dinner. He dialed MC’s cell phone and sent multiple texts, though received nothing in response. After much consideration, he dialed the number of the community hall, only to end up with far more questions than answers.

The leader of the support group was perplexed by the very idea that MC might be there, as she had not attended any of its meetings for well over a month. Jumin apologized several times before hanging up the phone, dismissing it as a miscommunication when he knew for a fact it was anything but.

Several months ago he might have been concerned at the prospect of infidelity, but this was arguably worse. For the first time in over a year he couldn’t decide on a logical plan of action. Surely it was all a misunderstanding and MC’s lies were perfectly innocent. Perhaps she had not meant to deceive him at all and would soon come forward with a reasonable explanation.

He watched every time she applied her lipstick; every time she packed up her purse ready for the support group and went so far as to invent activities she had taken part in. He watched and waited, ready for her to speak up and prove her innocence.

She never did, though, and he rubbed off the lipstick smears she left on his cheeks as if they were unwelcome layers of paint.

~*~

Five Months Ago

“MC, you’re being illogical!”

He should have seen it coming.

No.

He did see it coming and refused to believe it.

Barely a year into her prison sentence, Rika’s sentence came under appeal.

He had read the newspaper with shaking hands, dialing and redialing V’s home number with little luck. With any luck he would still be enough of a recluse that the news had escaped his attention. He never answered, though, and Jumin buried his face in his hands every time he got through to voicemail.

MC stayed quiet about the revelation, mumbling her goodbyes as she returned to group meetings. Jumin pretended he didn’t know that those group meetings didn’t exist.

Their final confrontation was an accident in the end. He had spent the day on the phone to his lawyer, who was more than a little skeptical of the prosecution’s chances in court. They had a new eyewitness and testimony that had never been there before.

He knew it was MC without asking and spent the rest of the evening helping himself to glass after glass of wine. He was almost certainly drunk when MC returned home and knew that he should retire to bed before saying anything he would regret. The alcohol overrode his reason, though, and he smiled weakly as she hung up her coat.

“How was the support group?”

“Busy,” she sighed, crossing the room and planting a kiss on his cheek. “We went to a recruitment drive and-“

She paused at the realisation that he shrank away from her lips, too repulsed by the knowledge that she was lying to him to accept any ounce of affection. Perhaps her kisses were lies too.

“MC,” he said, rubbing his temples, “I know...about the support group.”

“What do you mean?”

She couldn't hide the alarm in her voice and that only made it worse. Had she believed him to be so naive and out of touch with the world that he wouldn’t notice the court case?

The idea left a bitter taste in his mouth. He had believed her, after all, for longer than he cared to admit. She was a kind, gracious person who he had trusted to be honest and speak out for the unfortunate, but her naive heart was clearly a weakness too. No one with a rational mind would speak out for a cult leader. Only innocent fools would read the long list of Rika’s crimes and conclude she did not deserve to be punished.

For the first time he saw MC for the fool she truly was.

“I spoke to them. You haven’t gone to the support group for quite some time.”

MC chewed at her bottom lip; facade slowly slipping. In the end she gave a heavy sigh.

“She was wrongfully jailed,” she said, without bothering to say who. “You know it just as well as I do.”

“MC,” he said.

“No! She suffered a terrible sickness and trauma! She needs help and sympathy, not years behind b-“

He got out of his chair to set aside his wine, wishing that he couldn't hear...that he could just close his eyes and go to bed and erase the betrayal. MC followed him and reached for his arm.

“Jumin,” she said, “please…”

She wasn’t crying but he could hear it in her voice- the same way she got choked up over advertising campaigns that featured emaciated children.

“Please…”

He dragged his arm from hers and she stumbled, eyes wide at the gesture. They had never argued before, never disagreed. He had always accepted her kisses and touches, and he could see the growing horror in her eyes at the realization that their relationship was shattering around them.

“MC,” he said, “you’re being illogical!”

“But-“

“No! How can you claim to advocate and support people with traumas and illness while absolving a person like that of any blame? How could you sit in those support meetings and not see the impact of her actions? Aren’t her victims just as tortured as she claims to be?”

“Jumin…I heard about her past...she wasn’t always like this. There was a priest and-“

“Her victims were not always like this either. Do you mean to forgive this priest too? Are they beyond judgement?”

“Ju-“

“Don’t you agree that if the priest had faced judgement, things might have been different now?”

She bit her bottom lip, eyes welling with tears.

“Jumin, she wasn’t in a position to...no one believed her!”

“Answer the question.”

“Well, no.”

“Why not? What if he showed up here now and told you his father beat him? Would you forgive him then?”

“That’s different! She-she couldn’t help herself! Why can’t you understand?”

Jumin shook his head and walked towards the bedroom, meaning to end the conversation there and then.

“You loved her once,” MC whispered, “don’t pretend you didn’t. Why can’t you show her any compassion now?”

He sighed and turned to her, chest tight and hands clenched into fists.

“She lost the right to any kindness from me when she blinded my friend.”

“J-“

“When she lied to the entire RFA, who trusted her so deeply.”

“But-“

“When she preyed on the vulnerable and weak.”

MC shook her head, a bitter smile crossing her face.

“You really are cold, after all.”

“Perhaps,” he said, keeping a level tone to hide how much her observation stung, “but I am also the acting head of the RFA and it falls to me to protect its members. I cannot stop you from pursuing this or showing her mercy, but if you do so I’ll have no choice but to view you as a potential threat to our organisation.”

She blinked in surprise.

“A threat? Me? Jumin-“

“You have a choice now,” he said. “You can protect Rika or the RFA, but not both.”

He smiled sadly, recalling MC’s good heart and willing her to choose correctly.

“Choose soon.”

~*~

Present day

“This way, Mr Han.”

The coroner’s assistant led him into a dimly lit room and reached over the autopsy table.

No survivors.

He had heard it clearly, yet it didn’t feel real.

“When you’re ready.” 

He gave them a swift nod, sucking in a deep breath when they reached for the sheet.

Since her disappearance many months earlier, he had visited every hospital and left no corner of the city unturned. He missed her laugh and gentle touches and refused to allow that argument to be their last. She might still see sense if he phrased things properly; he had to believe she wasn’t so good and innocent that she would willingly put herself in danger.

He had to believe that she would choose him at the end of it all.

It took an explosion to uncover her and a second castle. It belonged to a previously disbanded cult, built alongside the first as a contingency plan. The acolytes there were more desperate than the others and lined the grounds of their home with explosives. Their leader did not hesitate to have them pull the trigger to hide her sins, regardless of who or what remained inside. She held onto her convictions even at the end of everything.

No survivors.

They returned to that fact far more than any others.

Everyone, from media outlets to police officers, called the explosion a tragedy but Jumin knew otherwise. He had seen it coming the moment Rika’s bright smile graced his television screen as she thanked her lawyer and the courts for allowing true justice to prevail. 

The lawyer’s body was one of the first they found, identifiable only by his fillings. They found Rika’s body in bed, unscathed by the explosion and dosed on poison.

None of the story so far had shocked him, from the mangled remains of acolytes to the rubble at the scene. Even now, as he stood before the final body, he knew exactly what he was going to find. They had found this one in the same room as the Saviour, untouched by fire. She had not died from smoke inhalation or burns, but hands at her throat. 

This body was far more intact than any of the others, which if anything was worse. She appeared to be smiling in her sleep, hair shorn by a clumsy set of scissors and only bruises at her throat to prove otherwise. There was a smudge of blue on her cheek in just the same position she once had frosting.

“Sir?”

The assistant had taken note of his contemplation.

Jumin took in the body’s collarbones; far more pronounced than when he had draped necklaces over them. MC certainly hadn’t been eating as well as before. There had surely been no one to take her to dinner.

She was not MC anymore but a broken doll, as lifeless and transformed as a china vase reassembled in the wrong order. If he listened closely, he could still hear the shatter; could see the cracks in her ghostly skin.

He looked up at the coroner, the silence of the room deafening on his senses.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know them.”

Tainted Souls (Hoseok)

Summary: Vampires were no longer a myth, the world knew that they were very very real. The world wasn’t ready for it, and they really weren’t ready to find out that all those whacky conspiracy theorists finally got something right. A lot of celebrities were, in fact, undead. Including BTS. Touring constantly, always on the move it was painfully difficult to ensure that they received their meals. Until their manager learned of a business that specialized in vampire fine dining.

Pairing: Vampire!Hoseok x Reader

Warnings: sex for pay, biting/marking, dom!Hoseok, sir kink, belting, safe sex, oral sex (M/F receiving), handcuffs, multiple orgasms, praise kink. I think that’s everything but listen this is just pure filth.

Word Count: 5.4K    

Series list: Prologue, Jin, Yoongi, Hoseok, Namjoon, Jimin, Taehyung, Jungkook

   Little in life shocked you anymore. You'd long grown used to the strange and absurd until it felt rather mundane. You'd worked at Tainted Souls for five years, three years before vampires had gone public. While you'd never met any other supernatural creatures you highly doubt any of them would surprise you at this rate. For five years you've gone from dabbling in this job out of sheer boredom to embracing the lifestyle it brings. It was a win-win for you. You had rather unusual tastes and vampires often times were able to sate them while also filling your bank account. Not that you ever did anything you didn't agree to for the pay though. Money is great, but you still have a moral backbone. One that's rather warped in comparison to society's backbone but one nevertheless. It's safe to say that after years of working one on one with the undead in rather...intimite fashions...has left very little in the world to shock you. Jung Hoseok however, now he certainly shocked you.    You weren't prepared to see his radiant face as you sat down for your interview. Glowing tan, bright smushable cheeks, sun stealing smile. It wasn't his face that surprised you though, oh no what surprised you was that you knew that face. Now, most would say 'of course, he's internationally famous' but no that's not exactly how you knew Hoseok. And you couldn't help but squirm slightly in your seat as the interview begins and his smile transforms into something slightly more wolfish. Something closer to the Hoseok that you've met once before.    You met Hoseok at Tainted Souls. Not for the first time at your interview, unlike all the other blood types. You would later find out that the interview was a necessity for Big Hit to ensure that you understood the scrutiny your life would be under and the secrecy you would be sworn to but Hoseok...well Hoseok didn't really care about that aspect of the job.    You see Hoseok is a lot more then he lets on. Loud, bubbly, talkative, the depiction of joy yes those are indeed all sides to Hoseok. But he's more multifaceted than that. And just like you, he too has rather...unusual tastes that extend beyond the need to live off of blood. Perhaps unusual isn't exactly how most would phrase it. Kinky. Yeah, that's how most would phrase it. But considering how sweet and funny he normally appears the other side that he buries away from everyone else is a twist, one that you enjoy. You suppose in that sense the two of you are rather peas-in-a-pod. To the vast majority of the world, you look rather unsuspecting, some might even say sweet. Hoseok certainly still thought you sweet, the ripest fruit he'd ever tasted. But his meaning of sweet was far different from the unsuspecting strangers descriptive meaning.    And you can't help but see flashes in vivid technicolor detail of your first encounter with Hoseok in the meeting room at Tainted Souls as you listen to his manager drone on about rules and regulations and travel expectations.    You had received a call from your boss to come into work that day, which wouldn't be unusual if it wasn't for the fact that you had literally just been in last night and Tainted Souls has a strict 'once a week max' feeding policy to ensure that the blood remains tip-top shape and that there's no anemia or any other health problems occurring from blood loss. She had assured you that there would be no feeding, but a client was interested in specific things that your menu matched up to perfectly and they had arranged a meeting with you to allow you to decide if you'd take them on as a client or not.    Tainted Souls is a lot of things, and at first, it might seem like a rather shady business but they're firm believers in consent and choices for the humans on their menu. If the human isn't happy, doesn't feel safe, or even thinks the vampire just isn't their type then they're free to send them on their way to find someone else or go somewhere else. When you work at a place as prestigious and expensive and exclusive as Tainted Souls you are indeed allowed to be picky. And your menu, well unlike some of the other employees, it's rather extensive. One that you've perfected and added to and narrowed down to just your favorites. You have a niche, and it's gained you a good following of clients that you've selected very carefully. Your boss knew your type and after a few years of watching you reject many of the clients she sent your way she started doing it for you. If it was clearly not a type you were interested she would offer another employee with similar menus in order to save her time. In fact, it had actually been nearly 10 months since the last time she'd even given you a possible new client. Not that you were complaining, your books and bank account were rather full anyways. But you couldn't help but grow in excitement and anticipation of meeting this stranger when she said 'trust me on this, you won't be turning him down.'    The first time you met Hoseok you were dressed as professionally and demurely as possible, always fun to leave it up to their imagination. God was your boss right. He was painfully handsome, and you could see his lean muscles flex ever so slightly under his t-shirt as he spoke. He seemed sweet, endearing, kind and that was refreshing but also stimulating. Because you knew, if he was coming to you then that beagle like attitude wasn't the only side to him. But also, if you were honest, you rarely saw a vampire that seemed so human and not completely broken down and unamused by the world and that intrigued you.    "Hi, you must be Hoseok. I'm (Y/N). I hear you're interested in my menu. Just to review this is just a small meeting to get to know one another so we can figure out if we're actually compatible. We'll go over mutual interests, what will and won't be allowed in this relationship, and a little bit more about each other as well if you like."    "It's a pleasure to meet you (y/n). And yes, I'm very interested in your menu. What would you like to talk about first?" You watched his heart-shaped lips form your name, a zing of pleasure coursing through your veins at the silky way it rolled off his tongue. Oh yes, he'd be a new client of yours. You'd make damn sure of it.    "Well, let's talk about my menu first and see what we need to tweak for you. This is, of course, a customizable 'dining' experience. So let's get started. I'm assuming that you're interested in more than just a simple feeding?" You glance up to see his eyes gazing intently at the prominent vein of your neck before traveling over to your lips.    "Much more."    "Good." You quirk your lips up and bat your lashes almost innocently as you read through your menu. "I specialize in a submissive role. Tying and handcuffing are fine, spanking is encouraged, paddling and caning after some time of a relationship and I know your force is possibly on the table but not while this is still new. Oral sex, face fucking, shibari, edging, and breath play are also on my menu. Anal for some, but again that's usually further on down the road no pun intended. I have a list of approved sex toys that I already own as well, but I will refuse anything new that you try to bring in without prior notice and if it's not in new never before opened packaging. Now as for my hard limits I'm fine with being called slut but I refuse the word whore and if I'm being very honest with you degrading names aren't my favorite in the world but some, such as slut, can be used occasionally. Too much though and I will end the session.  I enjoy a good debauchery, not to be demoralized for my job. You'll also notice that you do have to be tested before the session. We understand that as a vampire you shouldn't carry any diseases as there are only two known STDs that can possibly be afflicted on your kind and they're still rather rare, but two is still a possibility that I'd rather not have. Ah! I almost forgot! Threesomes with approved parties aren't off the table, but the key word there is approved parties. I won't meet with you outside of work so you'll have to schedule this accordingly." You give a small smile but internally you feel yourself light up at the way you see his fangs show and you know that oh yes he is very interested. "Now that we've gotten all that out of the way I'd like to know what you're interested in." You hand over a copy of your menu and a pen so he can go through and check the boxes off.    He leafs through it for a brief second before you watch him hastily mark one, two, three and then finally almost every single box. You watch a wide grin stretch on his face as he fills in the last box and scribbles something else in before handing it back. He settles back into his seat, legs spread wide and hands lacing behind his neck as he watches you. Your eyes dance around the words in elation at his preferred name. Oh yes, Hoseok was certainly going to be a pleasure to work with.    "Do you have any questions for me?"    "When can we get started?"

   The next time you would meet Jung Hoseok would be in your own room at Tainted Souls. Some of the others shared rooms considering that employees were only allowed to come in once a week so newer ones would be assigned to the common rooms that were open but you had been there long enough to acquire your own little space. It was simple, with soft pinks satins and silks that looked oh so delicious next to all the sinful goodies tucked away in various places. You had plucked, preened, waxed, and oiled yourself to perfection for this. There was something about the feeling of your skin being perfectly smooth against silk sheets while getting railed that was just utterly tantalizing.    You find yourself zipping around the room excitedly as you start pulling everything out for display. A small treasure chest of toys sits open at one side of the bed. On the other, you've laid out some ropes, silk ties, and handcuffs before finally pulling out various lubricants on the nightstand. Just as you glance over into the various mirrors positioned around the room you hear a small knock at the door and you almost trip over yourself to open it up. You're not sure what you like more, Hoseok in a t-shirt and jeans or Hoseok in the pristine suit before you.    "Pleasure to see you again, Hoseok." You step back from the door and watch him walk in, your eyes lingering on his ass before shutting the door and walking over to his side. "How was your day?" You help him take off his jacket, placing it carefully on the coat rack by the door before turning back to him. He gives a lopsided smile, one that unlike in your first meeting isn't all sunshine and butterflies but carries more the scent of a predator catching its prey.    "Fine and dandy, and I'm sure yours was as well. I don't mean to be rude, but I highly doubt either of us are interested in making small pleasantries and really I'd rather spend my time buried in your wet heat. Wouldn't you agree? I have all sorts of plans for you." His nose is skimming across your neck, eyes glazed red at the feeling of your vein so temptingly close to him.    "And what plans are those, sir?" You say the last three syllables with syrupy intent, and you feel desire spike at the way his body language changes and tenses, soft lips falling open and eyes closing at the word before he's pulling your hips flush to him. His lips ghost over your ear as he speaks, goosebumps rippling over your flesh and lust climbing its way down your spine at his low voice.    "Well for one, I want to taste your blood but I suppose you've already gathered that. I want to see your pretty little knees on the floor for me, I want to watch you try to take every bit of me in that cute little mouth of yours. I want to watch you fall apart over and over. I want to see that pretty ass of yours turn red and purple. I want to watch you fall apart over and over on my cock. I want to fuck you in every position. I want to tie you up and watch how you writhe under me without being allowed to touch me. Oh, there's so much more, but most of all I just want to fuck you so hard that the only man or vampire that can ever satisfy your needy little cunt again is me." A small whimper of need leaves you, and it takes every ounce of self-control to not just fall to your knees right then and there. It's been too long since you've met someone who seems as comfortable in their skin and so dominant and it makes your core throb at thoughts of what's to come.    "My safe word is cherries." Your words come out slightly shakey, lust choking the syllables in your throat slightly. His lips crash onto yours with fervent force, your hands ball the bottom of his shirt instinctively. He tastes like cherry chapstick, and it's addictive the way his tongue tangles with yours with dominant flicks. It's heavenly the way his hips rotate so smoothly and rhythmically into yours, his rapidly hardening dick brushing up against you as you mewl into his mouth. His hands dig into the soft flesh of your thighs before picking you up with ease and wrapping them around his waist as he backs you into a wall.    His fangs press slightly into your bottom lip and he laps away the tiny dots of blood that come up with a groan. "God, you are just the sweetest fucking thing aren't you?" You preen under his praise, a small jerk of your hips into his at the words. His lips press bruises into your neck and decollete in between speaking to you. "Ah, praise. You enjoy praise don't you little girl?" A tiny yes pops out from your lips. Usually, this is about the clients and only the clients but for him god you want more. You want this to be about both of you for once, and while it should terrify you, instead, you just fall deeper at the grin adorning his swollen lips. "Keep being such a good girl and I promise I'll praise you."    "Yes sir, I'll be a good girl for you, sir!."    "Mmm. I bet you will." His hands trail gently over your breasts, your nipples puckering under the light touch as his mouth falls back on yours. You're not sure where to touch, you want to feel everything. From his hair, down to his neck, onto his firm chest and down to the buckle of his belt where it rests for a moment before quickly toying with the buckle. His hands grip at the flesh of your breasts with force as he pulls back and looks at your hands. "Did I say you could take off my belt?"    "No, sir." Your hands fall limply to your sides and you try to tamp back your own need to explore his body as he plants your feet back onto the ground.    "I didn't think I gave you that right. I thought you already knew, a good girl like you should be asking for permission and yet you didn't do that did you?"    "No sir." Your eyes fall onto the ground, the words coming out as a grumble as your hands ball up into small fists.    "What was that?" You can see elation in his eyes though, something bubbling under the surface at your bratty response.    "I..." You gulp at the twitch in his jaw, his fangs shining as he opens his mouth and tongue skims his bottom lip. "I said no sir, I didn't ask for permission."    "Hmm, I would've let it go but I'm not exactly fond of your grumbling." He unzips your dress quickly, his head tilting to the side as he drinks in the sight of your soft pink lace set. "On your knees."    You fall swiftly to your knees and almost reach up for his buckle before your hands fall back. He hasn't told you what else you can do yet, and while a part of you almost wants to be bratty you really would rather have him inside you sooner than later so instead you look up at him with a jubilant smile.    "Good girl." Something melts at the way he coos the words out before you feel your mouth run dry and panties stick to you as he swiftly unbuckles his belt and unzips his pants. He pulls his dick out of the confines of his brief but doesn't move to take any of his clothing yet, and a part of you hates that you don't get to see his legs bare but you know better than to complain. "Open your mouth for me, baby."    You open wide, tongue pushing slightly past your lips as he strokes himself. He's lean and long, precum spilling out and you can't help but groan at the sight. He gives a dark chuckle before he's weaving one hand through your hair and pulling you onto him in one go. You gag at the intrusion of his cock running quickly and forcefully past your molars before relaxing as it almost hits the back of your throat. You maintain watery eye contact with him as you swallow around before he begins pushing his hips rapidly in and out. There's no warm-up period for you, no this is a punishment for your brattiness. But you're well apt in this department and after the first gag there's just the sounds of wet movements and your muffled moans. "Shit baby girl, your mouth is fucking fantastic. To think you can take my dick so well in that cute little mouth of yours."    "Unnnh!" Your moan at the praise comes out awkwardly from the constant movement in his mouth, and you can see him beam down at you at the noise. His thrusts grow faster, your jaw beginning to ache at the movement and you feel yourself begin to drip down onto your thighs. You need relief, you need some sort of friction to help you get through this but you keep your hands staunchly behind your back. It's deliciously painful to feel that ache in your core and to know that Hoseok is in charge of whether or not you'll reach your own climax tonight. You watch his eyebrows scrunch together, eyes clamping shut and bottom lip pulled in between his teeth. A lesser man would be a sweaty, panting mess. But he's a vampire so sweating takes extreme exertion, and he's also clearly a man of steel reserve who won't break this easily.    You run your tongue over the bottom of his dick with each move, swallowing in time to the rhythm he's set. You know it's just a matter of time before you'll be given the pleasure of what you hope will be just the first orgasm of the night. His hands grip harder through your hair, your scalp zinging at the force and tears spilling out at the lack of oxygen as he pushes you down further as he spills into you in thick spurts, far enough back that unfortunately you don't taste much.   He pulls back with a throaty groan as you swallow the remnants left behind before sticking your tongue out to show your cleaned plate. "If it weren't nearly impossible to kill me I'd say you'd be the death of me." He pulls you up to nuzzle into your neck, his fangs lingering for just a moment before he's pulling back. He watches intently as he snaps off your bra and you let it slip off your shoulders and onto the floor with a light thud. "Beautiful, absolutely beautiful. You've been so good for me, but I think I still want to play."    He picks you up with ease and places you onto the edge of the bed before turning you over. You prop yourself up on your elbows and turn around to see him pulling his belt off with a devious glint in his eyes. Two things run through your head. Elation at the thought that perhaps he's about to use that belt. The second being a small zip of uncertainty at his force, a slight bit of fear running through you. He pauses when he sees your eyes growing wide and eyebrows raising up as he winds the belt around his hand before cracking it into the air. "It's okay (y/n). I can just use my hand if you'd prefer, or we don't even have to do anything at all. This is about your pleasure too, not just my own. If it concerns you we don't have to do anything else." His words come out soothingly and gently, and you know then that you can trust him. He wants this to be about pleasure, not pain.    "You can use the belt sir. I can take it." You grin under the kiss he pulls you into, his lips melting onto yours for just a second before he's pulling away and back to drink in the view from behind.    "What a good girl. I think just for that we'll do just three. Count for me."    "Yes sir." You wait with a bated breath for the first blow. It comes straight across your ass, the sound of the crack reaches your ears before the zing of pain and pleasure comes to you. "One!" The second comes down harder this time, your flesh rippling and you know it'll be hard to sit down for a while. "Two!" The third comes down hardest, the crack echoes through the room and you feel your wetness pool out as you choke out, "Three!" His hand rubs soothingly at the marks left behind and you look back into the mirror behind you to see the flesh red and angry under his hands.    "That's my good girl, you did so well." Pride beams through you at the praise before a choked moan spills out at the feeling of his fangs pressing into your ass. It's nothing deep, nothing that would bring enough blood to satisfy his thirst but it will mark you that's certain. And the thought of seeing his marks left all over you for days to come has your head spiraling into lewd thoughts. "Ah, just so sweet for me." You can hear the slick sound of your panties detaching from your core as he slides them off of you. You don't even have time to think before his tongue runs a long stripe along your core.    "Ah, fuck!" Your knuckles turn white as you grip the bedsheets, a shiver running through you at the lightest touch of relief before you hear him grab something on the bed. It takes a moment for you to realize what's going on as he grabs hold of your wrists and you face plant into a pillow before you feel cool leather encompass your wrists and hold them into place. His fingers dance along your back before dipping down your drenched folds and quickly inserting two fingers.    "Look at you, dripping and cuffed. God, I've wanted to see this sight from the moment I laid eyes on you, but I have to tell you baby girl this is prettier than I ever imagined." A whimper of need falls out from you as his lips attach to your clit. It doesn't take much time what with the lewd sucks and curling fingers for you to reach your first orgasm.    "Sir, oh god, I'm going to cum!" Toes curl, muscles spasm, and you feel yourself clench around his fingers.    "Cum." His words shoot fireworks behind your eyes, a scream ripping out of you as your hips rut into his hands and ride out the pleasure. You move your head slightly at the loss of his fingers and mouth and you watch with interest as he unbuttons his shirt slowly.    "Sir, sir please let me touch you." You pull yourself up, hands twisting in their confines as you watch his tanned skin and firm chest finally make an appearance.    "You want to touch me?"    "Yes please, please let me touch you, sir."    "Hmmm, maybe in a bit love. Right now I just want to buried in that tight little cunt of yours." A slight part of you cries out at the thought of not touching him, but lust rears back up stronger than ever at the realization that he's going to be inside you soon. You watch with hungry eyes as he strips down, honey skin and lean muscles on full display as he fists his leaking cock before walking over to your condom choices. "Which one's your favorite?"    "Ah, the ribbed Durex ones are my personal favorite." You watch him pick up the purple foil and tear it back before slipping the condom on. It feels like an eternity before he's finally behind you, pulling you by your ankles to the edge of the bed and lifting your hips up as he pours a generous amount of lubricant on.    "Tell me, baby girl, have you ever been fucked so hard that you can't even walk properly for a few days?"    "No, sir." It's true, even with all the vampires you've bagged you have excellent stamina and your recovery time is never as long as a few days. You feel yourself whine at the dark chuckle that emanates behind you.        "Then tonight is your lucky night." With that he pushes in swiftly, bottoming out almost instantly. His hips still for a moment, allowing you to pulse around the stretch and finally get comfortable. Soft mewls fall out of you as he moves back slowly. "You are so fucking tight and so fucking perfect. Let's see how much of this you can take, hmm?" His hands grip your hips as he bucks into you quickly, all thoughts become incoherent as he sets into a rapid pace. The slight curve of his dick pounds your g-spot with each movement, and the ribs and studs along the condom have you shuddering and writhing under him. Sweat prickles your skin as you feel your second orgasm coming, moans stuttering out of you with each thrust.    "Sir!" You try to make out the rest of the words, but his hand falling into swift circles along your sensitive clit has you shrieking underneath him. Your second orgasm hits you harder, body writhing and jerking as stars blur your vision.    "Good girl, fuck, oh fuck you're so fucking tight." Your mind is too hazy to realize that your hands are finally free until he twists you into missionary. While typically it's not your favorite position the idea of finally being able to see Hoseok in all his glory has you clenching around him again, excitement taking over the oversensitivity.    Greedily you feel around his chest and abs before hands fly up to his face and skim along his sharp jawline. "You're so handsome..." The words come out just a whisper, and you watch his face light up into the most beautiful grin you've ever seen before he's thrusting back into you and your teeth clack shut.    "Ah, fuck, ah. You're so fucking good to me, you're so fucking tight. I don't think I'll ever get enough of this!" His mouth latches onto one nipple and clamps down, his fangs sinking into the sensitive flesh and leaving behind an angry mark before he repeats it on the other one. His hips leave bruises in their wake as he slams into you, your legs shaking around him as moans pour out of you.    "Fuck, fuck!" Your head is reeling, placed in the most delicious world of pleasure and pain as you watch him finally nuzzle into your neck. "Bite me, please Hoseok!"    He stills at the use of his name, a dark whisper moaned out, "You're mine, don't forget that," before he sinks deep into your vein. It's almost searing, the burn and the lust that consumes you as you feel him lap up your blood. It only takes one, two more thrusts before he's spilling inside the condom as he laps up the last bits of your blood.    "They weren't kidding, you really do taste just like honey. Maybe that's what I'll call you now, honey." His lips are twisted in a grin as his tongue swipes away any last drop remaining on his lips before you're pulling him into a needy kiss.

   Your thoughts are pulled back into the present as you watch Hoseok lick his lips while his manager finally finishes speaking. "Well, I think that just about sums up everything (y/n). You have glowing recommendations, and as long as everything here is something that you can work with we'd love to have you here."    "It would be my pleasure." You stare at Hoseok, flashing him a smile dripping in lust as you take the stack of paperwork from the manager and fill out all the various forms. It's only a few more minutes before you finally find yourself standing alone with Hoseok in the hallway.    "I suppose it makes sense now why I haven't seen you since last time." You want to be a bit annoyed considering you've had that first, and last, interaction on your mind for over a month now but it's impossible with him finally next to you. It's kept you awake at night, needy hands falling into place with the desire that ignites from the memory. From his grin and sweet words to the way he marked and claimed you, Hoseok had fully taken over your thoughts and no one else had come even close to flooding your system with need the way he did. Perhaps it was the stark contrast from his sweet face to his dark intentions. You suppose that in that sense, the two of you are much one in the same.    "Missed me?"    "Yes." You watch Hoseok give another sun stealing grin before looking around the hallway and pulling you in for an almost innocent peck.    "You know, I came to scout you guys out before they confirmed anything. My manager still has no clue I went, but god I'm so glad I did. And if I'm honest, you're the only girl I allowed them to interview for my spot. My manager was going to kill me if you didn't take it and we had to start searching through that stack of resumes all over again."    "Hmmm, I suppose this means that I'm technically all yours now?"    "Yep, no need to schedule anything. Just you and me, honey."    "I like the sound of that. Although you could have explained all of this before you know."    "Ah, I like the element of surprise!" You nestle into his body as he slings his arm around your shoulders.    "Hoseok?"    "Hmm?" He stops walking to peer down at you through his long lashes.    "I'm really glad you came to Tainted Souls. And I'm also glad that you asked for me here. It's a lot, but for you, I think I'm more than willing to commit to it."    "That's my girl." You can't help but blush under his words, gazing down at your feet for a moment as you recall him uttering 'you're mine' before sinking his fangs into you last time. Perhaps you weren't the only one who wanted more. Whatever would happen though, you knew that with him it would always be fun, different, a little wild. You might not have the most 'acceptable' of jobs, and you might have a rather odd relationship for those on the outside looking in, but really you get to be with Hoseok and that's all that matters.    

I hate the fact that I’ve become this fan, from 2004. When I first read the essay, I still had the books to cling to as a source of shared universe, values, stories, and characters. Now, all I have are fading memories, hundreds of dollars of things that have lost their value in connecting me to other fans (though thankfully, my siblings and father have been reading some of the best Star Wars books from the 90s, which has been an intense and sweet joy for me), and only serve as a bitter but irreplaceable reminder of that which still holds great power for me.

People say that the de-canonization of the Expanded Universe doesn’t destroy my books. And it doesn’t. But I don’t read only to make myself happy.

I read to know I’m not alone. And when something doesn’t matter to anyone except myself anymore, I’m just reading by myself.

Which is one of the saddest things I know.

Why Star Wars fans hate Star Wars

Leave a reply

Several years ago there was a funny post about Star Wars making the rounds on the internet. The original source seems to have disappeared long ago and it now only exists preserved by other people who felt the need to share it with other. (I once read a report that a study found that on average, any content on the internet has a 7% chance per year to disappear.) Being the big but also critical Star Wars fan that I am, I want to also do my part in keeping this pamphlet of historic significants preserved for future generations.

With the new movies (or “Nu Wars”) being approaching swiftly and some people saying that the Extended Universe is gone, this feels like an appropriate time to share this wonderful manifesto of true Star Wars fans.

By: Adam Summers 5/23/05

My girlfriend doesn’t understand what I see in Star Wars. We’ve had several soul-crushing arguments about what exactly makes this series so important to me, and every time I have found it more and more difficult to argue my case. As the maddening years have wound on, I think I finally understand the reason for this crippling handicap.

There is a diabolical twist to Star Wars fandom, you see, that defies comprehension, and yet is the life-blood of all Star Wars fans. It is this:

Star Wars fans hate Star Wars.

If you run into somebody who tells you they thought the franchise was quite enjoyable, and they very-much liked the originals as well as the prequels, and even own everything on DVD, and a few of the books, these imposters are not Star Wars Fans.

Star Wars fans hate Star Wars.

The primary fulcrum for the Star Wars fan’s hate (including my own) is George Lucas, creator of Star Wars. Unlike Trekkies/Trekkers who adore Star Trek creator Gene Roddenberry, Star Wars fans hate the father of their obsession. We hate the fact that George Lucas got it wrong from the beginning, creating incest between Luke and Leia. We hate the fact that he wrenched Return of the Jedi off of Kashyyyk and set it on Endor with those tiny, furry Hobbit bitches he called “Ewoks”, which is a syllabic anagram of Wookiee if you’re obsessed enough. We despise the entire existence of literally half of the Star Wars movies, blaming George Lucas’ greed and flawed ‘vision’ for everything.

We believe George Lucas’ ideal death time was 2:07am, 14 November, 1990.

Star Wars fans also hate the original Star Wars trilogy. We think Mark Hamill’s acting was whiny, the pacing was flawed, and Empire was better than Jedi, making the end of the series a let-down. We hate the way Boba Fett died, and we hate the cantankerous, arthritic duel between Vader and Obi-wan. We don’t understand why the storm-troopers can’t shoot worth a damn, and we don’t get why “an entire legion of [the Emperor’s] best troops”(ROTJ, Palpatine) can be overpowered by a tribal society of midget teddy-bears armed largely with rocks and twigs. Star Wars fans hate omnipotent war-machines that get their legs tangled in strings, or slip on logs. They hate Darth Vader’s face and that stupid harmonica thing he was playing. Star Wars fans hate the original Star Wars trilogy.

There is also, as you probably know, a series of Special Editions that have replaced the original Star Wars trilogy, and these are also hated by Star Wars fans with an even more scorching fervor. Star Wars fans hate the glaring CG changes made to scenes we already hated to begin with. We hate that Han Solo now killed Greedo in self-defense, and then stepped on Jabba the Hutt’s tail (which we liken to Carrot Top stepping on Fidel Castro’s tail). We hate the fact that the ghost of Alec Guinness (whose name is an anagram of Genuine Class, by the way) now stands next to Hayden Christensen (whose name I tried to re-arrange into a flattering anagram myself, but only came up with “Nn…Dense Chest Hair”). Star Wars fans are unsure if Fidel Castro has a tail or not, but we hate the Special Editions of the trilogy just the same.

There is of course also a prequel trilogy to Star Wars. It is newer, more epic, more expensive, and more visually stunning than the original trilogy. Star Wars fans know this, and so we hate it even more. We hate it with the burning passion of a setting pair of twin suns. Jar Jar Binks, Midichlorians, technology that is blatantly more sophisticated than the “later” original trilogy…we despise all of it. There’s nothing a Star Wars fan hates more than a Star Wars prequel. They demystified Boba Fett, contradicted countless lines in the original trilogy (Obi-Wan: “He was our only hope.” Yoda: “No…there is another.” Obi-Wan (not in script): “Oh, right, I f*cking held both of these kids as they were born in Episode 3. Sorry Yoda, I just plumb forgot!”)

Star Wars fans think Mark Ha…uh…Hayden Christensen’s acting was whiny. And the pacing was flawed.

Beyond the movies, there are also various television-related Star Wars endeavors which Star Wars fans despise. Starting with that abysmal “Holiday Special” in which Carrie Fisher appeared drunk and tried to celebrate Christmas through song in a Jesus-less galaxy, Star Wars fans have watched and hated everything. We think Droids was a waste of time, Ewok Adventures was an extension of everything we hated about Return of the Jedi, and we’ve seen both seasons of Clone Wars which we hate because we believe them to be immensely inconsistent with the prequels we also hate.

Star Wars fans think the Star Wars comic-books are a stockpile of contrivance written for marketing purposes by people who know nothing about Star Wars. Every gimmick imaginable to bring back super-weapons long destroyed and token bad-guys long-beaten is spewed forth from these comic books, and Star Wars fans want nothing to do with it. Star Wars fans have read the one in which Han Solo works in tandem with a giant rabbit and we are not impressed.

Then, naturally, there are the videogames. Star Wars fans hate LucasArts, and the opportunist drivel that comprises most of the gameplay-less apertures known as Star Wars games that they vomit up every fiscal quarter. Star Wars fans know that there is no such thing as a good Star Wars strategy game, we yelled at our PS1 when Masters of Teras-Kasi came out, and we kind-of liked the Jedi Knight series, but not at first and definitely not towards the end. Star Wars fans did not like Knights of the Old Republic, unless they were RPG fans. This does not count. Star Wars fans hate Star Wars videogames.

The final main elixir of Star Wars folklore is the ever-growing library of Star Wars books. These have managed to make a complex main character our of practically every background alien seen in the movies, and expanded the universe into a colossal, self-contradictory maze. Star Wars fans hate this. We hate how trite and tired the books were getting before the New Jedi Order series, and we hate the New Jedi Order series for being so radically different, and not nearly trite or tired enough. Star Wars fans hate it when previously-deceased characters are brought back to life, but we also hate Timothy Zahn for not bringing his characters back to life. Star Wars fans did not hate Grand Admiral Thrawn, but we do now, because he is always dead. The Star Wars movies also contradict and completely ignore droves of information within the Star Wars books. Star Wars fans now know that George Lucas has no idea who Jaster Mareel is, and it makes us very angry. Star Wars fans hate Star Wars books.

Now that I have covered all of this, you can finally begin to compute why I can never prove to Emily that Star Wars is a monumental event worth devoting one’s life to. The very nature of the argument means I have to defend Star Wars, and since I am a Star Wars fan, I don’t actually understand how to do that.

Maybe I’ll put it like this. To be a Star Wars fan, one must possess the ability to see a million different failures and downfalls, and then somehow assemble them into a greater picture of perfection. Every true Star Wars fan is a Luke Skywalker, looking at his twisted, evil father, and somehow seeing good.

My earlier statement needs slight revision. We hate everything about Star Wars.

But the idea of Star Wars…the idea we love.