#I am able to speak out and confront others

[wanderinsect]

TR! Aimsey and Ros lore Recap!!

Disclaimer: I watch Ros's pov more than Aimsey's, so if I'm missing anything important feel free to let me know!! This is heavily oversimplified bc I am not rewatching every vod <3

Aimsey and Ros are old friends who knew each other prior to entering The Realm. When Aimsey joined the realm, they expressed fondness and trust towards Ros

Ros, being one of the Kingdom of Fools most loyal and active members, is frequently witness to attacks leveled on the kingdom, especially when the hostile faction is formed.

Ros develops an arch-rivalry with Pili, one of the strongest hostile faction members, and as this occurs, she becomes further and further convinced that she must grow as strong and violent as Pili in order to protect her Kingdom.

During this time, Ros frequently goes to Aimsey for advice about pursuing the path of violence. Aimsey advises her to not lose herself to please people who hate her. In spite of this advice, Ros continues to strive to become more vicious, talking more and more with Bad and Pili.

The cycle of Ros coming to Aimsey for advice and then never listening to it continues, putting strain on Aimsey, who is forced to watch their best friend lose themselves despite all of their attempts to stop it.

This comes to a culmination when Aimsey finally confronts Ros about her insecurity, asking her if she would kill them if Bad/Pili said it would make them respect her. Ros replies that she doesn't know, and Aimsey challenges her to a duel. Ros kills them, and then is instantly killed by a zombie afterwards. (This stream happened Jan 11th, it was CRAZY, I highly reccomend you watch this bit)

After the duel, the two are a bit estranged, avoiding each other and having mostly stilted conversations. Aimsey is still decidedly loyal to Ros, though, and still speaks to her kindly.

Yesterday, Ros came to Aimsey to ask for their help with a massive trap to kill the hostile faction if they entered the castle again. An idea which she got from Bad. Aimsey, who has just lost to BadBoyHalo in giving Ros advice for the nth time, decides to change tactics and agree to help.

While working on the trap, they have some EXTREMELY tense and emotionally charged conversation, and Aimsey reaffirms that they just want Ros to be happy, and Ros states that she just wants to be able to protect the things she cares about. Also Ros reveals that she's been talking to Pili, and told him about the duel with Aimsey, information which Aimsey wanted to keep very private. Aimsey is very upset that Ros revealed such vulnerable information about them, just to earn more respect from Pili, but they push their emotions down again and try to stay cordial.

And on today's stream, Aimsey woke up to a front yard full of sunflowers, their favorite flower, left by a mysterious person. Later, Ros approaches Aimsey with a number of questions about How Aimsey's Doing and Their Thoughts on various matters. Ros is also acting incredibly cagey about some secret that she can't tell Aimsey

This is all very suspicious, but when Enemies of the State Pili and Pangi appear at Aimsey's door to check on Ros, who cannot explain why she is suddenly so close with Pili and Pangi, and is also freaking out attempting to explain while alluding to her secret. Aimsey, fed up with Ros not communicating with them and constantly proving herself unworthy of trust, shuts the door in her face and retreats to their basement to scream

[thexsanctuaryx]

so apparently I'd read this chapter too -- goodNESS I have been slacking

HOWEVER -- absolutely worth the reread

AHEM!

so let it be known, I needed a lil brain break so I was literally sitting in bed reading this in the dark on my phone, but I had to get back up to go back to my computer because I had SO much to say that I literally needed to be able to click the read more so I could remember everything I needed to say

-weeps-

this chapterrrrr

soft miguel is my WHOLE life, from the note to the way he was when he greeted her in her office

soft big bubba 🥺👉👈

and honestly I DO NOT blame her for suffering through the weekend, if I had to wait that long I'd be a goddamn mess

the way she could immediately tell something was different in the scene in her office based on his energy -sobs some more-

and the way he tells her that he only feels okay when he's safe with her, and insists that he really genuinely missed her uuuuugggghhhh

I need to NOT go over every detail of this chapter but it was SOOO good

the part where she finally confronts him about how sick he's getting and that she's his equal in their research and really puts her foot down, the whole, "I am speaking." goddamn you TELL him babygirl. MAKE HIM listen.

and she DID. and he really took her seriously.

the amount of Leveling that happened in this chapter.

all of the solid communication.

ugh! ugh! ugh!

finally, admitting to each other that they love each other

-weeps-

there was just so much softness which is absolutely candy with how heated this series is

and honestly -- aside from the plot and what not

can I just say? you broke up each scene SO perfectly, like where you chose to end each scene and then move on to the next, so SO well done, I love that you knew exactly where to leave off before moving on because that's something that I struggle with a lot

your writing in general is just always so impressive which I believe I said in the last chapter but your pacing, and the writing itself, and your plotting

absolutely wonderful!!!

I think I miiight've read the next chapter as well but it was so long ago that now it's like reading it for the first time

I do apologize again for taking SO long to share and leave commentary, I really hope this fic gets more attention once the next movie comes out because it absolutely deserves it

Decadent chapter 11

prev || Fic Masterlist || My Masterlist || next

Summary: Real communication can feel better than anything

Pairings: Miguel O'Hara from the film Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse x female reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: cursing, talking about blood consumption and stuff, not beta'd

PREVIOUSLY on Decadent...

Your heart fluttered as he possessively pulled you on top of his chest. Your cheek rested against the solid warmth of him as his muscled arms wrapped you up like a treasure.

"My girl," he sleepily mumbled, lazily running his hands over the curves of your body. "Love you."

Miguel fell asleep.

You stayed awake the rest of the night....

Dawn was breaking before your heavy eyelids began to drift closed.

Miguel had slept soundly the entire night, touching you in some form or fashion. You spent the first hour on his chest, soothed and thrilled by the steady thump pulsing underneath his massive chest.

Your arm lost all circulation, so you rolled off him, hoping not to disturb him. He was out cold, poor thing.

You were reeling. He...loved you? Would he even remember saying that in the morning?

And worse, Miguel was not doing so well. You were truly becoming desperately worried for his physical health. You couldn't fathom the strength of will and character it took for him not to bite your throat last night during your passionate interlude.

You curled up against his side, tracing your fingertips over the length of his arm, grateful to be some sort of solace for him. But there was no peace for you this night.

The next morning, he was gone. So typical.

He did, however, leave you a note. Which was lovely, actually, since he was a 'wait and see you at work' or 'maybe send a text' type of guy.

Thank you for letting me stay. I'm not feeling too well. Going home to sleep. See you at work Monday. Don't worry, I'm just tired. You were so beautiful last night. Can't wait to see you again.

Well. That was something.

So he couldn't wait to see you, but he wanted to wait til Monday at work? Today was Saturday. What in the world was he always doing on the weekends? Maybe Spider-Man-ing. You weren't entirely sure, honestly.

Maybe you could find the courage to call or text him - just to check on him. You should try to wait until tonight at least. But waiting until Monday to see him felt like absolute torture.

Whatever. No games. You made it until late afternoon in case he was sound asleep and then you texted.

'Got your note. It was sweet. I hope you feel better. Please call or come over if you need to. I'm here.'

He texted right back.

'I know you're there. My guardian angel. I was just thinking of you. I'm making empanadas.'

You huffed and fired back.

'Without me? Thannnnks, Mig.'

'Sorry, I should have said - I was making empanadas, but then I felt sick, so I stopped. But when I'm feeling better, you'll have to come over again.'

You didn't know what to say to that. He was sick? Like, really sick? Or lack-of-blood sick? Ughhh.

'I'm so worried about you. Are you sure you don't want me to come over anyway?'

He took a few minutes to answer this time, which was not reassuring.

'I don't want to hurt you.'

You swallowed hard as your eyes moistened with the beginning of tears.

'You didn't hurt me last night.'

He didn't answer for a while. Which did hurt.

But later that night, he did reply to you again.

'I feel asleep earlier. Sorry. I want to talk to you in person, but I'll be out of town tomorrow. But I promise we'll talk on Monday, okay?'

You texted back that it was fine. It felt awful. You wanted to see him. He said he loved you! Wasn't he going to mention that? Didn't he want to see you again?

You decided to stick to your don't-obsess-over-Miguel plan. You called your aunt, cooked some meals for the week, and had an impromptu hang with your neighbor/friend Gwen. You had a glass of wine and a bath Sunday evening and on Monday morning, you dressed to kill.

Miguel was waiting for you in your office, which sent a thrill of anticipation fizzing through your body.

Then you remembered what happened the last time you had sex. He promoted you, kicked you out of his office and "dumped" you.

"Hey," he breathed, pushing off your desk, where he had been leaning, scrolling through his phone. "Look at you." His scarlet eyes flashed appreciatively, tracing over the length of your body. He looked absolutely delicious as always. Today he was dressed in all black, but he did appear to be a little tired, despite how well he usually wore dark colors.

Stepping closer, he reached out for you, pulling you into his arms and brushing his thumb across your cheek before lowering his mouth to yours.

You gasped out in surprise, your knees going weak for a moment, which made him smile against your lips as he tasted them one at a time.

Your brain was slow to catch up - he had really managed to surprise you. But finally, you dropped your bag to the floor beside you and slid your hands over the breadth of his chest to link behind his neck.

He kissed you sweetly...adoringly. Without agenda. It was a kiss of relief, as if you were being cherished, rather than seduced. You melted into him, happy to allow him to wrap you up and pull you off your feet.

His warm breath mingled with yours and you felt him smile again.

"Good morning," he whispered. "I missed you."

It struck you then, that this wasn't a co-worker greeting (obviously) or a friends-with-benefits greeting. This was different. Miguel had never done this - not without it leading to clothes flying.

You rubbed your nose against his affectionately, feeling very much like a girlfriend suspended in his arms, tiptoes barely touching the ground.

"I missed you too," you admitted between soft kisses.

He finally set you down but didn't release you from his possessive hold. "Sorry I was gone yesterday. I wanted to see you. I hope it's okay that I just barged in here."

You chuckled as he finally let go of you. "It's your company. I don't think you need my permission to come into my office. I'm just glad it was for a good reason."

You eyed him warily. "You are in here for a good reason, right? I'm not being promoted to another wing of the building and banned from the lab?"

His dark eyebrows shifted almost comedically. "Banned? What are you talking about? Why would I do that?"

You should probably tread carefully, but...when had you ever?

Reaching for you bag, you grabbed it and moved around your desk to start getting organized for your day (and to give you a little space to say these things to him).

"That's what happened last time," you explained. But he still looked confused. "You know - the last time we slept together. You sort of dumped me, promoted me, gave me my own office, all while kind of insulting my work ethic and dedication? It was pretty confusing."

He slowly nodded, sliding his hands into his dress pants pockets. "Yeah. I can see that. Not my finest moment. The promotion was real though."

"Thanks?" You somewhat sarcastically replied. "Anyway," you went on, waving your hand dismissively, "When I saw you in here this morning, after what happened between us at the gala Friday night, I was sort of afraid of...another promotion."

His eyes narrowed in confusion as he took your words literally for a moment. Then you saw his expression shift as he began to understand. "You thought...no. No, I just wanted to see you, I promise."

He made his way around your desk and took hold of your arms. "I was waiting for you because, after what happened between us Friday, I was hoping..." He trailed off, scarlet eyes shifting uncertainly

"What, Miguel? What are you hoping?" You gently prodded, starting to truly believe that maybe the two of you could have a chance together. You traced your fingertips over his jawline.

Wetting his lips, he took your hand in his, tenderly caressing your fingers. "I don't deserve you. But...after the gala, I thought maybe..." He shook his head, trying to figure out how to say what he felt.

"I missed you so much and...the only time I don't feel like I'm going insane with hunger is when I'm safe with you."

You gasped out, your eyes shining with wonder.

"I know it doesn't make sense because...well, because I'm afraid I'm going to hurt you," he tried to explain. "And...I could, if I'm not careful. I really could. But it's like you're my darkest temptation. And also my greatest peace. I'm not sure what to do about that. But I can't lose you. That's the one thing I know."

You squeezed his hands right back, feeling at least somewhat reassured. "You're not going to lose me. Just don't push me away, okay?"

Miguel wasn't kidding about not feeling well. Once the two of you spent about an hour in the lab, you noticed him missing details - obvious things. He misspoke a few times, misplaced a few items and finally, just before lunch, looked like his gigantic body was about to hit the ground.

Okay, enough.

Once the other staff and personnel cleared out for a lunch break, you asked Miguel to speak privately in his office.

He sat down on the edge of his desk with his head in his hands. You stood in front of him, reaching to rub his temples with your fingertips.

"Talk to me," you softly implored. "You're scaring me."

He nodded, exhaling shakily. "Just hungry, I think. This is the worst it's ever been."

"Miguel, look at me," you directed, gently tipping his chin up so you could peer into his eyes. "This can't go on. You need some blood. You can't even function. Not in any working capacity anyway."

He shook his head adamantly. "No...I'm not going to do that to you. I told you."

"Baby, I'm not talking about biting me or hurting me - hey, look at me.” He tried to shrug you off but you pushed him back down to his spot on the desk’s edge. Even in his weakened state, he could probably overpower you, but you had to try.

"Listen...I'm standing here, in my lab coat. We're in a professional environment," you explained. "I'm not trying to tempt you here. This has nothing to do with me. Miguel, look at me, please."

He reluctantly lifted his gaze to meet yours. He looked so exhausted and broken and your heart burned with love and concern for him.

"You're a brilliant man. A scientist. A geneticist. This is science," you insisted. "You need blood to survive. You're going to get sick and maybe even die without it - "

"Not if we figure out how - "

"No! I am speaking," you fired back, silencing him with your tone and your determined glare. "I am your research partner right now - a position you promoted me to because you trust my opinions and agree with my conclusions.

"Right now, I'm not someone you come to when you need a fix or a fuck or just some comfort. I have been all of those things at one point, but I am your equal, so you have got to listen to me."

You had his attention now. Good.

"You need blood. It's not negotiable. We can do it today, right now, in the lab, clinically. It doesn't have to happen with sex, or...out on the street. No one has to die. We can draw blood and you can drink it out of a test tube or a bag or a beaker - I don't really care," You reasoned. "You don't have to bite anyone or hurt anyone. It doesn't even have to be my blood! But you have got to feed."

His head dropped in defeat.

"Miguel, tell me you understand," you insisted, reaching for his hands. “I know the blood bags don’t work as well for you, but maybe, if it’s fresh blood…”

When he peered back up at you from his stool, his crimson eyes were wet with tears. "I've gone so long without blood. I've tried so hard... Everything just hurts so fucking much, all the time. I don't even know what I'm doing anymore. I can’t concentrate. I can't think, or eat. All I do is sleep.”

"I know, baby," you nodded, pulling him into your arms. You were almost the same height with you standing in front of him like this. "It doesn't make you weak. It's not like an addiction. This is your sustenance."

"I don't want to," he weakly protested, his forehead resting against your chest. "You can't understand how much I don't want to."

"I know, but this is reality. You could die - do you understand that?"

Easing back, you grasped his shoulders, gazing at him intently. His expression was so broken, but enough was enough.

"You told me you feel safe with me...that you can't lose me, right? You just told me that in my office," you reminded him.

He reluctantly nodded, eyes full of despair.

"Do you honestly think I can lose you either? Do you have any idea what that would do to me?" You brushed your fingers through the hair that always fell carelessly across his eyes. Your own gaze flickered down to the pout of his perfect mouth and you leaned in, sealing your lips to his. You poured your soul into the passion of your kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck.

You stepped between his spread thighs, pressing your body against the solid wall of him. He kissed you back, deeply. His massive arms wrapped you up has thick fingers gripped your hips, pulling you closer still. The thickness of his thighs caged you in - there was nothing between you not touching or desperately trying to get closer to the other.

You licked into his mouth and he moaned. He felt weak but never too much to refuse your touch. Just as his hands began to wander down to trace the swell of your bottom, you eased back.

Your breath mingled with his as he waited, unable to anticipate what you wanted, or what you would do next.

You wanted everything from him - all of him, but he needed to know this wasn't about sex or tempting him to feed. With one more soft kiss to his mouth, you reached for his face, staring deeply into his shining eyes.

“Miguel, I love you,” you tenderly whispered. You would have thought your feelings were a neon sign, but you had to make sure he understood. He could reject you, but you were really hoping he wouldn’t. Not after he murmured his love to you in your bed - not after Friday night up against that wall. And not after him telling you this morning that he couldn’t lose you.

“I love you and I can’t lose you either,” you went on, passionately. “Please…please don’t leave me. I-I can’t bear to see you hurt like this. I can’t stand the thought of something happening to you - "

“You love me?” He whispered, his eyes wide as his lungs tripped over the next few breaths he attempted to take.

“Yes,” you tearfully laughed out. “Yes, isn’t it obvious? I love you so much.”

Miguel’s eyes glistened as he touched his forehead to yours. “I wasn’t sure. I could only hope that this was more than just…” Pressing a sweet kiss to your mouth, he stopped his own rambling. “I love you too.”

Coming up: Will Miguel feed? If so, how?

And later: some universal clues start to fall into place as this story hurtles toward its end.

next

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[elijasz]

I've been reading a lot of literature written by people who have been displaced and most recently I've read parts of "The Ungrateful Refugee" by Dina Nayeri, which I can only recommend.

After reading the excerpts, the story has sparked an internal monologue within me. Between the white german perspective I grew up with and was raised on, and the one that started growing when I sat down with my grandma years ago and listened to her story of being displaced.

That side of me that has to carry my grandparents immigration papers and marriage certificate to every visit at governmental bureaus, as proof that they changed their name to fit in. Where they ask me why my birth name is different from the one I carry now even though I have never been married. (And I want to say "because this country deemed their names unacceptable and wanted proof that they were there to stay and wouldn't be easily able to return" every time, but haven't done so yet.)

I grew up unaware of the violence my grandparents and parents had experienced at the hands of the government or their fellow citizens. I didn't experience any. This is important to say. I am white. I only ever had this citizenship and I only ever learned German in my childhood. I am the product of integration so perfect that I didn't even know about the displacement my family went through. But their story isn't the same as that of other people who had to move away from their homes, because my grandparents moved within Europe and looked almost exactly like the people of the country they moved to.

Nowadays they are seen as European and German. They speak German, my grandma lost her accent, though her grammar is still a bit "strange", as her own daughter puts it. I love her strange little sentences and it makes me sad that her own daughter mocks her for it. But I never thought of that linguistic quirk as a marker for cultural identity. I thought of it as my grandma's identity, unrelated to the language she spoke in the past.

It makes me angry that her own daughter now complains that people who flee to this country, "our country" as she likes to call it, as if she wasn't bullied and beaten for her name and behaviour as a child, should try to fit in and be grateful. Learn the language, customs, unspoken rules, so they can become invisible. Abandon their past because it must have all been horrible. Any reminder of their past is a thorn in the eye of the observer. Identity a sharp stone that cuts the soles of feet which walk over them.

I cried after reading the few pages of the book, because I don't relate to my grandparents culture much anymore. I know the smells, the food, the traditions. But they aren't too different from the ones of the country I've lived in all my life. They're from another white european culture and thus more accepted. And still my grandma chose to hide them and my mother chose to abadon them almost completely, only displaying them in the safety of our home and only ever as a memory of the past. They aren't part of my present reality. They are something only presented on holidays and rarely performed unless we visit the rest of the family.

I don't feel like it is my right to reclaim this culture. It feels like I will never belong in this culture because I didn't go through the same hardship as those who openly lived it. I look the same as all the other white people around me. Light hair, light skin, light eyes. I speak the same language and eat similar food. I am "one of them" and I have never had the burden of being seen as different because my grandparents, at least the one who survived, was too afraid to teach her children about their identity. And those children assimilated and integrated themselves and lost their past to the place that said it would help them and then ripped their names from them, their titles, their achievements, their language and culture. And then told them to be grateful. And they are. Oh so grateful. So grateful that every time I criticise this shithole of a place, they say "Be quiet. At least it isn't this other place that we have learned is bad and dirty and barbaric. Be grateful you're born here!" And for so many years I was greatful. But I'm done being grateful for erasure. Grateful for the knife that flayed my ancestors identity, cutting off the unloved pieces. I have no wounds. My mother hides hers under bandages so thick and old she isn't even aware they exist anymore. Or maybe she's in denial. But my tongue itches whenever I hear others speak my ancestors language and my heart grows when I hear their songs.

I would learn their language. But I already learned enough European languages. Sure, I can speak them outside of Europe. They are useful there. But for what reason? I don't want to be the one pushing the knife through others skin, even if just by accident.

So now I'm learning Arabic, as here it is a language many speak in secret because its unacceptable to the white people. I'm cooking Iranian food and Polish food and Sudanese food and yes also German food and I don't care if sometimes someone complains it smells weird when I open my lunch at work. So does theirs, but I'm not complaining. I'm happy they enjoy their lunch. If it tastes good and if the smell makes the heart of a single person grow and their song grow louder and prouder then it was worth the work put in. I have endured a lot, but I am still whole and I am privileged enough to wield a knife myself. I intend to use it defensively, though I know I cannot avoid accidentally cutting others.

I'm a teacher and I want to allow my students to feel understood and represented and not like they have to shave off parts of their identity to be good and acceptable and successful. I don't want them to think they have to endure the knife and the pain to be acceptable.

Cultural Superiority is bullshit. We, as europeans, didn't respect other cultures in the past and we don't do it today. We carry knives everywhere we go to cut off what we don't like and then act surprised when others come wearing armor. You don't need to make yourself fit in to deserve respect. You deserve respect because you exist. You don't have to thank the people who cut pieces from you. You don't have to wield a knife to flay yourself either. And you sure as hell don't have to be grateful for being tolerated.

You are deserving of your identity.

[lowkeyerror]

Talk it Out

Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Word count: 1.5k

Notes: Agatha All Along Finale Spoilers, Angst, I guess it's hurt/comfort, happy ending

Summary: The confrontation between Agatha and Rio goes differently with you there to mediate.

An: I've been itching to write for Agatha. I check the tags everyday for new fics, so I thought maybe I should contribute. Hope you like it

Masterlist

“Are you guys really going to do this? There has to be another way?”

Dark skies with ominous clouds loomed over Agatha's backyard. Rio was perched on the rooftop magic buzzing in her hands. Agatha stood on the ground exhausted from the trials of the road.

You found yourself standing in between the two.

“Darling, there is no other way. I don’t want to hurt you, don’t make me hurt you,” the rage dims in Rio's eyes as she looks at you.

You turn to the other woman. She’s trying to activate her powers, to no avail. You see a panic rise across her features. It's then that Rio begins her attack. When Agatha is flung back, you can’t help but scream her name.

“AGATHA!”

You attempt to run to her side, but vines snake their way up your legs keeping you in place.

“Rio please,” you plead with her.

Agatha answers, “She’s not going to listen to you sweetheart. Death is unkind, cruel even, and she cares for no one.”

Tears brim at your eyes hearing those words. Your whisper doesn’t get lost in the chaos, “That’s not true.”

“You can lie to yourself all you want Agatha, but she knows you’re full of shit,”  Rio hurls a vine at the witch leaving a nasty cut on her ankle.

“Look around Y/n, does this look like love,” Agatha spits out before her back connects with a tree.

Wires and vines alike start to wrap around Agatha, keeping her in place. Rio stalks towards her in a predatory fashion.

“End of the road Agatha, and you know where all roads lead.”

Agatha starts to beg for her life. This whole scene pulls your heart in two different directions.

Your magic was weak in comparison to most, but in this moment that didn’t matter. It was enough to escape the hold from the vines.

Just as Rio was going to blast Agatha out of existence you step between the two. Your hands outstretched to shield Agatha.

“Take me instead,” your gaze is soft when you meet Death’s stare.

“No,” Agatha and Rio speak in unison.

You shake your head, “You don’t get to say no. You need a soul and I’m offering mine.”

“It- it’s not your time,” Rio's excuse is flimsy.

“I’ve been around just as long as she has. I’ve sat by and watched her do the things that she did. I am your lover, just like she is. So you’re taking my soul.”

Agatha protests again, “She can’t have you.”

You turn to face her, “She already does, my love. I do not fear her as you do. I do not resent her. Spending eternity with her does not scorn me. I love her just as I love you.”

A scowl grows on Agatha’s face, “How can you forgive her?”

Rio wants to speak, but you place your hand on her chest, causing her to hold her tongue.

You squat down to Agatha’s level. Your hands caress her face, “I am grateful for what she gave us Agatha. Are you not? We’ve been alive for centuries, yet nothing has ever come close to those 6 years.”

“She took him from us.”

You shook your head, your voice was delicate, “He wasn’t even meant to take his first breath. We might’ve made him from scratch, but there’s only one person that gave him life, and you hate her for it.”

“He was my son too,” Rio speaks, no longer in her fighting stance.

Her eyes boring into Agatha, with a sorrow only death could convey.

Angry tears welled in Agatha’s eyes, “In the middle of the night. When we couldn’t even say goodbye. I was going to- I was going to do better for him, Rio.”

“I had to take him, and if either or you asked me not to… I don’t think I would’ve been able to do it. Don’t you think I would’ve loved to see him grow, Agatha? He was so much of all of us even at that age.”

“He was smart and cunning like you,  Agatha. He had your affinity for nature and balance, Rio. And he.. .”

“Was kind, just like you sweetheart,” Agatha finished your sentence.

Rio frowns, “I took no joy in taking him. In fact, taking a soul has never hurt so much. I didn’t just lose Nicky, I lost you too.”

“Tell her the truth,” you say to Agatha, who shifts a bit under your gaze.

“There’s nothing to tell,” her sentence falls flat at the end, in the way it does when she's lying.

Your tired eyes look at her, “Agatha, please.”

“I ran because I’m scared. Not of you, but of facing Nicky. If he saw who I am, what I’ve become he would-"

“Love you anyway,” Rio spoke with certainty.

It’s then that Agatha fully drops her mask, vulnerability on full display, “How are you sure?”

“You never hid yourself from him. He knows what kind of person you are, he always did. Maybe he wanted you to change, but he still loved you the way you were,” Rio spoke it like a fact.

It broke Agatha. She began to sob, “I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. I’m sorry.”

You began to free Agatha from her spot against the tree. Rio instantly broke the binds after watching you struggle. She was cautious in her approach, of the two of you.

Rio wraps her arms around Agatha. Agatha melts into the embrace, the warmth comforting her. Rio begins to wipe away the woman’s tears.

You watch with a tender gaze and relief flooding through your features.

“No more fighting,” you look between the two of them.

“What about Billy?” Agatha clears her throat, trying to regain her composure.

Rio deflates, taking a step back from Agatha, “I still-”

“I told you to take mine,” you speak up.

Rio’s eyes darken, “I won’t.”

You invade the woman’s personal space. Your arms settle around the back of her neck. You lean into her, forehead resting against hers.

She breathes you in calmly. Eyes fluttering close. You kiss her, deeply. You don’t focus on the pain coursing through you, but rather the softness of her lips, the eagerness of her hands, the warmth of her body.

You can feel yourself slipping, but it doesn’t go too far as you are roughly shoved away from Rio.

“ARE YOU CRAZY!” Agatha yells.

Your breath is ragged as your life force slowly returns to you, “Maybe.”

You don’t think as you shoot your magic at Agatha. You know her instincts, you’ve seen them in action. Without thought she begins draining you of your powers. As you crumble, she rises.

“AGATHA!” Rio’s voice echoes something deadly.

It knocks Agatha out of her trance and she quickly cuts the line between your power and hers. You lay flat on the ground with your eyes open towards the sky. You’re breathing is minimal but present.

Rio looks at Agatha, “You need to give her some back or she won't make it.”

Agatha’s hands are trembling and she tries to out the power back, but nothing is happening.

“She’s- she’s not taking it,” Agatha begins to mumble.

“Y/n you have to receive the power, you have to do it or you’ll die,” Rio says sternly.

“The soul,”  you mumble.

Rio growls, “Forget about the soul, I’ll figure it out, just please.”

Before Agatha can put the magic, back into you again, you’re hit with a bright blue ray of energy. The force with which it hits you makes you jolt into an upright position.

“Is she going to be alright?” Billy jogs over to the scene in front of him.

It’s not what he thought it was going to be originally and for that he’s grateful. Fighting Death was not anywhere near his bucket list.

“Did you-”

“I-I came to fight and then I saw… everything. It just made sense to help,” Billy’s eyes search all 3 women.

You answer him first, “I’m alright, everything is fine.”

“A-are you sure?”

You look to Rio, who is already looking at you, she tells the teen “You are free to go.”

He looks at Agatha first and then you.

“We will around if you need us, don’t fret. This is not a journey, you have to walk alone,” you tell him.

The boy is quick to wrap his arms around you in a hug. You squeeze him back and whisper in his ear, “We will help you find him.”

He nods at your words. He takes one more glance at Agatha and Rio before leaving the yard.

“When are you going to tell him about the road?” Agatha questions you.

“Later, after I’ve spent some time with the women that I love. Both of them,” you say hopefully.

Rio looks at Agatha, you both knew it was her call.

The woman let out a dramatic sigh, “Nothing too strenuous I'm exhausted from all of that hard work.”

“A bath would do you well,” Rio bites back.

Agatha rolls her eyes, “You just want to see me naked.”

Rio chuckles, “Well, it has been quite some time. I’m sure Y/n wouldn't mind an intimate moment with both of us either.”

You shook your head, “Not one complaint.”

“You’re both ridiculous,” Agatha speaks.

“You love it,” Rio counters.

Agatha looks at you and then Rio before letting out a sigh, “I love you both.”

[marlshroom]

came to the fucked up realization after finishing gravity falls again last night the parallels of the dream bubble bill made for mabel and the literal state of delusion he keeps himself in.

in the book of bill on the page where bill cipher describes how he figured out a way to manipulate her into giving him the rift, it says:

"Summers ending, my guy. Ending to death, bro. She'd do anything to make it last just a day longer. Probably something RASH and OUT OF CHARACTER, even!"

as we know, mabel cannot handle the fact that she will be growing up. that the relationship with her brother is going to change. she is scared of high school.

bill then says "That was it. She'd never make a deal with me. But she'd make a deal with someone she believed could give her more time. The dream was done. I had her."

bill then creates the dream bubble for mabel, he makes every one of her dreams come true, a place where time is still and she can be a kid forever. a lie so great that she wont have to face the truth.

in journal 3 on one of the pages bill is writing in code, we see this:

[ID: "I ask you, why must[should] time only move forward? Why must cause preceded effect. Who voted on the law of physics."]

my friend helped me break down what bill means by this:

why can we only move forward in the 4th dimension of time. why does something have to make another thing happen, why must cause come before the effect. why cant you move backwards, in the other direction, change the decisions youve made.

how interpret this is bill asking why he is not able to back and stop what he did to his family. he says to ford that he tried and failed to undo the past.** why did him wanting people to acknowledge his advantages instead of suppress him lead to the destruction of his whole dimension?

**(i just want to point out that this is probably the time where bill is the MOST open to anybody, or at least the first. to his henchmaniacs he had been telling them that he liberated his dimension until the oracle discovered the truth. here, to ford, he got so much closer to telling the truth. he SHOWS ford the last atoms of his world. he says that it was destroyed by a monster, not that it was liberated! destroyed)

back to when bill says "I had her" about mabel, he had her cause he knew exactly what needed to happen to trap mabel in a delusion because it is exactly what he is doing to himself. creating a fake narrative of what happened to him, that he was vindicated in killing his whole dimension. only ever doing exactly what he wants because confronting the truth is too scary for him(good fucking lord). the morality page offers good insight into this too.

i am actually just going to quote the whole page and highlight the important part. it speaks for itself really

"THE POINT IS it's[morality] is a very flexible concept! But parents and presidents don't want you to know that, because then you might start asking other questions, like who put them in charge, anyway? So they cram your brain full of guilt and regrets for transgressing the laws that they just made up(the laws that they made to prevent the destruction of their dimension, regardless of if the law + the wrongful medication of a fucking baby triangle did any good to actually prevent it). Wouldn't it be nice if you could put all that baggage down? Quell the shame that follows you everywhere for a lifetime of crimes? MAKE THE SCREAMS FINALLY STOP? The good news is you CAN silence that annoying voice, and here's how!

DENIAL

Works 100% of the time in every situation. What you you mean there are people who disagree? I can confidently say there aren't!

RATIONALIZATION

If you can do it, you can justify it! "Truth" is open-source code and anyone can edit it anytime! Want to be like me? List 3 "evil" things and then 3 "reasons why they're actually good." You'll be rationalizing like Bill in no time!

DETACHMENT

Did you know 100% of your human cells die and are replaced every 7 years? That means that anything you did 7 years ago wasn't even you-it was some dead loser! You can't be held accountable for what a dead person did! What? You think this is just another form of rationalization? I DENY THAT!

THE BILL CIPHER DECISION METHOD!

Working over the eons, the voices in my head teamed up and worked out a foolproof method for making any decision in any situation.

DO WHATEVER I WANT."

ooooooooooooooooooh boy.

he is fully admitting here that he is living in a completely different really in order to justify doing whatever he wants. he gives mabel the tools to deny, to rationalize, to detach herself from the reality of it all. that time has to move forward. and he thinks it will work because it worked on himself.

but it doesn't work on mabel because she understands that she needs other people. shes vunerable, she lets people in, admits when shes wrong. and bill cant do that because it would destroy the fantasy he's created for himself.

[cryb4byem]

Purgatorium Part II

Kyojuro Rengoku x ArrangedMarriage! Reader

cw: 14.1k words, canon typical violence/injury, alcoholism, mild parental abuse/neglect

part one here

Every cell. Every fiber felt like it was trying to break free from your body. You had no idea what you were about to learn, and your implosion felt inevitable if you didn’t find out. 

The head of the Butterfly Mansion, the Insect Hashira, greeted you at the door. “Thank you for coming so swiftly, and by yourself. I am aware of your father-in-law's condition as well as how young your brother-in-law is.” She slid on a pair of white linen gloves before continuing.

“I’m sure you would like to know why my crow alerted you so suddenly.” If you weren’t wracked with panic, you would’ve admired her graceful, natural beauty. It seemed her almost enigmatic equanimity was the only thing keeping those around her, including you from spiraling. 

Her measured countenance and calm voice couldn’t have contrasted more with the state of the room around her. Three kakushi were slumped over each other, their faces to the wall quietly crying. Meanwhile other small girls with similar butterfly hair clips went in and out of the room beyond her with a controlled franticness. 

“Please listen to me carefully.” Her amethyst eyes pierced yours with a seriousness that was frankly, unsettling. “There was a confrontation between the Flame Pillar and the 3rd most powerful demon of Kibutsuji’s ranks about an hour ago.” Your breath catches in your throat, at the words. The 3rd most powerful demon? 

“He sustained severe transfixion trauma to his epigastric region. We moved quickly, and kept the demon’s limb in place as long as we could, and in that time he was able to stop most of the blood loss using a breathing technique.” Your hand shakily covers your mouth, the savagery of the attack, and the horror of such an injury were almost too much for you. 

“The amount of pain he is managing while conscious is unnatural, and quite concerning. We have been trying to sedate him since he arrived, but he begged to wait until you got here.” Her sharp gaze left you finally, shifting to the floor. “Despite his state, he was quite stubborn, and resisted our attempts to give it to him anyway.” 

You speak in a tensed whisper, “C-can I see him?” Each syllable was dragged from the pit of your body, you needed every bit of strength to not lose all composure. 

“Yes, quickly please. I trust you understand the criticality of this situation.” Shinobu looked over her shoulder to a young girl with bright blue eyes and pigtails as she turned into the room that seemed to be at the heart of the commotion in the Butterfly Mansion. 

“Aoi… please pull up the sheet on the Flame Pillar.” The girl’s brow furrowed in concentration, releases as she sees you, expression softening as she nods to Shinobu before disappearing behind the room’s entryway. 

“You can go ahead now.” Shinobu tells you finally. Upon her permission you begin hurrying into the room Aoi just turned into. “I just want to remind you we are doing all we can, and he is relatively stable for now… but… just be prepared…” 

You look over your shoulder back at Shinobu, words failing you before going in. The air hung heavy beyond the doorway, three little girls stood to the back wall awaiting orders while the slightly older girl, Aoi lighty ran a damp cloth over Kyojuro’s forehead. Delusionally, you imagined it was due to his warmth, the perpetual warmth emanating from his body everywhere he went, and not the onset of a stress induced fever and intense pain.

He laid, left eye wrapped in layers of bandage wrapping around his head, the thin hospital bed linens drawn to the base of his neck. Each of his labored inhale and exhale audible, a testament to his will actively clinging him to consciousness and keeping the looming threat of bleeding out at bay. 

His right eye fluttered open at your presence even without saying a word, the keen instincts of a warrior sharp as ever. 

“My flam-ACK.” He jumped to sit up, only for a guttural cough to send an abrupt jolt through his body, putting him onto his back. Laying immobilized once again, his breathing intensifying. 

“Rengoku-sama! Your wound! Shinobu-san told you not to move!” The little voice of one of the young girls behind you calls out her voice cracking, riddled with fear. 

His face contorts in discomfort, straining to utter “My apologies…” The words tumble out almost as if he doesn’t even know who he is saying it to; the little girls, you, himself, or maybe someone not even there. 

You look deeply into his uninjured eye, the bright golden orb that even now was completely free of clouds. You kneel at his bedside, feeling tears beginning to burn in the corners of your own eyes, you try to keep your tone as reassuring as possible and not let on how terrified you are. “Everything is going to be ok, alright?” 

His lips curl into a soft smile, his gaze softens, melting into yours like a stream of amber. You waited anxiously for a response, any response.

“Are you in pain?” His gentle expression remains unchanged as if he had just awoken from an afternoon nap, looking back at you. 

“Not anymore… If you’re here, I won’t feel a thing. I am fine, please do not worry.” His eye clamps shut as another searing pain courses through his body, making his breathing stutter again with a curt strangled groan. Despite what he said, it was clear he was in agony.

“Kyojuro…” Your brow furrows with concern as your eyes rake over his battered form. You look deeply into his eye intently trying to imprint every detail into your mind, as if the light may drain from it at any moment.

You didn’t even hear Shinobu’s delicate footsteps on the wooden floors or notice her until you looked up to see her at his opposite bedside, you were taken aback by her sudden presence. You shouldn’t be surprised, she is a hashira after all. 

“I’m sorry. We cannot wait any longer for the sedative. The more time goes without it…” She spoke solemnly, as though she knew what she needed to do, but almost didn’t have the heart to do it, almost. 

You felt one of the three small girls try to pull you back by your arm, “Ma’am please! Shinobu-san needs to work, you need to leave this room!” The words don’t even faze you, unmoving from your spot at his bedside. Making it clear to the entire Butterfly Mansion your stubbornness was only matched by Kyojuro’s himself. 

“Please don’t take him from me, not now. Please don't let someone else abandon me.” 

The words echo in your mind, like a cacophony of a lifetime of anxiety thrust to the surface all at once.

“She can stay. I’ll allow it.” Shinobu spoke, not taking her focus from the vial as she filled it with a solution, flicking it firmly to disperse any air bubbles. 

You feel the small girl release your arm going back to stand with the other two. You kept looking at Kyojuro, scared to look away, as if it was the last time you would ever bask in the warmth of his gaze. 

“My flame, let me tell you a few things.”  His voice was steady but strained, each word laced with sincerity.

“You don’t need to say anything… just save your strength.” You felt as though you were pleading with him at this point. 

“You’ve done enough, just rest.” 

You want to say to him, but you could see the seriousness on his face. Every man deserves to do with their last moments what they wish, and if these were just that, you would not be the one to deny him that. 

“Please, I want you to tell Senjuro he ought to follow the path he knows to be true, whatever path that may be. Remind my father to take care of his body.”

You look at Shinobu, almost as if to ask if there should be more witnesses to what could be the last words of the Flame Hashira, but she continued working, not even glancing down at you as she began administering the vial.

“And I want you to know that I love you.”

The tears you held in your eyes finally began to escape, your vision was cloaked in obscurity, but what did it even matter? As if anything was truly clear right now.

“I love you too.” That was clear to you if nothing else. What were otherwise the three most beautiful words one could utter to another, felt like they were just another deep wound you both inflicted each other with. Had he even heard what you said? Knowing him, he would feel personally responsible for the notion that another person would be agonizing over his condition.

The onslaught of emotion finally manifests in a strangled sob, wiping the tears from your eyes with the back of your sleeve. Seeing his golden iris enveloped beneath his closed eyelid and breathing softened, it is obvious the vial Shinobu gave him had already taken effect. 

Pressing the back of two fingers to his forehead, the only thing that you can use to ground yourself is that same unyielding warmth he radiated.

—————————————

You aren’t sure how many hours you’d been in the room. Time didn’t feel like it was passing. Maybe a part of you thought that if you kept looking at him long enough, you could pretend maybe he was finally getting the rest he deserved and not in a catatonic, forced respite from the wound that should have taken his life.

“You should go home. I’ll keep an eye on him personally.” Shinobu's voice was lighter than the chirp of a sparrow. “Trust me, the best recovery is sleep. Sometimes slayers sleep for months here, regaining their strength.” 

You cock your head over your shoulder to look at her, eyes wide and mouth agape. She raised a pointed finger, she was like a doll the way a perpetual contentment was painted to her face, it was a bit uncanny. 

“Not that I’m saying this will happen here. I induced the comatose state he is in, so everything is controlled, I made the compound so that he would naturally awaken when his body is in better condition.” 

This woman was truly a genius apothecarist, how did she even learn to make such a solution? 

“I see…” You didn’t want to stand yet; you craved just a moment more in his presence. You try to smile at her genuinely, but you knew it must have looked just as contrived as hers did. You didn’t have Kyojuro’s gift—the ability to smile authentically and joyfully, no matter how bleak things appeared.

“Before you go, can I give you his personal effects?” Your eyes moved from the floor to meet hers, nodding with the same polite smile still plastered on.

Shinobu took a package that couldn’t have contained more than a couple items from one of the youngest girls that helped around the Butterfly Mansion, transferring it into your grasp. 

Removing the thread and paper encasing the items, Shinobu stood unmoving before you, her eyes following your hands. Despite the smile she armed herself with, her gaze deepened, like this was something she understood all too well. 

Seeing the familiar kaen pattern, you stroked the back of your hand across the sturdy fabric of the Flame Hashira haori. Only to freeze as you feel something solid wrapped inside of it. Without hesitation, you reached within the white accented garment to pull out a rectangular box.

Could it be? Sliding the lid from the basin of the firm container to see delicate metal and crystal intertwined to make a plum blossom hairpin, the same kind that had saved your life not long ago. Your hands tremble uncontrollably as you remove it from its resting place.

“We found it in his pocket, even with the aftermath of the battle and the panic as he was rushed in, he implored us to be gentle in handling it…” 

After your first hairpin broke he must’ve planned to bring a new one for you that morning. Even with a gaping wound, he was concerning himself with being able to offer you an undamaged gift to replace the one he initially gave you when you arrived.

You clutched the package as if it was sacred, like maybe that if you didn’t, it would all slip through your grasp and cease to be like everything seemed to at the moment.

“Thank you for everything…” You finally broke the silence, your voice barely above a whisper. You lower yourself to bow to Shinobu, before leaving, perhaps leaving a part of yourself behind as you do. 

 —————————————

There was a general malaise of silence at the house in contrast to the mid morning light, seemingly blanketing the grounds as if it was just another day. Something felt wrong about returning here alone from the Butterfly Estate. You scoured for the younger Rengoku, no doubt wanting– needing an update on the state of his older brother. 

You finally found him sitting alone in a room holding a sheathed sword in his lap. His head lowered as if in surrender, he was trembling as if terrified of what laid beneath the sheath.

You didn’t even know Senjuro owned a blade, it seemed ornamental at best. It looked as though it had never used a day since it was forged. 

Upon seeing you, his hazed and shaky expression was replaced with a mix of worry. Before he could ask you the burning question that had no doubt been haunting him, you notice a patch of tender skin on his cheek, an abrasion that looked as though it would bruise. 

“What happened to your face?” You lean lower yourself next to him to inspect, running your thumb over the skin, flushed red and running warm from the inflammation.

He turned his face to conceal the sore cheek from your view, putting his own hand over it. “One of the other swordsmen that joined brother on the mission came by the house…” His gaze faltered, shifting to looking at the ground. “He wanted to apologize… he was ashamed,  for not being able to do more in that battle.” 

“Father began insulting my brother, then suddenly was enraged by the slayer. Things began escalating. I tried to protect the slayer, and Father hit me…” 

You couldn’t believe the words you heard. You were sickened to your core. Beyond the scope of a Hashira, the scope of a patriarch, how could a father act this way? 

Words are one thing, as merciless as they were, especially to a man fighting for his life, but to strike someone so much smaller and weaker was despicable. Both were so egregious, it was impossible to even say which was worse. 

Taking a moment, you calmed yourself down, grounding your thoughts before responding. “Are you ok?” 

Senjuro kept his face angled down and the evidence of the violence that had occurred in your own home while you were out. 

“I’m fine… this is nothing.” He dragged his sleeve across his eyes with a soft sniffle, you could see how hard he worked to hide his emotions coming to the surface, there was something more important to him. “My brother… is he…?”

“He’s… sleeping, that’s all. They’re doing everything they can… ” You feel a lump forming in your throat at the words. You didn’t want to acknowledge what you were both thinking just as much as Senjuro didn’t want to. 

“I-I see.” His gaze stayed low to the ground, even as his fists balled at his sides with resolve. “Maybe… it will work now. It has to.”

Senjuro shakily removed the blade from its cover, sticking it straight in the air, looking up at it with anticipation. The sword quivered in the trembling hands of the boy. He looked up at it as if it was a beacon with the ability to connect him to a higher power. He stared up, waiting for something, anything to happen. Releasing a resigned exhale, his head dropped as the tears he had desperately held back began to flow freely. 

“I really don’t have any talent at all.” He looked up at you, dejection etched into every one of his features, “I prayed this day would never come, I knew I wouldn’t ever be able to carry on the Flame Hashira. This time, more than ever, my nichirin sword needed to change color. But even now, it refuses to. All because I simply don’t have what it takes.”

He set the sword down, his palms face up on his knees, silently sitting on the tatami floors. You wrap your arms around him, feeling him starting to shudder against you punctuating each sharp sob. 

“Do you want to know what your brother told me to tell you before he fell asleep?” You lower your voice to a murmur. 

“Wh-What did he say?” he stuttered, his lips pursed and voice trembling, but there remained a glint of hope evident as he stared at you, waiting intently to hear. 

You spoke steadily, trying to fully encapsulate the sincerity of Kyojuro’s words, hoping if he could hear his brother’s voice through you, maybe it would comfort him in ways you never could. “‘Walk the path you know to be true, whatever path that may be.’” 

He looked up at you, his glassy eyes widened, you could see him absorbing every syllable as if it was from a holy text leading him into enlightenment when the shoji door flew open to both of your shock.

“Senjuro! What did I tell you about the blubbering? I can hear your pathetic crying from across the house! As if Kyojuro hadn’t done enough, you had to show that Sun Breather how weak you are too! As if our family couldn’t be any more humiliated!”

Senjuro’s face drained of color, his pupils trembling at the intimidating figure in the doorway. 

“You’re the eldest son of this family now, so learn something from your fool of a brother!” He gritted his teeth, now speaking to no one in particular. “Trying to supplement his own inferiority, trying to make up for our insignificant bloodline, I have no doubt he used that cursed form to try to salvage a battle he was doomed to lose from the start. He should’ve never even picked up a sword to begin with!”

Cursed form? Sun Breather? Did he mean the boy with the earrings that Senjuro spoke of? You had learned to ignore most of what Shinjuro said; these ravings were likely just another temper tantrum fueled by the stuporous overindulgence he found at the bottom of several bottles. 

The discomfort hung like a chill in the air, filling the space between the fragmented inanities of the harsh words echoing through the room. Shinjuro finally lumbered away, the jug still tied around his wrist. You sat in the silence left in his wake, almost envisioning Kyojuro in that hospital bed, each breath he took and each pound within his chest a cry of hope.

You close your eyes for a moment before speaking in a hushed voice to Senjuro, “Your brother believes in you, always has. He’s fighting so he can be sure to come home and remind you of that himself.”

—————————————

“This hurts like hell!” The Sound Hashira grumbled to no one in particular. Kyojuro could only watch as his fellow Hashira limped from the doorway into the hospital bed the Butterfly Mansion staff had apathetically pointed to. 

The young nurses reassuring him that the Insect Hashira would be there “when she gets the chance” to treat his injuries. The adrenaline from battle must’ve finally dissipated by the time he reached the Butterfly Mansion.

After settling in with a few labored breaths, the man finally turned to his side, noticing Kyojuro in the bed beside him.“Rengoku? How long have you been up? Why are you still here?” 

“A few hours. Kocho has been keeping a close eye before she discharges me, but I should be good to go by now. Nevermind that though, what happened to you?” He had never seen the Sound Pillar as battered and bloody as he appeared before him now. 

“Remember how I was organizing some infiltration into the Entertainment District? Looking for an upper rank?” Kyojuro nodded intently, he was well aware of the operation in the Sound Pillar’s sector before he even boarded the train. 

“Well, we found it. The district is leveled, but we defeated the threat. And look, the two of us are matching now, and I even got one up on you.” The man gestured to his own covered eye before waving his left arm, permanently disfigured.

Even in this state, Uzui always had something to say to lighten the mood. Kyojuro always respected that trait in him, it was one of the primary reasons they got along as well as they did.

“You didn’t…” Kyojuro searched for the right word to describe the Sound Pillar's hobbled gait as he made his way from the entrance to the cot where he was now confined, as respectfully as possible. “Ambulate…  yourself all the way from Yoshiwara I hope?”

“Oh, absolutely not.” The Sound Hashira shook his head with pride. “My wives were there for me, of course. But Kocho said they couldn’t help me inside. Something about a very strict rule with spouses not being allowed to enter the Butterfly Mansion for any reason.” 

Uzui spoke with restlessness, trying to get comfortable in the hospital bed clearly not befitting his frame before trying to read the face of the Flame Pillar beside him. “Did she tell you about that too?” 

Kyojuro’s eyebrows knit together. “I was not aware of such a policy…” He said slowly, as if he was trying to figure out what his fellow pillar was referring to with each word. He affixed his gaze upon his comrade’s arm, bandaged shoddily in the heat of battle, severed at the wrist.

“As a dual wielder…” His lips pursed as he analyzed the sight before him. “You may have to adapt your swordsmanship.”

Kyojuro chuckled before resting his hand lightly on the covered wound punctured into his abdomen, “I was quite concerned for myself, but fortunately recovery is an option for me as well. It’s all of no matter, we will just have to train harder and get back to where we were!” 

Uzui studied the face of the Flame Hashira looking for any shred of sarcasm. “A-are you serious?” His eyes widened with shock, glancing down at the tightly wrapped bandages over Kyojuro’s chest.

“Of course I am, what are you trying to say?” Kyojuro looked at the Sound Pillar inquisitively.

The Sound Hashira exhaled sharply, lowering his eyes resolutely with a soft smile, “I’m stepping down. I’m done fighting.” Upon processing the rest of what Kyojuro confidently announced to him his head jerked to face him in disbelief. “You aren’t actually considering going back are you?”

“But as pillars-” Kyojuro was cut off mid sentence, his curiosity now only building with what his friend was telling him.

“I like to think I’m Lord Uzui Tengen before I’m the Sound Pillar.” He declared matter of factly, before his tone devolved back into its characteristic quippiness. “You’ve always blurred that line, but most bastards lucky enough to take a hole in the chest and live would see themselves the same.” 

Kyojuro tried to think back to the exact moment of impact, the demonic fist piercing his flesh, in the face of what could only be described as certain death had he drawn a distinction between the two?

Kyojuro’s ponderance was interrupted by the petite form of the Insect Pillar shadowed by the younger girl with blue eyes and pigtails coming in the doorway seemingly with no urgency at all. “Thank gods!” Uzui exclaimed, the exasperation ripe in his voice. “I thought you all forgot about me!”

Kocho spoke her voice sweet and light as ever complimented by the poignant, contented countenance she always had. “Oh dear! Of course not!” She gestured to the three youngest Butterfly Mansion girls to bring her a tray with some instruments and antiseptics. 

Tears formed in the corner of their eyes as they approached the Sound Hashira’s bedside to hand it off to their master, clinging to each other and hurrying away once they did as they were instructed. 

“Hey Kocho, do you have any painkillers or anything before you stitch me up?” Uzui spoke with a tinge of desperation, one he was clearly trying to suppress in the presence of others.

“Unfortunately, I don't recall we have anything strong enough for you here.” The Insect Pillar spoke with a curt sharpness.

The blue-eyed nurse with pigtails was much easier to read than her master. Even with the grimace she typically bore while concentrating on work, there was a particular scorn in her eyes that seemed to run deep. She stared daggers at the Sound Pillar, it was truly a distaste only unpleasant familiarity can foster. 

The Insect Pillar worked, doing little to prepare her patient for her next action, hastily attending to the injuries of her fellow Hashira. Her doll-like smile unchanging as heavy handedly she doused his deep lacerations with antiseptic before stitching them shut with fresh bandages.

Upon finishing, she walked away without another word or so much as a check in to ask how the Sound Pillar was feeling now, even though she hadn’t seemed to be rushing to another bedside as she retreated without a second glance

Uzui released the grit of his teeth following his treatment, sincerity filling his tone. “About your injury, sorry I didn’t come see you. I had my crow watch closely; it told me you were stable in Kocho’s care, although maybe that should’ve been something that worried me more than it did.” He squirmed in place momentarily, no doubt feeling some residual discomfort in the absence of anything to ease his pain before being treated.

Kyojuro shook his head “No, the staff here is the picture of gentleness and care for its patients, Kocho and all her sisters treated me with the utmost kindness and consideration.” 

Uzui looked out the doorway to see the three youngest Butterfly Sisters looking at him with aversion, still on the verge of tears, while the blue-eyed pigtailed nurse’s contemptuous stare only intensified in her master’s absence. 

The Sound Hashira chuckled to himself blithely. “Huh. You don’t say.” 

His gaze moved from the main room beyond the doorway back to Kyojuro in the hospital bed beside him. “I just couldn’t bring myself to leave the district once I stopped getting updates from my girls.” A playful smirk crossed his face again as his solemn tone brightened, “I figured mere Upper Three wouldn’t be enough to take you out. I trust you understand.” 

Kyojuro looked at him knowingly with a reassuring smile, “Of course. No need to explain any further.”

“You know, the kids that were on the train with you volunteered to come to the district with me. The Kamado boy in particular gushed on and on, don’t be surprised if you start getting fan mail from him.” 

A warm smile crept across Kyojuro’s features at the mention. Hearing they had all recovered quickly and been assigned another mission while he had been out, made every drop of blood shed feel all the more worth it. He really had been able to protect them as he was expected to after the train incident, even if he in  the end failed to finish off the upper rank. 

“Ah yes, young Kamado. Truly good natured. I’m sure he would speak fondly of anyone who fought by his side.” He folded his arms across his chest assuredly as he always seemed to when he felt idle. 

The Sound Pillar moved his one good arm casually behind his head. “I don’t think just ‘anyone’ could have done what you did in the first place.” 

Uzui sighed. “You’ve done good, Mister Flame Pillar. I think you deserve to just be Rengoku now.” Kyojuro tried to hide the thoughtful pensivity welling behind his eyes before spreading across his face. Kyojuro knew he had always been able to read like a book, trying as he might to hide how he felt.

“Ugh. No need to do the Tomioka face.” The Sound Hashira said less than affectionately, He feigned annoyance, but his genuine concern was evident. “It’s up to you of course, but I think you should take a cue from me and go home to your wife now. Give my best to your mini-me.”

—————————————

By the time Kocho had let him leave the Butterfly Mansion, she wrapped his bandages extra taught, surely expecting he would have removed them the minute he was out of her sight. She was not wrong, he had definitely contemplated tearing them off before he returned to his home. 

But he knew he ought to leave them for now. Show the bare wound? Too disturbing. An eyepatch felt too drastic, permanent. Even though he was told to be cautiously optimistic at best on recovering his sight in that eye, bandages gave the hopeful impression to both his family and himself that regaining his vision was not out of the realm of possibility just yet. 

And there was the matter of crutches. He’d declined the nurses’ offer without a second thought. He wasn’t above using them, of course—he had used crutches before when it was necessary. 

But this time felt different. This time, he had come closer to death than he ever had before, closer than he had ever imagined. The weight of that knowledge was still fresh, he liked to think that was to blame for the piercing sensation beneath his ribs rather than the obvious.

Turning the corner into his ancestral home, he was not surprised to see his brother doing his daily chores per usual. Senjuro swept the entryway with a thousand yard stare. His gaze was unfocused, the bristles haphazardly brushing over the floor as if he wasn’t truly seeing it beneath him. He seemed to move mechanically as if the incessant noise in his head left him catatonic. 

As much as he wished Senjuro would let others help him, he knew productivity usually brought him peace of mind. Likely now more than ever thanks to his extended stay at the Butterfly Mansion riddling them all with uncertainty. 

Upon seeing him, Senjuro dropped his broom, his hazed expression replaced with overjoy. He ran over stopping himself in his tracks before jumping into his still recovering older brother’s arms.

Senjuro’s smile faltered as he took a small, hesitant step back, his gaze flickering down to Kyojuro’s chest, then back up to his face. He looked scared to get any closer, as if Kyojuro was made of glass and the slightest touch would make him shatter before his eyes. Kyojuro slowly opened his arms, donning his iconic smile brimming with warmth and familiarity. A simple reassurance.

That was all needed for Senjuro’s momentary unease to be erased. Without a second thought, Senjuro closed the distance, throwing his arms around his elder brother in a tight embrace. 

He let out a slight hmph slightly faltering backward for a moment. The pressure against his abdomen was not exactly comfortable, but that did not stop him from tightening his own arms around his little brother. 

“Thank gods Kanroji-san brought some sweet potato and sakura mochi earlier! I would’ve made more if we had gotten a crow you were discharged!”

Kyojuro did not have the heart to tell Senjuro he had been living off extra salted miso soups and herbal tea since awakening, and was told to continue doing so until breathing was more comfortable.

Kocho had mentioned that at least three times as he left the manor. She must’ve correctly suspected yet again his own appetite was a potential hazard to his recovery. Even castella cake was too solid and dense for him to consume in his condition. 

“I will have to thank my former tsuguko for her thoughtfulness when I see her next!” He tried to remain as lighthearted as possible as he declared what no one ever believed they would live to hear him say.  “As delicious as that sounds, I am not hungry at the moment!” 

“Not hungry?” Senjuro repeated, his voice tinged with disbelief. “You?” His eyes raked over his elder brother searching for the cause of such an anomaly. 

Just as Senjuro inspected the state of him, Kyojuro noticed the dark circles beneath his brother’s eyes, and the complexion of his face paler than he remembered. 

“I am simply so full of energy and vitality I have no need for anything to eat! Why don’t you off from your chores for the rest of the day, Senjuro!”

“A-are you sure?” Senjuro swiftly took his broom back into his hands as if to prove he had no reason to not continue as he was. 

Kyojuro put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, a gesture that always seemed to make Senjuro feel more at ease. “Certainly, you look as though you could use rest. I will take over for you”

Not being deterred in the slightest Senjuro replied, “No I can do it I promise!” Senjuro swiftly took his broom back into his hands as if to prove he had no reason to not continue as he was before Kyojuro came.

 “She’s doing the laundry for me already outside. So at least let me do the rest of the chores!” The younger Rengoku boy seemed almost frantic as he tried to prove that he was still more than capable of carrying out his perceived responsibilities.

 Kyojuro was momentarily taken aback looking into the fuzzy silhouette of a reflection of himself, one that went deeper than their appearance. 

He had spent the better part of his life encouraging and reassuring his brother, for this exact reason. He had foolishly believed that maybe that would be enough for Senjuro to ignore the example that had been before him since their mother had died nearly a decade ago. 

There were many things he was capable of protecting him from, however there remained some things he could only try to ward off. He was more than happy to act as a human shield to all the unpleasantness of the world he had dealt with himself. 

That was not to say his brother was delicate. Senjuro’s meek and sensitive exterior was not beguiling of his fiercely loyal and indomitable spirit. His patience was seemingly boundless, while being the most empathetic person Kyojuro had ever met. Senjuro’s maturity was indeed far beyond his years.

In spite of all of this, Kyojuro wanted him to have had a normal and carefree childhood. Maybe if they were another family under different circumstances, in some kind of a perfect world, Senjuro would not be confined to doing household work all day. He would have a plethora of friends to enjoy the blissful innocence of juvenility, with two loving parents at home, and no perceived expectations he was forced to inherit or self-condemnate over. 

Most of all he would not feel the need to fight for the validation of others, or establish his worth in his actions. While he could not protect him from loss or neglect, surely he could do that much even now.

There was no use grieving over what could have been, the reality was Senjuro had begun to take after his own tendencies. Something he could never forgive himself for being the cause of if it went too far. His own resolve was still strong, but he could at least try to set an example of self preservation when Senjuro was watching. 

He took the broom from Senjuro’s hands once again, leaning it against the wall beside them.”Why don’t we both take some time off today!” He proclaimed as confidently as possible. Senjuro’s shoulders, which had been taut with unease, dropped and with them Kyojuro breathed his own sigh of relief.

He no longer protested his elder brother’s suggestion to get some rest. Kyojuro walked his little brother to his room. As he followed, the younger boy barely lifted his head, his gaze still unfocused, lost in the exhaustion that clung to him. 

Tucking him into his futon, Kyojuro adjusted the pillow beneath his brother’s head, fluffing it gently, even though he knew Senjuro wouldn’t mind either way. He moved deliberately, his smile unchanged despite his mind spinning. He couldn’t help but hope that his little brother wouldn’t notice the subtle shift in Kyojuro’s actions today—the slight urgency in his insistence. 

Perhaps fatigue dulled Senjuro’s emotional intelligence enough that he failed to detect the thinly veiled half-heartedness behind him emphasizing they deserve to both call it for the day. He had been home for moments, and on bedrest before that while Senjuro had been beside himself with worry, maintaining their home. Kyojuro felt dread pool in his stomach, the thought nearly sickened him.

Once making sure his little brother was comfortable in his futon, he rose from his crouched position to his feet again, clamping his eyes shut with a sharp exhale at the shooting pain through his abdomen at the sudden movement. 

Luckily, Senjuro had succumbed to exhaustion the moment his head touched the pillow, sparing him any more anxiety over his big brother’s condition. 

He was embarrassed at how rapidly even the simplest tasks; walking, standing, really had exhausted him. Kocho had not necessarily given him advice on activity now that he was no longer in critical condition, she just reiterated not putting “undue strain” on the body. As vague as that was, he figured he must be experiencing some version of that as his breath became more labored as he walked through the corridors of his own home. 

Almost as if moving against his will, he lowered himself into his futon. He hoped maybe he could get some sleep as soundly as Senjuro, his head barely made contact with the pillow before he drifted off  even with rays of early evening daybreak still illuminating the sky. 

He was happy he had managed to soothe the terrifying thoughts eating his little brother from the inside while he was recovering at the Butterfly Mansion. 

Hopefully, Senjuro genuinely believed things were right in the world again, and that he had no need to prove himself to those around him any further. If he did genuinely believe that, Kyojuro envied it. 

—————————————

The laundry had kept you busy from the late afternoon until the sun hung low in the sky, and you were grateful for the long days of summer, which offered a grace period of a few more hours of safety outside.

You must have looked strange in your tsumugi woven silk kimono, churning laundry by the creek. You wiped a bead of sweat from your brow, before brushing your hands over your hair to ensure the hairpin was still in place. You refocused on the task at hand, gripping the sentakubō with both hands once again. 

The water stirring and forming small whirlpools as you plunge the wooden paddle into the melange of soaking garments with a slosh. You raise the paddle up before submerging it again, fabric swirling in the sekken infused water. 

These were the ancient methods Senjuro had told you had been used for centuries in the family. 

“Drinkable well water is too precious to be used on clothes, there is flowing mountain water just beyond the gates by a small grove of wisteria trees. That’s where we have done laundry for as far back as I know of.” 

The fatigue evident in his every motion momentarily ceased for him to give you particular instructions before you handle the household laundry on your own for the first time. 

In Tokyo, you heard some families had found ways to pump water into their homes. No access to wells or streams necessary. You were unsure whether to be skeptical or amazed at the Western innovations being integrated at breakneck speed into the capital, but the Rengoku family seemed utterly disinterested and unimpressed by anything that brought them away from the techniques of the past. 

Regardless of the flow of time, the Rengoku family had yet to betray the techniques of their ancestors that had never failed them before.

Perhaps they felt both indebted and venerated by the practices that had upheld their name through generations of Flame Pillars and centuries of war against man-eating evil. Each Hashira over the ages living long enough to pass on every aspect, no matter how trivial, of traditional lifestyle to their children and then their children’s children. 

Proof of demons and time alike being unable to erode them into nothing more than history, a bloodline persisting even today, against all odds. 

Your nose prickled at the herbal scent of the laundry solution you had handled for the past few hours soaking, scrubbing the items against the ridges of a washboard before draping each clean textile over a clothesline to dry in the tepid air. 

It was dull, tedious, and somewhat exhausting work, but anything to take your mind and a piece of your heart from the Butterfly Mansion was a welcome distraction. 

As you carried out mundane household chores as of late, you had made it more engaging by picturing Kyojuro watching you with pride, a glint of familiar affection in his eye. 

It only pushed you harder to put your all into everything you did, regardless of how unremarkable it may seem to others. That was what he would no doubt do in your shoes.

—————————————

You had expected Senjuro to be milling about getting things done for the same reason when you arrived back at the estate.The broom leaned against the wall of the engawa was telling enough to you he must’ve finished his daily tasks up and retired into the house for the time being. It might have been slightly unusual, but not anything provoking much cause for concern otherwise.

You looked forward to idleness for the remainder of the evening. Slipping into fresh clothes, you made your way to your room, eager to lie down and rest. 

As you walk the corridor, a blur of fiery colors ignites in your peripheral vision beyond the sliding door of a room that had sat empty as of late. Was that? You freeze in disbelief. 

“Kyojuro?” The name slips from your lips before you can stop it, even though you know the chances of him hearing you from this distance without even seeing your lips were low, but it doesn’t stop your heart from leaping in your chest nevertheless.

Eventually he must sense your presence, his unwrapped eye meeting yours, and in that instant, it feels like everything else fades away. He shifts from his reclined position to sit upright. Even just sitting up in his futon, you notice the subtle tension in his body, the familiar way his arms instinctively cross in front of him—, a pose you know he adopts when idle, as idle as he was capable of being anyway.

You had seen him like this before, when he was always on guard, always ready for battle. The weight of responsibility had never left him, even when he wasn’t fighting. But now, in this quiet moment, it felt almost surreal. You felt a wave of relief flood over you—he was here. He was home.

You didn’t know whether to run over to him, break down into tears, fall to your knees thanking every god and spirit that was looking out for him, or all three at the same time. He watches you with that familiar intensity in his eyes, but there's something softer now, an unspoken heaviness in his gaze

“You were resting… I’m sorry for the disruption.” You did something you hadn’t done since you arrived at the house, lowering your head into a bow. It simply felt appropriate, the least you could do was show your respect, as unnatural as it felt. Kyojuro blinked, taken aback by your gesture, his brows clenching together in confusion as he watched you. 

There was a moment where his eyes seemed to search yours, as if uncertain how to respond, had a distance that great grown between you? You raised from your bow before he could tell you it was ‘not necessary for the likes of him,’ your grasp taking hold of the edge of the shoji door to drag it shut. 

“I’ll let you enjoy some peace and quiet.” Your words felt inauthentic as you spoke, it wasn’t what you wanted, but it felt like what you deserved. You wished you knew what to say to him, but how could you? You could do nothing but watch helplessly while he writhed in pain waiting for you at the Butterfly Mansion. 

Standing by watching the sparks fade his eyes, feeling the room grow colder and colder still. Was that really all you could do? 

Every night since then, you had hoped for a miracle, that you would wake up and he would be back. Now here he was and all you could do was grapple with the futility of your every effort against the inevitable, one that would have come to pass with or without your consent. Like almost all else in his life, he overcame this on his own.

He tilted his head to the side trying to catch your downturned gaze with a soft smile, “You know” He paused until your glassy eyes met his. “I’ve had enough ‘peace and quiet’ for this lifetime.” 

He hesitated for a heartbeat, there was an almost imperceptible urgency in his tone, as though the simple request held more than he could express. “I would enjoy your companionship…” His eye locked onto yours, and you could hear him telling you what he truly felt, but couldn’t bring himself to say, “Please don’t leave me alone…”

Your fists closed around your sleeves as you looked on from the doorway. 

“Could I lay beside you?” You meant to ask gracefully, but a tremble caught itself at  the end of your words. In spite of you both being wedded, something ignited embarrassment within you at your own request. You weren’t quite sure what his experience with such things were, but you certainly had none to speak of. 

You had been confident everything would be ok, but a part of you filled with dread at every crow that flew overhead. Terrified, one of them was Shinobu-san informing you regrettably that they had failed, and he was gone. You just wanted to be close to him, close enough to hold onto and hope he wouldn’t come so close to slipping away from you again. 

“Absolutely!” His boyish excitement quickly commanding sincerity, his voice lowering to just above a breathy whisper “I mean… you do not need to ask. I am yours after all.”

If anything was capable of soothing the apprehension you felt, it was hearing him deliver an enthusiastic exclamation. You studied him, your eyes drifted down again to his arms crossed on top of his chest. Whether be a barrage of responsibility or self doubt, he always carried a tension palpable in every fiber. 

In a gentler world that asked for less of someone like him, maybe he wouldn’t need to. But even if he was not of that world, you could create a piece of it for him to dwell in. A place both his weary body and mind could be at ease.

You lowered yourself into the futon, trying to not focus on your heart, beginning to quicken, as the sound of his breath became audible each inhale and following exhale affirming to you he was alive, and he was yours.

“Am I making you nervous?” You asked genuinely, seeing his shoulders tighten and arms stitch together more tautly and a rouge flush across his cheeks even in the low light. 

He conveniently subverted your inquiry, rebounding it back to you.“You are not nervous, are you, my flame?” His tone seemed to waver in its usual certainty. 

“Not with you…” Even the intoxicating stillness, you cannot help but notice his strained comportment.  “You’re so stiff…”

He spoke no doubt a bit louder than even he anticipated, “Not stiff!” His sudden surge in volume took you back, the abruptness of his response leaving you momentarily unsettled. But as his words settled into the space between you, you quickly found yourself adjusting again into comfort.

“Just a habit, I assure you.” His voice was softer this time, a hint of something more raw slipping through his usual certainty. “I have been trained to be vigilant, at all times. I suppose it’s just how I’ve learned to exist.” 

“Hm. I see…” Your brow furrowed, pursing your lips together almost imperceivably. You extend your arms to place one hand on each of his shoulders, meeting his gaze you search the embers of his unbandaged iris for any sign of discomfort before cupping your hands. 

You, for only a moment, feel the heat of his gaze rake over, consuming each inch of your form. It was enough to make your skin prickle under its blistering intensity. Being used as its fuel, a slow burn ignited in your chest, radiating outward in waves, trailing sparks down to your fingertips and toes. You pry your eyes from your own hands back to his blistering stare to catch his lashes flutter briefly, clenching his eyes shut as if mentally reprimanding himself. 

Your palms take in the dense sinews forming sharp lines and curved ridges beneath your palms, before you push them down from their contraction. His arms finally dropping from their cross to his sides. You try to cut through the tension imparting a squeeze in a circular motion to the corded muscle between your thumb and fingers. 

As the pressure deepened, a soft, involuntary shudder rippled through him, a sudden tremor that surged from his shoulders down to his spine. It caused him to partially heave forward, his posture faltering as his head tilted to the side. A strangled sound—somewhere between a gasp and a whimper—escaped his lips.

You pull back your hands instinctively. “I-I didn’t mean…”

He shifted slightly, avoiding your gaze for a brief moment,  the blush deepening down to his neck. “I... I think I made a rather odd sound just now... My sincerest apologies�� He spoke just above a murmur, his tone uncharacteristically timid, and pupils blown wide. “I must have broken my Total Concentration Breathing. I-I just… did not expect that to feel so good.”  

After a moment, his voice came again, a little more vulnerable than usual, almost tentative. “May I hold you?”  For a man so often brimming with confidence and conviction, this sudden bashfulness was endearing, almost disarming.

You echoed the words that had made your heart flutter since you heard them, “I am yours after all.” As the moments stretched on, the world outside began to blur, your breaths falling in sync with his. His hand trailed absentmindedly through your hair, his touch lulling you closer to sleep. Just before the haze of slumber overtook you, you felt him press the lightest kiss to your temple, his lips lingering as though committing the moment to memory.

And so, wrapped in his embrace, safe within the steady glow of his presence, you drifted off. For even in sleep, you knew you were wholly his, and he, yours.

—————————————

Kyojuro found himself restless with the first breaks of light, the flecks of dawn slowly spreading from the base of the horizon as the sky remained inked with the deep indigo of night. 

He sat up, given the opaque darkness of the sky it was hard to believe that golden rays of light would cut through the boundless pitch black expanse above him.

Since he had awoken, he had begun to be enchanted by things he had never paid much mind to before. The way the dawn happened to bleed into night, if there was nothing else you could rely on in this world, there was solace to be found in the consistency of daybreak. 

No matter how empty the void of night seemed, the dawn would overcome it anyway, illuminating the heavens without fail. Admirable. It was truly admirable.

Turning his gaze toward you, his heart softened even further. You lay curled beside him, your expression serene in the half-light, your hair tousled from sleep. Kyojuro couldn’t help but smile—bright and warm, though he kept it quiet, not wanting to disturb you. He leaned down and pressed a feather-light kiss to the crest of your hairline, lingering for a moment as if to savor the touch.

"Rest well," he whispered, his voice low and affectionate. Carefully, he slipped from the futon, each movement deliberate and gentle so as not to disturb the stillness that wrapped around you like a cocoon.

While cooking was outside his expertise, he was more than capable of boiling water in a hagama with tea leaves. 

As he entered the main room to prepare it, he noticed his father already seated with his gaze fixed on the sky. Kyojuro’s  instincts made him want to turn around and recede right then and there, before stopping himself.

“You are up early, Father.” Kyojuro shifted his head to the side almost as if to hide his face. He could hardly bring himself to face the former Flame Hashira. In his father's eyes, the cold sweat on his brow and the ghostly pallor of his skin would no doubt serve as a (half) living testament to the very words he had insisted upon to Kyojuro for years.

His hand quivered as he sprinkled a spoonful of the tea leaves into water before beginning to boil them together on the wood stove. 

Shinjuro hardly acknowledged the presence of another behind him more than a quick glance over the shoulder. His expression was as equally austere and annoyed as usual.

Similar to how Shinjuro kept his eyes firmly locked onto the slow ascent of the sun, Kyojuro relegated his own gaze to the kettle on the stove, barely looking away as the silence was intermittently broken by the sound of chimes swaying in the breeze.

When the water adopted the greenish hue from the tea leaves, he removed the hagama from the heat.

“Uh... tea, Father?” Kyojuro said as he set out two cups just in case. It was unusual enough his father was awake at dawn, and out of his room. He rarely saw Shinjuro eat or drink much, usually sleeping or drinking the day away, it would be even more unusual for him to break that pattern. But, he felt obliged to ask him anyway.

Shinjuro spoke, his voice gruff as it had been as long as Kyojuro could remember. “Sure.” He paused for a long time before adding, “Thank you…” 

Kyojuro looked up with shock, but only to look at the back of Shinjuro’s head once again. He poured the liquid into the cups, curls of steam wafting from each one with an earthy aroma. 

With one in each hand he brought it over to where his father sat at the edge of the room, the sky fading from nox to a peach tone as the apex of the sun became visible over the horizon line. 

He lowered his head as he placed the cup on the ground, Shinjuro’s scarred hand wrapping around it where it sat. Kyojuro slowly backed away from where he resided to leave him be.

“You can sit, son.” Shinjuro said, finally turning over his shoulder to meet Kyojuro’s gaze. Kyojuro moved closer again trepidatiously before lowering himself to the ground with a sharp exhale, the pressure on his wound making his face twist momentarily as he did so.

Kyojuro could not help but notice the thick, pungent smell of sake—a scent that had been a constant companion to his father for as long as he could remember—was completely absent this morning.

“In nearly 20 years as a pillar, I used that damned form three times.” Shinjuro spoke, his eyes not leaving the sky as he took a sip of the tea in his hand. “You’ve used it twice that I know of, but it’s been more times than that, right?”

Kyojuro did not even want to reply to his father’s probing, it would not matter anyway, they both knew the answer to the question.

The former pillar’s jaw clenched in grim recognition of Kyojuro's telling silence. However, the response was not angered, but seemed shackled with the heaviness of frustration.

Kyojuro took a long drink of the cup of tea in his hand, it was easier than thinking of the right thing to say.

Shinjuro continued, his voice steady but carrying a hint of weariness. “I practically memorized each word of the chronicles. The Breath of Flames like every other breath will always be derivative. Yet our swordsmen are the only ones who refuse to believe that. Neither the chosen ones nor those blissfully content with their own mediocrity use anything as foolish or self destructive as that damn 9th form.” 

Kyojuro knows the destruction he spoke of all too well. The gelatinous cartilage protecting the shoulders, knees, elbows, hip flexors, ankles, spine, it was all fickle. 

Once the body has worn it down, usually through decades upon decades of usage the grating discomfort of bone on bone friction rarely goes away, in many cases it can leave one chair bound from the intensity of every joint aching.

While all such an affliction can happen naturally with the flow of time, but the amount of power emitted from the 9th form was anything but natural.

The records of the ways of Flame Breathing made this clear to the user. Even by the standard of breath forms, which already amplify the body beyond its innate threshold, the concentration of power in the 9th form of Flame Breathing was exceptionally great.

The amount of strain on the body by the 9th form was more than some could handle. Some Flame Pillars of the past did not have the composition to use it more than once or twice at absolute most. The immense pressure on the body had a way of hastening degeneration. The form was strictly a last resort when facing a foe that needed to be defeated at all costs. 

The brighter and hotter a flame burns, the sooner it flickers out. Yet each time he was left with no other option but to use it, he did so without hesitation.

He had always fought to save lives with his body as little more than collateral in the grand scheme of his duty, so what did a few adverse side effects matter if it allowed him to prevail against a powerful demon that could go on to devour dozens?

Shinjuro muttered under his breath bitterly as if trying to suppress a visceral growl gathering in his lungs at the words alone. “The Breath of Flames, the Flame Hashira mantle, all of it, who gives a damn about a line of talentless fools breaking themselves just to end up average. It’s just a pitiful tale, nothing more. I’ve asked myself over and over why anyone would want to pass that on to the next generations.” 

He shook his head slowly with an exhale, his knuckles becoming lighter as he gripped his cup more tightly before releasing it again. “I knew I should’ve destroyed the infernal pages of the Flame Hashira Chronicles a long time ago.”

Kyojuro’s tone became calmer than even he knew it to be, almost as if unconsciously imitating the softness of how his own mother spoke to him all those years ago. “Whether it is pitiful or not, it memorializes their will. Their triumph, their struggle, none of it will go unnoticed, and they will be remembered fondly for their bravery and their role in our history.”

Shinjuro was quiet for a moment, his gaze distant still settled on the peach streaks as they became gold across the sky. “Did you ever read about my predecessor?” He grumbled with narrowed eyes.

Kyojuro’s brow furrowed into thought before replying. “Our grandfather, yes of course. I read about every Flame Hashira. It is a shame Senjuro and I never met him.���

“Trust me, you’re lucky you only ever read about him.” Shinjuro let out a forced chuckle before taking another sip. “Obsessed with the family legacy, he’d probably have carved ‘Flame Hashira’ into my chest the day I was born if he thought it would keep me from forgetting who I was meant to be. And just my luck—I happened to be the bastard’s only child. That meant all his expectations, all his delusions about immortality through legacy, fell squarely on my shoulders.” 

Kyojuro heard a pain in his father’s voice that he had only caught a handful of times before—a rare, almost fleeting vulnerability that Shinjuro rarely allowed anyone to see. His mind drifted back to faded, gilded memories. When his father’s smile had been constant, his pride unwavering. He could still recall the way his father’s eyes would light up as he passed down his sword skills to him and Senjuro, enthusiastic and patient.

Those memories were growing hazy with time, as though they were trapped in the mist of nostalgia, but the warmth they stirred within him was unmistakable. It was the kind of warmth that invigorated him—like the very ichorous blood of the Flame Hashira flowed through his veins, and he was destined for greatness.

“Perhaps…” Kyojuro murmured, his voice wistful, “Perhaps… He must have seen potential in you… " His eyes fell to the ground, his chest felt hollow as if the air was being drawn from it. "And that was the reason he pushed you so hard and did not ever give up on you...”

Shinjuro’s lips pressed together into a firm line. “Potential? No. He didn’t see me. Not as a person. I was a tool, a means to an end—a way to keep the Rengoku name alive, to make himself feel like he mattered.”

Shinjuro's voice held calm, but kept carrying the crushing weight of resignation.“Part of me wanted to show him I would be the last Flame Breathing user,” His eyes stayed distant, unblinking.

“Just let our name die out, fade into oblivion as a fragment of history. Just so my miserable old man’s last thought would be regret. That nothing he tried his damndest to maintain would last after one generation. I refused to be another cog in the perpetual machine.”

Kyojuro looked down at the swirls of green fluid in the cup as he held it in his lap. His voice curious as he looked over, as though trying to understand a piece of the past he had never been allowed to see. “What changed your mind?”

“Your mother…” Shinjuro’s lips twisted slightly, but not with anger—more like a quiet bitterness that he no longer had the energy to hide under anger or indifference. “But just like everything else, it was all futile, just a beautiful dream she was kind enough to let me believe in. Even for just a little while.”

Kyojuro’s eyes flickered, a quiet understanding passing between them at her mention.

Shinjuro let out a long sigh, setting his cup down with a soft clink, though his movements remained languid. “I don’t know if she fell victim to the suffering fate has ordained for us by becoming my bride. Maybe she stood a chance before then. But not us, if you’re born into it, you don’t have a choice, it's your cross to bear whether you want it or not. That’s the cruel joke. That’s the purgatory we’re bound to.”

The sun was higher now, and the colors in the sky deepened, casting a warm glow over everything.

Shinjuro’s voice broke the stillness again, his voice softer now than Kyojuro had known in so long. “I never wanted to be the kind of man to force a son to swing a sword until he vomited and his hands were torn open and bleeding. I should’ve never let either of you boys touch a blade. Just let the cycle end and be free. But you and Senjuro... you were always drawn to it. Always. I could see it in your eyes.” 

His gaze turned, albeit reluctantly, to Kyojuro, meeting his gaze in earnest. “We can’t help it, can we? It's in our blood I suppose.”

The sun was fully risen now, casting a golden glow over the room, spilling warmth across the tatami floor. Shinjuro, still staring out at the horizon, sighed deeply, a silent self condemnation. “I wasn’t capable of protecting Ruka, or the many junior swordsmen, or countless civilians, but I once hoped even a good for nothing father could protect his own children if nothing else.”

Kyojuro’s eyes lingered on his father, the warmth of the rising sun casting a gentle light on the hard lines of Shinjuro’s face. He didn’t know what he could possibly say. 

Kyojuro sat in the silence that followed his father's words, the weight of Shinjuro’s rare admission lingering in the air. He could feel the old, familiar tension between them, but it was softer now—more fragile, like the delicate balance of the morning light spilling across the floor. 

Shinjuro’s voice was both steady and solemn. "Kyojuro, you are a better man than I. You and your brother both. A strong man can learn from a weaker one how to become even stronger."

The words were unexpected, catching Kyojuro off guard. He glanced up at his father, his eyes searching the features of Shinjuro’s face for some sign that this wasn’t just another passing moment of wistful resignation. But there was no mistaking the sincerity in his tone. Kyojuro’s chest tightened, though he didn’t fully know why.

Shinjuro took a breath, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon, a faraway look in his eyes. “Just remember, you have a whole life ahead of you. It’s yours to do with what you wish.”

There was something in Shinjuro’s words that stirred in Kyojuro—a faint flicker of hope, like a spark in the dark. He wanted to say something, to respond, but the weight of the moment was so heavy, so rare, that all he could do was nod.

Shinjuro shifted slightly, the moment passing as quickly as it had come. He stood slowly, his movements deliberate, before leaving on heavy footsteps.

There was something in Shinjuro’s words that stirred in Kyojuro—a faint flicker of hope, like a spark in the dark. He wanted to say something, to respond, but the weight of the moment was so heavy, so rare, that all he could do was nod.

Shinjuro shifted slightly, the moment passing as quickly as it had come. He stood slowly, his movements deliberate, as though the weight of his own body was a burden he carried with resignation.

He gave Kyojuro one last look, something softer than usual in his eyes, before he turned toward the door. "I’m going to go check on Senjuro. He’s been having nightmares lately."

Kyojuro’s gaze lingered on his father’s retreating back. The room felt quieter now, the silence settling between them like something solid. He wanted to speak—wanted to say something that could erase the years of distance between them, and his father’s regrets.

The warmth of the sun seemed to spill into his very bones, filling the hollow places with a kind of quiet understanding. It wasn't a resolution. It wasn’t a grand moment of reconciliation. But it was something. 

A rare crack in the wall that had always stood between them. And for the first time in a long while, Kyojuro thought maybe, just maybe, it was a step toward something else. Something better.

—————————————

He awoke to start the day as he had nearly every day for the past. Getting ready at dawn as he always did, cautious not to awaken you in the room beyond the thin panel walls. Donning his corps uniform kaen haori, against Kocho’s advice to receive help. 

Moving deliberately he raised his arms to twist the thick honey blonde layers of his hair, he felt a sharp pang in his abdomen. He froze in place, his eyes widened before clenching shut. The pain forcing him to grip the edge of the nearest furniture for support. 

His hand moved from his chest back to his sides as he opened his eyes slowly, a hint of embarrassment creeping over him. It was as if he feared that when his eyelids lifted, he would find disappointed faces gazing back at him.

He continued the routine that made him worthy of the rank of Hashira. His resolve only strengthened, it would not matter so long as he could prove to himself, he was still strong, the capable protector of others.

The sun’s early light casting across his face, he moved with purpose across the same grounds that he and generations of Flame Pillars before him honed their skills in the heart of the ancestral estate. The ground beneath him was packed earth, worn smooth from endless footfalls. 

Unsheathing his katana, he took a deep breath, grip tightening on the handle of his garnet nichirin sword. But the blade that was once a weightless extension of himself felt heavier, more cumbersome. 

Performing the stances he had forged into his very bones with the years. His fluidity between each form was lacking. Even in total concentration he found himself sputtering if his chest expanded too much on the inhale. Beads of sweat rolled down his temple in the Summer sun, the brine making the unhealed gash across his eye socket sting lightly. 

He was not blessed with the near supernatural acuteness of sense others possessed. Some of his comrades had such heightened perception, blindness itself was not even a burden. But he was quite the opposite, since the mission he lost most of his hearing, he had learned to instead rely on his vision to be fully aware of his surroundings at all times. 

In the line of duty, he even had trained himself to reduce the frequency of blinking so as to not let his own inability to perceive his surroundings with his other senses create an opening for an enemy to strike. 

Each swing and subsequent sharp ache in his abdomen was a reminder that not long ago, a demon had punched straight through his body as if he were hollow. A lifetime of working towards becoming a paragon of invincibility rendered worthless in an instant. 

He had spent his life mastering control over every part of his own body. Every fiber, every nerve ending. The idea he was spared by chance was nauseating. By chance, the blow didn’t destroy any vital organs, killing him instantly. By chance, the kakushi were able to move him quickly enough. By chance, he managed to wake up from Kocho’s induced sleep at all. 

Kyojuro shifted into the next stance, forcing his body to remember the rhythm of each fiery surge of power. He longed for the zone he could so easily slip into. When each cell of his body felt as though it burned with the intensity of his soul, no amount of pain or exhaustion could dampen it. 

The searing tenacity, the flow. Wiping his brow he found the warm flow he desired, albeit in a drastically different form. A crimson streak across the back of his hand was the last thing he saw before sanguine blood obscured the vision in his left eye once again. Pressing the heel of his hand against his eye once again in an attempt to stop the seep from the wound.

—————————————

You were well aware of Kyojuro’s routine, if he was off bed rest chances are he would go back to it even against the better judgment of others, and probably himself too.

So when you saw him sitting with his back to the house, cross legged in the middle of the training field, his katana sheathed on his right side a change from it usually placed on his left. Stranger than that, you had rarely seen him take breaks much less fully sit down on the grass. 

“Are you alr-You’re bleeding!” Once you were within his earshot, you 

He looked over his shoulder with his right eye anxiously following your exclamatory reaction. He assured you with a forced cheerfulness, though the flicker of uncertainty in his voice betrayed the bravado. “Although,” he continued, his tone lowering slightly, “I fear if Senjuro sees me like this, he might go into a panic…”

As much as you wanted to scold him for neglecting his own wellbeing for the sake of others yet again, he had a point. Senjuro had just been in a state of shock wondering if he would ever see his brother again. The last thing he needed was to see Kyojuro hurt yet again.

“Yes! I-I’ll get some first aid!”

You moved briskly back to the house to retrieve some standard medical supplies. Coming out to sit on his left side in the grass, mimicking his seated position with his back to the home. From the way you angled yourself, legs folding to your side, if Senjuro happened to walk by, perhaps he would just figure you both were basking in the sun on a nice day and nothing more.

You slowly shake your head as you begin to wet the clean cloth with rubbing alcohol. “You are an exceptionally lucky man, you know that?” 

He chuckled lightly, a glowing smile spreading across his face. “I suppose I am if a beautiful lady is willing to take care of me.” 

You sigh, glancing down for a moment fighting back a grin that will no doubt spread to you like a contagion. “Look up please.” As you asked, his irises shifted upwards as you moved the cloth in your hand toward him, the laceration across his left eye freshly reopened on full display, stretching clear across his eyelid and nearly severing his eyebrow.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Kyojuro Rengoku. You know what I mean.” You can’t help but smile through the scoff you force out, your attempts to remain stern and impress upon him seriousness foiled.

Holding the damp cloth with a steady grip, you approach his eye with utmost caution, ensuring you don’t accidentally brush against his ink-black lashes. You carefully touch the rag to his face, disinfecting the length of the wound, your movements deliberate and gentle. 

“No! I am merely speaking the truth you are-” His proclamation was halted by a wince at the sting from the antiseptic’s contact with the raw wound. 

“I’m sorry if that hurts.” Your brow furrows as you pull the cloth away, necessary as it was to do, it pained you to be the cause of any further bodily discomfort for him. 

You take a minute to find the most appropriate way to say what you mean, for both of your sakes. “First they weren’t sure you would…” 

You meet his gaze tacitly before continuing. “Then Shinobu-san tells you the chances of retaining sight in your left eye was nonexistent, and here you are breathing and seeing and yet you still keep pushing yourself to the point of coming apart at the seams.” You try to mask your unease, seeing him continue working himself beyond his limits, when he is already so fragile at the moment.

“At least wear the eyepatch the Butterfly Mansion issued you!” You implore with something of a half smile. The sheer stubbornness with which he dismissed every injury, no matter how serious, would be humorous if it wasn’t so deeply concerning.

“Oh please, I need no such thing! I’m doing nothing I cannot handle, I assure you.” That authoritative voice, brimming with optimism. It was so easy to hear it, and blindly take each word as fact. But you know better by now, you could’ve told him every bone in his body was broken beyond repair and he would probably still respond that way. Even so, you want to trust him to stay within his means. 

“Ok, ok you’re ‘fine.’ I understand.” You reply resignedly speaking on your exhale. “Just please just take care of your eye. You’ve always had the most lovely eyes…” You say looking deeply into the golden rimmed eyes of the man before you.

Usually, when those  spoke of the Rengoku family, they used the word "powerful" to describe their distinctive features—sharp cheekbones, avian-esque orbs, blazing hair, and the aura of intensity that seemed to radiate from them. They served as yet another irrefutable motif that connected each Flame Pillar to the long legacy of unrivaled swordsmen bearing the Rengoku name.

“Powerful” was no doubt a compliment. He had always taken pride in the honor of possessing the iconic visage of his courageous ancestors. “Lovely” was different though. It felt intimate, a word that captured a softness. One rarely used when likening the fierce warriors of the Rengoku lineage with description, or him by that association.  

“If you like them, then I am only more excited by the prospect of passing them onto our children one day!” He exclaimed, the ever present ember burning behind his gaze billowing into a roaring inferno with joyous fervor.

Your cheeks flushed like a watercolor canvas, rosy hues blooming across your complexion. He could only surmise in that moment the evident dilation of your pupils to be a product of shock, at worse maybe even discomfort. 

He had gotten overzealous again, it was all too easy for him to put his foot in his mouth and take someone aback when he felt impassioned enthusiasm overflowing from him. However, you didn’t seem jarred or off put by his sudden pronouncement. You gaze warmed, softly smiling back at him.

“Yes, me too.” Your voice on the gentle breeze was as steady and sincere. 

But for a moment, it all fell away. The corps, his family legacy, the pillars, all of it. Holding her knees gently on the grassy Earth beside him, looking back at him. Rays of light catching against her skin, wrapping around her like a golden embrace, illuminating her form with a radiance that seemed almost otherworldly. Her hair danced in the breeze, tousling it to frame her face with an effervescent allure.

He felt warmth creeping up his cheeks, just as it had for her moments ago. He desperately tried to suppress the flush as he turned his gaze downward, focusing intently on the ground.

Death or disablement. Kyojuro knew these to be the only two circumstances in which a pillar could honorably resign from their post. Here he was, neither dead nor maimed. The verdict ought to be clear as day. He was more than aware of the inevitable weakness that all humans must experience in time. 

But to face that inevitability when he could still do so much? If he could swing a katana, he had a duty to serve. Right? His father should have continued serving as the Flame Hashira until he lost his sharpness to age. 

But the day Mother passed, something died in Father, or maybe something already dead within him had begun to fester. Kyojuro always told himself that he would not succumb to the same fate, despair would not be the death of him, certainly not if even an Upper Rank wasn’t. 

“I have… a friend… who is thinking about their future as a Hashira.” Kyojuro spoke with an uncharacteristic softness, fingers fidgeting with the hilt of his sword.

You looked at him inquisitively before having what you believe to be a revelation. “You mean the Sound Pillar?” 

“Oh… right, yes. Uzui, of course.” Kyojuro's words stumbled out, a nervous smile flickering on his lips, eyes darting away, as if relieved to hear you identify the former Hashira, already settled on retirement. 

“If he decides to retire, does it mean he has lost his passion? Or maybe he is running away?” His voice raised closer to its usual vivacity, but the typical enthusiasm felt infected with an air of apprehension. His fingers tightened around the sword’s hilt, outlining the flame insignia swordguard with a deliberate motion of his thumb.

Before you could even think to answer, he pressed on with another question, his urgency palpable.

“What if…” He paused, lightly clearing his throat adding the aforementioned yet again, his cadence returning to its equilibrium. “My friend…” 

He looked deeply into your eyes, the bright vermillion honeycomb pools poured into yours like a gentle ray of sunlight at dawn, adorning everything within with its warmth. His words regained their normal directness in earnest. “Is worried the person he loves might not want him anymore, if he isn’t strong?”

You tilt your head, your gaze previously riddled with intrigue tempered tacitly at his probing, you understood now. “I’m certain the people in his life value him for more than something as superficial as his strength.”  

You put your palms flat behind you on the tufts of grass leaning back to feel the sun warm your face.

“I don’t think of ‘strong’ as a person, I think of it as a state of being. We are all allowed to be weak and rely on the strength of others, and when others are weak we can give them our strength. No one person has to be strong all the time.” 

More importantly, you saw through the electric personality of the natural born leader to all and the brave exterior of the warrior. You saw the man beneath it all. The kind of soul that was as tender as it was resiliently fortuitous. 

Hanging on every word you notice the intertwine of his arms, crossed against his chest as he clung on your every word with rapt attentiveness. You straighten your posture leaning toward him, interlocking your fingers to the corded sinews of his forearms, pulling them from their interwoven tensed state as you had done before.

You took his worn hands in your own. “Well I hope you tell ‘your friend’ as much. Although, I would like to ask you something now if you would allow me.”

“Of course my flame, anything.” he replied, his voice filled with earnestness, a bright smile spreading across his face. 

“Did you remember what I told you in the Butterfly Mansion? The last thing I said to you before you lost consciousness?” 

His eyes narrowed as they trailed off into thought. He racked his brain for the last moment of light before his eyelids fell heavily as the sounds around him dissipated into silence. Before the oblivion of the serum he was injected with took effect, only muffled words cut by sobs come to mind.

“Please forgive me, I cannot recall.” He bowed his head remorsefully before meeting you again with a hopeful countenance. “Would you tell me again, my flame?”

A rosy hue rouges your cheeks as you fidget from side to side where you sat, part of you didn’t want to tear your gaze from the safety of the trodden Earth . But you couldn’t stand the idea of missing a moment basking in the bright eyes of the man you nearly lost.

 “I told you that I loved you...” Your voice was a murmur, barely above a whisper, and as your heart skipped a beat in your chest. “I love you. I meant it, I love who you are. That will not be changed by what you are.” 

“I have never found many things in life that I could not bring myself to love, or so I thought.” “What a fool I was. I did not even know what that word meant back then. What a truly lucky man I am.” 

You would’ve liked to sappily argue that it was, in fact, you who was the lucky one. However, you knew the endless back-and-forth that would’ve followed if you did. 

So instead, you let both your body and heart bask in warmth from two separate suns—one worlds away, and one right beside you. You let the moment linger between you, content in the quiet truth that you didn’t need to say it aloud for him to know you felt the same.

To be continued...

Taglist: @rift-and-rise @leannathespacewerewolf @hellscampcounselor @hauntedaugust @obsidianlive @oh1boy @chocolatebannana2 @erexart @vaelzz @kalypsoox @jiy-une @mayyhaps

[dustisus]

more hints about Jeremy's possible backstory in tsc I have not seen people mention

so i'm rereading tsc in preparation for tgr and am listing some things i think could be hinting at jeremy's backstory. other people have already made good lists but here are some things i have not seen talked about yet:

"Knowing Bryson was home had Jeremy slipping out the side door. [...] Jeremy would rather leave his keys than risk a confrontation this early in the morning. He was far too tired and sore to put himself through that." (p58) +

"Jeremy asked, 'Do you feel safe with him there?' 'He's my brother,' Lucas said. 'That's not what I asked, Lucas.' (p120) This quote could just stem from emotional intelligence and secondhand knowledge about abuse, and the last quote about him being too tired and sore to confront Bryson could just mean that he doesn't have the energy to confront him verbally. But I think this could mean that Jeremy knows from experience that you are not always safe with family, and the reason that he makes a point of being too sore to confront Bryson could be that he is to sore to fight him. I think Bryson could be physically abusive. The butler also knows to warn Jeremy about Bryson's whereabouts, so it's no secret that they do not get along at least.

"(Annalise) insisted on keeping her own place on the other side of the city year-round." (p118) Jeremy is not allowed to move out but Annalise is. I think we've all kind of figured out that Jeremy has a different relationship to his parents than his siblings do but this is just a clear example of Jeremy's limitations of freedom being just his own, and not equally enforced on the whole family.

Speaking of Annalise, she treats Jeremy very strangely in the scene they have together. Jeremy is sitting and reading rumors about EAU, the Ravens, and Jean on his phone when Annalise comes into the room, and "Jeremy immediately tucked his phone into his pocket and went to meet her at the front door [...] he held the door for her." (p118) Annalise hints at the scandal in his past, and then "He followed her out to her car, but Annalise made him wait as she dug lip balm out of his purse." (p118) Once she has applied her lip balm and insulted him some more, she says "'Door.'" (p118), "He got her car door open, jaw working on arguments that would always ring too hollow. Annalise got into the driver's seat and motioned an okay to him as soon as her legs were out of the way. Jeremy pushed her door closed and took a step back." (pp118-119). If Jeremy had a more seemingly normal relationship with his family I would just read this as him following her out to her car, but as is I think this just reads as Annalise treating Jeremy as some sort of servant. Weird dynamic either way.

Later, Jeremy is talking to Jean about Kevin and says "Oh, to be the pampered elite." (p128) This just caught me off guard because to an outsider, Jeremy would certainly seem as part of the pampered elite. His family has a butler. Only reason I can see him saying this is if he does not see himself as part of the pampered elite.

During these passages when he is at home is when he most frequently thinks about confronting his family, something he has discussed with his therapist. But when Annalise has insulted him and said he's ruined the family in the scene where he acts as her doorman, he thinks "arguments that would always ring too hollow." (p118) Either this is something about Jeremy's skewed perception of how much he is to blame for whatever 'broke their family', which causes him not to be able to form cohesive arguments about why they are incorrectly blaming him, or whatever arguments he could make are actually hollow because whatever he did is not justifiable.

Annalise also says "'Overdue for a new scandal, hm?' she asked. 'End the way you started.'" (p118) This could just mean that the scandal was at the start of his NCAA Exy career, but it could also mean that the scandal was what started it, or started his relative fame as a NCAA big three team captain.

idk i've read some very intriguing theories on here so i just thought i should add some material to those of you who can shape it into theories

[lyneira]

♤ "Not worthy?" I'll show you differently ♤

SMUT - MINORS DNI

-> how would he react to a reader who's self-conscious and ends up distancing themselves from him when others insult them and say that they shouldn't be together? (based on this request!)

All characters are depicted as 18+

fem!reader x twisted wonderland characters / cw: penetration, cunnilingus, fingering, blowjob, mirror sex

"I'll make you feel loved enough that you won't forget it"

Epel, LEONA, Jack, Ace, Silver, Floyd

I don't see them viewing it as a big problem initially because he's confident that he'll be able to make things right quickly. You just need some reassurance, that's all.

He's not going to confront you directly. He won't need to; His actions toward you would be enough to say that what others were saying was indefinitely wrong.

He'll become more handsy and more forward with his PDA, always making sure that he's holding you or touching you in some way. He'll put his hand on your waist and pull you in close, seldom ever releasing his grasp on you; He'll kiss you more often, ensuring to elongate the kiss for a long time even when there were a lot of people around. When he'd pull away, allowing you to take a breath, he'd shoot a glare at anyone who was staring, daring them to say something.

He'll do all of this as to indirectly tell you, "Hey, I don't care what anyone says or thinks. I'm not letting you go". Yet, if you were still acting distant, then he'd have no choice but to confront you directly.

When he finally does, he'll back you into a corner and ask with frustration, "How come you're still distancing yourself from me? Am I not showing you enough affection?" He'll then lower his tone, "You don't need to run away from me...I love you, y/n...and there's nothing that anyone can say that will ever change that...", looking at you with that rare softness in his eyes that he only showed when he was pouring his heart out. And that's how you know he really meant it.

That look would further soften when you suddenly hug him tightly, and after melting in each other’s arms, he'll whisper into your ear, "I'll make sure you understand how much I love you tonight. Remember this moment whenever you find yourself doubting it"

And when you two make love that night, he'll seem a bit rough initially. He'll be pinning arms above your head, grasped tightly, kissing you ferociously that your teeth often clash, sucking on your skin so intensely, leaving marks of purple, and thrusting himself into you with so much force that you feel like the bed is going to break (which, it almost does, heh)

But after his first climax, releasing his remaining frustrations, he'll slow it down, also releasing his tight grip on your wrists to embrace you protectively, kissing up and down your neck as he thrusts long, slow strokes into you. He'd be all over you. His hands, his lips, and his tongue would again caress every spot on your body, especially on the spots he left a hickey on. He'd kiss them softly, and would cheekily smile into your skin, knowing that these marks would be visible for all to see the next day. After all, they need to know that you belong to him, just as his heart belongs to you.

"Can you SEE how much I love you?"

VIL, Jade, Rook, Jamil, Lilia, Rollo, Azul

You're self conscious? On his watch? Absolutely not.

Seems like you need to SEE how much he loves you in order to really believe it. So after quickly dealing with those who had planted their foolish ideas into your mind, he'll immediately take you to his room to help you confront your problem head on.

He'll be sitting at the edge of his bed, as he speaks to you, "Dear, I've noticed that you've been shying away from me because you've become self-conscious...you need not be. Do not listen to what others say, they don't matter. I adore you just as you are."

When he sees you finally ease up by his words, he'll smile tenderly at you and will then pat his thigh, "Come here..."

You do as you are told, and when you get close to him, he'll suddenly pull you onto his lap, wrapping his arms firmly around your waist, trapping you in his embrace. Funny thing is, up until now, you hadn't realized the grand mirror that was in front of you two. Had he always had that there? In fact, he did not. But today, he needed it for his plan to help you become less conscious. Oh, you're in for it now 😏

"I'm glad you've noticed the mirror. Keep your eyes on it...no matter what I do", he'll mention as he narrows his look into your eyes in its reflection, and you can definitely tell he was plotting something. You were about to ask about it until he surprises you with a multitude of kisses up and down your neck and down your shoulders. If you asked if you could face him, he'd immediately turn you down, telling you to look into the mirror.

And as he became more sensual, letting his hands roam up your body to cup your breasts and fondle them as he continued to kiss your jaw and insisted you to keep your eyes glued to the mirror, you eventually realized his plan: he was going to make you watch yourself as he made love to you.

You figured that it would be easy to endure, but soon enough, you'd think otherwise as he'd further surprise you with his touches.

He'd bring his hands down to your waistband and begin pulling your pants off so that your lower half was now bare. Then, bringing his hands back up to your thighs, he'd begin to spread your legs open slowly, while looking in the mirror to enjoy the view of your pussy all soaking wet for him. "Ah~ You're so wet", he'll grin, eyes half-lidded at the sight. He'll hover a hand over your heat and begins to rub his middle finger up and down your slick, earning a shudder from you. After rubbing it enough, he'll insert it into your hole, massaging your insides and finding that sensitive spot that has you squeezing onto his finger.

You look away from the mirror and shut your eyes at the pleasure he's giving you, but he'll click his tongue, and stops his motions at your reaction, "That won't do, dear. Don't look away". With his other hand, he'll grab your chin and make you face the mirror once more, "Open your eyes. You need to watch as I pleasure you" and with the lack of friction making you antsy, you open your eyes to watch the erotic sight of him touching you. "Good girl", he'll hum. And for that, he'll reward you by using his other hand to rub circles on your clit.

He'll continue to pleasure you while making you watch him, becoming pleased with himself as he was getting you to stare at the sight with less hesitation each time.

When at last he has himself inserted in you, thrusting up into you relentlessly as you both watch yourselves in the mirror, mouths agape as you both moan and pant, faces flushed, eyes heavy with lust, bodies wet from sweat and arousal, he'll lean in towards you ear, sultry whispering,

"Get used to this image, my love...become so accustomed to it that it won't matter what anyone says. You'll remember that you and I are meant to be together...joined as one both body and soul, just like this"

"Do you know what you do to me?"

MALLEUS, Sebek, Deuce, Riddle, Idia

He'd full of worry when you distance yourself from him, wondering if he had done or said something to cause it. Though, hen he finds out that the reason for it was your self-consciousness and the gossip of others that had influenced it, he is fuming. Who dares to insult his darling?! To make you feel this way? He'd be so tempted to make them endure his wrath, but he'd ultimately decide to deal with it later. The most important thing right now was you. It pained him to see you look at yourself that way when he thought the entire world of you. (He practically kisses the ground you walk on, lol)

So he would waste zero time to confront you because there's no way he was going to let you think that he didn't love and care for you.

Do you know exactly the effect you have on him? He'll let you know. He'll tell you how warm you make him feel inside, how you ease him while still managing to give him butterflies in his stomach everytime you laugh or smile at him, how grateful he is to have you in his life. He'll then take your hand, bring it up to his face, and lean his cheek into your palm, telling you how he easily melts into your touch and submits himself to you.

He'll guide your hand down his body, allowing you to feel the heat of his skin, down to his chest, where you can feel the pounding of his heart.

"Feel the rhythm of my heart...it only beats like that for you. You mean everything to me, y/n. Never forget that", and he would press a kiss onto your lips, desperation imbued into them. That desperation would soon turn into passion when you gladly returned his fervor, letting him know that you understood him and relief washed over him.

As you two fiercely kissed, devouring each other's mouths, letting your tongues dance, he realized that he was still holding your hand. So, he'd take the chance to continue guiding your hand further down his body to show you another effect you had on him. You'd gasp when your hand met with his clothed erection, breaking the kiss to look down at it and back up at him. He'll have a faint blush on his cheeks, but will look at you with a firmness in his eyes, "Only you make me feel this way." He'll release his grasp on you, yet, you'll maintain your grasp on him, ready to show him the love and affection that he showed you.

And indeed, you'll feel how enamored and obsessed you make him when you pull down his pants to free his throbbing cock, to lick it, suck on it, bounce on it, ride it, and squeeze it so good that the evidence of his love will be buried deep inside of you and will continue to overflow.

Extra:

He'll also show you what you do to him even when he wasn't with you at the moment. Even if you were away for a while, he'd send you a video touching himself to you. In the video, you'll see his beautiful face twisted in need as you listen to him panting, gasping, and moaning out your name numerous times, accompanied with the wet sounds of his sex being attended to. This would go on for several minutes for you to enjoy, and in the after his release, he'll look hazily to the camera, cheeks flushed, semen stained on his hand, abdomen, and thighs, lips parted as he breathlessly heaves out, "This is what you do to me"

If you were there, he wouldn't have made such a mess everywhere 'cause he would have made his mess inside of you instead, just sayin' ;)

(Cater isn't a part of this category, but I can totally see him doing this too!)

"I love your..."

NEIGE, Cater, KALIM, Che'nya, Trey, Ruggie

You distancing yourself from him would immediately have alarms going off in his head because this would be highly unusual. You two were always joined at the hip (sometimes literally) after all. When he realizes that you're self-conscious, he'll immediately reassure you.

"You know what I love so much about you? I'll tell you!" He'll grab your hand and bring it up to his lips, "I love your touch", and will kiss your palm. He'll then lean towards your face so that his lips were ghosting your forehead, "I love your beautiful mind", and kisses it. He'll then kiss the corner of your lips, "Your pretty smile", which would earn him that beloved expression from you, to his delight. He'll kiss down your neck, "Your voice and the things you say to me", and as he tries to kiss your collarbone, he will pull off your top to expose more of the skin he can kiss. He'll continue down towards your chest, kissing your warm bosom, "Your kind heart and affection". And he'll go on to kissing all over your body as he says what he adores and loves about you, removing any more clothing that might hinder his lips from meeting your skin.

With all his kisses, you were nearly laid entirely bare. All of your clothing were off except for your panties. As he lowers himself down to hover his lips on your clothed sex, he'll look up at you, blush dusted on his cheeks and a sensual look in his eye, "Would you allow me to continue saying what else I love about you?". And with your nod of permission, he'll slip the garment off, and whisper, "I love the way you taste" before giving a deep kiss to your lips. He'll go on to kiss it repeatedly and as you moan and sigh from his kisses below, he'll shakily breathe out, "I love the sounds you make when I'm making you feel good...a-ah..! You make me feel so good" as he mindlessly grinds into the mattress, pre-cum staining the bed, aroused by you.

You'd think he'd be done after letting you know the numerous things he loved about you, but he still had one more he had to say. So after letting you release your nectar onto his lips and drinking it, he's gonna line himself up to your dripping entrance, and will say, "I love being inside you", before inserting himself into your heat. He'll continue to mutter on with each thrust, "oh, you're so warm...you take me in so well...I love it...I love you....so very much"

And with all of the places he's kissed and all of his words of adoration, I'm sure you'll understand the magnitude of his love for you by the end of the night

a/n: this one was much longer than usual! Some seem a bit ooc and I honestly kinda gave up at the ends of most afshdkwgjak oh well 🫤

© 2023 lyneira. PLEASE DO NOT COPY, PLAGIARIZE, OR REPOST MY WRITING ONTO OTHER PLATFORMS

[unabashegirl]

The Cover | part 4

Y/N and Harry, lifelong best friends, pretend to be a couple for a family wedding weekend in Edinburgh. As they navigate the event, old feelings resurface, and what starts as an act turns into something real, leading them to confront their true emotions for one another.

Author's note: Hello everyone, here is the final part of the cover. I've decided to keep the smut exclusive to my Patreon subscribers. I hope that is okay with you. Also remember that this is a shorter version of the original.

I'm trying to come up with new ideas for one shots. Pls vote! Especially if you are subscribed to Patreon! Help Decide the Next One-Shot!

I'm still trying to gather the money to continue my journey to medical school in January. I've only gotten 1% of my goal. I'll leave the link here in case you would like or are able to help me. Please I am desperate! 🥺 https://ko-fi.com/mariabernal8706

Collections on Patreon!: These are ⭐️one-time purchases⭐️ that give you access to specific stories or series, even if they’re not fully finished. 👉🏻 You’ll get all the chapters available so far and automatically receive any new chapters as they’re posted. 👈🏻No membership needed! It’s perfect for those who want to enjoy a specific story without a monthly subscription. Plus, it’s a great way to support my work while getting exactly what you’re excited to read. Head over to my Patreon, find the Collections section, and grab the one that speaks to you. Once purchased, the content is yours to enjoy as it’s updated.

check out my patreon (starting at $2) and get full access to the rest of the chapters, various one shots and much more :)

As the evening wore on, the rehearsal dinner turned into a carefree celebration under the soft glow of fairy lights. Laughter filled the warm air, wine glasses clinked, and the once-formal atmosphere relaxed into something more boozy and free-spirited. Most guests had trickled out, leaving behind only close family and friends, including the bride, who was barefoot and swaying on the grass.

Harry sat at the large wooden table, eyes on the makeshift dance floor where family members stumbled over each other, laughing. His blazer was discarded over his chair, the top buttons of his shirt undone, a sheen of sweat glistening on his chest. The summer night was humid, and the heat from earlier hung in the air, clinging to everyone like a heavy blanket. Harry ran a hand through his tousled curls, the dampness at his hairline a reminder of how sticky the night had become.

Harry leaned back in his chair, one arm draped over the backrest, the other holding a glass of whiskey, now mostly just melted ice. He hadn’t been drinking much since the toasts, but the buzz from earlier still lingered, making him feel a little lighter than usual. His shirt clung to his chest, damp from the heat, and he unbuttoned another button to catch some air.

Across the yard, Y/N spun in her floral dress, laughter echoing in the warm night air, blending with the upbeat music from the DJ. Her cheeks were flushed, hair wild from dancing and drinks. She was the brightest thing in the yard, a glowing figure of joy among the family still hanging around.

Harry took a slow sip from his glass, his gaze never leaving her. She was magnetic—the way her dress swayed, the way she threw her head back when she laughed. It was impossible not to be drawn to her.

His shirt collar felt tight again, and Harry absentmindedly tugged at it, his eyes tracing the way Y/N’s dress hugged her in all the right places. There was something about the way she moved tonight—so free, so completely herself. It was like watching the most beautiful thing in the world, no filters, no pretenses.

He exhaled, a mix of admiration and frustration settling in. They hadn’t confessed anything yet—no love, no admissions of the truth that lingered between them. Watching her from the sidelines, it hit him just how deep he was in it.

Y/N’s cousin twirled her on the "dance floor," and for a split second, she stumbled, giggling as she caught herself. Beth, now barefoot, joined in, and the three of them—Y/N, her cousin, and Beth—started dancing in a clumsy circle, arms around each other’s shoulders.

The group’s laughter rang louder than the music, and even Y/N’s cousin—who had spent the evening showing off her fiancé and trying to impress Harry—was caught up in the happy, drunken haze of the night.

Harry sighed, rolling his shoulders and sinking back into his chair, the sweat on his skin cooling in the evening air. His gaze never left Y/N as she moved, effortlessly beautiful. It struck him again how out of place she seemed here—surrounded by these people, with their petty remarks and forced conversations. She was so much more than that. Watching her dance, carefree and full of life, made his chest tighten.

Then, as Y/N spun in the circle, her eyes met his. For a moment, her smile softened, more intimate, before she waved at him playfully, inviting him to join. Harry shook his head, raising his glass in a half-teasing salute.

She pouted, narrowing her eyes at him before rolling them and letting her arms drop from her cousin and Beth. Without missing a beat, she marched toward him, the fabric of her dress brushing her legs with each step.

“You’re really just going to sit there all night?” Y/N teased, standing in front of him with her hands on her hips. Her voice was light, but the challenge in her eyes was undeniable.

“I’m enjoying the view,” Harry replied, his voice lower than he meant to. He grinned, but there was no mistaking the heat behind his gaze.

Y/N’s lips curved into a knowing smile, and she tilted her head, studying him for a moment. “The view’s better up close,” she said, holding out her hand.

Harry stared at her outstretched hand, the challenge and playful spark in her eyes tempting him. It was impossible not to be drawn in. His heart raced, the idea of crossing that line between friendship and something more pulling him in.

For a moment, he considered brushing her off with another excuse. But something shifted. A decision settled in his chest, heavy but certain.

Without another word, he reached out, his hand taking hers. Instead of getting up, he tugged her gently toward him. Y/N gasped in surprise as he pulled her close, his grip firm but careful. She stumbled slightly, and before she could react, Harry pulled her down onto his lap.

“Harry—” she whispered, voice breathless, the protest fading before it even left her lips.

Harry wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. Y/N's legs draped over his lap as she sat sideways on him, his other hand settling on her thigh. The warmth of his touch seeped through the fabric of her dress, the floral print fluttering slightly as she adjusted. The delicate pattern contrasted with the intimacy of the moment.

His heart raced, but he kept his voice steady. “Thought you’d look better here,” he murmured, his words laced with both playfulness and something deeper.

Y/N looked up at him, wide-eyed and speechless for a moment, her cheeks flushed from the sudden closeness. She shifted in his lap, slow and tentative, the nervous energy between them thick and palpable. Neither of them had fully acknowledged the tension before.

Her hands found his chest, fingers brushing against the open buttons of his shirt. She swallowed hard. “Harry, what are you doing?” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. Was it a challenge? A question? Or just a way to steady herself in the chaos of emotions between them?

He smirked, though his heart felt like it might burst. "I don’t want to dance," he murmured in her ear. "I prefer being here with you."

Her breath hitched at his words. For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. She’d always hidden her feelings, pushed them aside, but this felt different. It felt real. The way Harry’s arms held her, the way his breath brushed against her skin—it was as if they’d always been this close, even when they hadn’t.

Y/N bit her lip, her nerves taking over for a moment. She wasn’t sure if this was just Harry being playful or if something had really changed between them. But as she sat in his lap, his hand on her thigh, the truth felt undeniable.

Harry could feel her hesitation, the tension in her posture, caught between leaning into him and pulling away. His thumb brushed over the fabric of her dress, a small, reassuring touch, silently telling her it was okay to stay.

“Relax,” he whispered in her ear, his voice low and soft. “Just… stay.”

Y/N exhaled, her body melting into his as she allowed herself to give in to the moment. She leaned her head back against his chest, their breaths syncing as they sat close and quiet, the fading party around them.

The world blurred into a soft hum, the laughter and music fading into the background. All that remained was the warmth of Harry’s embrace, the steady beat of his heart beneath her hand, and the electricity of their unspoken feelings finally surfacing.

Y/N closed her eyes for a moment, her hand resting over Harry’s on her thigh, fingers intertwining. “What are we doing, Harry?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he tightened his hold on her, his lips near her temple. “I’m not sure,” he murmured, “but I don’t want to stop.”

Her heart fluttered at his words. For the first time that night, she allowed herself to believe—just a little—that maybe he felt the same way she did.

Y/N took a deep breath, summoning the courage she needed. The alcohol made her head spin, but it also gave her the boldness to act. She knew if anything was going to happen, it had to be now.

Suddenly, she stood up from his lap. Harry looked up at her, surprise and curiosity flashing in his eyes. Y/N reached for his glass, brushing against his fingers as she took it. Without breaking eye contact, she downed his drink in one swift motion.

Harry’s gaze was intense, a mix of desire and uncertainty in his eyes. Y/N’s heart raced, but she ignored the nerves and extended her hand to him—an invitation, a challenge, all in one.

For a moment, Harry hesitated, his eyes searching hers. Then, slowly, deliberately, he took her hand. Y/N felt a jolt of electricity as their fingers intertwined. With a gentle tug, she pulled him up from his seat, their bodies close, the tension between them undeniable.

Without a word, Y/N led Harry away from the fading party, through the quiet halls of the house. The sounds of laughter and music drifted behind them, their footsteps echoing softly in the silence, their heartbeats quickening in sync.

They reached the door to their shared bedroom, and Y/N paused, her hand on the doorknob. She turned to face Harry, her eyes searching his.

His gaze was intense, a mix of desire and something deeper. He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The simple touch sent shivers down her spine.

“Are you sure about this?” he whispered, his voice low and husky.

Y/N nodded, her voice barely audible. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

With that, she turned the doorknob, and they stepped into the room together, closing the door behind them. The night was far from over, and whatever happened next would change everything.

Y/N woke up before Harry, her head pounding slightly from the drinks of last night. The dull throb of a hangover tugged at her, but the memories of the night before were as vivid as ever. Every touch, every whispered word, every lingering moment—it was all clear in her mind.

She lay there for a moment, blinking against the soft morning light filtering through the curtains. Her gaze drifted to Harry, lying beside her on his stomach, completely naked. The sheet had been kicked off during the night, leaving him uncovered. His broad back rose and fell with each slow breath, muscles relaxed, his messy curls falling across his forehead. He looked peaceful, vulnerable, and breathtakingly beautiful.

For a brief moment, Y/N let herself admire him—the smooth lines of his back, the curve of his spine, the way his body seemed perfectly at ease. A warmth spread through her chest, not just from the memories of their night together, but from the way Harry made her feel in this quiet, unspoken moment.

With a sigh, she slipped out of bed as quietly as possible. Grabbing a pair of pajamas from her suitcase, she slipped them on, the soft fabric comforting against her skin. Her mind buzzed with thoughts of the day ahead—the wedding, the ceremony, the reception.

Y/N cast one last glance at Harry before tiptoeing out of the room. She needed a moment to herself—and some breakfast—before the chaos of the day began.

Heading downstairs, she stepped into the dining room, still feeling the faint throb of a hangover, but the promise of coffee and food was enough to offer some relief. She spotted her cousin and Beth immediately. Both looked worse for wear after last night's festivities. Beth was lounging in her chair, sipping a Bloody Mary with a smug expression, while Y/N’s cousin—the bride—was nursing her headache with a cold compress pressed to her puffy face, slowly nibbling on toast.

"Morning," Y/N greeted as she made her way to the coffee pot, pouring herself a steaming cup. She sat down at the table, hoping the caffeine would kick in and help her survive the day ahead. Beth’s eyes sparkled mischievously as she took another sip of her drink.

"So," Beth said, leaning forward with a sly grin. "Where did you disappear off to last night?"

Y/N’s cheeks flushed with heat, the memory of waking up next to Harry still fresh in her mind. She tried to play it cool, taking a long sip of her coffee before responding. "We just... went to bed early," she said, keeping her tone casual, hoping to brush it off. "Nothing exciting."

Beth’s grin only grew wider. "Uh-huh. Sure. You just went to sleep, huh?" She leaned in, lowering her voice like they were sharing a secret. "Come on, Y/N, don’t be shy. You’re a dirty girl now, aren’t you?"

Y/N nearly choked on her coffee, her face burning even hotter as she shot a glare at Beth. "Beth, seriously," she muttered, feeling more exposed than she wanted to admit. Before she could say anything else, her cousin, the bride, spoke up.

"I’m actually glad we have a moment to talk alone," her cousin said, setting down her toast and focusing her attention on Y/N. Her voice was sweet, but there was a sharpness in it that immediately put Y/N on edge. "I’ve been wanting to bring this up for a while now."

Y/N’s pulse quickened as she turned to face her cousin. "Oh?"

Her cousin smiled tightly, pressing the ice pack harder against her swollen face. "I’ve been meaning to say… I’m a bit surprised, to be honest." She gave a small, pointed shrug before continuing. "That someone like Harry would notice… well, someone like you."

Y/N’s heart sank, though she’d braced herself for comments like this. Hearing it still stung. Her cousin’s words were dripping with condescension, like she couldn’t believe Harry would even look twice at Y/N, let alone be interested.

"Someone like me?" Y/N echoed, her voice calm but guarded, forcing herself to keep her tone even.

Her cousin waved a hand dismissively. "You know what I mean. You’ve always been so quiet, so reserved. And Harry’s... well, he’s Harry Styles. A global superstar. It’s just... unexpected, that’s all."

Y/N’s stomach twisted as insecurity rose to the surface. She’d always known Harry’s fame was a shadow that loomed over everything, especially in situations like this. But hearing it like this? It felt personal. It felt like her cousin was questioning her worth, her place beside Harry.

Before Y/N could think of a response, Beth cut in with a sharp laugh. "Oh, shut up," she said, dismissing the bride’s thinly veiled insult with a wave of her hand. "Harry doesn’t care about all that. If anything, he’s lucky Y/N even looks at him."

Y/N shot Beth a grateful glance, feeling the tension shift slightly in the room, but her cousin wasn’t done. She leaned back in her chair, sizing Y/N up with an unreadable look. "Well, I suppose we’ll see," she said, her voice laced with skepticism. "But it’s just... different. I never would've guessed."

Y/N swallowed, trying to keep her composure, but her cousin’s words hung in the air like a cloud she couldn’t shake. She took a deep breath, forcing a smile despite the nervous flutter in her chest. "Yeah," Y/N said softly. "It is different."

Beth, ever the firecracker, raised her Bloody Mary in a mock toast. "Different is good."

Y/N’s cousin’s voice dripped with saccharine sweetness, her next words like poison. "I mean, you’re just so... simple," she said, emphasizing the word in a way that felt anything but kind. "And that’s okay! Not everyone has to be flashy or... glamorous." She waved her hand dismissively, as if to brush aside any possibility that Y/N could be more than what she was implying. "You’ve always been the quiet one, the one in the background. I suppose some people might find that... charming."

Y/N forced a tight smile, but her cousin’s words stung deeper than she expected. Doubt crept in with every backhanded comment. Was she really that unremarkable? Did everyone see her the way her cousin did—as someone who didn’t quite belong with someone like Harry?

Beth wasn’t having any of it. “Simple?” she scoffed. “You mean down-to-earth, real—not fake like some people I can name.”

Her cousin smirked, clearly pleased with herself. “Look at Harry’s usual type—models, actresses. Saw him with that model in London last week? They looked so into each other.”

Y/N froze, her stomach twisting. “What model?” she barely managed to ask.

Her cousin leaned back, eyes sparkling. “You must’ve seen the pictures. They were everywhere. Harry was all over her. Thought they were dating.”

Y/N’s head spun, images of Harry with someone else filling her mind. She hadn’t seen those photos, but the thought gnawed at her.

Beth wasn’t having it. “Can you stop stirring shit? Harry’s here with Y/N, clearly doesn’t care about some random model.”

Y/N’s cousin didn’t respond, just gave a tight smile. Y/N tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest.

Y/N’s cousin gave her a sweet, condescending smile. “I just thought they looked so... in love. But who knows?” Her eyes glinted, clearly relishing the discomfort she was trying to stir.

Y/N felt the doubt creep in, but instead of reacting, she straightened her back. She locked eyes with her cousin and said, her tone ice-cold, “You know, I could say a lot of things right now. Things that would take that smug look off your face.”

Her cousin blinked, caught off guard. Y/N smiled, the edge never leaving her voice. “But since it’s your wedding day, I’ll keep them to myself. I’ll play the part, smile for the cameras, and make sure everything’s ‘perfect.’”

With that, Y/N turned and walked away, the weight of the moment settling in as she left her cousin speechless. No more doubts. Not today.

Y/N shot her cousin a cold smile, letting the weight of her words sink in. "After today, we’ll be strangers. I don’t plan on speaking to someone so self-absorbed and cold-hearted ever again."

Beth raised an eyebrow, impressed by Y/N's bluntness, but her cousin's face fell, her shock turning to indignation. Before she could respond, Y/N brushed off her hands nonchalantly. "Now, if you’ll excuse me, let me know when hair and makeup get here," she said casually, turning on her heel and walking out.

But as soon as the door closed behind her, Y/N’s facade cracked. The anger that had fueled her words faded, replaced by confusion and pain. Her heart raced, and doubts flooded her mind. Was her cousin right? Did she really belong in Harry’s world? Or was this all just a fantasy? The thought of facing him upstairs—of confronting everything she was feeling—felt too overwhelming. She couldn’t do it, not now.

Y/N slipped quietly through the back door into the garden, the crisp morning air doing little to ease the storm inside her. Coffee cup in hand, she made her way to a small table, steam rising from the mug, the only warmth she could feel.

Her hands shook as she took a sip, the bitter taste matching the thoughts spiraling in her mind. The garden, serene and beautiful, felt like a different world from the chaos in her head.

She had no answers, no idea what to do, or where to go. It all felt like it was slipping through her fingers.

Y/N gripped the mug tightly, trying to steady her racing thoughts. But before she could find her peace, the back door creaked open.

Her mom stormed out, face flushed with anger. Y/N didn’t need to ask why—her cousin had already run to her, no doubt twisting things to make her the villain.

"Y/N!" her mom’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and demanding. “What did you say to your cousin?”

Y/N tensed, her heart sinking. Of course, this was coming. She didn’t even look at her mom, just stared into her coffee, hoping it would swallow her whole.

"She came to me in tears, Y/N! Tears! On her wedding day! How could you be so cruel?"

Y/N bit the inside of her cheek, keeping her voice steady. She didn’t want to argue—not when she felt so broken inside. "You don’t know what she said to me," she murmured. "She’s been making snide remarks all morning—about me, about Harry. About everything."

Her mom crossed her arms, annoyed. "She’s the bride, Y/N! You could’ve let it go. It’s one day. Now look at what you’ve done. The whole family is talking about it."

Y/N’s chest tightened. "It’s always about how things look, isn’t it?" she muttered, almost to herself. "I didn’t want to make a scene, but I wasn’t going to let her tear me down, not today. Not when I’m already—" she stopped, not wanting to show just how fragile she felt. "Not when she was being completely out of line."

Y/N’s heart dropped as her mother’s words hit their mark. “Out of line?” Her mom scoffed. “She was just pointing out the obvious. Harry isn’t like us. He’s not… your type. And everyone knows it. You should’ve thought twice before bringing him into all of this.”

The sting of her mother’s words cut deep. It was like being told, once again, that she didn’t fit in. That she was too much of an outsider, even in her own life. She felt small, like everything she’d worked so hard for wasn’t enough to make her belong.

“Mom,” Y/N whispered, trying to hold back the wave of emotion building in her chest. “Why do you always make me feel like I’m not enough?”

Her mother paused, just for a second, before shaking her head, as if dismissing Y/N’s hurt. “I’m just saying you need to be realistic,” she said, voice lowering as if that would soften the blow. “Harry’s great, but he doesn’t belong here. You don’t belong here. You need to think about what’s best for you.”

That was it. The words that would stay with Y/N for days. The ones that would echo in her mind, repeating like a broken record. She wanted to scream, to tell her mom how much it hurt, but instead, all she could do was blink back the tears. She didn’t have the strength to keep fighting, not now, not with everything weighing on her.

“Just… fix this,” her mom ordered, voice soft but still holding that cold command. “Make it right before the wedding starts. You owe her that.”

Y/N felt the world close in, her heart sinking lower than she ever thought it could.

Y/N’s heart sank as her mom walked away, leaving her standing in the cold. No response. No comfort. Just the weight of her words hanging in the air. She wiped at the tears that had started to spill, her chest tight with everything she couldn’t say, everything she couldn’t change.

She dragged herself upstairs, each step heavier than the last. Her mind was a mess, full of her cousin’s cruel comments and her mom’s cold disappointment. What was she supposed to do with all of this? Where could she go?

When she opened the bedroom door, the warm steam from the shower hit her like a wave, and there he was—Harry. Freshly showered, his damp hair curling at the ends, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. He was toweling off, his back to her. For a moment, she stood frozen. Her heart ached, unsure of how to handle the storm brewing inside her.

Then he turned around, his face lighting up when he saw her. “Hey, there you are,” he said, walking toward her with that familiar smile. But then, his expression faltered when he noticed the tear stains on her face, the redness in her eyes.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked softly, his hand reaching for her. He moved toward her as if to kiss her, but stopped short, brow furrowed in concern.

Y/N opened her mouth, but no words came out. She tried to smile, to act like it wasn’t a big deal, but it was—everything felt too big. Her throat tightened, and the tears started all over again.

Harry’s face softened, his hands cupping her face gently as he wiped at the fresh tears. “Talk to me. What happened?”

Y/N’s heart raced in her chest. The question she didn’t want to ask, but needed to, bubbled up. “Are you seeing someone? A model?”

Harry froze. The question caught him off guard. “What? A model?”

Y/N's voice trembled, her tears barely held back. “Are you seeing a model, Harry? Please, just tell me the truth.”

Harry looked at her, confused. “What? No, I’m not seeing anyone. Where’s this coming from?”

She choked on her words. “My cousin said she saw pictures of you with someone in London last week, and—”

He immediately softened, understanding clicking. “Y/N, listen to me,” he said, his voice steady and warm. “If I was seeing someone, you’d know. I’m not dating anyone. It’s just you and me.”

Her heart lifted with the sincerity in his voice. He pulled her closer, his forehead resting against hers. “You know how the media is—they make stories out of nothing. Those pictures? Nothing serious. Just some event.”

Y/N closed her eyes, leaning into him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It’s just… everything here has me so confused.”

Y/N melted into Harry's embrace, the warmth of his words easing the ache in her chest.

Harry held her close, his hand soothing her hair. He pulled back slightly, his green eyes full of concern. "Y/N, we don't have to stay here," he said gently. "We can leave right now. You don't have to stay if it's making you feel like this."

Her heart raced as she blinked up at him. “But it’s the wedding…”

“I don’t care,” he cut in, shaking his head. “I don’t want to see you upset over something your cousin said. You don’t need to deal with that. Not another second.” He cupped her face, his eyes searching hers. “We can go. We’ll pack up, drive back to London—just you and me. Leave all this behind.”

Y/N felt her chest tighten, knowing he meant it. He would drop everything for her, even for the weekend. The sincerity in his voice made her heart ache.

“I don’t want to see you hurt, love,” Harry murmured. “If staying here means you’re miserable, then let’s go. We can make our own weekend. No pressure, no fake smiles, no cruel comments.”

Y/N swallowed hard, the idea of leaving so tempting. But she still hesitated. “Harry, I... I don’t know.”

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “It’s your choice. We stay if you want, but you don’t owe anyone here anything. Not even your family.”

Y/N rested her hands on Harry’s chest, leaning into his warmth. The idea of running away with him was tempting, but she couldn’t just walk away—not now, not after everything. Still, his words meant everything.

“I… I think I want to stay,” she whispered, voice steady. “I don’t want to run, Harry. Not from them.”

Harry nodded, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “Alright. But if you change your mind, we’re gone. I’ll pack in a heartbeat.” His small smile made her laugh softly, despite the tears still clinging to her lashes.

“Thank you,” she murmured, sinking back into his arms. “For everything.”

“I’ve got you, always,” Harry whispered, his breath warm against her hair. “No matter what.”

The wedding was beautiful. Y/N couldn’t deny it. Despite the tension with her cousin, the love between the bride and groom was undeniable. Her cousin’s eyes sparkled as she walked down the aisle, and the way her fiancé looked at her—like she was the only person in the world—had Y/N’s heart swelling. She even teared up a little.

Though Y/N hadn’t patched things up with her cousin, she didn’t feel the need to apologize. She knew she’d done nothing wrong. Her cousin’s hurtful words had crossed a line, and Y/N wasn’t about to apologize for standing her ground. Harry agreed, and that was all that mattered.

As for Harry? He was the star of the wedding. Eyes constantly on him, people whispering and sneaking glances, captivated by the famous face. But Harry didn’t seem to care. His focus was entirely on one person.

Y/N.

he was wearing a sky-blue silk dress that seemed to float with every step. The fabric hugged her perfectly, and her hair tumbled in loose waves around her shoulders. Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away. Throughout the ceremony, the reception, and every moment in between, his gaze never left her—she was the most breathtaking thing in the room.

No matter how many people tried to pull him into conversation, Harry stayed focused on her. His hand found hers more than once, squeezing it under the table during speeches, or brushing her back as they weaved through the crowd.

Every time Y/N caught his gaze, her heart skipped a beat. That warm, genuine smile—just for her—made her feel like she was the only person in the world. There was an unspoken bond between them, growing stronger with every minute that passed.

As the night wore on, filled with laughter and celebration, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of pride. Not just for standing up for herself, but for the man standing by her side.

[yeonzzzn]

jay au where y/n is also an idol and they have a situationship and they always do tiktok challenges together and when jay recorded a challenge with other idol y/n is like OHHHHH SO YOU *TALK* WITH OTHER GIRLS? and is sooooo jealous (literally me in my silly little delulu head cause wdym jay talks with other ppl???)

NO BC I AM IN LOVE WITH THIS CONCEPT‼️‼️such a cute idea!

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

it’s just a tiktok challenge

paring: jay x afab!reader word count: 1.6k

You didn’t know what was worse:

1: Your situationship with Jay or  2: The fact that this situationship with Jay is a secret. 

You obviously didn’t understand how the world didn’t already know the two of you are more than just friends. Mostly since anytime there’s a new TikTok challenge, you were always the first person Jay called and vice versa. 

Of course, Jay used the challenges as one of the excuses to see you out in public. To drag you to whatever good spot for the challenge and have it secretly be a date afterward. 

Being idols has made it hard for the two of you to officially slap a label on whatever it is that your relationship is. Jay was your best friend and you were his, so obviously when the two of you are seen in public together or doing the TikTok challenges no one bats an eye at it. And anytime either of you has been confronted on whether it’s more than friends, you both deny everything. 

It sucked, truly. To keep the situationship such a secret.

Jay felt the same way. He hated having to find ways to sneak you into the dorms or sneak into yours just to have a quick fuck or spend as much time with you as possible in a way that the public eye wouldn’t know anything. All Jay wanted to do was scream from the rooftops about how in love with you he was. And the only way he knew how to voice that was through this situationship and the TikTok challenges. 

He’d always sneak glances at you while doing the challenge, as in a way of hoping you’d see it. Jay knew you had feelings for him too, you’ve both discussed your feelings, just not in depth. 

Both are so in love with each other but neither of you knew it. Thinking it was just a small crush mixed with friends with benefits and acting innocent when the cameras are on.

Sometimes you’d both risk getting caught, having a quick make-out session behind the stages or stairs or closet or wherever Jay was able to pin your body against him. Just to get his fix of you before having to go back to pretending. 

It’s award show season and all the idols are gathered in one place, taking selfies and videos, going on Instagram lives together, and of course; TikTok challenges. 

Jay searched the sea of idols for you, constantly checking his phone to see if you’ve texted him, but have yet to hear from you. 

Sunghoon nudges Jay’s side, teasing him about you and Jay flips him the bird, “Shut up! Don’t speak too loud.” 

Of course, his group knew about the two of you, and the same with your group. Who else was going to help film the challenges and sneak you both in and out of your company buildings and dorm rooms? 

Jay slides his hands into his pockets, releasing a sigh as he continues to search for you, only for Chaewon to pop up at his side, “Jay! Want to do our new choreography dance challenge with me? Please!” 

She clung to his arm, smiling at him. Jay shrugged, smiling back, “Sure why not! How about in the hallway? It’s got pretty good lighting.” 

Chaewon agreed, asking Sunghoon to film the challenge. Sunghoon took a smirking glance at Jay and agreed. 

Jay didn’t do challenges without you. It was always you or the members he did them with. So this was the first time since before meeting you that he’d do a challenge with another idol. 

They filmed the dance challenge, then Jay offered Chae to do their comeback title challenge too, to which she agreed. 

Your group arrived a bit late but still just in time. You smoothed out your white cropped tank top and double-checked your fishnet tights underneath your white jeaned shorts, your group was set to perform early on into the show, so you all showed up already ready. 

“He already thinks you’re sexy, YN, stop fidgeting with your outfit,” one of your elder bandmates teased, pinching your cheek, “You’re cute, he knows it.” 

You couldn’t lie and say you were just trying to make sure the outfit was okay, mostly when in reality you were hoping Jay’s jaw would drop at the sight of you. 

You released a sigh, looking out around the stage and the sea of people, trying to find him. You found his group, seeing all the boys huddled together and laughing at something Jake was showing them on his phone, but Jay wasn’t there, Sunghoon was also missing. 

You glanced more around the crowd, finally eyeing the two boys and Chaewon walking back to their seats. You watched as Jay and Sunghoon gave her a smile and nod before parting ways, reuniting with their groups, and seeing Jay pull his phone from his pocket. 

Pulling your phone from your back pocket, you went to his messages, typing out that you could see him and comment how handsome he looked, only to be distracted by another notification on TikTok: Enhypen posted a video! 

You smiled and clicked the notification, expecting it to be something silly Jay and Sunghoon just filmed, only for your smile to slowly drop at seeing Chaewon by Jay’s side. 

As if on cue, you received a text from Jay.

Jay: Where are you? I want to see you before you perform. I bet you look so pretty :(

You locked your phone and ignored his message. 

Jealousy wasn’t a normal emotion for you. You haven’t had to ever feel it, really. Yes, there were *small* moments but it wasn’t ever anything major. Until today. 

Your group was finally called to perform, your headsets and equipment being handed to each of your group members and being escorted to the stage. 

The performance was three song lengths long, and you kept your smile the entire time, only making eye contact with Jay once, trying your best to keep your eyes everywhere but at him. 

Once the performance was over, your group headed to a changing room. You glanced down at your phone, seeing multiple texts. 

Jay: god you look so good  Jay: <3 <3 <3 <3 Jay: those fishnets are killing me YN  Jay: meet me at the stairs the moment you see these  Jay: fuck the things I want to do to you right now. 

You thinned your lips in a line, debating to either ignore him or go to him. 

You went to him. 

You had barely pushed the door open to the stairs and took two steps down before Jay had his hands on your waist, lifting you off the stairs and pinning you to the wall, his lips crashing to yours. 

His hand trailed down to your thighs, pushing his fingers between the strings of your fishnets and squeezing the plush skin, “Fuck you’re so hot,” he whispered between kisses, shoving his tongue down your throat and rocking his growing hard length against your tummy. 

You placed your hands on his shoulders, slightly pushing him back from you so you could catch your breath, resting your head against the wall. 

It took one look at your face for Jay to realize something was wrong. Normally you’d be jumping his bones at this moment, but you’re clocked out and far away from here, far from him. 

He cupped your face, resting his forehead against yours, “What’s wrong, honey?” 

You sighed, pouting your lips and moving your head away from his and his hands, “Oh, nothing.” 

Jay took a step back from you, raising a brow, “That attitude says otherwise.” 

You crossed your arms, slouching against the wall, “What reason would I have to be upset, Jongseong?” 

He stared at you, running through every possible thing that could be upsetting you and then it finally clicked. 

Jay smirks, placing both his hands on either side of your face, “You’re jealous, aren’t you?” 

You weren’t shocked that Jay figured it out so quickly, he knew you inside and out. 

You shrugged, looking away from him. 

Jay pressed his body back against yours, bringing his face close to yours, brushing his lips against your ear, “You’re so hot when you’re jealous.” 

He nibbles on the shell of your ear and you bite your tongue to keep from whimpering, “I am not jealous.” 

Jay traces his lips down to your neck, “Baby, it’s just a TikTok challenge.” 

You scoff, “So you talk with other girls then?” 

“You are so jealous,” he chuckles against your neck, “Chaewon and I are under the same company, I can do challenges with her.” You tried to push him away again, but his body held firm against yours. 

You pouted more and tried to hold yourself together from exploding out your emotions. 

“Baby,” he whispered, moving his face back to yours, once again cupping your face, “You’re the one that I want, okay? I love you. I want you. There’s no need to be jealous over a TikTok challenge. There’s still so much more I can do with you.” 

You stared into his brown eyes, “You love me?” 

He chuckled, “Of course I do.” 

You felt stupid for being jealous, mostly when Jay is allowed to have other friends to do challenges with. You felt stupid for being jealous when he was in love with you. How silly you felt as you curled your lips into a small. 

“There’s that smile I love,” he smiled back, rubbing his thumbs against your cheeks, “Now,” he went back into a whisper, sliding his hands down to your ass, “I have about thirty minutes before my group is called to perform, let’s make it count, ya?” 

You attach your lips to his, your hands working at his belt. 

At least to say, you both made every second of that thirty minutes count.

— perm taglist: @alvojake @ikeuverse @woniebae @shawnyle @kangnina @jwnghyuns @in-somnias-world @zyvlxqht @aaa-sia @wonniethepoo @addictedtohobi @eneiyri @sparklovespink @skzenhalove @fakeuwus @cherry-park @vousty @ladyartemesia @psh9 @cmoundiamante @enhaverse713586 @wondipity @lhsvibez @belowbun @jaeyunq @rikizm @kaykay11sworld @pockettwinzz @vixialuvs @seunghancore

[regainingparadise]

Relistening to TMA Season 5, I am again struck by how goddam badly Martin and Jon need couples counseling.

I love them both. I ship them very much. But oh lord they have issues

Like, these are two individuals who, under the very best of circumstances, would really need therapy both individually and together. They are both people with plentiful quantities of relational trauma from childhood that neither of them have worked through even the slightest bit.

And then you throw them into the apocalypse. And you add a metric fuck ton of guilt, helplessness, and the dynamics of being "The Antichrist and +1"?

On a surface level--Jon is in a perpetual state of information overload. Martin is in a perpetual state of "can you please just explain the basics of what's' going on in a given situation and not just say "it's complicated" or launch into a gruesome monologue"

But on a deeper level, their childhood relational traumas have left them each with opposing avoidant tendencies: Jon is unwilling to broach a difficult conversation, which leads him to hide information until he's confronted. Martin, on the other hand, has a finely honed ability to ignore information that he doesn't like until he no longer can hide from it.

Biggest example of their avoidance tendencies: Martin's Domain

Way early on, when we barely understand any of how the hellscape works, Jon mentions it, Martin shuts it down hard and deflects quickly with a bid for affection from Jon

Martin is in deliberate denial, but Jon admittedly wasn't particularly clear to start with.

"We all have a domain."

Jon means it, presumably, as "Me, You, and other 'Avatars.'" Jon is used to being grouped with those empowered by the Entities. Martin isn't. (see also: MAG185: Martin" Is that how these creatures see us now? As one of them?") But that's not what Jon says. And this is MAG167--they've only been through four domains, at least that we've seen. Jon is speaking from a place of knowledge, and assuming his listener has that same knowledge.

And when this issue comes up much later in MAG183, Martin has spent 17 episodes ignoring or forgetting that he has a domain, not letting that information in so that he has never processed it. (See also: Mag170: "Sometimes I wonder if I forget things on purpose. Easier not to think about them, I guess. Easier to just let them… slip away. They can’t hurt you if you don’t think about them.").

Martin confronts Jon on his avoidance (because while Martin may be good at ignoring things he doesn't like, he's far better at bringing up challenging topics), Jon is able to manage some A+ communication on his feelings and the genuine challenging of figuring out how to share upsetting information when he has All The Information, Martin accepts that. I just desperately want a therapist to be there and make them continue this conversation and practice ongoing good communication skills!

Though they resolve this, even though Jon has an explanation that makes sense...he was really leaving this conversation to the last minute. Would he have "[brought] it up at the crossroads" as he claims to Helen? Or would he have avoided it entirely, as she accuses, or waited till they were at the threshold, as he does with The Desolation and the Hunt, leaving Martin to confront terrifying situations without forewarning or planning or explanation.

Again, Jon kind of tried to bring up some of the potential issues with Basira and Daisy before entering the Hunt domain, but kept it Vague and Ominous ("Things aren't...good"). Martin took that vagueness as an opening to avoid engaging with potential bad news. The teensiest bit of therapy for either of them about their communication issues could have let Jon add "I know you're exited but FYI here are some specifics that you should know" and/or Martin go "I'm excited to see them but given that nothing is good right now, can you be more specific?"

Instead, Jon approaches difficult conversations by being Vague and Ominous, Martin gets snarky or passive-aggressive at the vagueness, upset or aggressively avoidant at the Ominousness, Jon closes back up like a turtle into his shell, and the conversation only comes back up when the situation has drastically escalated, leaving them both more upset.

Jon wants Martin to trust him, because explaining what he knows implicitly is an ordeal for him, and because his upbringing by his grandmother has suggested that communicating is generally unwanted and burdensome (See: MAG081 A Guest for Mr. Spider).

Martin wants to know what is going on, because he's in an awful hellscape of shifting rules about what can and cannot hurt them, completely dependent on a brand-new romantic partner for his survival and purpose, and also because his upbringing and coping mechanisms as a caretaker rely on him knowing enough to help, and his time as an archival assistant has given him some not-inconsiderable trauma about being left in the dark (See: MAG118 The Masquerade) (There's also another post in my head about how MAG118 primed Martin for both the Lonely and his development as a more confrontational character in S5)

All that to say.

Martin needs therapy to deal with the way he chooses not to absorb information he doesn't like. Jon needs therapy to understand that sometimes it's ok to bring up important topics even if the other person will be upset. They both need therapy to cope with all the guilt and helplessness around the apocalypse so they stop taking it out on each other. They need therapy together to learn how to work through their conflicting coping mechanisms.

[minhyungsluvr]

MARK + 00' LINE | FIGHTS WITH THEM

a/n: would you believe this has been in the drafts for a year now!!! The dialogue kicked my ass, but alas I prevailed

MARK: NOT TAKING CARE OF HIMSELF

He had texted you, saying it was another late practice. For the past week he had left earlier in the morning, and came back late at night barely able to keep his eyes open long enough to slip into bed beside you. You had brought it up before, or tried to, and he brushed you off. Saying it was apart of his job, he doesn't need a break, he feels fine. You not even sure if he's eating properly. The final straw was when he came home late again, this time you were away waiting on him. Like clock work, he comes through the door sluggishly. Movements slow, eyes heavy from lack of sleep. It almost pained you to bring it up now when the last thing he probably wanted was to hear you fuss over him again. But if you didn't bring it up now, then would you be able to again. "Mark, this really isn't healthy. You're not sleeping, I'm not sure your even eating meals. I'm sure you can afford a couple of days to relax." You spoke softly, hoping that keeping your voice soft would slim the chances of a fight starting. That didn't work. "Baby..." he started with a sigh. " I really don't want get into this tonight, I'm tired" he said as he walked past you to get to the bedroom. You followed him, still trying to make your point. "I'm not trying to nag or anything, but I just want you to start taking better care of yourself". He's still not listening to you, he to busy chaning into his pajamas. "Are you listening to me", you ask, now feeling frustrated. "I am, and I mean it when I say I'm fine. So can you please drop it so we cam go sleep." He turns to you as he speaks, waiting for you to say something else before moving. You nod once, "okay, fine." You slip under the covers, back towards him, you don't say goodnight and neither does he.

RENJUN: NOT WANTING TO MEET YOUR FRIENDS

Renjun was your first serious relationship, and you had hoped he'd be your last. He was everything you could ask for in a boyfriend. He was caring, you had similar interests, and be made time for you despite his busy schedule. You've met a lot of the members of his group, you loved their dynamic. The way they were like family, how they were able to joke with each other like brothers. Your relationship was moving beautifully, until you invited him to brunch with some of your friends. When you asked, he Immediately froze up. Stumbling over his words to give you a quick, barely thought out excuse of why he would be busy during that time. You asked him again a week later, this time it was bowling. And again, he suddenly had to go do something with his members that he just thought about. It had been a month of bad excuses and dodging ever attempt at trying to meet your friends. They were starting to think you were making it up. It came to the point where you had to confront his about it. On a day where he was most definitely not bust you asked him again, "do you want to come with me a few friends for lunch"? You could feel him tense from his position on you as you both were stretched across the couch. "Ummm....." he started, beginning to sit up. "Why don't you want to meet my friends? I've met yours, and it was a lot of them." You spoke, exasperated. He starts looked around, like he's trying to find another excuse. "Stop" You saying, now also sitting up, "be honest with me Renjun. Why do you keep lying?" He hears your voice wobble, see your eyes get glossy. "I just don't understand, I've told how important my friends are to me and you won't even try to meet them." He's quick to console you as a tesr finally makes its way down your cheek. "It's not that I don't want to, I'm just nervous. I know how much they mean to you, and-" You cut him off, " I really like Renjun, and for us to get build our relationship your going to have to meet the important people in my life like I've met yours." You had taken his hand in yours, giving reassuring squeezes every now and then as he let your words sink in.

HEACHAN: DOESN'T TAKE YOU SERIOUSLY

This problem has been festering for a minute, and it’s probably your fault the situation is as big as it is. You should’ve brought it up when it was only a small issue, not when you came home from work later than usual with an attitude because your boss is a jerk. All you wanted was to come home to a clean and quiet home, instead you walk through the door to hear your boyfriend yelling through from the bedroom. All the dirty dishes were piled up in the sink, including the ones from the morning that you asked him to clean before you got home. When you walked in the room to ask him about the mess that was your kitchen, you didn’t want it to turn into a fight. It started with you asking him why he didn’t wash the dishes like you asked, especially since he was home all day. Then it ended with you accusing him of never taking you seriously. “What do you mean I don’t take you seriously?” he asked, no longer shouting. “I mean exactly what I said, you don’t take me seriously. When I tell you something you only joke about it.” The frustration was on your face and his as you started listing instances where he turned what you were feeling or what you said into a joke. Hot tears welled up in your eyes as you kept talking, anger building up from the long day you had and the argument you were having with Haechan. Seeing your face, how tired you looked, he calmed down. “Gorgeous, why have you never brought this up earlier?” You shrugged,feeling all the fight leave at his quiet tone. "Look, I promise to start listening better if start telling me how your feeling before it blows up." He stands in front of you, head tilting down to meet your teary eyes. He's only given a single nod, but the small, barely there smile on your face tells him everything will be alright.

JENO: FORGETTING IMPORTANT DATES

It's embarrassing, humiliating! You sit alone, at a table for two, in a restaurant with fancy lights, all by yourself. Looks of pity are being thrown from across the restaurant as you check the time of your phone for the fourt time that minute. Nope, still no text from Jeno. No text saying he's late, no text telling you why he hadn't shown up yet, not even a text to cancel. You could feel your face heat up as other couples walked past to get to their tables. Finally you gave up, you've waited thirty minutes too long. Walking out the restaurant, you call him, eager to see what held him up. "Hello" he answers on the first ring, "y/n..... are you there"? You had froze, he didn't show up to dinner because he was sleep! Not because he was in some life threatening situation. After the last time he had missed a date, he promised that he wouldn't miss another. Or at the very least let you know ahead of time why he couldn't come. You held the phone for another second before answering. "Did you forget about out plans" you ask. You hear him cuss quietly on the phone, before there is a rustling sound. Probably him fighting with his sheets to get out the bed. "I'm so sorry", he starts, "tell me where you are and I'll meet you there, ok sweetheart." He throws the pet name on at the end, knowing what it does to you. But it doesn't have the same effect this time. "Don't worry about it Jeno, I'm going home." You hung up before he was able to answer. He wasted no time calling you back while getting dressed, each called went ignored and only fueled him to move faster to meet you. By the time he showed up at your door, all his calls and texts still went unanswered. He could only hope you'd answer the door so he could try and make it right.

JAEMIN: NOT MAKING TIME FOR YOU

Of course you knew how busy he was before you even started dating. But if he was able to make time for you when you were just friends, you assumed that wouldn't change when he became your boyfriend. You'd spend weekends together watching romcoms, going out to eat, and now your lucky if you see him at least once a month. At first you blamed it on comeback season. Then of course there was the tour. But now he was back, and the most he done is respond to your texts telling you he's made it back home, or to laugh at a meme you've sent. You'd ask if he was free one day to come over, to hang out, he says he can't because he's playing games with Jeno. A new movie with your favorite actress just came out, and he can't see it with you because he's already getting lunch with the members. This goes on for a while, you trying to set dates up and him declining because he already has plans. You and your relationship have been pushed aside for a while, and you were sick of it. You called him on night, to ask him when he'd be free next. "I'm not really sure, I was going to spend some time just relaxing." Normally, he would've invited you over, but your not sure whats going on with him now. "Jaemin, are you tired of me?" He makes a noise of surprise over the phone, "What makes you say that, you know I'm crazy about you". You sigh, "It's like you don't want to be around me anymore. You're always busy, but not to busy for everyone else." It's a hot minute before he answers, "I didn't realize I was making you feel like that, I didn't even realize I was pulling away from you". "I understand that your busy, but I don't know...." you trail off. "No, I get it, I do. And I'm sorry", he says, "I just need to find balance is all. But don't think you're not important to me". His reassuring words bring a smile back to your face, "so are you going to be free soon" you ask hoping his answer would be different from earlier.

[bad0nkad0nk]

How Much You Mean to Me

Dick Grayson x reader oneshot

warnings: none, tooth rotting fluff

❁˖⁺‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖❁˖⁺‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚❁

The busiest nights in Gotham were always the loneliest. Lively music and laughter echoed from the bustling streets. Yet you sat alone on the fire escape, gazing enviously at the young couples on the streets. Beneath it all, you tried to convince yourself that what you were seeing was only the surface level of Gotham. You were, of course, aware of the city's darker sides. The crime in the city was exactly what kept you alone tonight.

Dick had promised he'd come back to your apartment before midnight tonight. But the clock ticked on and there was still no trace of him or any of the other vigilantes. You couldn't even bring yourself to be angry at him for not keeping his promise. Part of you had already accepted that Nightwing was a bigger part of his life than you'd ever be. Not to mention how selfish would you be to wish he wasn't saving people?

With a sigh, you pulled the blanket resting on your shoulders closer. Nothing could compare to the warmth of his embrace but this was all you had for now. You leaned back against the wall and stared up at the smoggy sky. Finding the stars had always proved challenging due to the light pollution in the city, but it didn't stop you from trying. Slowly the sounds of the city lulled you to sleep.

The creak of metal and footsteps stirred you from your sleep. A blurred figure in blue and black crouched down next to you. Dick.

"Have a nice nap, princess?" His voice was soft, an underlying apology in it. He gazed at you with a soft smile on his face. The only response you gave him was a sleepy groan. "Let's get you to bed, hm?"

He pulled you up with ease, resting most of your weight on himself as he opened the window into your apartment. The minute you were both inside he ushered you into bed. He lazily changed into pajamas, tossing his suit on the ground haphazardly.

The bed dipped next to you as Dick crawled into bed, a sigh escaping his lips as his muscles were finally able to relax. After a moment his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you to his chest.

"Christ, you're freezing... how long were you out there?" His tone is lighthearted but there's a hint of concern in his voice.

"A few hours..."

He sighs, his arms tightening around you. The heat from his own body seeping slowly into yours. "You can't stay out that long... you'll get sick in this weather."

He was hesitant with his wording. He didn't need to ask why you were out there. It lingered between you unspoken as he tried to find the right way to confront it. He took your silence as a means to continue.

"I'm sorry..." He loosened his grip so he could look at you, "I broke my promise."

"It's fine-" You were quickly cut off.

"No." His hand pulled your straying gaze back to him. "It's not fine. I shouldn't be making promises I can't keep. It's not fair to you."

"Dick, I understand-"

"Understand what? You shouldn't be understanding about this." He frowns, his eyes searching yours for the anger he was so sure he'd face.

It's hard to speak with his concerned eyes boring into you. With his hand holding your chin in place your eyes could only stray so far.

When he was only met with silence, he looked at you pleadingly, "Talk to me... please..." It was hard to keep your resolve when he looked at you like that.

"I know- I know that you being Nightwing is important... more important than I am. And I get that- I understand."

"You..." His eyes grew wide in disbelief, his gut sinking as you spoke, "That's what you think?" His eyes searched yours for any hint of uncertainty. But he couldn't find it. "No... that's not- that's not true at all." His voice began to break, "Fuck- you're the reason I keep doing this... to keep you safe.

His heart broke when he saw your avoidance to meet his gaze. How long had you been convinced of this? How long had his actions made you believe you weren't important? He pulled away from you, taking your hands in his and holding them close to his heart. "You... you are everything. Everything. I don't think there's anything I wouldn't do for you... I love you."

Breathless. You were breathless. Your heart was racing too fast to even fall back into your insecurities. Before you could even respond he went on.

"I'm sorry... please... say something-"

You cut him off with your lips, the touch immediately shutting him up. The tension in his body eased away as your lips moved against one another.

"I love you too." You mumbled softly against his lips.

His face immediately lit up with a smile at your words. Within seconds his lips were back on yours, his hands pulling you closer.

All your worries faded away into the night. A feeling of comfort overwhelming you. No matter how many broken promises or insecurities came between you, you knew you'd be fine.

❁˖⁺‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖❁˖⁺‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚❁

i've never written a oneshot before 😭 or posted on tumblr...

[read-write-thrive]

Charles Rowland Week Day One — Cricket Bat/The Brawn

There were a lot of unexpected downsides to being a ghost. Sure, he got a best mate and a “life” he loved out of dying, but it wasn’t all sunshine rainbows and ice cream. And not just the major things like being chased or attacked on cases, neither! Small things were just as bad, especially when they snuck up on you

Take the mirror thing, for example. It’s really not an issue, right? Charles wasn’t vain or anything, he didn’t need to see himself in the mirror constantly. But you don’t realise how much you look in the mirror until it’s gone, really. All of a sudden your only perceptions of yourself is what you can see looking down and what you can remember. Charles had done his best to not think about it at all, but was rather suddenly confronted with his image issues about a year into being dead.

Well, “suddenly” isn’t quite right. Truth is, they’d just found a place to call theirs and were set on fixing it up. They hadn’t settled on a name for their detective agency yet, but they were getting there. At the moment all they were doing was cleaning the space as best they could to try and make it feel more homey.

You see, the place was, looking back, their reward for their first case. They’d taken to wandering London, just seeing the sights really, when recently they noticed the building. In slight disrepair, sure, but the weirder part was the poltergeist wreaking havoc on anyone who came near it. The living (un?)consciously avoided the place, but the boys hadn’t heard the gossip and were the next victims to its destruction. They couldn’t be killed, of course, but they could still be thrown about (and injured, apparently! Blasted iron—).

Edwin had already picked up a magical tome on their travels (which he’d then casually carried in his overcoat—Charles, who was still struggling to reimagine his clothing, was only a little jealous, he swore) and was thankfully able to use it to banish the poltergeist. They both took a hit or two, but Charles had realised early on that he needed to take the attention off Edwin in order for him to actually use magic. Charles had quickly rallied against the poltergeist, distracting it and taking the rest of the blows that came with that. Well, he’d tried to tackle the poltergeist first, get on the offense and all that, but that hadn’t gone well. So then he just took the hits until Edwin did his job.

Edwin, for whatever reason, had been right pissed about it in the days since. He kept his sentences short, kept his nose in that bloody book, and was overall being a cranky bastard. Charles was still sore from the fight (how ridiculous that ghosts could even be sore) and was frankly fed up with it. Time to tackle it head-on.

Though he could’ve taken the empty chair on the other side of the desk, Charles decided that being up close and personal was better for this talk. He marched up to the desk and sat on the ledge of it, arms crossed and looking down at Edwin, feet nudging the base of his chair.

Edwin didn’t even look up from the book, “Yes, Charles?”

Charles carefully took the book (bookmarked it, naturally, he wasn’t a monster) and set it aside as he spoke, “We need to have a chat, mate. Now, if you’ve got the time.”

Edwin let the book be taken, though his (stupidly broad, how does a sixteen year old even get built like that?? too fit for his own good and he doesn’t even know it, the wanker) shoulders remained tense. He quirked an eyebrow as he looked up at Charles, “Since you’ve taken my reading, I suddenly have the time. What is it you wish to speak about?”

Charles used his hand to motion at Edwin’s face, “All this. I get that you’re angry with me, though I have no clue why, but I need you to come out and say it, yeah? I’m not a mind reader.”

Sighing, Edwin properly faced Charles, “Fine. If that would please you. I am unhappy with how you handled our encounter with the poltergeist, and I was hoping you would apologise for it. I see that will not be happening.”

“Apologise?” Charles questioned, bewildered, “What the bloody hell did I do? I distracted the thing while you used your fancy magic to get rid of it!”

Edwin remained unimpressed, “I can handle myself, Charles. Your display of… masochism, shall we say— was unwarranted and reckless. We had no way of knowing what the poltergeist could do.”

“And? What, I was just supposed to let the thing do equal damage to both of us? Or let you take all the hits? You’re the one with the bloody book, mate, least I could do was give you time to read it.” Charles huffed.

“And yet your soul is less tempered than mine, so it is extremely likely that you will succumb to injuries at a faster rate.” Edwin snapped back, hands steepled in front of him as if this were all just obvious facts.

Bewildered, Charles tried to clarify, “What are you saying? I can’t take the same damage as you? Seriously?”

Edwin’s eyes, usually steadfast in maintaining eye contact, flickered down Charles’s form, then back up to his face.

Charles knew what that meant. It wasn’t the first time he’d gotten looks like that, in conversations like these. Every time he tried out for a sport, every time he tried to stand up to his dad, every time he tried to keep up with his mates. Charles knew he was twiggy, alright? He didn’t put on muscle like the other lads did even doing the same sports and eating the same school-provided meals. Hell, even when he tried going above and beyond in eating meat and lifting weights all he did was get lean, not properly muscley. A fact which everybody noticed.

As a result, he’d get these looks. Right rude looks. As if it was funny to think of him being strong or holding his own in scraps. There were a few times his mates would egg him on to fight some other bloke twice his size to try and embarrass him. Maybe it wasn’t so harmless, looking back, but Charles usually scraped by by changing it into a race or just talking his way out of it. He knew they wanted to see him take a beating, even if they framed it as him “proving” that he was stronger than he looked. They’d give him that same look every single bloody time, as if he had to be bluffing and they were thrilled to call him out on it.

This was made all the worse by his dad of course—his dad who outright laughed in his face any time he tried to stand up or fight back. His dad who left just enough visible bruises and scars to make it seem like Charles was out fighting every break and losing every single one of ‘em. The teachers took it as another sign of Charles being no-good and brushed off any time he wanted to get treatment or lenience for the injuries. The other boys would laugh at the bruises and such, asking what Charles did to piss off his foe. Asking why he kept fighting if he was so obviously always going to lose. Just look at him—how would a scraggy thing like him ever win a fight?

So yeah, maybe Charles was a bit defensive about how he looked and how strong he was. It was all the worse by the mirror thing—was he skinnier dead? How would he ever know for sure? To top it all off, he’s dead. Not exactly like there’s a gym for ghosts, is there? Well, not that they knew of yet at least. And with his luck, a ghost gym wouldn’t do anything either.

Point is, Charles was practically stuck in this stupid thin appearance for the rest of his ghostly days. And he hated it. He hated it every time he went to check a mirror and saw nothing, forcing himself to rely on his memory. He hated it every time he struggled to manifest better clothes—Edwin kept telling him to just visualise, right, but how was he supposed to do that when he’d avoided visualising himself at all for years? What if he made it worse by visualising? Maybe he was a bit bigger since dying! Some unconscious thing helping him out or some shite. He didn’t want to risk making himself any skinnier!

It was ridiculous, all of it. But Charles was not about to take that same bullshit from someone he thought was better than all that.

“What, I’m too skin and bones for ya? Too weak? C’mon, tell me. I can take it.” He really couldn’t, truth be told, but he was ready to bluff his way through the hurt like always.

Edwin’s face scrunched up, “What the devils are you talking about? We’re ghosts, Charles, our appearances are entirely subjective. Not to mention they have little very bearing on this situation.”

Now it was again Charles’s turn to be confused, though he was still hunched up on the defensive, “Then what? What is it?”

“I do not want to see you hurt, alright?” Edwin snapped, “We do not know how to fix any injuries you might have sustained and you were completely defenceless! I was trying to focus on locating and performing the proper spell and there you were, ready to be obliterated in front of my very eyes!”

Charles gave a slightly relieved sigh. Edwin looked displeased at this, but Charles started speaking before Edwin had a chance to continue, “You’re mad at me because I scared you, is that it? Mate, I’m perfectly fine! We got that fucker out of here and I’m perfectly a-ok! Here I was thinking I’d properly mucked something up—“

“I am serious, Charles—“

“So am I!” Charles planted his hands on Edwin’s shoulders, forcing complete eye contact, “Look, as soon as we can, we’ll get our hands on some weapons for me to use alongside your fancy magic books. Hell, maybe you can make me one for all we know on magic!”

Edwin again went to reply, but Charles wasn’t finished.

“I’m flattered you care, and thank you for looking out for me, but I promise I’m stronger than I look. Get me a bat or something and, with you and your magic, I’m happy to take on any future baddies we come across, yeah?”

Edwin sighed again, but it was clear his icy demeanour was melting, “I suppose we can have that be our next move, now that we have a headquarters for ourselves.”

Charles all but cheered, ecstatic to have actually resolved their little spat, “That’s the spirit! I’ll be the brawns, you be the brains, and our Ghostbusters agency will be brills!”

“For the hundredth time, Charles, we are not naming our detective agency after some film!…”

—

Day one of @charles-rowland-week in the books! I make no promises to have something for every day/prompt bc my life is a mess (as per usual) but I wanted to at least do one :) hope y’all enjoyed it !!

[bigbrownboots]

after the newest video, i’ve seen some people jump to saying that Porter shouldn’t be the only one to apologise, and that he and Treasure were both in the wrong in their… argument.

of course this is absolutely correct and that should not be disputed, Porter and Treasure both said things that hurt the other.

however, i’ve seen some folks saying Treasure was as equally wrong as Porter in this fight, and i have to disagree. big ramble ahead.

fellas, is it a crime to want to get to know the person who you want to be in a relationship with?

before I say anything else, yes, Treasure should absolutely apologise for pushing Porter’s boundaries in their last meeting - BUT! before that argument, they’ve only ever asked him questions about how he’s feeling, probably because he’s constantly moody and mysterious! which is, i admit, very sexyandcool of him. sure. but it’s also Not Great when you’re trying to open up to this new person and they outright refuse to tell you anything further than a quick “i’m fine, Treasure, now lets move on to our regularly scheduled blood-drinking-face-slapping-sexy-time” whenever you try to get to know him - ya know, even after he’s gone and said that that’s something he also wants to do.

i won’t lie here. i’m willing to admit that i’m on Treasure’s side moreso than i am Porter’s, because there’s only so much “we can have this conversation later, darling” that i would be able to handle before i too would tell him that he’s running from his issues faster than a rollercoaster of its rails.

yes, Treasure pushed his boundaries. But if they hadn’t, realistically speaking, when would he have ever opened up? with anyone?? He would certainly NEVER turn to Vincent for advice for anything (which i remind myself excitedly that this argument is what now begins the slow forming of the bond of sibling-esque understanding and heartfelt meaning!!! aaaa!!) and frankly, i don’t think Porter would get to a place of understanding like this on his own.

Porter is the type of person to force himself into believing he is content with a situation, because he believes he has to be - that that is the only decision he will get to make in the matter, and so he makes it to reinforce his sense of agency, aka: ‘i am okay with this situation because i choose to be, thus it cannot hurt me in a way that matters, and so i am in control’ - until something snaps him out of it and makes him see reality.

It happened first with Sam, Vincent and Lovely leaving the Solaire House, forcing him to confront the fact that everything is not ‘fine’.

And now it’s happening with Treasure, too.

Porter’s world is shattering around him, and he cannot continue to lie to himself and sweep the broken shards under the rug. Because with enough pieces, and enough time, those shards cut through eventually - and soon there will be blood.

[rellsingsovern]

In my notes during this whole season I’ve kept track of loose ends and just other plot points I think could make for a great senior year (which now seems likely that we will get down the line in the future) and this finale gave me almost everything I wanted and more so here’s what I think we’re gonna see (plus things that I just rly want to see lol)

-first and foremost, BARON IS STILL IN RIZ’S BRIEFCASE!!! the spectral mordred manor probably is not there as that was a haven sent out by cassandra during all the divine interventions in falinell and the bad kids dove in as a last second decision, but baron is still definitely there. ‘I am somewhere always close to Riz Gukgak’ and while everyone’s journey with their sexuality happens on their own time and Riz shouldn’t have to come out if he doesn’t want to yet, now that he’s coming to terms that his friends might not always be together in the way he wants to I think it would be healing for him to fully confront and accept his aro aceness and have support with that and realize that even if they can’t be physically together his friends won’t leave him for other relationships

-Fabian is getting a new baby sibling, but that is not the only sibling he’s ever had. James Whitlaw made references to his half siblings from Bill that he killed and ate, I am POSITIVE that at least one is still out there and probably has it out for Fabian (as Bill married Hallariel, raised Fabian, and dragged his ship into solace to give him a new life) and an arc where Fabian has to defend himself against an older sibling while growing to love his younger would be amazing to see

-kalina, bakarath, bobby, and buddy ofc, I’ve been wondering where kalina has been this whole time, and I want to see more of bobby getting what he deserves. Cassandra’s been through a fucking lot this season but her familiar apparently might be a big bad along with arianwen again so sorry cass but the cat’s gotta go. she still directly got pok killed riz deserves to hunt her down and avenge him a second time

-speaking of, Arianwens been making moves in sylvaire! Adaine and aelwyn will surely kill her but from the looks of it even though she got her magic taken away she may have some sort of power. Cant wait for these sisters to be able to live immortal lives without their parents looming over them

-BUCKY APPLEBEES!! bucky, a paladin of cassandra, gathering the courage to ask Kristin for help getting bricker and cork out of the Applebees residence, maybe moving into mordred and everyone immediately being enamored with these cute little boys who honestly might turn out to be mumple instead of wanting to attend the adventuring academy and Kristin being so happy they aren’t being raised in a pressure cooker anymore and affected like she and bucky were affected, happy that they can be normal kids (and in being around Kristin’s other sisters, adaine and fig, Kristin ends up getting that sister she always wanted in bucky too)

-I’m so happy Fig is getting what she wants and realizing she doesn’t want to finish Aguefort, and it would be awesome if she got a new character and the bad kids took on a new party member for the year played by Emily so all the intrepid heroes are still together, but Fig could be hanging out between mordred and Seacaster and leviathan and Hell, writing music and helping Kristin spread word of the cassandra/Ankarna pantheon through it, and since in sophomore year we saw Penelope dayne daybreak and Johnny spells all kicking it in hell maybe Jace (who ik was a minion mostly but hey he could be evil on his own) is down there with some other bad kid nemeses

-more Galicea and Sol. Sol canonically was all for bringing Ankarna into the pantheon of himself, his sister galicea, his other sister cassandra, and his son helio. It was Sol’s followers who saw Ankarna brought in as another god of the sun and brought about the ruin and corruption of Ankarna alongside the house of sunstone in order to get more power for themselves with just the one solar deity existing. Both Sol and Galicea (and maybe helio) have been hardcore shaped by their followers, Galiceas wolfish side being repressed by the high elf state of falinell and being brought back through wolfsong, and Sol with the human clerics of highcourt scheming to make him the only god with a sun domain despite him officiating and welcoming Ankarna as his sister in law through the marriage. Plus if we get galicea arcs we defo get Kristin and tracker messy lesbians arcs

-Gorgug perfecting his new subclass he invented and Kristin enjoying being student body president! She deserves it, I hc that the only academic sort of thing Kristin cared about before this year was the lgbtq+ club and now she’s extending that energy into everything with the help of Riz, who cannot get off of coffee someone help this poor boy. And since Ragh and shellford have graduated I want more Torek Railgrinder, she’s so cool let’s flesh her out more. Gorgug thinking about how to teach other multiclass barbarian/artificers and perfecting all his awesome inventions (and dating both Unit and Mary Ann bc it’s what his poly ass deserves)

Basically the potential plot I see for senior year is almost a mirror of sophomore year: baron getting out and fighting Riz and the bad kids defeating him for good, the bad kids heading to leviathan after hearing rumors of a pirate calling themselves a child of Bill Seacaster looking for Fabian, heading to falinell to see what’s new with wolfsong and tracker and maybe seeing some changes in Galicea or Sol, heading to hell and meeting up with Fig for a portion (she doesn’t go to their school anymore! she ain’t gotta go on this senior year spring break quest!) who’s been hanging out in hell, tracking Jace and other enemies, establishing her power as an archdevil of the first layer of hell, writing awesome music, and finally back to sylvaire to figure out what the fuck is up with kalina and arianwen and this weird new god buddy has and they all graduate and head their separate ways but they still love each other and see each other all the time they’re family and they’re badass and they’re perfect