#I feel like there should be more to this I can't explain it but I don't have anything

[rafayelxsylusho]

How do the LADS men fu¢k the jealousy out of you.

Xavier/Rafayel

Already working on Caleb/Zayne/Sylus

TW: SMUT SMUT AND MORE SMUT.

Xavier 🌟🌟

The training session had been grueling, as all of all of your sessions tended to be. You pushed the new recruits hard, demanding perfection in every drill and exercise. They needed to be in peak form to face the horrors that awaited them out there in the No-Hunt Zones, battling the vicious creatures known as Wanderers.

The training session had wrapped up, and Xavier was wiping sweat from his brow with a towel, his chest heaving slightly from exertion. That's when you noticed the gaggle of giggling girls from his team hovering nearby, all batting their eyelashes at him and whispering to each other.

Typical. You could practically see the hearts floating above their heads as they fawned over their fearless leader. It was always the same - his reputation as the most successful Hunter in Linkon City tended to have that effect on people. Especially the young, impressionable rookie girls fresh out of training.

As you watched the scene unfold, a flicker of annoyance flashed across your face. The way they kept asking question after question, giggling at every word that fell from Xavier's lips, was starting to get on your nerves.

Don't they have anything better to do than hang around him like a pack of lovestruck puppies? you thought to yourself, feeling a twinge of possessiveness. This was hardly the first time you'd witnessed such a display, but it was no less grating.

Shaking your head, you decided to head to the locker room and get cleaned up after the long day of training. As you walked away, you couldn't help but overhear snippets of their conversation:

"...did you really kill 70,000 Wanderers all by yourself?" a blonde girl gushed.

"And with a sword, no less! I can't believe you wield it with such skill and precision," another chimed in.

You turned on the shower, letting the hot water cascade over your body as you tried to wash away the irritation. But even as you stood there, the image of them hanging off Xavier kept flashing through your mind.

Little did you know, the seeds of jealousy planted by their behavior would only grow more tangled and thorny as the day went on.

As you stepped out of the shower and started dressing you overheard two of the girls from Xavier's team. They were huddled together, whispering and giggling, clearly gossiping about their beloved leader. You froze, not wanting them to know you were within earshot, as they continued their hushed conversation.

"I swear, I've seen him around the headquarters a bunch of times, but he's never mentioned anyone special," the first girl said, her voice dripping with a mix of curiosity and envy. "Maybe he's just too focused on hunting to settle down with anyone."

"I don't know, Sarah. A guy like that? I bet he has girls throwing themselves at him all the time," the second girl, whose name you didn't catch, speculated. "Did you see the way some of the new recruits were fawning over him today? I'm surprised he can even walk with all that ego inflating!"

Just then, the second girl's eyes widened. "Oh my god, what if... what if he's actually gay? That would explain why he's never been spotted with anyone."

Sarah scoffed. "No way. I've seen the way he looks at y/n. Trust me, he's into girls... and I don't think he's the type to hide it if he was seeing someone."

"Well, if he's not taken, then maybe one of us should make a move. I mean, he's just so... captivating. Those piercing blue eyes, that chiseled jaw, that amazing body..." She sighed dreamily.

Her friend nodded eagerly, a similar starstruck look on her face. "I know, right? And he's so brave and skilled too. He's like, the total package."

Sarah giggled conspiratorially. "So what do you say, Lisa? Should we have a little competition to see who can get his attention first? Loser buys the winner dinner at that fancy new restaurant downtown?"

Lisa licked her lips, a determined glint in her eye. "You're on, Sarah. But I warn you - I play to win. That hottie is mine!"

You slam the door of your locker hard enough to make the metal clang and rattle. The room fell silent for a moment before the whispers restarted, more subdued this time.

As you exited the locker room, you couldn't shake the feeling that their stupid gossip had only added to the growing uneasiness you felt about Xavier's apparent single status.

Why hasn't he mentioned me? Does he not want people to know about us? Or is he just so used to women throwing themselves at him that he doesn't think he needs to bother? you wondered, your mind racing with increasingly paranoid thoughts

As you stepped out of the locker room, you were greeted by the sight of Xavier leaning casually against the wall across the hall, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked up as you approached, a warm smile spreading across his handsome face.

"Hey there," he greeted you, pushing off from the wall and falling into step beside you as you made your way out of the Hunters Association headquarters. "I was starting to think you might have snuck out the back way to avoid me." He chuckled, playfully nudging your shoulder with his own.

As you walked together, you couldn't shake the lingering irritation from overhearing the other girls' conversation in the locker room. You knew it was silly to be jealous, but you couldn't help feeling a flare of possessiveness at the thought of anyone else trying to stake a claim on Xavier.

As the two of you walked hand in hand towards your apartment building, you decided to bring up the elephant in the room. Glancing up at Xavier, you asked him about his thoughts on the day's training session with his team.

"How was the training with your team today? How did it go?" you inquired, genuinely interested in his take on the day's events.

Xavier was quiet for a moment, considering his response. "It went well, actually. There were a couple of new girls who really stood out, to be honest. They were strong, quick learners, and seemed to have a real knack for the techniques I was teaching."

"Do you think they have a real shot at making it as Hunters?" you asked, genuinely curious what Xavier thought of their potential.

He was silent for a long moment, considering his next words carefully. "Hard to say. They have the physical capability, but being a successful Hunter takes so much more than just brawn. It requires heart, determination, and a deep commitment to protecting others. We'll see how they hold up under pressure in the long run."

Without really thinking about it, you let go of his hand, feeling the need to put some distance between the two of you.

"I think I'm going to sleep early tonight," you announced abruptly, hoping to cut the conversation short before your jealousy got the better of you. "I'm feeling really tired after today."

Xavier looked down at you, a flicker of concern in his blue eyes as he sensed the sudden shift in your mood. "Are you okay?" he asked softly, reaching out to gently squeeze your shoulder. "You've been quiet since we left the headquarters. Did something happen that I should know about?"

He paused for a moment, considering his next words carefully. "Look, I know today was a long day, but I was thinking... what if we stopped by that little hotpot place on our way home? We could share a meal and unwind a bit before calling it a night. My treat, of course."

Xavier smiled at you, hoping to coax a similar smile out of you in return. "Unless you'd rather just head home and collapse into bed. I completely understand if you're too tired to go out tonight." He kept his tone light and casual, not wanting to pressure you into anything, but secretly hoping you would agree to spend a little more time with him before the night was over.

As the jealous thoughts swirled in your mind, you felt your grip on your temper slipping away. Without really considering the harshness of your words, you blurted out your next sentence, your voice dripping with an unintended bitterness.

"No, but I think Sarah or Lisa would be more than happy to go with you instead," you snapped, immediately regretting the sharpness of your tone. As soon as the words left your lips, you wanted to take them back, but it was too late.

Xavier's eyes widened in surprise at your sudden outburst, and he stopped walking abruptly, forcing you to halt alongside him. He looked down at you, a mix of confusion and hurt flashing across his handsome face as he tried to process your jealous accusation.

"What are you talking about, y/n?" he asked slowly, his brow furrowing with concern. "Sarah and Lisa are on my team, yes, but that doesn't mean I have any intention of asking them out. Why would you even say something like that?"

Xavier stared at you, taken aback by your sudden outburst of jealousy. He opened his mouth to say something, but you cut him off abruptly.

"Forget it, okay? Just... just forget I said anything," you muttered, feeling your cheeks flush with anger and embarrassment. You couldn't believe you had let your jealousy get the best of you like that.

Without waiting for his response, you spun on your heel and stormed off down the sidewalk, leaving Xavier standing there looking bewildered. You knew you were being irrational, but you couldn't seem to control the green-eyed monster raging inside you.

As you neared your apartment building, you hesitated, part of you wanting to go back and apologize to Xavier, and another part of you stubbornly insisting that he should be the one to come after you, to reassure you that you were the only one he wanted.

Maybe I should just go inside and cool off, you thought to yourself, knowing that you were still too worked up to have a rational conversation at the moment. I'll apologize properly later, when I'm not so angry and jealous anymore.

As you fumbled with the key, your hands still shaking slightly from the lingering anger and emotion, you finally managed to unlock the door to your apartment. Stepping inside, you quickly turned to lock the door behind you, wanting nothing more than the solitude and safety of your private sanctuary.

But as your hand reached for the lock, you suddenly felt a presence behind you. Your heart leapt into your throat as you spun around, a gasp escaping your lips.

There, standing just a few feet inside the darkened apartment, was none other than Xavier. For a moment, you simply stared at him in shock, your eyes wide and your heart pounding in your chest. A thousand thoughts raced through your mind, not the least of which was a fierce mix of relief and guilt.

Before you could even formulate an apology, Xavier began walking towards you with a determined stride. His blue eyes flashed with a mix of emotions - hurt, confusion, and something else you couldn't quite place. He stopped just a breath away from you, his tall frame looming over your own.

"Is that what you're going to do, y/n?" he asked, his voice low and intense. "You're going to act like a brat and accuse me of being interested in other girls, only to run off and try to slam the door in my face?"

Xavier shook his head slowly, a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. "I thought we were past this kind of jealousy and insecurity. I've never given you any reason to doubt me or question where my loyalties lie."

Xavier's grip tightened in your hair as he pulled you flush against his firm chest, his other hand coming up to grip your hip possessively. He tilted your chin up with his fingers, forcing you to meet his intense, smoldering gaze.

"Do you need a reminder of what you mean to me?" he growled, his voice low and rough with barely restrained desire.

His lips crashed against yours in a searing, dominating kiss that stole the breath from your lungs. He kissed you deeply, his tongue delving into your mouth to claim you thoroughly, leaving no doubt as to his intentions.

When he finally pulled back, you were both left panting and flushed, your bodies pressed so tightly together that you could feel the rapid thumping of his heartbeat against your own.

"Only a fool would ever look at anyone else when they have you," Xavier rasped, his thumb brushing over your swollen lower lip. "You're all I see, y/n. You're all I want."

He stepped even closer, if that was possible, until you were pinned helplessly between his hard, muscular body and the wall behind you.

"I had other plans for tonight," he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he spoke. "Like holding you close, feeding you a nice dinner, and then slowly, gently making love to you all night long until we both collapsed from exhaustion."

Xavier's hand slid from your hip to grip your ass, squeezing the supple flesh possessively as he ground his hardening cock against your belly. "But it seems like you need a different kind of reminder first."

His other hand released your hair to grip your jaw, tilting your head to the side to expose the column of your throat. "So I'm going to fuck the jealousy out of you," he growled, his teeth grazing your pulse point. "I'm going to fuck you so hard and so thoroughly that the only thought in your pretty little head will be my name."

Xavier's lips latched onto your neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin as his hands roamed greedily over your curves. "And then, once I've erased every trace of doubt from your mind, I'm going to fuck you all over again, until you're drowning in pleasure and completely overwhelmed by the knowledge that I belong to you."

He nipped sharply at your earlobe before soothing the sting with his tongue. "Does that sound good, baby? Or do you need more convincing?" Xavier purred, his voice a sinful promise of all the deliciously wicked things he intended to do to your willing body.

Xavier silenced your attempted apology with another searing kiss, his tongue plundering your mouth and leaving you breathless. When he finally pulled back, his eyes flashed with a dark, hungry intensity.

"Apology not accepted," he growled, his voice rough with desire and a hint of anger. "You wanted to be a brat, so now you're going to be treated like one."

His hands made quick work of your clothes, practically tearing them from your body in his haste to bare your flesh to his greedy gaze. Buttons popped and fabric ripped, the sound of destruction filling the air as Xavier laid waste to your wardrobe.

In a matter of moments, you stood before him, naked and vulnerable, your skin flushed and tingling from his rough touches. Xavier drank in the sight of you, his eyes burning with a fierce, possessive hunger.

"Look at you," he rasped, his large hands skimming over your curves. "Feel how hard you make me, baby?" Xavier panted against your lips, his hips rolling in a slow, filthy grind. "You're going to take care of that later, with your cunt. But first..."

His fingers plunged deep inside your fluttering channel, pumping in and out of your tight heat with a punishing rhythm.

Xavier paused, his fingers still buried deep inside your clenching heat as he gazed at you with an intense, searching look. His brow furrowed as he studied your flushed and panting face, his thumb circling your clit with maddeningly light touches.

"Tell me what got you so jealous baby," he demanded, his voice low and rough with barely restrained desire. "I want to hear you say it out loud. I want to know exactly what made you doubt me, doubt us, like this."

His other hand slid up your side, cupping the soft swell of your breast, his fingers sinking into the pliant flesh. He rolled your nipple between his fingers, pinching and tugging at the sensitive peak until it stiffened into a hard, aching point.

“Ngh-Xav—” The whimpers just won’t stop spilling from your lips, his gaze drilling into your eyes and falling straight to your drenching cunt. “I- fuck-”

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke, his voice a dark, commanding rumble.

"Talk to me like a big girl, y/n," he growled, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. "Use your words, baby. 

His fingers pumped faster inside your dripping cunt, his palm grinding against your clit with each thrust. The obscene sound of your arousal filled the room as Xavier fingered you hard and fast, determined to wring an answer from your lips.

"Sarah and Lisa they were saying.....ah fuckkk!" You try to tell him about what you heard but his fingers are still deep inside you hitting the perfect spot.

"Sarah and Lisa?" he repeated, a sharp edge to his voice. "You're jealous because of them? Because of my teammates?"

He withdrew his fingers from your clenching heat abruptly, leaving you empty and aching. Before you could protest, he spun you around and bent you over the arm of the couch, your bare ass and dripping pussy on full display.

Xavier delivered a sharp smack to your ass, the sound echoing through the room. "Let me make one thing crystal fucking clear," he snarled, rubbing the reddening flesh. "I. Am. Not. Interested. In. Them."

Another smack landed on your other cheek, harder than the first. "The only reason they were even talking to me was because we were discussing strategy and team dynamics. Nothing more, nothing less."

He gripped your hips punishingly, yanking you back against the thick ridge of his cock. "You're the only one I want, y/n. The only one I crave. The only one I fucking love." To punctuate his words, Xavier thrust his hips forward, grinding his clothed erection against your soaked folds.

Xavier knelt down behind you, his strong hands gripping your thighs and pushing your legs apart. He forced your knees to bend, opening you wide and exposing your glistening, needy sex to his hungry gaze.

"Keep these legs spread for me, baby," he commanded, his voice low and rough with desire."I want to see this pretty pussy as I eat it."

With that, he leaned in and dragged the flat of his tongue along your slit, savoring your tangy essence with a low moan. He licked and suckled at your folds, his skilled mouth reducing you to a writhing, mewling mess in record time.

He sealed his lips around your clit and sucked hard, his tongue flicking over the swollen bud with expert precision. Two fingers plunged deep into your clenching channel, pumping in and out of your soaked heat.

"Mmm, sweet girl making such a mess" Xavier purred, his voice vibrating against your sensitive flesh.

He spat directly onto your dripping, glistening folds, watching as fresh waves of your arousal gushed out to coat his chin and drip down onto the couch below. Without hesitation, he leaned in and began to lap at the slickness, sucking and slurping up every drop of your essence.

"Your taste is intoxicating," he groaned, his tongue delving deeper to plunder your fluttering channel. "I could spend hours feasting on this pretty pussy and never get enough."

Xavier's hands slid higher, gripping the globes of your ass and kneading the pliant flesh. He spread you wider, opening you fully to his relentless onslaught as he ate you like a man possessed.

"Please, don't stop," you whimper, your hips bucking needily against his face as you desperately seek more of that blissful friction.

Xavier pulled back, his lips glistening with your arousal as he fixed you with a stern, disapproving glare. He released your thighs, allowing them to close with a soft, intimate sound, then you feel him gripping your hips and pulling you to straddle his lap.

"No," he said firmly, his voice a low, commanding growl. "Good girls get everything they want. Brats like you don't get to cum when they need it."

He punctuated his words with a sharp smack to your ass, the stinging pain sending a jolt through your body. Xavier rubbed the reddening flesh soothingly.

"Since you seem determined to act like a spoiled brat, I think it's only fitting that you be treated as one," he said, a wicked glint in his eye. "You can sit here and squirm on my lap, feeling my hard cock through my pants, until I decide you've learned your lesson."

Xavier's other hand slid up your spine, wrapping around the nape of your neck. He tilted your head to the side, exposing the slender column of your throat to his hungry mouth. He licked and nipped at the sensitive skin, his teeth grazing your pulse point.

He rocked his hips upwards, grinding his rigid length against your aching, empty sex. The thin fabric of his pants created a maddening barrier between you, allowing you to feel the shape and size of him but denying you the sweet friction you craved.

"Be a good brat and sit still," Xavier ordered, his voice a low, dominant rumble. "We have all night long for me to teach you the consequences of jealousy and insecurity."

Xavier's fingers made quick work of his belt and zipper, freeing his thick, hard cock from his pants. The moment his length sprang out, he gripped your hips and lifted you slightly, allowing his shaft to slap against your dripping, swollen clit a couple times in quick succession.

"Feel that, baby?" he whispered, his voice rough and heavy with desire. "Feel how hard you make me? How much I want you?"

He pinched your nipple hard, rolling the sensitive peak between his fingers as he continued his torturous teasing. Each pass of his cockhead over your aching clit sent sparks of pleasure shooting through your body, stoking the fire in your core.

His cockhead pushing against your entrance before sliding back up to bump against your clit. He set a maddeningly slow, teasing rhythm, denying you the deep penetration you desperately craved.

"Please..." you whimpered, your body writhing in his lap as you tried to chase more of that glorious friction. "Please, Xavier...I need...I need..."

"Need what, sweetgirl?" he purred, a wicked glint in his eye as he watched you squirm. "Tell me what you need. Use your words, brat."

His hand slid from your breast to your thigh, gripping it tightly as he spread your leg further to the side. This new position allowed him to grind the thick ridge of his cock directly against your dripping slit, the head catching on your entrance with each torturous thrust.

"Tell me how badly you want it," Xavier growled, his voice a dark, sinful rumble. "Tell me what it would feel like to have my big, hard cock stretching out your tight little cunt. Filling you up so deep and so fucking full..."

He punctuated his words with a sharp, sudden thrust, his cockhead popping inside your entrance before quickly pulling back out. The brief, fleeting sensation of fullness only served to heighten your desperate arousal and frustration.

Xavier's eyes darkened with lust as he watched your eyes flutter shut, your head lolling back in ecstasy with each maddeningly slow thrust. The needy, desperate sounds spilling from your lips only fueled his own desire, his cock throbbing and leaking against your soaked folds.

"That's it, baby," he purred, his voice a low, wicked rumble. "Let me hear how much you want it. Let me hear how badly you need my cock."

He gripped your thighs tighter, spreading your legs wider as he ground his hips against yours with ruthless precision. Each pass of his cockhead over your aching clit sent electric shocks of pleasure zipping up your spine, your back arching as you chased the sensation.

"Please, Xavier..." you whimpered, your voice breaking on a desperate moan. "Please fuck me. I need your cock so badly. I need you to fill me up and fuck me hard and don't stop until I'm screaming your name..."

"Since you asked so nicely, baby..." he growled against your lips, his voice rough and heavy with desire. "I suppose I can give you what you need."

Xavier gripped your hips tightly, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he lifted you up with a grunt of effort. He positioned your dripping, aching sex directly over his throbbing, engorged cock, the swollen head nudging against your entrance with a teasing promise of the pleasure to come.

With that, he surged upwards, driving his thick, pulsing shaft deep into your tight, clenching heat. Your body stretched deliciously around his girth as he hilts inside you, his heavy balls coming to rest against your ass with a lewd slap.

"FUCK!" you both screamed in unison as your bodies joined, your voices echoing off the walls.

Xavier gripped your hips tightly, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he guided your movements. "That's it, baby. Ride me just like that," he growled, his voice rough with desire. "Use these sexy legs and fuck yourself on my cock until you make yourself cum."

He leaned forward, capturing your nipple between his teeth. He bit down just hard enough to make you gasp, sending a jolt of pained pleasure straight to your core. At the same time, one of his hands slid around to grip your ass, spreading your cheeks and tilting your hips to take him even deeper.

"That's it. Fuck...I can feel you getting closer," he groaned, his hot breath washing over your breast. "Your cunt is squeezing me so fucking tight."

Xavier's grip tightened on your hips as he watched your core slide up and down his shaft, your velvet walls clenching and fluttering around him with each upward glide. The exquisite sensation of your silken heat gripping his cock so tightly sent a surge of primal lust crashing through his veins, his balls drawing up tight against his body as his own release approached.

"That's it, baby. Fuck...keep squeezing my cock just like that," he growled, his voice a low, guttural rumble. 

The words “C-cumming-” are barely starting words out of your mouth before it crashes into you headfirst. You arch your spine into the perfect semi-circle as your orgasm crashed over you. Your nails dug into his shoulders, your fingers clawing at his skin as you clung to him for dear life, your cries of ecstasy filling the room.

"Fuck....fuck..fu...!" Xavier roared, his voice echoing off the walls as your velvet walls clamped down on his cock like a vice. The sensation of your cunt spasming and fluttering around his shaft pushed him over the edge, his own release slamming into him.

He slammed his hips upwards one last time, burying himself to the hilt inside your quivering heat as his cock jerked and pulsed. Thick, hot ropes of cum painted your insides, coating your walls with his seed as he emptied himself inside you with a guttural groan.

Xavier's body shuddered and jerked as he rode out the aftershocks of his intense climax, holding your trembling form tightly against his chest. He peppered your neck and shoulder with soft kisses, his hands roaming over your curves possessively as he slowly came down from the high of his release.

Xavier tangled his fingers in your hair, gripping the silky strands gently as he tilted your head back to look up at him. His blue eyes searched yours intensely, the emotion and sincerity in their depths making your heart flutter in your chest.

He brushed a tender kiss against your forehead, his lips lingering on your skin for a long moment. "I meant what I said before. I love you more than anything in this world or any other. You're my everything, my reason for living."

"Believe me, my love," he murmured, his voice a low, fervent whisper. "No one can ever take your place in my heart. It belongs to you, completely and utterly, now and forever."

Rafayel 🐡

Rafayel was already awake, his mind too restless to sleep any longer. He sat on the balcony of the resort hotel, watching the sun begin to peek over the horizon. The desert landscape seemed to glow in the early morning light, the sand dunes casting long shadows across the barren expanse.

He heard the sound of your footsteps approaching and turned to see you emerge from the bedroom, your hair still tousled with sleep. A small smile played at the corners of his mouth as he took in your appearance, remembering the feel of your body pressed against his as you slept.

Rising from the balcony chair, he crossed the distance between you and took your hand in his, bringing it to his lips to press a soft kiss to your knuckles. His eyes met yours, a flicker of mischief dancing in their purple-pink depths.

"Good morning, my love," he murmured, his voice still rough with sleep. "I have to run some errands at the art gallery today. Would you come with me? I promise it won't take long."

He knew he was being selfish, asking you to accompany him. But the thought of spending even a moment away from you was unbearable, especially in a place like this that felt so foreign and oppressive to him. He needed your presence, your calming influence, to ground him.

"Fine, but you have to invite me some dinner after" you say rubbing the sleep off your eyes.

Rafayel leaned back and laughed softly, his eyes sparkling with mischief and gratitude. "Dinner it is," he agreed, his voice warm with a newfound lightness. "I know a little place not far from here, a local gem hidden away in the back alleys of the city. They serve the most divine seafood, as fresh as if it was caught that very day."

An hour later, you emerged from the bedroom dressed for the day ahead. Rafayel had already finished getting ready, looking devastatingly handsome in a crisp linen shirt the color of a summer sky and tailored trousers that hugged his lean frame. He leaned against the wall opposite the bedroom door, his arms crossed over his chest and a playful smirk on his lips as he watched you approach.

"Well, don't you look good enough to eat," he purred, pushing off the wall and closing the distance between you in a few quick strides. His hands came up to rest on your hips, pulling you flush against him as he dipped his head down to steal a heated kiss. He lingered for a long moment, savoring the taste of your lips and the feeling of your body pressed against his.

As you ate breakfast, Rafayel couldn't keep his eyes off of you. He watched as you bit into a piece of fruit, your lips parting and your tongue darting out to catch a stray drop of juice. He felt a surge of desire rush through him, his body responding to the simple, intimate gesture with a fervor that surprised even him.

He reached across the table and took your hand in his own, squeezing your fingers gently as he leaned in closer to you. "I'm so glad you agreed to come with me today," he murmured, his voice low and intimate. "I don't think I could have faced that place alone."

As you guys arrived at the gallery, a sense of unease began to creep over Rafayel. He had been looking forward to seeing Thomas and discuss some important business matters they had to attend to. However, as you stepped inside the cool, air-conditioned space, Rafayel's brow furrowed in confusion.

As you turned a corner, Rafayel spotted a note taped to the wall, the paper fluttering slightly in the breeze from the AC vent. He released your hand and stepped forward, plucking the note from the wall and unfolding it with a sense of growing trepidation.

The note was from Thomas, the handwriting hurried and slightly illegible.

Thomas wrote that something urgent had come up, a family emergency that required his immediate attention. He apologized for not being there and promised to make it up to Rafayel soon. However, he also mentioned that there was a package waiting for Rafayel in his office, something important that he needed to deal with right away.

"Well, I suppose you'll just have to play the role of my assistant for the day," he murmured " And i can't leave without my important...package"

" I wouldn't call myself a package"

Rafayel's head snapped towards the source of the voice, his body tensing up as he recognized the redhead girl emerging from the office. His eyes narrowed, a flicker of something like irritation and unease flashing across his face before it settled into a blank, guarded expression.

Releasing you from his embrace, Rafayel took a step back, putting a bit of distance between your bodies. He crossed his arms over his chest, his jaw tightening as he regarded the girl warily.

It was clear he knew her, though from the look on his face, not particularly well or fondly. There was a history there, something unspoken that hung heavy in the air between them. Rafayel's posture was defensive, his body language radiating a subtle warning.

The girl smirked, her green eyes glinting with a smug satisfaction as she took in the scene before her - Rafayel's guarded stance, your confusion, the charged atmosphere. She was enjoying the clear discomfort radiating off of Rafayel, reveling in catching him off guard.

"Rafayel," she purred, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "I've been waiting for you. I do hope I won't be kept waiting much longer"

Rafayel's jaw tightened, a muscle ticking in his cheek as he met her gaze head on. "Celine," he acknowledged coolly, his voice tight. "I apologize for the delay. I had some...unexpected business to attend to first."

He glanced back at you, a silent apology and promise in his eyes before turning his attention back to Celine. "What brings you here? I thought we had an arrangement..."

Celine's lips curled into a sharp, wicked smile at Rafayel's words, a glint of triumph in her green eyes. She took a step closer to him, invading his personal space as she gazed up at him with a challenging smirk.

"Oh, I remember our arrangement perfectly, darling, but I'm afraid things have...changed. I need to discuss some new terms with you. In private"

She jerked her head towards the office, a clear gesture for him to follow her. There was a commanding edge to her voice, a tone that brooked no argument or refusal.

Rafayel's jaw clenched, his hands balling into fists at his sides as he glared down at Celine. It was clear he was not pleased with this development, the interruption to his plans and the demand for a private audience. He glanced back at you, a flicker of apology and frustration in his eyes.

"I apologize, cutie," he said softly, his voice tight. "I won't be long. Wait for me here? "

He didn't wait for your response before turning on his heel and striding towards the office, Celine falling into step beside him. As they disappeared through the door, Rafayel cast one last lingering look your way, a silent promise that he would explain everything once he was free of this unexpected obligation.

Left alone in the gallery, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled over you like a shroud. Who was this woman, and what hold did she have over Rafayel? And more importantly, what secrets were they hiding from you?

An hour had passed since Rafayel had disappeared into the office with Celine, each minute feeling like an eternity as you waited anxiously in the gallery. The once vibrant space now felt cold and sterile, the art on the walls losing their luster as worry gnawed at you.

Unable to bear the suspense any longer, you made your way towards the office, your heart pounding in your chest as you approached the closed door. You raised your hand, knuckles poised to rap against the wood, when you heard the muffled sound of raised voices from within.

Rafayel's voice, low and angry, cut through the silence. "I can't believe you're doing this, Celine. I thought we had an understanding."

Celine's voice, sharp and mocking, followed. "Circumstances change, darling. And you're hardly in a position to refuse me anything."

You froze, your hand hovering inches from the door as you strained to hear more. But the voices fell silent, a tense, heavy quiet descending upon the office.

With a deep breath, you knocked firmly on the door, your nerves on edge. "Rafayel? It's me. I'm going to step out for a bit, maybe do some shopping. I'll call you when I'm done, alright?"

As you approached the office door, ready to knock once more, Celine emerged from within. She stepped out, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor as she paused, looking you up and down with a critical, almost disdainful eye.

Celine's gaze lingered on you for a long moment, a smirk playing at the corners of her painted lips. She lifted a hand, pretending to wipe at the corner of her mouth with a dainty finger, a mocking gesture that sent a chill down your spine.

She tsked softly, shaking her head as she stepped closer to you. There was a wicked glint in her green eyes, a cruel amusement that made your skin crawl.

"Look who it is. Rafayel's little pet, come to check on her master?"

Celine circled you like a shark, her heels clicking an ominous rhythm on the floor. She leaned in closer, her perfume washing over you, the scent cloying and overwhelming.

"I must say, darling, she purred, her breath hot against your ear. You don't look like you have what it takes to keep a man like Rafayel satisfied. I do hope you're not feeling...inadequate?"

She threw her head back and laughed, a harsh, grating sound that echoed through the gallery. The cruelty in her eyes was unmistakable, the malice behind her words impossible to ignore.

Celine smirked at your stunned silence, your obvious discomfort clearly amusing her. She took a step back, smoothing down her tailored suit jacket with a self-satisfied air.

"Well, this has been...enlightening," she commented, a mocking lilt to her voice. She glanced down at her manicured nails, picking at a nonexistent speck of lint.

"But I must go and clean myself up. All this...business can be so messy, don't you think?"

With a final, cruel smile thrown your way, Celine turned on her heel and sauntered off, disappearing down the hallway towards the restrooms, leaving you standing there, your mind reeling.

With a sense of trepidation and growing unease, you pushed open the office door, the hinges creaking softly as it swung inward. As you stepped inside, your gaze fell upon Rafayel, seated behind the large mahogany desk that dominated the room.

He looked up as you entered, his purple-pink eyes meeting yours. There was a weariness in his expression, a tension in his shoulders that spoke of the difficult conversation he had just endured. The room was filled with a heavy, charged silence, the air thick with the weight of unspoken words and secrets.

"Don't let her get to you. Celine is...a complicated part of my past. But you don't need to worry about her.

"Is she now?" You ask, " well since she thinks I'm not good enough to keep you satisfied I think I know what kind of relationship you had"

Rafayel's eyes flashed with a mix of anger and hurt at your accusation. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the desk as he fixed you with an intense, almost accusing stare. The air between you crackled with tension, the weight of your words hanging heavily in the space.

He was silent for a long moment, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he seemed to struggle with how to respond. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and tight, tinged with a bitterness you had never heard before.

"You think you know, but you have no idea," he bit out, his words sharp and cutting. "Celine and I...we had a business arrangement. Nothing more.

He paused, his eyes searching yours as if trying to gauge your reaction. There was a vulnerability in his gaze, a raw honesty that made your heart ache.

Rafayel leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he studied your jealous expression. His eyes glinted with a mix of amusement and something else, something darker and more intense.

"You're jealous, aren't you?" he murmured, a teasing lilt to his voice even as his gaze remained serious. "you think I can't see it written all over your face, my love?"

He stood slowly, rising to his feet and rounding the desk until he stood before you. His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your lower lip as he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze.

As you turned to leave, unable to bear the tension and uncertainty any longer, Rafayel's hand shot out and caught your wrist in a firm grip. He pulled you back towards him, his eyes flashing with a sudden intensity.

"Where do you think you're going, cutie?" he asked, a dangerous edge to his voice. Before you could respond, he had already crossed the room and closed the office door with a sharp click.

"I don't think I'm done with you just yet. We need to talk about this little...outburst of jealousy"

He stepped closer, backing you up until your back hit the door. His hands came up to grip your hips, pulling your body flush against his as he gazed down at you with a mix of amusement and something else, something darker and more primal.

"Tell me, y/n", he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. "Do you really think so little of me? Of us? I thought you knew me better than that... But it seems I was wrong."

Rafayel's hands slid down to grip the backs of your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh as he lifted you effortlessly. He carried you towards the desk, sweeping aside the clutter of papers and art supplies before setting you down on the polished wood surface.

He stepped between your parted legs, his hands coming to rest on your knees as he leaned in close, his face mere inches from yours. The desk creaked softly beneath your combined weight, the sound echoing in the tense silence of the office.

His hands slid slowly up your thighs, his thumbs tracing teasing circles on the sensitive skin just below the hem of your skirt. He was close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his body, could see the pulse jumping in his throat as he stared you down.

"I won't have you doubting me, doubting us", he said softly, but there was a steely undercurrent to his words. "Now, pretty...what makes you think you know the true nature of my relationship with Celine? What makes you think you know anything at all about the man you claim to love?"

As you began to stammer out an explanation, Rafayel silenced you by suddenly reaching between your thighs. His fingers deftly pushed your skirt up and out of the way, and in one sharp, aggressive motion, he ripped your panties clean off, the flimsy fabric tearing like tissue paper in his grasp.

You gasped, your body jolting at the sudden, intimate contact and the brutal destruction of your undergarment. Rafayel's eyes flashed with a wild, almost feral light as he watched your reaction, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Shhhhh", he hushed you, his fingers already delving beneath the tattered remains of your panties to stroke along your most sensitive flesh. "No more words out of your pretty mouth, my love. No more words at all."

He pushed your thighs further apart, making room for himself as he stepped even closer, the hard, muscular length of his body pressing against yours. His hand cupped your sex possessively, his thumb finding your clit and circling the tender bud with a maddening, teasing pressure.

Rafayel's hands gripped your ankles, pushing your feet up and outwards until your knees bent and your legs fell open, fully exposing you to his hungry gaze. Your skirt, now bunched up around your waist, left you bare and vulnerable, the tattered remnants of your ruined panties dangling off one ankle.

He drank in the sight of your naked, glistening sex, his eyes darkening with lust and a possessive intensity that made your heart race. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned down, his breath hot and heavy against your most intimate flesh.

He leaned in and dragged the flat of his tongue along your slit, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. He licked a long, slow stripe from your entrance up to your clit, his tongue circling the sensitive bud before sucking it into his mouth with a low, approving groan.

"You taste like heaven" he murmured against your flesh, his words muffled and distorted by his greedy mouthing at your sex.

" Raf.....the door isn't locked" you warn him.

Rafayel paused briefly in his ministrations, glancing up at you with a wicked, almost defiant grin. He seemed not at all concerned by the possibility of being caught in such a compromising position.

"Let them come," he challenged, a reckless edge to his voice. "Let the whole fucking world see me claiming what's mine. I don't care anymore."

With that, he dove back in, his mouth latching onto your sex with a hunger that bordered on feral. His tongue pushed inside you, thrusting deep and hard, fucking you with a intensity that stole your breath.

One hand released your hip to slide up your body, pushing your shirt out of the way to expose your breasts. He palmed the soft mounds, his fingers sinking into the supple flesh as he rolled and plucked at your nipples.

Rafayel lifted his head, his lips glistening with your essence as he stared up at you with a wicked, challenging grin. He seemed to relish the idea of being caught in such a compromising position, of giving the world a peek into the dark, passionate side of his nature.

"The walls are thin here", he murmured, his voice low and rough with lust. "So it's up to you cutie, Do we keep your sweet cries of pleasure to ourselves...or do we let everyone outside hear just how much you love being fucked by me?"

As Rafayel's fingers pinched and rolled your nipple almost painfully, and his teeth clamped down hard on your sensitive clit, you could no longer hold back the tide of pleasure that crashed over you. A loud, wanton scream tore from your throat, echoing off the thin walls of the office and no doubt carrying out into the hallway beyond.

"Fuck, yes!" Rafayel growled in approval as he felt your body convulse beneath him, your juices flooding his mouth and chin. He lapped at you greedily, his tongue delving deep to catch every drop of your essence as he pushed you ruthlessly through your intense climax.

In a sudden, aggressive motion, Rafayel flipped you over onto your stomach on the desk. He pressed your chest down against the cool, smooth wood, the air forcing out of your lungs in a rush. Before you could catch your breath, he had already gripped your hips and tugged them back, bending you at the waist and exposing your bare, dripping sex to his hungry gaze.

"Fuck, look at this ass", he growled, his hands kneading and squeezing the round globes roughly. "Such a perfect, fuckable ass. It's a crime to keep it hidden away"

He punctuated his words by delivering a sharp smack to one cheek, the sound of the impact echoing through the room. The sting quickly gave way to a warm, tingling pleasure that spread through your nerves, making you clench and tighten around nothing.

With that, he gripped the base of his thick, hard cock and rubbed the leaking tip teasingly along your slit. He coated himself in your juices, mixing them with the bead of precum that oozed from his slit. Then, with one hard, ruthless thrust, he buried himself inside your tight, clutching heat.

"Fuck, so fucking tight," he grunted, his hips flush against your ass as he savored the feel of your walls gripping him like a vice. "Such a perfect fucking fit for my cock. Like you were made just for me..."

Rafayel began to move, his hips pulling back until just the tip of his cock remained inside you, before slamming forward and burying himself to the hilt once more. He set a hard, fast pace, the desk creaking and shaking beneath you with each powerful thrust of his hips.

Your face was pressed into the smooth wood, drool already beginning to pool and drip from the corner of your slack mouth. The sensation of being so thoroughly taken, so completely at the mercy of Rafayel's lust and desire, was overwhelming. It was almost too much, too intense.

Rafayel grabbed your arms, pulling them up and bending them at the elbows to either side of your head. He placed your palms flat against the desk, giving you something to hold onto as he continued his relentless, pounding assault on your pussy.

"Hold on tight, cutie", he growled, his voice strained with exertion and lust. "You're going to need to brace yourself for what comes next. I'm not going to hold back, not anymore."

Rafayel kept up his relentless pace, pounding into you with a single-minded determination. But despite the intensity of his thrusts and the building pleasure, he somehow avoided hitting that one special spot inside you that always sent you hurtling over the edge. It was as if he could read your mind, could sense your impending release, and was deliberately denying you that final push.

"Punishing you," he murmured, his voice a low, dark rumble in your ear. "Teasing you, making you beg so sweetly for something I can give you...but won't. Not yet."

"Don't you dare come until I say you can," he ordered, his voice a harsh, dominating bark. "You don't get to come until I've had my fill...until I've pumped this greedy cunt full of my seed and marked you as mine"

You found yourself begging, unable to hold back the desperate pleas that spilled from your lips. Your voice was high and thin, strained with the effort of holding back your rapidly approaching climax, of keeping your body from seizing control.

"Please, Rafayel, please!" you cried out, your fingers scrabbling against the smooth wood of the desk as you tried to find purchase, to anchor yourself against the overwhelming sensation. "Please, I need...I need to come. I can't...please, Rafayel!"

Tears of frustration and desperation pricked at the corners of your eyes, your body shaking and trembling beneath Rafayel's ruthless onslaught. You were completely at his mercy, completely under his control. And in that moment, you knew you would do anything, say anything, to earn the release you so desperately craved.

He leaned down, his chest pressing against your back, his lips finding your ear. When he spoke, his voice was a low, dark rasp, each word deliberately enunciated.

"Don't. Ever. Doubt. Me."

He punctuated each word with a sharp, precise thrust of his hips, driving his cock deep inside you, grinding against that maddeningly elusive spot just out of reach. Your body shook and trembled, tears leaking from your clenched eyes as you bit your lip hard enough to draw blood, trying to stifle your increasingly desperate moans.

"Im. Yours."

Thrust.

"Completely. And. Totally."

Thrust.

"Yours"

Thrust

"So you'll wait. You'll wait until I give you permission. Until I grant you the release you so desperately crave. Until then...you'll take what I give you. Understand?"

He emphasized his demand with a particularly brutal thrust, his pelvis slamming against your ass, his cock buried to the hilt inside your clutching heat. He remained still for a long moment, his breath hot and heavy against your neck, his heart pounding against your back.

"Tell me you understand y/n"

As soon as the words "I do" left your lips, Rafayel let out a low growl of satisfaction. He angled your hips just so, tilting them up and back to align your body perfectly with his. And then, with a ferocity that stole your breath, he began to pound into that sweet spot deep inside you.

"Yes, just like that", he rasped, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his own release.

"That's it, baby", he encouraged, his hips never faltering in their relentless rhythm. "I can feel you getting close. I can feel your pussy clenching around me, trying to suck me in deeper. You're so fucking close, aren't you? Ready to explode like a fucking firework?"

He angled your hips again, changing the angle slightly, and suddenly you could feel the tension in your body pulling tighter, the coil wound to its breaking point. Your breath came in ragged, desperate gasps, your fingers scrabbling against the desk as you tried to find purchase, to anchor yourself against the tidal wave of sensation threatening to sweep you away.

"Come for me, pretty girl", Rafayel demanded, his voice a low, dark command. "Come screaming my name, so everyone knows who makes you feel this fucking good. Now, fucking do it!"

With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself balls-deep inside you, his cock pulsing and throbbing as he finally allowed his own release to overtake him. Thick, scalding ropes of his seed painted your insides, marking you, claiming you as his own as he filled you with his essence.

The sensation of his hot cum flooding your core pushed you over the edge, your body seizing and convulsing beneath his as you came harder than you ever had before. Your scream of ecstasy echoed off the thin walls, no doubt alerting everyone in the vicinity to your shared climax.

As the intense waves of your shared climax began to ebb, Rafayel collapsed against your back, his weight pressing you down into the desk. You both panted and gasped for air, bodies slick with sweat, hearts racing in tandem as you struggled to regain your composure.

After a long moment, Rafayel rolled off of you, his softening cock slipping from your dripping cunt. He gathered you into his arms, holding you close as he pulled you up to sit on the edge of the desk. Your legs were shaky, and you leaned against him for support, not trusting your own balance just yet.

"Look at the mess we made," he murmurs, his voice still rough and strained. He gestures to the desk, streaked with your combined fluids, and the floor, splattered with the evidence of your passionate coupling.

"But it was worth it. Fuck, was it ever worth it. I love you, y/n," he whispers against your lips, his breath mingling with yours. "And I will spend the rest of my life making sure you never forget it."

As you both stepped out of the office, still flushed and disheveled from your passionate encounter, you find Celine waiting. The young woman's eyes were round as saucers, her face a deep shade of red as she no doubt processed the sounds she had just witnessed emanating from the closed door.

Rafayel barely spared her a glance as he strode past, his arm around your waist to keep you steady. He paused just before exiting the building and turned to face Celine, a wicked smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Keep the paintings, Celine", he instructed, his voice still rough and low from their recent activities. "Our agreement is null and void, effective immediately. Consider this a parting gift, for your trouble."

Celine's mouth opened and closed a few times, as if trying to formulate a response, but no words came out. She looked stunned, her gaze flickering between you and Rafayel.

"And say hi to the family for me, dear cousin", Rafayel added with a mocking, almost cruel edge to his voice. 

With that parting shot, he ushered you out into the brilliant sunlight, the warm air a stark contrast to the cool interior of the gallery.

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

IT'S NOT JUST HAIR!

Platonic yandere Batfam x Weird Black!Reader

It's not just hair; it's never just hair. It's history—years and years of history. It's culture—years and years of culture. It runs in your family, from woman to man, from grandma to grandpa. It's religion; it's family. It was never just hair, and you know that. You can smell the cocoa butter and olive oil being pressed between your braids, feeling the soft, smooth fingers of your mother braiding your hair down to your shoulders. It was never just hair; it was so much more, and you can't even explain it.

"What do you think, baby? Do you like it?" A small mirror was handed to you; a wide smile crossed your face. You moved your head to the side to see a small star on the side of your head. The cornrows were beautiful, with little brown and tan beads at the bottom. It was amazing. You put her face against yours; you two almost looked like siblings.

"I take that as a yes, then," she said, holding back a giggle. You nod your head profusely; a big grin spreads across her face.

"It's beautiful, Mommy! It's amazing!" You were so giddy with joy. Your mother always did your hair; you would complain and cry that it hurt, but the finished product was always worth it. She would put you between her legs, your head on her thigh, as she brushed through the tangles, and the TV would blaze with old Disney movies. You didn't care about the hair of those Disney princesses; your hair was already beautiful, it was already amazing, it was already outstanding because it was yours and it was like no one else's. Sometimes, your mom would bring you to her favorite hair salon, and the lady would let you read old magazines with all different types of hairstyles for Black women from the 80s to the 90s to the 2000s. It would make your little brain go wild with all those colors, and you would hear all the ladies' gossip; it was like your own personal haven. And when your mom was down, your mouth would drop—the woman in front of you was your mother.

"How do I look, baby?" she would say, running her hands through her fresh braids.

"They look amazing!" you yelled, giggling.

But now you're in a manor, and the thing is, no one in this whole family knows anything about your hair, and not even Alfred can help you. So you just wore an afro; you let your hair grow out and picked your hair. You were never embarrassed or insecure about your hair until now, when you saw a news post from a Wayne family page.

"Why is [Name] Wayne's hair so big? It's not fit for galas. I mean, look at it! It's inappropriate for business or the red carpet. They should really get it fixed." There was more posted after that, and the more the Daily Planet made articles about it, the bigger it became. Your hair would always be a topic of discussion, whether at home or at school. You'd tried to hide it, tried to pretend it wasn't there, but how could you? It's always there; it's your hair; it's always yours.

"It's okay, [Name], it's just hair." No, it's not; it's not just hair. The relaxer box was right in front of you, the little Black girls smiling with their straightened hair and bangs. "It's just hair," you thought, and you let it just be hair. You put the white substance in your hair, letting it burn and straighten it. You rinsed your hair and dragged that flat iron along it, the curls going straight. Your hair reached down to your shoulders now; you looked like Barbara and Stephanie and everyone else in the family. Now you looked like you were meant to be here, not just some random child of Bruce Wayne. You looked like a true Wayne, not just a [Last Name]. And people started liking your hair, and you began to like it—love it, even—getting more attention because of it. You brushed that hair out, just to see a clump of your hair... What is this? More hair started to fall out in little clumps.

"AHH!" you cried out, seeing them drop on the bathroom floor. Your eyes started tearing up; you looked up into the mirror, seeing your mother through the glass.

"Oh, baby, you had such beautiful hair. I love it so much. Why would you change it, sweetie? Why would you hide it?" she said, her dead eyes looking so sorrowful.

"It's just hair, Mommy," you whispered, tears running down your face.

"It's not just hair, baby, it's years and years of history, it's culture, it's everything." Her hand touched your scalp, stroking it.

"But the press and the..." you mumbled.

"What do they know? There's nothing like you, and you know that. Why do you care about what they say? It's not their hair; it's yours. It's always been yours! Why would you kill it, baby? It was always yours!" You wiped your face, and that was the day you went back to your old neighborhood and visited that old hair salon. You got to meet the ladies who helped raise you. Your mom was right; it was never just hair. It was community; it was culture; it was family. It was yours, and you're not a Wayne; you're an [Last Name], no matter what.

[useless-catalanfacts]

POV: you try speaking your language in your country.

This is the video (I have added English subtitles) posted by a Mallorcan man on Twitter, showing an experience that many of us have had. The man went to a gas station and when he went up to pay, he politely asked in the language of the land (Mallorcan Catalan). The cashier answered telling him to speak Spanish. The Mallorcan man said "I will say it slowly in both, this way you can learn it". He proceeded to say the numbers first in Catalan and then in Spanish. A second gas station worker came to him and started threatening him for speaking Catalan: "I'm going to kick your face", "I'm going to hit you so hard I'll leave you on the floor", "[you must speak Spanish because] this is Spain and that's it".

This is a common experience for Catalan speakers. Even in our own country, we can face violent threats, humiliation, and laughter for speaking the local language instead of Spanish. Even doctors routinely refuse to treat Catalan-speaking patients because they're Catalan speakers, and people have been kicked out of almost every kind of business you can imagine for speaking Catalan. When this happens in Spain outside our country, it's humiliating enough (for example: my grandmother and her friend, who are both daughters of people who moved from Southern Spain, went to visit their parent's hometown some years ago and got kicked out of a café because the other clients heard them and started shouting, they thought they were going to hit them, and the café owner came out to shout at them to get out because they don't want Catalans there) but you can more or less avoid it by not going there, but when it happens in our own country, where else are we supposed to go? If we can't speak our language in our hometown, are we just supposed to disappear?

In Barcelona (Catalonia's capital city), the 4th most reported cause of discrimination and hate crime is speaking Catalan. And that's considering that Catalan speakers rarely report these kind of events (I myself have never reported it before) while other collectives have been working a lot to report their discrimination cases and have specific places that help them do so and give them protection, like the LGBTQI+ community and migrant communities. Even then, statistics for hate crimes show the 4th reason for being hate crimed in Catalonia's capital city is speaking Catalan. And we can all be sure those numbers are nowhere near the truth of the problem.

In the Balearic Islands, discrimination is on the rise, and it's officially supported by the far-right regional government. But even though it has more legal support now, it's not new. (For example: I went to visit my friends from Mallorca years before the far-right was elected and they already got huge letters spray painted at the entrance of the town saying "Catalan pigs we'll hang you all" and they often got shouted at for similar reasons).

It's so tiring. We only want to be normal and have the same rights, to not have to face hate for our language and culture; but when we explain what happens to us and try to get Spanish people to understand that it's not good, most of them only make fun of it because they believe it's right and that it was our fault for "imposing" our public presence in the first place. Why is it so difficult to understand that we should also have the right to exist in public? Why are we always made to feel we are so annoying and disgusting? It is the people getting this angry over someone speaking the language of the place they live in who have a disproportionate amount of hatred and anger, it should be them to apologize.

[drdemonprince]

what do u think about romance abolition? i recently discovered that i dont think romance actually exists as in i think every relationship every person has with anyone is unique and different. the concept of romance is rooted in a lof of our opressive systems and aphobia is inherently tied to it. i think these labels of being in a "romantic" relationship endanger everyone due to a percieved wrong clearness of what their relationship boundaries and expectations are and it also devalues "platonic" (and a lot other) relationships.

i also recommend the aromantic manifesto blog on here to kind of get part of the concept im talking abt

this comes from the mind of an audhd aroace trans person, if thats of any relevance!

thank u for ur blog an your opinions ⭐

I am fairly receptive to the idea that romance as we currently conceive of it is a recent cultural invention that is pretty ahistorical, and that is used to further the isolation of individuals from community. but also, I don't think we are going to get anywhere as a social or political movement in denying the feelings that a majority of people have, myself very much among them.

Even if it is all born of cultural conditioning, the cat is kind of out of the bag, and a great deal of us experience a romantic drive, romantic longings, close attachments that are romantic that we experience as distinct from non-romantic attachments, and view romance as a meaningful fount of inspiration in our art, sexualities, and even spiritualities.

I am all for a move away from amatonormativity and the primacy of the monogamous, legally committed relationship, but I do think there is something emotionally real going on there for those of us who experience it. I used to care a lot more about straightforward rationality, and after that about justice, but now I care a great deal about the emotionally felt reality of things, and the realms of life that are not easily categorized or known. I can't explain why the idea of romance is important to me, only that it is, and I personally have no desire in doing away with it.

perhaps I feel some of the resistance to the idea of romance abolition that some instantly feel when they first hear of family abolition-- The idea makes them uncomfortable because of what it sounds like, which is a threat to something that they are very bonded to.

I think on an institutional level it would be very beneficial to not tie social benefits or legal status to a person's romantic relationships. but in terms of my personal life? I draw very firm boundaries between relationships that are romantic in nature and those that are not, that is a distinction that is very important to me and I often feel really trampled upon by people who believe that no one should see a designation between those things. in most of the world writ large that's a very small problem, but I mostly run with polyamorous queer people who tend to see many of their relationships is a big mishmash of affection and commitment and friendship and that can get real fucking messy real fast in addition to being beautiful or revolutionary or what have you.

I think ultimately I'm a little bit more interested in providing the social supports and physical infrastructure that would make it more possible for individuals to form community in whatever ways that means for them. I think a lot of beneficial social changes and liberation would flow from that, rather than moving to abolish romantic relationships first.

and I really do get uncomfortable when a certain subcategory of relationally radical polyamorous queer people try to push against other people's romantic or sexual boundaries in the name of liberation; I understand if that sounds like a totally ridiculous complaint to you, the way a person complaining about veganism being forced on them almost always sounds like a overreacting cry baby, but I've been in enough toxic fucking communities since I was an 18-year-old to feel like I'm owed this grievance, and kind of want to give voice to it because I have seen people be abused in the name of otherwise really understandable ideals like these.

I think it is okay for a person to draw distinctions between their types of relationships, and to want certain forms of attachment with only certain people... there has to be a way to square this with a desire for greater community ties and interreliance. I need there to be, or it would not be a ideology I could really find myself safely within to be honest.

All that uncomfortable hand ringing aside, as a member of the asexual community and a person who does not form connections in a typical way, I have so much respect and care for my aromantic comrades and I do recognize how supremely excluded from basically every social practice and institution in the world you are, and how difficult it is for anyone to make family or build community for themselves in a world that prioritizes exclusive romantic relationships over everything. and I do really believe that fighting against that is a worthy and necessary project. I am perhaps just ultimately a bit less enlightened in terms of what I personally need and aspire to.

[tactical-jellyfish]

Wisdom Teeth (drabble)

I've been mean to y'all. Too much angst. Take some fluff for the winter (me having a test this week)

Warnings!: Wisdom tooth removal. Bloody spit, at one point reader is in enough pain to verbally request an opioid pill. Pain and pain medication. Fluffy <3 prob leads up to poly, they're fruitcakes about it.

The SAS teams have had to pause ops for a wide, wide range of reasons. The odd health complication is very much among them.

That being said, Price never thought he would have to pause a mission because one of his star players got a wisdom tooth infected.

You had been off on Tuesday, chewing on only one side of your mouth and not drinking anything that was even a little hotter than room temp.

Kyle gave you funny looks for it, but that was all.

Wednesday, you didn't leave your room for much at all, but that was fine. Resting up before an op wasn't uncommon. Simon did it all the time.

However, at some point between you disappearing and Johnny saying he heard crying from your room all bets were off.

The door was kicked in, to reveal a grown sergeant, teary-eyed and crying a little as they clutched their cheek with a hand.

Kyle was already at your side, trying to coax you to open your mouth for some painkillers. It wasn't working well.

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

You cried a little before the surgery. Maybe out of nervousness, maybe out of pain, but the nice nurse was kind enough to ignore it as she explained that you would be waking up in a few hours down four whole teeth.

She explained it to you as you sat in the stupid fucking chair, she repeated it as she gently tucked a I.V. with a small blister containing medicine into the veins of your arm.

"Alright, first the anti-anxiety drug will be administered, okay?"

She doesn't wait for your confirmation, but gently pats your shoulder and continues.

"You should start to feel a bit fuzzy, then, you'll sleep."

It takes a few sickening seconds for you to actually feel the drugs kicking in. You want to get out of this chair, to scream at something.

You never liked the dentist.

But then... the world starts to fade out. It's like you're being locked out of your body as your mind turns itself off.

You hear her counting with the surgeon–a much more awkward woman, though no less polite.

Three.

Two.

On-

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

The waking up is slow, and messy.

Cotton pads lie in either of your cheeks, and you can't do much but oblige as the nurse gently coaxes you into a wheelchair, giving instructions to the bearded man who's standing in the corner.

"Make sure they don't sleep for at least a couple hours, okay? I know it'll be hard, but try to have them keep pressure on the site."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Remember the usual course, and we're also giving you five opioid pills. Only in case it gets really bad."

"Affirmative."

You know this voice, but when you see the boonie hat and the slightly furrowed brows, a spark of muffled recognition fires off beneath the haze of anesthetic and misery.

"...Old man."

Your voice is slurred, foreign to even you at this point, but he seems to know it, because he sighs frustratedly before taking the chair by the handles and steering your down the hallway out.

"I swear to- mgh, olright. Better than Soap at least."

You're loaded into the back seat of the car with the most basic consideration.

Dumped in like a sack of flour, actually. Your butt hurts now, but there's Kyle.

He snorts when he sees you, reaches forward to wipe whatever is dripping from the corner of your mouth.

It's bloody spit, but he doesn't seem surprised.

The car ride back to base is quiet, but Kyle keeps you awake.

Beyond that, there's nothing you can remember. Not till the next morning.

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

Johnny is perched at your bedside, scrolling through his phone until he sees your eyes blearily opening, hears your groaning as you recognize a new pain in your cheeks, and he gently coaxes your mouth open to take out the bloody gauze.

"Och, there ye are, bonnie wee thing. You look like an eejit, just thought ye needed to know."

Your tired glare is met with a laugh, but followed shortly by a pat to the shoulder.

"A'hm kiddin', leannan. Just jokin' with ye. Brought ye breakfast."

He holds up a small container of yogurt, shakes it like one would cat treats to entice a stray. You grimace as much as your painfully swollen cheeks allow, but when you open your mouth to tell him off, there's a sharp twinge that makes you close it.

This seems to earn Johnny's sympathies, because he gently guides you so you're sitting up on the bed, holding one of your shaky hands as he peels back the foil on the cup.

"Easy. Still fresh, aye?"

Your wet-eyed nod is met with a sympathetic huff.

"Aye. Dinnae fash. I'll help ye."

You should smack him for implying that you need help eating yogurt, of all things, but... you kind of do need the help.

Your body is still lethargic, sluggishly stumbling through its tasks with hazy edges and poor motor control.

He raises a glass of water to your lips, and has you take a few sips.

Breakfast takes a long time, but before you fall asleep again, he gently sets a painkiller in your mouth, and tells you to swallow.

When you do, he smiles, and bends down to kiss your forehead while you drift back off.

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

So, here's something you didn't know before getting your wisdom teeth out.

You can't swallow for a couple days.

It's gross, yeah, but you're supposed to drool out the bloody spit in your mouth, so you don't get dry socket.

Thankfully, Kyle is there for this.

He sweeps your hair back as much as possible (to the point of getting bobby pins from the corner store for the baby hairs), and rubs your back as you drool out your toothpaste.

"I feel disgusting."

"I know, luv. You're not gonna feel good for a while."

Still, his mother's cure is the only thing he trusts himself enough to use on you. Warm, salty water. A childhood staple.

He's sympathetic to your plights, rubbing your back again as you clumsily swish it by turning your head to the sides, cheeks too swollen to move properly.

"Good job. One more."

A firm, warm hand pats your back again as you "spit" (if you can even call it that) for the final time, offering a sweet smile just for you.

"Perfect. Now you can lay back again, yeah? Nice n' easy."

You're not suffering like you were yesterday. It's new.

Your motor function is back, just sluggish.

No, no, your biggest issue right now is the swelling. Your cheeks were so puffy it hurt, and you had them on ice as often as you could.

This is where you have to thank the lord for John Price. Your captain, distant as he can be, must have at least three sets of cheek-size ice pads, because every time you come into your room, there's a new, fresh set waiting for you.

Kyle gently guides you to sit in your bed, offering a sympathetic smile as he eases you backward until you hit the pillow-ramp Johnny had built so your head would be upright.

"You wanna sleep, luv?"

"No."

Your voice is still quiet, limited by your stupid cheeks, but he smiles anyway, and sits next to you.

"You wanna hang out, then?"

"Yes."

The afternoon is good, for you.

Kyle is there. The whole time.

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

Of course, every surgery comes with the odd fuck-up.

No one should be up, but you're going insane with pain.

It's a sharp, stabbing thing, focused in the gum of your lower right jaw. Almost as sharp as the tooth's initial infection, but more than enough to bring significant distress.

Simon is an odd man, and you two have never been the closest, but when he opens your door in a t-shirt and boxers, you don't even care a little bit.

"Wha's happenin'?"

The Mancunian gruffs concernedly at you, watching as you hold your cheek and shakily take in vain breath in the hopes of calming yourself.

"Get an opioid, Lt. Please."

"Fawk."

Right after that, he's off like a horse to the races, and you're in the silence again, holding your cheek as you try to ignore the way your eyes swim with tears that you refuse to shed.

It's a mercifully short two minutes, even if it feels like half an hour.

Simon's hands are gentle, opening your jaw and setting the horse-pill on your tongue, looking into your wet eyes as he raises the glass to your lips.

"I know, I know. Jus' swallow."

He stays with you as you pant for the breath you've lost, wide, scarred hands on your shoulders.

He exaggerates his own breathing so you see the clear rise and fall of his chest. His lips lose their frown as you slowly start to mimic it.

The dispersal of the pain med is fast, thank goodness, but then Simon has a tired you to deal with, still trembling in the fingers from the sudden spike of debilitating pain, though you can't feel it.

"Are those skeleton boxers?"

He's starting to think your favorite pastime is asking stupid fucking questions, but still, some part of him feels relief.

You could have asked about the lack of mask, but you didn't. You just wanted to know about the halloween boxers.

"Sergeant."

His voice isn't as firm as it should be, but when he sees your exhausted look, he still sits down on the mattress with you.

"Stay. Jus' till I fall asleep."

You don't have the balls to ask for it. Not when you're this vulnerable. So you treat it like an order.

Simon won't be chewing you out for it.

Not now.

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

Kyle and Johnny stand in the doorway to your room, snickering to themselves.

Never thought they would see big boy Lt with the firecracker that drove him up the wall, surely.

Still, after taking a couple pictures (blackmail for Johnny, photo album for Kyle), they just... stand and stare a little.

"Ye ken... we could jus'... join in?"

Johnny poses the question. Kyle nods.

"Yeah. To make sure they're sleeping well."

They both know damn well that's not why. But fuck it, a cuddle pile never hurt anyone.

Especially not you, considering how gentle the pair are when maneuvering your sleeping form.

If Simon opened his eyes and just so happened to see this buffoonery in action, he closed them right back up after.

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

Price sighs in exasperation when he sees it, but smiles as he tips down his cap just a little.

"Fuckin' rookie. Gonna be the death of me."

But he knows you won't. Because he sees the way Simon's lips curve up in sleep, or the way Johnny and Kyle cling to you.

He should call Laswell, finalize your placement.

The boys wouldn't complain.

[the-offside-rule]

Out of Her Depth - Chapter 3: The Superbowl Party

Out of Her Depth: The Masterlist

Saoirse wasn’t sure how she ended up at a Super Bowl party in Cinccinati when she could’ve been at home in Monaco, enjoying a quiet evening with her sim rig before having to go to London for the car launches, but Daniella had insisted, and when Daniella insisted, it was nearly impossible to say no.

Now she stood in the middle of a crowded penthouse, surrounded by NFL players, influencers, and celebrities, feeling completely out of place. Saoirse adjusted the jacket she wore over her black top and crossed her arms, sticking close to Daniella like a lifeline. She watched the TV screen, but the chaos of American football made no sense to her. The constant stopping and starting, the endless rules, what was the point?

"You look miserable." Daniella teased, sipping her drink. "Am I that obvious?" Saoirse muttered. "Painfully." Daniella laughed, nudging her. "Come on. Loosen up! It’s a party." Saoirse sighed. "I am trying, but I can't. I hate America." Ja'Marr came over, pecking Daniella's cheek. "What'd I miss?" He asked, hangin is arm around Daneilla's shoulders. "I wanna introduce her to some of your teammates. Expand her social circle."

"Sounds good to me. Maybe try-"

"No need." Saoirse shook her head before she could even finish. "I'm all good." Ja’Marr Chase, Daniella’s boyfriend and one of the biggest names in the NFL liked Saoirse. He liked how quick she was with her words. He also knew someone else who was smart with their words, and in the same position as Saoirse at that moment; so very single, and practically impossible to get out of their house. "C’mon, O’Reilly. Plenty of people to talk to. It’s time to socialize for once."

Saoirse narrowed her eyes at him. "I socialize." She quipped. "When’s the last time you left your apartment in Monaco?" He asked. She opened her mouth, then hesitated. She wouldn’t leave the place if she could help it and everyone that knew her knew it. "Exactly." He grinned, taking a swig of his drink. Daniella smirked. “He’s got a point, you know. Just pick anyone and try talk to them."

Saoirse rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her drink. "Fine. If I have to make conversation—where’s the really good-looking one?" Ja’Marr raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

"Haven't a clue." She said, shrugging. "All I know is he's always on my for you page and hes an American Footballer that plays for your team." A voice behind her cut in smoothly.

"You can just call it football, you know. Since you’re in the States."

Saoirse turned, heart skipping a beat. Joe Burrow stood there, casually leaning against the bar with a beer in hand, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. For the first time that night, Saoirse had no words. Joe tilted his head. "You good?" She blinked, gathering herself. "Might beed to lay off the bacardi but I should be alright." She replied, her stunned face still not changing, apart from a pink blush colouring her cheeks. He chuckled, extending a hand. "Joe."

"Saoirse." She shook it, feeling the warmth of his grip before pulling away quickly. From the corner of her eye, she spotted Daniella grinning like a Cheshire cat, while Ja’Marr watched with amusement.

The game continued, though Saoirse barely followed. By the time the first quarter ended, she looked up at the screen, frowning. "So, does this mean Kendrick Lamar is performing now?" Joe laughed, shaking his head. "Not yet. That’s halftime." Saoirse's eyebrows knotted. "So what's this then?"

Joe smirked. "You really don’t get football, huh?"

"Not American football, no." He shifted closer, nodding toward the screen. "Alright, I got you. I’ll explain." He said, his hand resting on the counter behind Saoirse. Saoirse arched an eyebrow, crossing her arms and looking up at the blonde. "Wish you all the best."

For the next twenty minutes, Joe patiently walked her through the rules. Saoirse compared everything to rugby, making the sport sound far more brutal than Joe intended. But she listened, her haz eyes flickering with curiosity, and for the first time all night, she felt engaged.

Daniella leaned against Ja’Marr, watching the scene unfold with pure satisfaction. "She’s actually talking to him." Ja’Marr smirked. "And he’s actually talking back." It had been a long time since Joe had taken an interest in anyone. But watching him now, laughing with the sharp-tongued Irish driver, Ja’Marr had a feeling that might be about to change.

The game carried on in the background, but Saoirse and Joe were lost in their own conversation, quick-witted and fast-paced, neither of them missing a beat. "Okay, real question-" Saoirse said suddenly, tilting her head at him. "Do you genuinely think that bleached buzzcut was a good idea?" Joe groaned, running a hand through his current, much better-looking haircut. "I knew this was coming."

"Well?" She pressed, smirking. "You know, for someone that doesnt watch football, you know a lot about certain players." He grinned. "Or just you. Now, answer the question." He sighed. "Alright, listen—I had just broken up with my girlfriend around that time, and I needed a change. It was an impulsive decision." Saoirse rolled her eyes. "Ah, the classic post-breakup hair transformation. Should’ve just gotten bangs." Joe laughed. "Yeah, that definitely would’ve gone well for me."

"Like the bleached buzzcut did?"

"Hey, it's my turn." He said, leaning forward, thinking for a moment before deciding to keep the conversation on a similar theme to what it was at. "Would you ever dye your hair a different colour?"

“I already do.”

Joe blinked. "Wait, what?" She grinned. "I’m actually a brunette. But I’ve been getting highlights since I was like fourteen, and over time, it just sort of… stayed. Now it looks natural." Joe pointed at her. "So you also dye your hair. You can’t judge me for dying my hair last year." Saoirse smirked. "I did not judge you for dying it."

"Then what did you judge?" She leaned in slightly, eyes glinting. "The style." Joe let out a laugh, shaking his head. "Ja'Marr is right. You are ruthless." She shrugged. "And yet, you’re still here talking to me." He grinned. "Guess I like a challenge."

The game was nearing its end, but Saoirse barely noticed. She and Joe hadn’t stopped talking since the halftime show ended—except for the few times a touchdown or a big play pulled their attention to the screen. Even then, their conversation picked up right where it left off, flowing as easily as if they’d known each other for years.

Saoirse leaned back against the bar, her empty drink in her hand, a lazy smile on her lips. "I have to admit, I actually enjoyed watching this." Joe smirked, tilting his head at her. "We didn’t exactly watch the game." She chuckled. "True." They exchanged a glance, both knowing that, despite being at a Super Bowl party, the game had become secondary.

Joe took a sip of his beer before asking, "So, how often do you come to the States?" Saoirse shrugged. "Other than races or promotional events? Never." Joe tsked, shaking his head. "Yeah, see, we can’t have that." She arched a brow. "What are you on about?" Instead of answering right away, Joe held out his hand. "Pass me your eyeliner." Saoirse blinked. "My what?"

"Your eyeliner." He nodded toward her winged liner. "You’ve got to have one in that tiny purse of yours."

"In my bag."

"Huh?"

"In Ireland, we call it-"

"Saoirse. Eyeliner if you have it, please."

Still skeptical, she reached into her bag and handed it to him. "If this is some weird American thing, I fear I might get the ick." Joe grinned as he gently took her hand, his touch firm but easy. With careful precision, he uncapped the eyeliner and, in bold, neat numbers, wrote his phone number across the back of her hand. Saoirse glanced at it, then up at him, unimpressed but intrigued. "This is your grand plan?"

"What? They do it in the movies." He said, handing her the eyeliner back. "You could’ve just asked me for my phone." She said. "If you don't text me tomorrow, I can just tell myself the number rubbed off when you were sleeping and you can't. If I put it into your phone, I'd have no excuse. But this-" He tapped her hand. "This is now your excuse to come back to the U.S. sooner and more often." She rolled her eyes, though a small smile played on her lips. "You’re awfully confident." Joe shrugged. "Confidence never hurt anyone."

Saoirse huffed a laugh, shaking her head. "Except maybe in racing." Joe leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to be playful. "Luckily I'm an American football player." Saoirae gasped. "Oh my god you said it." Saoirse met his gaze, holding it for just a second longer than necessary before looking away, a rare warmth creeping onto her face.

Daniella, watching from across the room, nudged Ja’Marr. "Told you." She whispered. Ja’Marr sighed and reached into his pocket, taking out a ten dollar bill. "What's it feel like always being right?"

"Pretty good, babe. Pretty good."

[pollsnatural]

1) Jack was introduced as an important plot point in Cas' storyline, from the very beginning his story was supposed to be tightly connected to Cas'. But I suppose execs thought that having Misha and Alex in the episodes together was luxury (and we can't even think about making an episode where Jensen and Jared aren't involved) which led to rare interactions between Cas and Jack which is deeply disappointing.

2) The same as 1.

3) They tried to do that in season 5 while making him a parallel to Bobby's disability, but in the end both of them just got better lmao. After that Cas losing his powers and gaining them was used mainly as a crutch to the main storylines.

4) Self-explanatory, I think

5) This is going to be complicated. Most likely it's just a me problem. Yes, there's charm to Cas being a total loser. Yes, trying to accept yourself beyond your usefullness is a theme. Yes, I get it. But. It feels bad. He's an autistic-coded character to whom I relate a lot. Because of my autism many people think that I'm incompetent, that I'm unable to do any job, that I'm too uhh child-like for it. And through Cas it seems to me that show says "yeah, lol, you're a loser, you can't do anything yourself, you should just give up and let others do your job". Like it's totally connected to my personal problems and to how I interpret the character, but if we're talking about lore of the show, shouldn't he be one of the most effective soldiers of Heaven? Why does he lose all his skills? I'm sure not all of them were connected to his angelic powers. And if they were, couldn't writers let him learn new skills? I just want the show to give him a little more dignity.

6) I just want what Dean fans have - lots of boyfriends/girlfriends for Cas.

7) If you're burying gays, don't be pussies about it. The "yeah, he's here in the Heaven" undermined Cas' sacrifice for no good reason.

8) If you can't have Misha in the episode, at least think of the fun explanation for Cas' absence. Like "Yeah, sorry, I wasn't in the last episode because had to fight aliens", idk.

9) I just want more drama. Moriah was good, but I want more.

10) The idea of Godstiel cults existing after season 7 is sexy to me.

[livingformintyoongi]

Safe Haven | Kim Seokjin

Summary: Based on this post by @foryoufics (She also did her version with Jimin, you can read it in this link <3). Warnings: I guess we can say it's a bit angsty, but it also has fluff! Jin is a sweetheart and tries to comfort his wife because he can't stand to see the love of his life sad. Pairing: Fem!reader x Kim Seokjin Word count: 2.3k Permanent Taglist: @thunderg @minjianhyung @queenv1997 @yoongtism @lizzymizzy-blogg @superbbananananana @drpepperobsessed @themwordsblog @taekritimin123 @bluecloudss @yooglefics @tan-veee @angellekookie @madussthoughts Dividers by @kodaswrld

This day had been more exhausting than any other. You were used to carrying the weight of everything, filling your mind with questions generated by your anxiety that made you overthink everything over and over again: Am I enough? Am I trying too hard? What have I done wrong? Those, and hundreds of other questions, made your insecurity take over every corner of your mind.

And honestly, you were so tired of it all.

“Y/N…” your father murmured behind you, watching you as your attention remained focused on the oven in front of you. You had spent the last few weeks going back and forth from your house to your father’s café, trying to do everything you could to help him, to be useful, all in hopes that someone, anyone, would notice your efforts.

Customers love this kind of stuff, right? Cakes make people happy, you wanted to make people happy with your work, was that too much to ask?

“I just put the muffins in the oven, so we can’t take them out yet. Should I start making the cookie dough? Mom said they’ve been selling the most these past few days.”

“Y/N, stop.” You felt your father’s hands land firmly on your shoulders, forcing you to shift your focus towards him. You could see it in his face, that look everyone had been giving you these past few days: pity, sadness. You really hated it. “I really appreciate that you want to help, and I’ve enjoyed having you back after all this time apart, but I think it’s time for you to… go home.”

“What do you mean?” you whispered, feeling your heart shrink in your chest at his request. Were you bothering your father now? Were you not being helpful to him either? Had you become a second choice for him as well?

“You’ve been coming here for weeks, working nonstop, we barely have time for ourselves…” He paused before continuing, his eyes, although hesitant, stayed locked on yours. “You barely have time for yourself. You’re still so young, you have a life out there, a husband, friends… You shouldn’t be wasting your time with your parents. We’ve lived a whole life with you, it’s time for you to start living yours, sweetheart.”

Ah.

You wanted to cry again.

How could you explain to your father that he was wrong about most things?

You had no friends, at least not any who cared in the same way you cared for them. You felt like your life was crumbling little by little, like you had built a house of bricks that you kept demolishing because one of them didn’t fit with the others. And your husband… Ah, Jin, your dear husband.

Thinking about him brought you a little peace. For a second, you felt the pressure in your chest become a little more bearable; Jin loved you, he always had, he was one of the few people who always put you first. You were always his first choice, even when dozens of women were in love with him. He was always there for you when your mind played tricks on you, and he was always patient with you, even when you couldn’t be with yourself.

You loved Jin, and he loved you, and that gave you a deep peace amidst the storm that was your mind.

“I’ve called him to come pick you up, he should be here soon,” your father’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts, and you quickly refocused on him as he came closer to place a soft kiss on your forehead. “Go home and rest for a bit, okay?”

You let out a soft sigh, one that sounded just like how you felt: exhausted. “Alright… thank you.”

Your eyes began to sting the moment his arms enveloped you in a warm hug. This was exactly why you came here. The warmth of home, the security your parents gave you, the fact that no matter what happened, you would always be their daughter, someone irreplaceable, someone they would always love.

You squeezed your father’s sturdy body against yours, using all your strength, holding onto his shirt as if you were that little girl again who would come crying to her parents’ room after a nightmare, needing the comfort of the only people who could protect her from the horrors of the outside world.

The soft ringing of a bell followed by the sound of the door closing caught your attention. You barely peeked your face from your father’s neck, just enough to see who it was. You almost let out a sob when you saw Jin standing in the doorway, looking like he had just run a marathon.

Had he really come here running just to pick you up?

“Sorry for the delay, traffic was crazy,” he let out a laugh, not the usual one that made everyone around him laugh, but one more nervous, as if he wanted to lighten the mood with a poor attempt at humor. “Uh… are you ready to go or…?”

“No, no, I’m… I’m ready,” you murmured, letting go of your father’s shirt and saying goodbye with a barely perceptible smile. “Goodbye, Dad, see you later,” you gently patted his shoulders, a small part of you still refusing to let him go completely, maybe that inner child that still lived within you, needing the shelter of your parents. On the other hand, the more mature side of you, the one that governed most of you, knew you couldn’t stay here baking cakes and cookies forever.

So, you let him go.

“Let’s go,” you said quietly to Jin, walking straight to the door to leave the place. The suffocating feeling was hard to shake off, even when you were outdoors, and the slight pressure in your chest was becoming more unbearable. You had barely stepped outside, and already felt like you were about to crumble.

“Sweetheart,” Jin’s voice sounded far away to you, was it your imagination? Had you walked too far? Had your thoughts become so loud that even the voices of real people now seemed muffled and lifeless? “Why don’t we sit down for a second?”

You didn’t respond before his hands took yours and guided you to a small bench in the park just a few meters from your parents’ café. When had you walked so far?

His soft hands gently held yours as he helped you sit down on the bench. Your tumultuous and overwhelming thoughts, although still present, seemed to shrink into a small corner of your mind, allowing you to return to the real world. Allowing you to see Jin.

His dark brown eyes watched your face with attention, and one of his hands had risen to your cheek without you noticing. His touch made you melt into him the moment your brain fully processed what he was doing. It felt good to have him close.

“I’m not going to pressure you or anything, because I don’t want your little head playing against you more than it already has, so I’ll ask you this question, and if you don’t want to answer it, then we’ll just go on as if nothing happened until the moment you’re ready, okay?” A small smile appeared on his plump lips when he saw you nodding quietly. Well, at least you were listening, that was progress. “Can you tell me why you’re like this?”

“I… I don’t know,” you whispered with a broken voice. You hated that question, hated the answer, and hated how the urge to cry began to flood you again to the point where even breathing became hard, like the pain in your chest grew stronger, and how you couldn’t see clearly due to the salty water beginning to form in your eyes.

You hated feeling like this.

“Are you sure?” Jin asked, tilting his head slightly so he wouldn’t lose eye contact with you. It was only then, when you saw the worry in his face, that you broke down.

Finally, you let everything you had inside pour out in the form of a messy cry, cheeks filled with tears and soft gasps hidden between sobs that made it hard to speak normally. The only comfort you had were Jin’s strong and warm arms wrapped around your body protectively, trying to calm your sadness with sweet words, soft kisses on your shoulder, and caresses on your back.

You were a walking mess right now, yes, but, for some reason, it felt comforting. Crying on the shoulder of one of the most important people to you, letting out the pain that had been in your chest… it felt liberating.

“It’s okay… everything will be okay,” he whispered beside your ear, using one of his hands to stroke your hair. You could feel his head resting against yours and his hands holding you tightly against him, as if he knew you felt like you were going to collapse at any moment.

“I feel so… so alone,” you groaned between sobs, hiding your face in that area where his neck met his shoulder. The hiccups became more constant, making it really hard for you to speak, but that didn’t stop you, not now that you could finally get it out of your mind. “I’ve tried everything, Jin, but no matter how hard I try, no matter how many times I try… it’s never enough.” You clenched your jaw, trying to stop a sob from escaping too loudly; you were still aware enough to remember you were in a public place. “I’m never enough for anyone.”

“Hey, hey,” he pulled away slightly from you, creating enough distance to take your cheeks in his hands so he could look you in the eyes. “Sweetheart, look at me.” His warm, soft thumbs wiped away the stream of tears falling from your eyes, and although he couldn’t stop the sobs from escaping, the way he caressed your face managed to calm your crying a bit. “What are you talking about? What do you mean by that?”

“It’s just that… I’ve tried everything to be what everyone always expects. I always gave my best to fit in with other people and no matter how much I try, it never seems to work," you said, your voice shaky, your eyes avoiding Jin's every few seconds because you were completely incapable of looking him in the eye. "I'm always the second choice, Jin. No one has ever truly considered me; Seojoon always invites Seulgi to his outings and only turns to me when she cancels, the same happens with Jumin and Seyeon and with absolutely all of my friends." You covered your eyes with your hands, just like a five-year-old child trying to wipe away tears or hide their gaze. "Am I that unpleasant? Is it really that hard to think of me as someone other than the replacement for someone else?"

"Of course not," he quickly shook his head, frowning when he heard your concern. Jin had known you’d been having some issues with your friends lately; he figured it out when you started going to your parents' café, but he never thought it was because of the insecurity their actions were causing you. "It's not hard to love you, of course it’s not! Loving you is as easy as breathing, it’s... it’s something you do unconsciously, that's it!" He moved his face closer to yours, gently pressing your foreheads together. "I'm sure this is all a misunderstanding, but even if it's not, what does it matter what they think? Other people's decisions don't define your worth."

"But—"

"No, Y/N, no buts," he said with the softest voice he could, lifting your face so he could kiss your forehead. "You are the sweetest, most thoughtful, and loving woman I’ve ever met in my life; you are my best friend, my wife, the love of my life, and I won’t let you speak ill of someone so important to me because of idiots who don’t know how to value the wonderful friend they have." He couldn't help but smile when he heard you let out a soft laugh at his comment. Good, he had managed to calm your tears a little. "Friends come and go, if they really loved you, they’d stay by your side through the good and the bad... maybe you haven't found the right people yet, but you’re still young, you still have time to find a circle where you’re accepted for who you are, not for who you pretend to be to please them." He gently stroked your cheeks, watching as your red nose scrunched up slightly and your brow furrowed. "And until then, I’ll be by your side, I’ll take care of you at all times because you are my best friend, and I’ll be with you no matter what, understood?"

You took a deep breath. Slowly, you counted to 10, regulating your breathing as best as you could. Then, you nodded. "Understood."

"Good, then," he stood up from the floor, taking your hands to help you up from the bench, never stopping the gentle caress of your knuckles. "What do you think about going home, I’ll make your favorite food, and we can watch a couple of movies until we fall asleep?"

You smiled faintly, watching as your husband smiled back at you cheerfully, as if you didn’t look like a complete mess at the moment.

"That sounds perfect," you murmured, giving his hands a soft squeeze before starting to walk back to where his car was parked.

Jin glanced at you from the corner of his eye, noticing how your gaze stayed low and melancholic, but less depressed than before. He knew it would take time to lift that weight from your heart completely, but he was willing to wait and help in any way he could to make that fear disappear.

Masterlist.

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 91, Part 1

As Wildclaw moves on from grieving Clammask, she and Rattlepelt go for a walk together.

[Image ID: Rattlepelt and Wildclaw approach two black newborns. Under the leftmost kit, it reads NEW PLAYER: VALLEYKIT, 0, MALE, QUIET. Under the rightmost, smoky kit, it reads NEW PLAYER: MIDNIGHTKIT, 0, MALE, POLITE. Under Wildclaw, it reads - CONDITION: GRIEVING.]

Rattlepelt typically despised winter. The snow was beautiful, Longest Night was lovely, and she always purred when kits played in the snow. But her Clanmates had fur. They could handle the cold. The winter wind didn't sting their bodies and quickly numb their limbs. They could safely leave camp! Meanwhile, Rattlepelt stayed huddled in the artisan's den, tucked under extra leather pelts while she, Rabbitjoy, and Frostpaw fixed baskets.

The artisan's den was packed with supplies and tools; leather wraps for managing hot stoves, drums, dry ferns and grass for basket weaving, and more. All those supplies trapped heat within the rocks and brambles. There was just enough work for the three artisans to sit and do their work.

"Trust your claws," Rabbitjoy said as Frostpaw pulled twine through the stakes of her basket, weaving it back and forth. "Your claws are made to snag material like this. Let them hook the twine and treat it as an extension of your paw."

"My wrist keeps getting stuck," Frostpaw muttered. She tried to hook her paw around the next stake, but since she was repairing a hole in the side of the basket, her paw had little room to move. The twine kept slipping off Frostpaw's claws in her effort to pull it through without breaking the basket further.

"Repairing a basket is harder than weaving it from scratch," Rabbitjoy assured her. "Don't worry if you can't make it tight. Try your best."

"How do humans do this?" Frostpaw groaned as she finally pulled her thread back around.

"Malformed paws," Rattlepelt explained with a chuckle, tying off the broken base of her basket. She waved her paw, flexing her pads. "Their paws are flexible and good at crafts, but they barely feel a thing."

"They also don't have claws!" Gingerpaw suddenly stuck his big fluffy head into the aritsan's den, his maple seed necklace bouncing on his chest. Estherfern lingered behind him with a bundle of bark, but her apprentice was ignorant to his mentor's shoving. "They just have hard rocks on top of their paws!"

"Gingerpaw, go away!" Frostpaw whined. "We're working! Don't eavesdrop!" Estherfern finally knocked Gingerpaw away from the artisan's den and back to his chores. As Gingerpaw walked off, laughing, Frostpaw groaned and threw her paws over her ears. "I hate him sometimes!"

"He's just being silly," Rabbitjoy said, patting Frostpaw's back. Rattlepelt placed her repaired basket against the den wall. As she stretched her front legs, Wildclaw peeked into the den. Her amber eyes seemed brighter than they had in a few moons.

"Rattlepelt, come outside!" Wildclaw chirped. "It's finally a bit warm. I want to go on a walk."

"I should really help Rabbitjoy finish the basket repairs," Rattlepelt chuckled, snatching loose twine in her claws.

"You've been trapped in camp for ages," Rabbitjoy scoffed. "If it's warm, go outside! We only have one other basket to repair. Frostpaw and I can fix it." Rabbitjoy rolled the remnants of a broken basket toward her. Wildclaw kneaded the sand, eyes glowing. Rattlepelt purred. It was hard to resist that face.

"Let's go, then," Rattlepelt sighed, fixing her lavender-lined fox pelt onto her back. Frostpaw grumbled under her breath as she searched for fresh twine and Rattlepelt joined Wildclaw outside of the artisan's den.

Wildclaw was right; it was so unseasonably warm that the Clan didn't need a bonfire in the center of camp. Snow clung in piles along the dark and cool corners of the rocks and wood, but RippleClan could once again relax against the cool sand of their home. The land beyond camp was no longer white and brown, but a strange, gray-tinted mixture of tan and green. Though Rattlepelt's skin still danced under the soft chill, it was a pleasurable chill. It was a fool's spring, the sort that RippleClan would usually take full advantage of.

But RippleClan was not, in fact, taking advantage of the good weather. Instead, Wolfgaze, Weevilsight, Ravenweaver, and Trumpetspore hovered around the medicine den. They quietly shared tongues and muttered soft encouragement. Some of their friends and mates (Billowhaze, Anchovystrike, Brightreed, Scaleripple) comforted them, glancing into the shadows of the medicine den and quickly looking away.

"It's Mosspounce," Wildclaw sighed when she noticed her mate's confused look. "Honeybuzz just told his daughters. The infection is getting bad. They aren't sure how much longer he has."

"Should we visit?" Rattlepelt gulped.

"Later," Wildclaw quietly promised, heading for the camp exit. "The walk might give me time to think of what to say." Rattlepelt watched as Honeybuzz trailed out of the medicine den, merging into the small crowd. Trumpetspore scrambled into the medicine den as Honeybuzz spoke softly to Wolfgaze, Weevilsight, and Ravenweaver. Rattlepelt dipped her head, allowing her fox pelt to cover her eyes. She ignored the rest of the Clan and pressed into the false spring.

The birds hesistantly tested the warm weather, chirping their questions to one another, as though their fellow feathered friends could provide an answer. The mid-morning light offered the land a chance to stretch and feed itself before the explosion of frost and snow that would mark the remainder of the year. Twigs and branches, reminders of summer's rich foliage, rubbed against Rattlepelt's fox pelt. Her paws sank into the wet earth. Wildclaw strolled beside her, quiet, her ever-present guardian.

The silence stretched on for longer than Rattlepelt expected. The pair journeyed deeper into the forest, simply basking in the light. At one point, they spotted Tallowheart and Splashtuft, going over a few tales. Wildclaw raised her tail in greeting and passed them by. The two mates wandered over boulders and roots. All the while, Rattlepelt thought and thought and thought.

A twig snapped deep within the trees. Rattlepelt froze, eyes locking on the sound. A great buck stared at Rattlepelt and Wildclaw. Its magnificent crown of antlers snagged leaves that refused to fall from their trees despite the pressure of snow and time. Its brown coat blended into the forest. It flicked a round ear at Rattlepelt, blinking thoughtlessly.

"Wonder if it thinks you're a cat or a fox," Wildclaw hummed. The buck slowly lost interest in the two cats. It bent back down and chewed on a twig just beginning to bud, tricked by the heatwave. Rattlepelt took a deep breath. Her chest still hurt from the shock.

"We should go home," Rattlepelt suddenly said.

"What?" Wildclaw scoffed. "We're barely past mid-morning. Why turn back now?" Rattlepelt couldn't answer her mate. Did she even have an answer?

"Do you ever have a feeling that something bad is about to happen?" Rattlepelt asked. She jumped onto a large, mossy rock and spun in circles, trying to get comfortable among the limp leaves.

"Define 'something bad' for me," Wildclaw said. She joined Rattlepelt on top of the rock.

"We've had a lot of good in our lives lately," Rattlepelt groaned. "You've been a great mother to the toms."

"Now that I don't have a death wish anymore?" Wildclaw chuckled.

"You still get into some good scraps," Rattlepelt hummed, gently bunting her mate. "No, I just mean that even with… what happened with Lemmy, the two of us, we've been alright."

"Don't tell the rest of the Clan this," Wildclaw muttered, batting at the wet leaves under her, "but I get where Lemmy came from with killing Achilles and everything. It all spun out of control for her. I feel bad for her, even if she killed our Clanmates."

"It just makes me think," Rattlepelt groaned, "is it our turn next? When am I going to suffer some major loss again?"

"What do you mean?"

"When will tragedy strike the ones I love? Will one of my moms die? Will something happen to Shrewflame, or Whitepaw?" Rattlepelt pulled her fox pelt off. She was almost panting under its heat. "I feel like something's standing right behind me. Like I'm going to ruin everything."

"Is this about the Shardling? We keep telling you that wasn't your fault. It's not like you wanted to be possessed."

"It still happened, Wildclaw. It nearly broke me. Something's telling me that it will happen again. I know I sound crazy—"

"You don't sound crazy." Wildclaw leaned against Rattlepelt. "It's been a hard few moons. You've been stuck in camp. You're stressed. Why do you think I wanted to go on a walk with you?" Rattlepelt sighed. She forced the ripping, anxious itch in her chest out with her breath.

"You're right, you're right," Rattlepelt groaned.

"I always am," Wildclaw chirped.

"Don't gloat," Rattlepelt chuckled, shoving Wildclaw's muzzle down. Rattlepelt dragged her fox pelt back over her sensitive skin as a breeze made the bare branches dance. Rattlepelt could still smell the deer on the wind, but she smelled something else too, something pungent and stranger than any deer.

"Humans?" Wildclaw muttered, tasting the air. "Oh, those are definetely humans. Yuck." Wildclaw sneered at the smell.

"I hope they aren't setting more traps," Rattlepelt gulped. "Frostpaw almost stepped in one last moon!"

"Let's see if they are," Wildclaw suggested, hopping off the rock. "Keep low, alright?" Rattlepelt nodded. She and Wildclaw crept through the twigs and leaves, letting their noses lead them closer to where the WheatClan and AshClan borders met. As they pushed deeper into the forest, the humans soon became audible. There were two of them, with gangly meows that wavered in pitch. Rattlepelt kept low, the tail of her fox pelt dragging on the undergrowth. Wildclaw, nimble as ever, slipped silently closer to the noisy humans.

The two humans stomped around the corner of the three Clans. They were young from their size, with the tight-fitting leathers that typically marked males. Rattlepelt marveled at the leather's bright colors and strange patterns, unlike anything artisans could achieve. The smaller of the two held his front limbs close to his chest, keeping two small forms steady while his taller friend followed and yowled.

"I've never seen humans fight each other," Wildclaw muttered as the smaller human hissed at his companion. The black masses resting in the human's embrace shifted. Tiny mews broke through the human screeching. Rattlepelt held her breath when two sets of baby blue eyes peeled over the leather. The small human had two black kits!

The storyteller in Rattlepelt imagined what the humans could be doing. Were they yowling about the kits? Who were the kits? Did the humans take them from their mother? Did they even know their mother? Rattlepelt's anxieties slipped away, overshadowed by overwhelming curiosity focused on the strange unknowable creatures called humans.

The small human suddenly made a quick, snappy hiss at his companion. His strange eyes focused on the undergrowth… the undergrowth where Rattlepelt and Wildclaw lurked. The pair stayed utterly still, eyes locked on the smaller human. The small human slowly crouched, still staring at the two mollies. He made a soft, mouse-like chirp that drew all of Rattlepelt's attention. It made her stomach growl, as though she spotted a mouse shuffling through the leaves. Her ears turned straight on to the human. Rattlepelt caught herself before she slipped a paw out of her hiding spot. Whatever strange magic the human was wielding, Rattlepelt could not give in!

The human continued making that alluring sound as he carefully placed the two kittens on the ground. They couldn't have been more than half a moon old. The kits crawled on top of each other, stunned by the sudden lack of warmth. The human crept back like a hunter. He crouched at the side of a tree fox-lengths away from the kits.

"Is this some type of trap?" Rattlepelt asked.

"What kind of trap uses kits?" Wildclaw muttered. "I think… they want us to take the kits."

"I thought humans loved kittens."

"Maybe they don't want to take care of them."

"So they leave them in the forest? How cruel."

"But they aren't, they see us. I think they're looking for Clan cats." Did the humans know about the Clans? Did they know about RippleClan?

The tall human snapped at his smaller friend and grabbed his shoulder. The human spun and shoved him off, sneering. They yipped and growled at each other, with their mangled paws waving wildly at the kits. Rattlepelt steadied her jaw. She crept out of the undergrowth. The nose of her fox pelt touched the light first. Wildclaw snuck alongside her. The humans no longer noticed them.

Rattlepelt snatched the scruff of the bulkier kit, a tom with a slight smoky pattern across his pelt. Wildclaw grabbed his brother, who looked nearly identical. As soon as they had a good hold of the kits, Wildclaw and Rattlepelt ran. The two humans startled, finally aware of what the cats were up to, but they had no chance of catching them.

Rattlepelt and Wildclaw only slowed down when the ocean peeked between the trees. They skidded up to a sandy beach and dropped the kits. Both toms were shockingly quiet, merely huffing at the sudden stop and trying to get their bearings. Rattlepelt panted hard. Wildclaw groaned, stretching her hind legs.

"Well," Wildclaw huffed, "I think we found your bad feeling." She waved a paw at the kits.

"You know this isn't what I meant," Rattlepelt muttered. She sat beside the two black kits. Her fox pelt slipped off from all that running. The tail floated on top of the kittens' heads. The bulky tom's permanently unsheathed claws snagged one of the dried lavender petals woven into the fur. So much like Shrewflame.

"I don't know about you," Wildclaw hummed, slipping next to her mate, "but this feels like one of those moments StarClan designs just for us." Wildclaw dipped her paw in front of the smaller black tom, who instinctively crawled to it. He latched his tiny muzzle onto Wildclaw's toe. "The next step seems pretty clear to me. Ready to be a mom again, Rattle?"

Wildclaw was right. The next step was very clear.

(Rattlepelt: 74, female, artisan, thoughtful, leather artist)

(Rabbitjoy: 127, female, artisan, charismatic, master weaver)

(Frostpaw: 7, female, artisan apprentice, strict, lover of stories)

(Gingerpaw: 7, male, cleric apprentice, childish, curious about humans, moss-ball hunter)

(Wildclaw: 83, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor, good fighter)

(Midnightkit: 0, male, kit, polite)

(Valleykit: 0, male, kit, quiet)

Mosspounce died of an infected wound.

[Image ID: Ravenweaver, Trumpetspore, Washington, Wolfgaze, and Weevilsiht crowd around Mosspounce.]

---

"Lemmy better get here soon," Mosspounce muttered. His bandaged, sightless eyes gazed out of the medicine den. "She'll be… very upset if she misses this."

Mosspounce laid in the back of the medicine den, surrounded by his daughters and Trumpetspore. The other clerics all left the den, giving the family their privacy. Washington was still there, though; Mosspounce had insisted the old tom not leave. The glow of a yellow sunset dripped between the thin gaps in the wood, dappling Mosspounce's pelt. Trumpetspore practically laid in the nest with Mosspounce, curling around him. She whimpered as though he had already died. Whenever her voice rose to a cry, Weevilsight had to close her eyes and push back her sudden rage. She couldn't even think about her father. All she wanted was for her aunt to shut up.

When Mosspounce made his comment, Ravenweaver looked ready to join Trumpetspore in her pre-mature vigil. Wolfgaze's hazel eyes tightened. Weevilsight stuck her nose into Mosspounce's ear. For a moment, she was just a cleric again, checking on her sick patient. Mosspounce's ear burned.

"If she wanted to be here she wouldn't have…" Wolfgaze growled.

Wolfgaze bit her tongue, however, when Ravenweaver quietly snapped "She's still our mom, Wolf." Wolfgaze paced around the empty nests of the medicine den, keeping her supernatural gaze off her father. Ravenweaver crawled to the edge of Mosspounce's nest and rested her head by his sickly-smelling wounds. Her lavender crown fell onto Mosspounce's head. Mosspounce shifted just enough to nose Ravenweaver's forehead.

"Your old molly's just off hunting, Mossy," Washington suddenly coughed from his nest. "She's on her way." Mosspounce purred softly and groomed his daughter's head, unable to lift his own and properly share tongues. All the mollies in the den stared at the old gray tom.

"I don't know if we should lie to him, Washington," Wolfgaze muttered, squirming under Washington's wizened eye.

"He can't understand what's happening anymore," Weevilsight quietly explained. "He's too far gone."

"Don't say that, stop saying that," Trumpetspore whimpered. She buried her face in Mosspounce's back.

"It's happening, Trumpetspore!" Weevilsight suddenly hissed, the petals in her fur fluttering out as she turned to her grieving aunt. "And… and there's nothing else we can do for him." Weevilsight stepped back, forcing her sneer off her face as Trumpetspore wailed again. Trumpetspore clawed at the edge of Mosspounce's nest and shook so hard that Mosspounce moved as well. A painful buzz filled Weevilsight's chest and made her limbs ache. Her head burned with too many thoughts. There was nothing she could do. Not for Mosspounce, not for Lemmy. She was losing both of them in less than a moon.

"I'm not trying to intrude," Washington croaked, shaky paws pushing out from his nest, "but could you help me close to him?" Weevilsight took a while to move, even as Washington groaned under the simple yet mountainous effort of standing. Washington's groaning mixed with Trumpetspore's moans in a painful chorus that threatened to undo Weevilsight's remaining sanity. The tortoiseshell cleric slipped beside Washington and supported his large weight. With Weevilsight under him and his broken leg stiff and splinted at his side, Washington limped to Mosspounce's nest.

"You're a funny old flea-feast," Mosspounce whimpered as Washington fell next to him.

"I'm glad I could make you laugh," Washington purred, "even if we haven't known one another long." Washington set his paw against Mosspounce's shoulder. "I'm sorry to see you go. But this is a good death, in my eyes."

"A good death?" Wolfgaze huffed, marching in front of Washington. "What would be 'good' is if my father wasn't dying at all!"

"But he's dying with his family around him," Washington groaned, waving at the mollies crowded around Mosspounce. "That's more than many get."

"Hi again, Tempest," Mosspounce muttered, lifting his head slightly. "Have you met my mollies? They're good kits." Weevilsight's paws inched toward the exit. She needed to stay, she had to stay, yet her body pushed her outside. Still, she stayed long enough to catch her father's last words.

"Lemmy and I made some good, good kits…"

(Mosspounce: 52, male, caretaker, adventurous, talented fire-starter)

(Trumpetspore: 52, female, warrior, nervous, makes the best pottery, good storyteller)

(Weevilsight: 26, female, cleric, daring, deep StarClan bond)

(Wolfgaze: 26, female, codekeeper, thoughtful, connection to StarClan, great speaker)

(Ravenweaver: 26, female, artisan, den builder, very clever)

(Washington: 219, male, elder, nervous, good mediator)

Mitespark and Wolverineheart have grown closer over time, relying on one another through the recent chaos. They decide to become mates. Wolverineheart’s littermates celebrate with the pair.

[Image ID: Mitespark speaks with Wolverineheart while Boughfur, Thundergale, and Brightreed stand behind their sister in support. Under Mitespark, it says + MATE: WOLVERINEHEART. Under Wolverineheart, it says + MATE: MITESPARK.]

(Mitespark: 33, female, artisan, charismatic, great mediator)

(Wolverineheart: 23, female, warrior, troublesome, student of science)

(Boughfur: 23, female, historian, righteous, great climber)

(Thundergale: 23, female, teacher, adventurous, great hunter, good speaker)

(Brightreed: 23, female, warrior, righteous, student of art)

Moontide and Cobaltchaser don't move in time to avoid a large fir tree falling right on top of them. A patrol doesn't find them until they've both moved on to StarClan.

[Image ID: Moontide and Cobaltchaser are both StarClan spirits. Moontide says, "We need to see our sisters."]

(Moontide: 26, female, teacher, playful, excellent teacher)

(Cobaltchaser: 21, female, codekeeper, righteous, good cook, prey cleaner)

[yesimwriting]

Phantom Lurking

A/n This is a story set in the bestie reader verse that I briefly mentioned in an ask, but there's no specific context needed outside of the fact that reader and louis are extremely close best friends

Warnings: nothing too crazy (especially when compared to the source material) but there's mentions/implications of someone putting something in reader's drink but, within the fic, reader is never actually in danger of being physically hurt, reader feeling sick/anxious, Armand being emotionally manipulative as a way of expressing affection

Summary: After an argument with Louis, you decide to go out with an old friend. Once you're home again, you're forced to deal with two realizations. The first is that you feel a lot worse than you should, and the second is that Armand isn't the worst at being helpful when he wants to be.

----

The world feels flat, like one of the three dimensions you're used to being able to perceive has slipped into nonexistence. You frown, letting the thought inch its way up your spine.

You blink. Once and then twice, as if the familiarity of the gesture will be enough to remind you of what you were doing--of the reason for the phone in your hand.

"Woah," the voice is sharp enough in its happiness to jab at your stomach. You lift your head, ignoring the rigidness of the movement as you look to the source of the sound. Grace--your friend, Grace. A part of you is almost complacent enough to be eased by the realization that she's here. "You look so sad."

You can feel your eyebrows draw together. Do you? And then, as your fingers tighten around your cell phone, a second thought latches itself onto the first: Are you?

"Don't worry," she says, voice so chipper it almost stings. "He'll be over it tomorrow."

Right. On instinct, you let your head fall downwards. You unlock your phone, eyes narrowing at the screen's brightness as you open your messages. No new ones. Just the last texts you managed to send to Louis before you started feeling too nauseous to type: Not feeling. Okkay.

The lack of response presses itself into your lungs, making it impossible to breathe right. Louis was upset , but you can't imagine him ever being mad enough to not text you back. "But Louis answers."

Grace watches you for a second, her head tilting curiously at your phrasing. "Maybe he's sleeping." When the suggestion doesn't seem to sway you, she places a hand on your bare shoulder. Your mind is aware enough to acknowledge the intentions behind the contact, but her skin is so warm and sweaty against yours it's nearly nauseating. "It's late."

Louis keeps different hours than the general population, but that's not something you can fault her for not knowing. Besides, maybe it is so late that the night is morphing into morning. It wouldn't be the first time you and Grace lost an entire night to partying, and it would explain why you feel so incredibly out of it.

And...if Louis was really upset, he might have gone to bed early. He mentioned once that sometimes vampires enclose themselves in their coffins to avoid dealing with discomfort. It sounds deeply dramatic to you, but it's possible he's doing something similar.

You exhale, nodding so slowly the motion feels like more of a caricature of a human response than anything else. She laughs, the sound full in its certainty. Your stomach doesn't know how to digest her easiness.

"You'll feel better tomorrow." Grace's hand pulls itself away from your arm. "Okay--keys." When all you do is stare at her, she sighs. "First, I have to stop you from going home with that weird guy you met while waiting for the bathroom..." She trails off as she reaches for your purse. "And now you don't even remember where you are."

Hm. Grace's chastising gives you something to focus on. You blink, lifting your gaze as you glance around the building. The pale walls and warm lighting are familiar...this is your apartment building. How did you get to your apartment building?

Grace rifles through your purse, the contents of your bag clinking together as she searches through it. After a second, she seems to find what she's looking for. She turns away from you and towards the door.

"Okay," she hums triumphantly, "We're in."

You take the words as a sign to step forward. Your thoughts don't align with your movements. The delay is enough to make you stumble, your foot missing the base of your heel.

Grace is next to you in a second, her hands latching onto your arms to keep you stable. "How much did you drink?" The question lacks her earlier amusement.

You're not sure you're meant to respond, but you think about it anyway. It didn't feel like that much...but you don't exactly remember every moment, every drink--and you were mad at Louis.

She watches you for a second, her eyes wide and much too focused. "Are you okay?" It's a question your mind refuses to dwell on. Of course you're okay. "Like--okay to be left alone."

"Mhm," the answer feels hollow, "Yeah." Grace continues to stare, her lips pressed together in a way that conveys her uncertainty. "I'm just gonna go to sleep."

She studies you for another beat, and then sighs, "Okay--but straight to bed. And no more texting." Easy enough to follow. Grace lets go of you slowly. "And maybe try to drink some water--and--and try to sleep on your side."

You nod blankly, your hands reaching for the door in front of you. "Water, side, no texting."

Grace sighs as she walks forward. "And call me in the morning, okay?"

You squeeze the side of the door in an attempt to feel more stable. Tomorrow morning feels so far...so impossible. "Okay. Yeah."

She turns her head to look at you one last time before continuing down the hall. You step into your apartment before shutting the door behind you.

The darkness of your apartment immediately pushes itself to the front of your mind, blending into your unease in a way that's dizzying. You exhale, letting your weight rest against the door. You shut your eyes, inhaling as you force yourself to focus on the concrete. The ground beneath your feet is steady, the wood against your back is stable.

"You turned off your location."

The tension that takes over your body is so sharp, so heavy it briefly leaves you paralyzed. You open your eyes, pushing yourself further against the door.

Wait. The voice. You know that voice. The recognition doesn't ease you until a familiar figure pulls itself away from the shadows enshrouding your living room in darkness.

"Oh my god," you manage a second too late, the words devoid of the necessary bite needed to turn the phrase into a warning. "I thought you were a serial killer."

Armand doesn't care about your reaction. He just continues walking towards you with slow, even steps. Your mind is too foggy for his theatrics. "What..." Your questions feel too inadequate for you to make them mean anything. "Is Louis--is he okay?"

He stills at that, but it doesn't really matter. He's close enough now that the darkness isn't obscuring his features. For a moment, you think the question might have softened his expression. "Now you can find it in yourself to worry about him? After the way you spoke to him?"

Of course Louis told him. The haziness clinging to your thoughts has turned everything into sludge. Your lips part, some barely coherent defense-apology hybrid attempting to crawl its way up your throat. All you can manage is a slurred, "He was--dramatic, and I--" You push a hand against the door in an attempt to make yourself stand on your own. "I'm sorry." You're not sure why you're apologizing. It's not like Louis can hear it.

Armand continues forward. You don't think about where he might be going until you feel his hand on your arm. He's a lot less careful than Grace was, but something about the feel of his skin against yours is also a lot less overwhelming. If anything, the coolness of his touch is almost alievating.

"I don't--" You're not sure there's much point in explaining anything. Not when the only thing tethering you to consciousness is your nausea. You can't remember ever feeling so separate from yourself. "I don't feel good. If you're gonna lecture me, do it tomorrow."

Tomorrow. It feels more like a concept than a date. Things would be so much better if you could just fade out of existence until then.

Armand pulls you away from the door. Your limbs are too stiff to protest. His eyebrows draw together, and something behind his expression shifts. "I'm not here to lecture you."

"Then why are you here?"

His thumb moves out of place, brushing against your skin soothingly. "After your argument--Louis came back to me, he told me about what you said, how you treated him, and then he went to bed. Hours later, you sent him a message saying you didn't feel well..." He squeezes your arm a little tighter. "And you turned off your location."

It had been an extremely petty move, but in the moment, a few drinks in, it had felt so reasonable. If Louis was going to see you as fragile, you'd have to show him that you felt no interest in being looked after. "I was mad."

"And now you're experiencing natural consequence." His hold on you morphs into something that borders on uncomfortable, his nails pressing into your skin. "Do you know what people see when they look at you?" You can't do anything but stare at him. "You refuse to acknowledge your vulnerability, and then you stumble home like this."

Okay--you're drunk, but not--not horrible. You’re standing (mostly), and you haven't said anything weird to him. "You're not clueless." The words almost feel like a compliment. "How much did you have to drink?" You don't have an answer. "You don't know? Because I've seen you with Louis, and even when alcohol makes you sick, it's never like this."

Your limbs seem to grow heavier at the implication of his words. Did someone drug you? There was that one guy that hung around you and Grace a little too long, but he never got you a drink.

"Maybe you'll learn to appreciate Louis's warnings instead of running off with the first girl that offers you something simple."

Louis--when he learns about what happened, when he learns that you tried to call him...and that he wasn't there. "Don't tell him."

He angles his head towards you. "You're asking me to keep a secret from my companion for you?"

Ugh. "No." You didn't mean it that way, or at the very least, you didn't want to mean it that way. You can't make sense of things for yourself let alone for another person. "I don't know." Your head is starting to ache. "I just don't--I don't want him to feel bad."

Armand lets go of you slowly, his fingertips brushing against your arm as he straightens. "We'll worry about him tomorrow." There's a certainty there that leaves no room for argument.

The thought of delaying your worry doesn't feel as simple as he's making it out to be, but you can't find the words or energy to disagree. You're not sure what you'd be arguing for, anyway.

He turns with no warning, walking down the hall like this is his apartment. His decisiveness might have bothered you if it didn't make things feel a little easier. Even with Armand serving as a guiding force, your mind seems to buffer. It takes you a second to think to act on the desire to follow him.

It shouldn't be surprising that Armand seems so comfortable moving through your apartment. He's nowhere near as familiar with this space as Louis, but you find it hard to imagine Armand uncomfortable anywhere.

He finds your room. A more coherent version of yourself would have had the energy to worry about the last minute outfits you rejected and didn't have time to put away sitting on your desk chair.

The familiarity of your bedroom is enough to get you to move forward. You approach your bed, half-sitting-half-stumbling onto the mattress. You're not given the chance to settle before your muscles slump out of place. It's an unraveling of tension that offers you no peace.

Dread pools in your stomach. You blink, screwing your eyes shut before forcing them open again in an attempt to fight against the drowsiness blurring your vision. It's too sudden, too heavy.

"You can't fall asleep like that." The words are gentle enough to reach you through your panic.

You want to tell him that you can't be falling asleep, that falling asleep doesn't hold this kind of weight. Instead of struggling to piece your thoughts into something intelligible, you lift your head slightly and mumble a flat, "I'm not."

Armand's back is to you, his attention focused on your dresser. When he turns to face you again, he's holding a familiar piece of fabric. One of the oversized T-shirts you sleep in.

It takes much more focus than it should for you to press your elbows into your bedding. The edges of your vision grow spotty as you stand. You're managing, but everything about your positioning feels circumstantial, like the slightest shift could push you into unconsciousness.

He hands you your shirt. You squeeze the fabric between your fingers. Before you can think to do anything else, Armand's hand finds your wrist. You still at the contact. He moves towards you with slow, deliberate steps.

Armand stops directly behind you. He sets his palm against your shoulder, his thumb smoothing patterns against your shoulder. His other hand settles against your upper back. Something about the contact makes it a little easier to breathe.

You're just getting used to his proximity making things feel easier when he pulls his palm away from you. Before you can overthink the shift, you realize what he's doing. The zipper of your dress has been tugged out of its place.

Armand's slow to release you, his fingertips dragging against your skin as he steps away from you. He walks forward until he's in front of you again, his attention firmly focused on the wall. It takes you a moment to realize that this is him offering you privacy.

You pull the T-shirt over your head with a tact that feels similar to that of a toddler dressing themselves for the first time. You adjust the shirt's hem before pulling the straps of your dress off of your shoulders and down your arms. The material pools at your feet. You step out of the puddle of sequined fabric.

You tilt your head downwards, frowning at the discarded dress. You need to pick it up.

"Sit." The instruction is presented with a directness that leaves no room for resistance, and yet all you can bring yourself to do is blink at him. He turns to face you again. "The last thing you need is proximity to the ground."

His voice is implying a level of irritation you can't handle right now, so you step away from the dress and move to sit on your bed. Armand walks forward. He bends down, picking up the dress before approaching your desk. He lays the dress over the back of your desk chair neatly.

He approaches your bed again, this time sitting down next to you. The return of his proximity is strangely easing. When he doesn't say anything else, you give in to the need to break the silence, "Thanks."

Armand nods once in acknowledgement of the sentiment. "Lie down." The thought immediately digs at you. If you lay down, if you lose consciousness, you'll be letting go of the little control you still have. Anything could happen to you, and--and you'd be so alone.

When you don't move, Armand straightens, his arm extending towards you. His hand finds your shoulder. "I can stay..." The offer feels fragile, like the slightest mistake on your end could force it to crumble into dust. "But only if you listen to me." He turns his hand over as you let his words sink in. He drags his knuckles against your arm patiently. "Are you going to listen to me?"

You nod, if for no other reason than to keep him here. If your acceptance means anything to him, his expression gives no indication of it. "Lie down."

You give in with a sigh, pushing your bedding back as best as you can from your position on the bed. You move beneath your sheets before relaxing against a pillow. After a second, Armand begins to shift. You're not sure what he's doing until he's lying down next to you. The return of his proximity is unexpected, but not unwelcome.

He adjusts your comforter just enough to expose your forearm. Before you can think about the change, he begins to trace patterns against your inner arm. The gesture is oddly grounding...and considerate...which, even in your current state, you can tell is odd.

"Can I ask you something?"

He continues to drag his fingertips against your skin. "A lack of permission has never stopped you before."

A fair point. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

He tilts his head slightly as he considers the question. "Am I usually cruel to you?"

That's not exactly the difference. Armand is never particularly cruel to you. He's never made you feel like you're in physical danger, which means a lot when considering what he is. You've never even had much of a reason to fear arguing with him. However, you can't recall him ever being so understanding.

"No," you find yourself hoping he can feel how much you mean the answer. "But you're usually less patient."

His hand briefly stills against your arm. "I prefer a fair fight."

The sentiment roots itself in your chest, leaving your skin a little warmer than it was a moment again. "We can have one tomorrow."

"I don't doubt it," he says, voice much flatter than before.

Hm. The comment isn't exactly aggressive, but it implies an annoyance that doesn't suit his actions. Something uneasy wedges itself between your lungs and ribs. "Are you mad at me?"

You turn your head as best as you can, staring at him with an openness that a more sober version of yourself would have never allowed. "Mad at you, the darling sun?"

You sigh, letting your eyes fall shut. "Don't start."

"I'm not starting anything," his defense, though already weak, is further softened by the easiness of his tone. "I'm only recognizing what you are."

Opening your eyes, you turn your head to face him again. "What am I?"

He's quiet for a moment before angling his head towards you. It's a subtle shift, but something about it seems to amplify his proximity. Armand's eyes look a little softer than you remember them being, his irises closer to a brown-tinged ember than their usual amber hue. Maybe it's the limited lighting.

"Worthwhile suffering."

The answer feels much too soft to be considered an insult. You're not sure what to think of it. "You're very dramatic."

His hand stills against your arm. "I'm dramatic, when you're the one that turned off your location."

You don't have a decent response. Even as a teenager, you knew better than to completely turn off your location without letting anyone know where you were going during a night out. You're lucky that Grace was there and aware enough to get you back home, but things could have gone so much worse.

The thought of how incredibly stupid you've been burrows itself into your stomach, adding a sharpness to the underlying nausea you've almost been able to forget. Knowing that you're wrong and Armand's right isn't helping things, either.

And Louis--your Louis. Who cares if sometimes he worries so much it makes you feel like burden? At least he cares about you.

"I was mean to Louis."

Armand's hand stills against your forearm, his fingers pressing into your skin in a way that somehow feels both reassuring and resentful. "He'll let it pass."

You let out a self deprecating sigh. There's no reason to believe that Louis won't forgive you, but that doesn't make things okay. "He shouldn't."

"Don't be a martyr." His dismissal isn't enough to diminish your angst. You frown, shifting away from him so that you can lie flat on your back. He's quick to counter your resistance, adjusting his position so that he's sitting up a lot more than you are. He's practically leaning over you, and all you can think to do is stare.

"He loves you," Armand's voice is a lot quieter than you thought it'd be, "There isn't a single thing you could do that he wouldn't forgive."

His certainty is enough for both of you. After a second of blankness, you find it in yourself to nod. The gesture is stiff and uneasy, but it seems to be enough for him. He relaxes slowly, moving to rest his head against your ribs.

His closeness is more of a surprise than it should be. You and Louis have fallen asleep like this more times than you can count. The shock takes a moment to subside, but once it does, you realize that you're... not uncomfortable.

Slowly, as if approaching a wounded animal, you move a hand to rest against his upper back. Neither of you move.

"You should go to sleep," he whispers after what could be a long or short stretch of silence, "You'll be yourself in the morning."

The suggestion is a lot less overwhelming now. Maybe it's because you feel a lot more concrete now. You shut your eyes, but before you can try to find rest, you remember where you are and who you're with.

"Wait," you mumble, "The window--" You're not managing the urgency you feel. While your room isn't exactly flooded with light in the morning, the sun does reach your bed in the mornings if you don't remember to fully shut your curtains.

"The curtains are fine." Armand shifts slightly, his hand settling against the arm not bent against his back. "Rest."

You close your eyes again, this time finding it in yourself to relax fully.

----

@joong-of-gold this is the fic i mentioned having in my drafts a little while ago!!

[stonedlilac]

•TW• ⚕️CNC, Drugging, Medical, Needles(IV), BDSM⚕️

Pt1

Gazing, admiring. I've done such good work, of course I'm going to take my time. I reposition the mask on my face, letting some air in through the bottom as it shifts. My scrubs, form fitting and black are wrinkled from the earlier struggle. Filled with various tools, ranging from medical lubricant to a simple small notepad and pen. No phone, though. You're my soul focus.

You're starting to stir and I'm starting to get impatient. The general anesthesia is starting to wear off and I feel myself getting more and more giddy. I have you blindfolded, for now. I don't want you too scared, too tight. Your arms are positioned snugly above your head, locked firmly in place. I'm particularly proud of how I bound your hands. Just enough wiggle room but not enough to succeed with any ill intentions. If anything, I'm being generous, giving you such a false sense of freedom. You should realistically be thanking me. But we can save that for later, I suppose.

Your breaths are starting to quicken, your stomach rising and falling so perfect. I tenderly run a few fingers across it, feeling the sparks and warmth of your skin against mine. You're so beautiful when you're helpless like this. I step towards you, placing a spinal anesthetic against the IV that runs into the fluid surrounding your spinal chord. So thoughtful of me, you won't feel an absolute thing.

You start to wake up, panicked. I'm sure I have an idea why. Probably because you can't feel the bottom half of your body. I start to explain things to you, but your gagged protests quickly cut me off.

The general anesthesia is really causing you panic as it wears off. I tentatively make note of this, slipping my pen and pad back into my pocket. I hum softly to myself, running the tips of my fingers along various tools and instruments, making my medical music as I like to call it.

Your legs are firmly supported in place in metal stirrups, locked and chained down, your cunt exposed and ready for me, already dripping. I adore that. You're whining pathetically against the gag, pulling loosely at your binds.

Snapping a pair of gloves over my hands, I finger a speculum, noticing the cool metal against my palms, turning it gingerly in my hands and adding a substantial amount of lube. I make my way to you, taking your blindfold off, the light like a smack to the face, making you squint.

I run the metal speculum along your belly and down your hips, giggling at the noises and desperate whines you make. Lining up the end of the speculum the blades vertical and the screw facing sideways, I carefully slide it into you, noticing how your eyes widen even though you can't feel what I'm doing to you. Reactions are such a funny thing, sometimes, aren't they?

I smile softly at you, slowly rotating the device stuffed in your cunt 90 degrees. The blades facing horizontally, screws up. You wince and I begin to wonder if you're feeling what I'm doing. It's risky, but I administer another half dose of spinal anesthetic, admiring the way your legs and hips completely relax and fall limp. There we go, perfect. You're begging me through your gag and I pull it down, falling just below your chin. Your hands are balled in tiny fists and your cheeks wet. You start to plead and scream, but I'm far too focused to pay you any mind.

The soft clicks echo through the room as the speculum opens, exposing your wet walls for me.

I grin, I've always wanted to see this, you tied down and panting as I examine your pretty parts. I tenderly slide a plug in your ass, watching as your walls slightly close together, coated to the brim with your wetness. Fuck.

Next is the straps. Different variations and sizes. Adjusting the speculum to fit each one just perfect. The torturous hum of the vibrator violating your clit, hitting the metal speculum and making your cunt shake.

I'm going to drive you over the edge, pet. I'm going to make you scream and tighten in pleasure, your cunt wanting to greedily suck me in, but unable to. Such a pathetic whore.

Pulling out I admire the way your cum runs pathetically down your thighs, running two fingers along your walls and bringing them to your lips.

Good slaves taste themselves and you've been so good for me, haven't you?♥︎

[concretejunglefm]

Poltergeists: Chapter 17.

Summary: It's been a year since your best friend Noah went missing, two years since you moved into the house you abandoned after he went missing from it during the night. This is a recount of events leading up to and what happened after the night he went missing and all of the strange events that occurred during your time living in that house.

Chapters: Masterlist

Pairings: Noah Sebastian x Reader, Nicholas Ruffilo x Reader, possibly more BO members.

CW: Missing person, elements of supernatural horror, mentions of blood and possibly violence, unreliable narrator. will update as it goes on.

WC: 2.6k.

AN: This series will be told throughout a variety of flashbacks and present day, all which will be marked.

Divider: Silent-stories.

PRESENT DAY

(NOAH'S POV)

At some point while sitting at Bub's bedside, I fell asleep. Then, feeling a gentle touch on my shoulder, I wake up, startled, to a darkened room.

"Sorry, baby, I mean to scare you." Bubs' voice is soft, almost hoarse, as she stands beside me, her hand on my shoulder.

"No, no. I'm sorry. How long have I been asleep?" I raise a hand to rub my tired eyes and stretch out my limbs before turning my head towards the bed when I realize she was out of it and beside me.

"What are you doing up?" I ask before feeling her hand move to my cheek, gently guiding my head back in her direction beside me.

"I wanted to go for a walk." she explains.

Her hand feels cold, and I raise my own to gently cup her hand in mine. "You're freezing." I murmur and bring her hand to my mouth, pressing soft kisses against the back of it.

"Yeah, it's a bit chilly in here." she laughs softly, and my tired eyes flutter up to her face, taking in the comforting sight of her in the dim light.

It takes me a moment to realize that she was wearing clothes instead of the standard hospital nightgown she had been in when she woke up. Nick must have dropped by when I was sleeping and left some fresh clothes for her.

"You should get back into bed—"

"Can we go for a night drive? Like we used to?" she interrupts, her hand moving back to my cheek, fingers stretching up towards my hair as they gently caress through the strands. 

It feels comforting to have her this close again, and I close my eyes, holding onto the warm sensation that erupts in my chest.

I missed her so much.

"Yeah." I nod and open my eyes with a soft smile. "Of course, we can."

She reaches for my hand, helping me to pull myself up from the chair. As I unfold completely, I stretch with a loud groan.

Instantly, her arms wrap around my waist, and she pulls herself into me, her face nestling against my chest.

It's the first moment we've had to fully embrace one another since I had returned from wherever I had been and she had woken.

My arms fall and curl around her, tucking her firmly against me as I drop my head to nuzzle against her crown.

I wish I could freeze time and hold onto this moment, hold onto her.

"Come on, let's sneak you out of here." I whisper against the top of her head as we untangle ourselves from each other. My hand finds hers and entwines our fingers.

My remark is met with a giggle, and I can't help but miss the sound of her laugh—the sound of her as a whole. Even if I had been spending my time with a fake version of her, nothing could compare to the real her. Every sound with them had felt less human the longer it went on.

A shiver runs down my spine, and I do my best to shake off the memories that feel more like a bad dream than my reality for the past year.

"Careful, I think Nurse Ratched is on tonight." she remarks with a playful grin, pulling me from the room.

The hospital is quieter during the midnight hours. The bright fluorescents are dimmed, casting a softer glow. A gentle humming emanates from them, accompanying us as we walk down the corridors until we reach the lift that takes us to the ground floor.

There's no need for us to be sneaky, but we both make a game of sneaking past the security guard's desk, tiptoeing past him each time he turns away from the main waiting area.

Once outside, she bursts into laughter, and I can't help but grin as I watch her sprint across the half-empty car park towards her car. 

Slipping a hand into my jacket pocket, I feel her familiar set of keys—keys that hadn't been there before. I dismiss it as another thing Nick probably did. Pulling them from my pocket, I click the lock button and watch her jerk open the door, climb into her rightful place next to me in the passenger seat.

"So, where to, bubs?" I ask as I climb into the driver's seat. When I look over to her, she's already pulled my hoodie from the backseat and draped it around herself, tucking herself in. A smile tugs at the corners of my lips, a reminder that my bubs is here with me.

"You know what I'm craving?" she starts, and I respond in unison.

"A milkshake."

It makes her laugh, and I yearn to capture that sound. I crave to listen to it repeatedly, along with her voice and every soft sound she makes.

I never realized how much I could miss until she was gone. The subtleties, like the crease on her forehead when she's deep in thought, or her tongue poking out when she's focused, or the soft little snort she makes when she laughs, all thanks to me. I missed everything. I missed her.

I hold her gaze, my hand reaching out to gently push a stray hair behind her ear before I lean across from the driver's seat and press my forehead against hers.

The urge to pull her into a kiss is strong, but I feel the gentle touch of her hand on my chest, as if she's resisting the same impulse, yet deliberately keeping me at a distance. "I missed you." I whisper, my nose brushing lightly against hers.

"I missed you too." she breathes back, and I can sense the warmth of her breath.

Kissing her could be so effortless, so natural, but I can sense her hesitation in accepting too much from me too soon. Perhaps it's due to everything she shared with me about what transpired during our separation, or maybe it's because she's concerned about what Nicholas might have revealed to me. I'm willing to wait for her pace. All I need is to be reunited with her, for it to finally feel like everything is falling back into place, as it should be.

Reluctantly pulling away, I move my hand to the back of her head, my fingers gently threading through her hair with a soothing scratching sensation against her scalp. She instantly relaxes beneath my touch, and as she rests her head back in my hand, she turns and looks at me, her eyes softened in a way that makes my heart skip a beat.

"Milkshakes?" she finally breaks the comfortable silence that fell between us, and I nod, quietly chuckling as I untangle my fingers from her hair.

Starting the car, I pull out of the hospital parking lot, navigating through the familiar streets despite a year of being hidden away from this place.

A gnawing sensation at the back of my mind urges me to ask her questions about everything, to seek understanding, but as she takes my hand, the one closest to hers, into hers, all thoughts of asking are silenced. They can wait. Right now, all that matters is focusing on finally being back with her.

It feels reminiscent of our high school days, when we'd sneak out and drive around, talking about anything or nothing, and sharing milkshakes.

As we cruise through the familiar streets, recounting various stories, she leans over to share the strawberry milkshake's straw and I smile as she gently kisses my cheek before her hand ascends towards my hair. It's longer now, having grown during my absence, and my head briefly turns, glancing at her. "Do you like it?"

Her fingers gently stroke through it, as if contemplating it. My usual wolf cut is now grown out, but I don't mind. Seeing her smile and nod makes my stomach flutter. It's so teenager-like to care about a crush's or partner's opinion on your appearance, features, or even something as personal as hair. But she always had a way of making me feel like a teenager in her presence, even as we approached adulthood.

"I do." Her fingers wrap around the ends, playfully tugging, and she leans closer, resting her head against my shoulder.

I turn my head, pressing a kiss to her crown and resting my cheek against the top of her head. My eyes focus on the road, but I don't need directions; it feels like muscle memory. Our drives always lead us back to our spot by the lake.

It's too dark and late for a hike through the trees to the lake, so we settle in the dirt parking area, gazing out the window at the stars twinkling above.

The mixtape CD I made for her back in high school softly plays on the player, and she hums along. If I close my eyes, it feels like we're those two teenagers, dancing around our crushes. Now, when I open my eyes, I have everything I could have ever wanted—her. 

We continue our time tucked away together in our little corner of the world until sunrise, then take the scenic route back into town.

It's been a while since things felt this normal, where driving her around hadn't been just a way to help her sleep during her restless nights after nightmares plagued her. She'd always resist sleep during these periods, afraid of what lurked in the shadows during her most vulnerable hours.

For the first time, she looks peaceful.

The passenger-side window is rolled down, and the cool morning breeze caresses her face and hair, bringing a smile to her lips.

As we reach Main Street, I pull up to the curbside outside the tattoo shop. It's still early, but I can see through the main window that the lights are on, indicating someone's inside.

"Would you like to come in and say hi?" I ask, glancing over at her. However, she retreats and shakes her head, her eyes momentarily heavy with sleep.

"Perhaps later?" She suggests.

I nod and lean over to press a tender kiss against her forehead. "I'll only be a moment." I promise before climbing out of the car and crossing towards the shop, entering.

There's no Nick, but there are Jolly and Matt, who I learn offered to come in and tidy up some last minute things for Nick.

"We heard about Bubs." Jolly says, his hand slapping down on my shoulder with a comforting squeeze.

"Yeah, we were considering visiting the hospital later if that's okay?" Matt asks.

"Actually." I can barely contain my excitement. I glance back over my shoulder, out of the front window, and to the car where I can see Bubs curled up against the passenger-side door, her eyes closed as she rests her head against her hand, still covered by my hoodie. She at least seems comfortable.

I decide not to share the news that she's out there, even though I'm torn between wanting to and not wanting to cause any distress to her.

"I think she'd really appreciate it." I say, nodding in agreement. I know they would've all missed her as much as I did.

For a moment, as my eyes move over to Matt, I'm reminded of what she told me happened. There's a slight flicker of irritation, but it quickly fades away. I can't be entirely mad at him, at least not based on Bubs' explanation.

Nicholas was another matter entirely. I feel conflicted when I consider him, but I still feel like I'm missing the full story.

"I'll head off. I just wanted to drop by and see who was here." I say, taking a step back and raising my hand in a wave before turning back towards the door and slipping out of the shop.

Climbing back into the car, I look over to Bubs as she lifts her head and glances over at me.

"Where to now?" I ask.

"Anywhere but home." she replies, her voice soft and quieter. I reach over to her, my fingers slipping between hers. Despite our different hand sizes, hers always fits perfectly with mine, as if we were two pieces of a puzzle.

Home wasn't the same anymore, and possibly hadn't been for a long time. Between what I heard from her in the dream area we reunited in and what Nicholas had told me, at least, I knew it wasn't.

I nod when I pull my hand back. "I know just where."

From what I've been told, she's been staying at Nicholas' place. While the actual details of what transpired between them continue to confuse me if I dwell on them for too long, I know it would've been the only place she'd want to go, at least with me.

Before we moved and before everything happened, the three of us lived together happily. Part of me hopes that we can go back to that, but I also wonder if things would ever be the same between us after this.

When we reach Nicholas, she swiftly climbs out, bringing my hoodie with her as she walks around to greet me. A radiant smile adorns her face, causing my heart to swell with joy. I stand still before her as she lifts my hoodie, draping it over my shoulders and using the arms to pull me down closer.

Suddenly, my chest races as she leans up and kisses me. My hands instinctively move to her waist, both to pull her closer and steady myself. 

The moment our lips finally meet, it's like fireworks explode behind my eyes. I've kissed her countless times before, but the absence of her that had left an aching void in my heart is swiftly filled as our mouths touch. 

She lingers for a moment, holding me close to her as her hands release the arms of my hoodie and her arms wrap around my neck. It's so easy to become enthralled in her embrace, and I do, a hand ascending onto the back of her neck as I deepen the kiss.

"I've been waiting to do this all night." I confess under my breath, a soft chuckle escaping my lips as our lips finally part.

"I know." She whispers, her forehead pressing against mine as I remain leaning down to meet her.

I don't care about the awkward positioning or the strain it puts on my neck; all that matters is being close to her once again.

When we finally pull apart, I grasp her hand in mine and lead us up the pathway towards Nick's house. The front door is already unlocked as I reach for the handle and turn it.

The moment I push open the door and step over the threshold, my fingers slip from Bubs's hand, and my eyes fall upon Nick, standing in the middle of the living room, a sullen expression on his face.

"Nick? What is it?" I ask, as his head turns to look at me. "What's wrong?"

"It's Bubs…" He struggles to find the words. "She passed away last night."

I open my mouth to protest, but no words come out. I shake my head, wanting to tell him he's wrong, she's right here. However, when I glance over to the still-open front door, I find that she's no longer standing there, as if she's vanished into thin air.

The only memory I have of her being with me throughout this entire time is the faint scent of her lingering on my hoodie, still draped over my shoulders.

My eyes remain fixed on the open door, now bare of her presence. I struggle to comprehend the idea that she's gone.

I can hear Nick's voice as he approaches me, feeling his hand on my shoulder as a comforting gesture, but his words are so distant that I barely manage to catch them.

"They said she never woke up." 

Tagged: @enemiestolovershoe, @fadingangelwisp, @geminigirlfromfinland, @littlepeachwhispers, @concreteangel92, @deathblacksmoke, @1toreyouapart, @lacy1986, @chaoticwineaunt, @ichoosetenderomens, @chey-h, @baddestomens, @blade-dressed-in-red, @halfalgorithmhafdeity, @geminigirlfromfinland, @fuck1ng-queen, @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard, @xxkittenkissesxx (if anyone else wishes to be tagged lmk)

[adreamoverlife]

quick everyones asleeps time to angst post about purgatory 2 french edition

because I know it was kinda wishy washy about how canon it was, with the easiest answer being it *did* happen but not *everything* that occurred did. But like...

Etoiles is happy to fight Guill, happy to see Kenny, Jimmy and Mynthos, but what if that was finally just finding more french speakers? What if he still didn't truly remember them?

And with the timer running out on day 3 and Green still at the bottom of the scale Guill makes a meetup with Greens Leader just before he goes to sleep. A little touch up after their duel to make sure no hard feelings and also more selfishly to ask if Etoiles misses this. Misses fighting him like he used to in the arena Guill runs, and that he can't have really been here this whole time, where was he? Actually, last Guill heard he was traveling with Baghera wasn't he? Where did they go? Jimmy hasn't heard from Pierre lately, what's that about?

"You've met Baghera!" Etoiles exclaims happily, his feet kicking up red dust as he swings his legs. They're both sitting on what was probably a small building at some point, and is now just rusted rebar and concrete pillars. Everything seems to rapidly decay in purgatory. Guill explains she basically dug him out of a one by one tunnel like 2000 blocks out. Was with some guy too, Cellbit. You know him?

Etoiles knows him, takes a second to fish out his gas mask. It's eyes flicker a green hue when he puts it on. Guill laughs and taps his own mask in return. It should feel like solidarity, if you'd asked him years ago he'd say Etoiles was copying his look. Guills kept his own versus the ones here of course. The style of the ones here doesn't quite match him. It doesn't quite match Etoiles either.

“You should come back with me when this is over. I mean, if you can stick around if your team is eliminated.”

"Oh! I can't leave." He laughs, the green light finally sputtering out. The mask falls out of his hand. He doesn't pick it up. There's another light though, one on his skin. There's something strange with Etoiles, something more added to him. Guill had tried a few times during the fight to see if he could knock it off but he couldn't. Like the flickering green and black was a part of him.

And when Guill says of course he can leave, he saw the other eliminated teams from yesterday leave, and that when he does Etoiles can wait back at his arena. And Etoiles looks at him dead in the eyes still smiling and asks "Who are you again?"

[simplemindedmockingjay]

Was I supposed to feel any warm fuzzies when Yotha and his mum had their reconciliation moment?? Cause I sure as shit didn't... I hate the mum more than ever after this scene because it's even more evident to me now that she doesn't care about her relationship with her sons, she just cares about her own comfort.

She's only been so focused on fixing things with Yotha because he's loud and abrasive in his dislike of her, and that makes her life harder because she can't ignore it. But look at the others.

Newton is completely emotionally disconnected and apathetic. He takes the news that his mother is moving roughly 6000 miles away with the same level of emotion you'd give a casual acquaintance, with "well if I'm ever in your neck of the woods we should catch up" energy. And I think this is because he genuinely doesn't care, he hasn't relied on his mum since the divorce and is of the 'no expectations means no disappointments' mentality. The mum is fine with this distance because it's subtle and non-confrontational, which is comfortable for her. Who cares that his coping mechanism is unhealthy, at least it's quiet.

Then we have Faifa... I could, and do, cry when I think too hard about this poor boy. His mum ripped him out of one family unit and then shoved him out of another. And why?? For her own convenience. In her own words, she took him to live with her because he, the child, would experience enough separation anxiety to force her, the adult, to keep in touch with her other kids. Thats a level of emotional abuse that I dont even have the language to try and explain... and then she fully admits that if she'd taken Yotha in the divorce, they'd have never seen her again.

Then, we can only assume, especially after the "your stepfather and siblings ask about you all the time" comment, that he wasn't shoved out of his second family due to unresolvable issues or something like that. It sounds more like, at some point, it became more comfortable for her to keep these two chapters of her life completely separate. This trauma has made Fai such a people pleaser that he's completely unable to process, let alone call out, his mums shitty actions and is instead left feeling like a burden who constantly has to prove his worth. (Don't even get me started on the fact that his mother practically rips his self worth away, admits she didn't want to live with him because she loved him but purely for convenience, drops the bomb that she's abandoning him again, and then he offers her a lift to the airport!! Like he feels the need to prove his worth one last time.) But at least, from the mums perspective, this isn't uncomfortable or overt, so she doesn't see, or chooses not to acknowledge, the obvious hurt he's going through cause its easier for her not to. She gets to keep her comfort through willful ignorance.

So yeah, it's nice Yotha has had a chance to get some closure, but at what cost??

[notacatdown]

yes and no. they definitely shouldve had one, but how things flow in the drama (i didnt read the novel so feel free to educate me!), between all that happens in ep 7 and ep 8, it almost felt like there was no time for that to happen. if anything, maybe instead of his percent going up from being jealous of seeing her with fuyi, they couldve done something there, but the version of ziqi theyre trying to portray is one who is already beginning to like her romantically, skipping over the friendship part and just wanting to Be Together. like a desperate lovesick puppy

I figure ep 9 is a better place to respond than your ep 4 rewatch because it's here that Miaomiao says Mu Sheng should go see a therapist. The drama keeps a lot of the novel's dialogue about how Mu Sheng sees himself (he's tired of his life, he thinks that his death is the ideal solution to everything, he believes that his only purpose in life is to protect Mu Yao, etc), but it doesn't go into detail. How does a person with such deep loathing for himself and suicidal tendencies behave?

In the novel, the moment when he realizes how much he wants her affection and her warmth, he instinctively wants to kill that desire for self-protection. He believes that he's a monster and only a saint like Mu Yao will care about him. He fears rejection and believes that it's inevitable, so he wants to get rid of her. But at the same time, he really wants her attention and gets upset when she ignores him. The more he likes her, the more he gets scared of what he thinks will happen. He doesn't have the sense of security to want to enter a romantic relationship yet.

(Whereas in ep 8, it seems as if Miaomiao had said she likes him instead of saying she cares about him because she's his disciple, he wouldn't try to send her away. His fear is that she will reveal his secret to Mu Yao.)

He hates himself, so he keep sabotaging his relationships. He has to believe he's deserving of love and friendship to stop pushing her away. And even then, healthy behavior isn't the absence of bad behavior. It's a completely new set of behavior that happy people learn from their interactions with parents as children. For a person like Mu Sheng, who didn't come from a happy family, he has to learn it as an adult from Miaomiao.

We can sort of see this in the drama too when Mu Sheng says he doesn't like to argue with Mu Yao in ep 4. 

I really like how you phrased his mindset in that moment "placating her and telling her he doesn't like arguing with her, that sister knows best, just because he can't deal with hearing her say these hurtful things anymore, and he cant handle it if his sister has such a negative view of him, all while hes trying to smile. its genuinely hurting him internally, as we see in a moment. "

In the novel scenes where he thinks/says those lines, he's innocent of what Mu Yao is accusing him of even though it looks incriminating. Mu Yao gives him time to explain, but he doesn't want to. He wants the conversation to end as fast as possible. As the readers, we can see that this sort of misunderstanding has happened so many times in the past and shaped Mu Yao's view of him, but she still asks him. She desperately wants him to be innocent, but he's so stuck in his negative emotions that he can't see this.

"if you think it was me, then it was me." This new line and his expression when he says this is so perfect for how Mu Sheng views himself in the novel. His self-esteem is a house of cards shakily propped up by how Mu Yao and Miaomiao view him. He places Mu Yao and Miaomiao on a pedestal, and I like how the novel shows this places an unfair burden on Mu Yao and Miaomiao. I don't think this aspect is shown in the drama.

Anyways, I like that we get to see a different take on their relationship in the drama. I just wish the drama spent more time on it, especially their relationship as fan/reader and author.

—

since mu sheng is xia ziqi's self-insert, who does that make yao (not that she has to be a specific someone, i just mean does she stem from somewhere)? 

I viewed it as this is how a teenage boy would write an empowered woman. Except for a few scenes closely adapted from the novel, she doesn't have emotional fragility. In the novel, Fu Zhou is a female author, has no connection to Mu Sheng, and the story is not a dream. So, the characters that a teenage boy writes would be different from the characters that a woman would write. It would have been interesting to see the female protagonists that Fu Zhou writes as an adult. I'm curious how Fu Zhou would portray Mu Yao in his revised version. I think she would be more nuanced.

The drama removes three female characters (Lin Yu's aunt, Mu Yao's biological mother, and Mu Yao's father's legal wife) and adds four male characters and one female character (Cuicui, Guo Xiu, the marquis, Liu Fuyi's master, and Liu-niang). The novel's final mystery arc is female-centric. It can be viewed as a tale of four mothers, the sacrifices they've made, and how that shaped their children in a patriarchal society part 2. 

(Which sounds depressing, but it's being revealed during the happiest time in Mu Sheng and Mu Yao's lives. Their childhoods sucked, but they met people that love them and helped them walk out the shadows of their childhood, and their future will be so happy. I think this is why the author chose to reveal their parents' stories this way.)

Although I want to protest about screenwriters that change female-centric novels to focus on the male protagonist in xianxia drama adaptations, it wouldn't make sense that a teenage boy would write that type of story. He doesn't understand how women think or how motherhood changes and impacts women.

"again, i think miaomiao is disregarding that this is a parallel universe, since she just sees it as the book's world and everyone is pretend, so venting like this, especially to ziqi, is not something that she has to hesitate about. they dont understand, and they dont fully question her, so why not speak to them as if they arent real people? at this point in the series, thats still how she sees them."

When I rewatch the part where she's sharing her vulnerable thoughts to him, I wish we could have gotten a scene where they're themselves with their memories intact and continued this conversation. It would have been such a good resolution! We never get to see them on the same page. We find out that Catching Demons is like a love letter to Miaomiao, but Miaomiao doesn't know that. I feel like I went to a restaurant, patiently waited for the chef to cook, enjoyed tasting while waiting, and right after the splendid meal was about to be served, the restaurant closed and takeout wasn't allowed.

"i like that after 5 years of traveling together the name ziqi has not come up once."

Lol. Shows that Mu Sheng has no friends T.T Strangers would call him Mu-gongzi/Young Master Mu to be polite. Mu Yao and Liu Fuyi call him Ah'Sheng. His mom calls him Sheng'er. In the novel, Miaomiao is the only one that calls him by Mu Sheng or Ziqi. I like that the marquis refers to him as that Ziqi guy because that's how he hears Miaomiao's address for Mu Sheng. That was a nice detail.

and yes, miaomiao has clearly changed a lot in the story, yet with how she is supposed to escape, the system will still ensure that she gets through it similarly, since she HAS to defeat the resentful woman, so the story has to continue,

I keep forgetting the system gives her two goals in the drama. I think this is because we only see Miaomiao working on Mu Sheng's favorability % and Mu Yao and Liu Fuyi's relationship. Let me know if I'm wrong or if I miss something. In the novel, she works on finding out more about the final boss and increasing her fighting ability to prepare for the ending throughout the story.

—

When I was re-watching the drama, I noticed how the omission of very minor details changed how I view Miaomiao. For example, in the novel, when Mu Sheng sticks the immobilizing charm on her to snatch Liu Fuyi's sachet from her, MiaoMiao's first thought is on the charm, how cool and useful it is. She asks him for one. It shows that she cares more about the demon hunter world and planning for future dangers over Mu Sheng and his petty behavior.

but hes so annoyed LOL. using a control talisman because HE WANTS THAT DANG IT. no hesitation at ALL.

ahhhhhh looking at the sachet for a moment and then her as he goes to grab it. he wants to intimidate and tease her so badlyyyyyyy

Oh Mu Sheng, if only you kept this jealous behavior and ripped off the love bracelet. What was the point of testing the bracelet? He should have just yanked the bracelet off. It's like seeing people on fire and not wanting to get close to them to throw water over them because they're naked. In an emergency situation, there is an exemption for everyday politeness.

In a magical world where a single talisman can make someone execute a complicated action and one person has the power to alter the memories of an entire village for years on end, and there's no magical way to check, an experienced demon hunter like Mu Sheng should have basic safety protocols. If she isn't acting like herself, the first step should be to strip her down to make sure there's no hidden magical item and question her to pinpoint when their memory or behavior changed.

and how he looks surprised "its a sachet" / "doesnt it look like that?" my guy what skills do you possess besides being super hot? because idk i havent quite seen them

Lol. Is it clear in the drama that he's terrible because this is the first time he's made a protective sachet? In the novel, the first ones that he offers Miaomiao are three lumpy bags crammed with talismans. He stayed up the rest of the night after their 5-in-a-row games to make them. Gets rejected by Miaomiao. Later on, he forcefully gives her one that's just as nice as Liu Fuyi's. Presumably, he's been secretly working on perfecting his sachet making skills.

crossing his armmmmssss i LOVE how much he does that and how LITTLE fuyi does it. like absolute foils for each other. wait. are mu sheng and liu fuyi supposed to be two sides of ziqi? ive considered it but i dont know. blah, i dont want to talk about this right now, so many of you are much better at this than i am.

This would have been so interesting for the drama to explore! What does it mean that Fu Zhou had Mu Sheng marry Lin Yu (a woman that was in love with Liu Fuyi? Just a way to torture himself? I wish we got to see them interact more beyond that drinking their sorrows away scene.

Early on in the novel, Mu Sheng has a one-sided competition going on with Liu Fuyi. Liu Fuyi is oblivious to this. As he likes himself more, he does this less. By the final story arc, he doesn't react negatively when Liu Fuyi consoles him about something. He still gets jealous of Liu Fuyi, but he recognizes that it's his problem and that it isn't okay to act out his jealousy. Mu Sheng's precious character growth!

hes just so pretty, even blurred. AND SO IS YAO. mu siblings gorgeous genes even tho theyre not blood-related.

Pretty fan art of these three from xiaohongshu.

i find that on rewatch, i like cuicui less and less? i had no problem with him on my first watch, and he doesnt even do anything wrong. i think i just found it grating to go through his scenes again LOL. like goddammit just give me the romance and action!

My tipping point for Cuicui was ep 21. I wish we could have seen Miaomiao supporting Mu Sheng after he spits out blood during the battle scene instead of having to hold a 150-year old bamboo demon. It would make sense that CuiCui was stuck in his original form because of the pressure of the formation. His role is to help push them together, but he's always standing between them and literally keeping them apart. I can see why fans are so upset about his character on Weibo and Douban.

(Feel free to ignore this ranting. Got carried away. I get so annoyed whenever I think about this. 

Ep 23 was the final straw. I watch the drama at 2x speed in any scene he's in. In the novel, we have Miaomiao idly playing with Mu Sheng's hair and him getting super flustered. She handfeeds him her snacks or any food that she enjoys with him, but it has now become the exclusive-privilege of Cuicui.

In the last third of the novel, even when she's talking to someone else, she notices when Mu Sheng is sad. She has become as sensitive to him as he is to her. She reaches out to hold his hand when he sits down next to her. She half-hugs him and holds his hands to make dumplings. Just little moments.

Instead, we have this in the drama:

In ep 14, Mu Sheng walks away because he's upset and jealous. After a similar situation in the novel, MiaoMiao drank a bit to get courage and went to Mu Sheng's room to apologize for poking at his sore spot. She ends up drinking way too much. After she apologizes, she rambles on that she's worried about him. That he should like someone like her. That he would be happy with her. That she would pamper him. She kisses him on the cheek and then tries to wipe her rouge off his cheek. This is how Mu Sheng knows that Miaomiao likes him.

How did they go from this to needing a 10-year old child to progress their relationship? Cuicui spilling Miaomiao's crush to Mu Sheng even though she told him not to.)

Sorry, this got too long. I've never felt so frustrated by any drama character before. More than any other reason, Cuicui is the reason why I only re-watch up to ep 8. I was curious to read your thoughts on ep 9 because you've pointed out so many things I missed, so I continued. I can just scroll past the Cuicui parts.

THE STUNNED LOOK ON HIS FACE LMAO. hes like "what did i do? did i do something wrong?" but then hes thinking "she is way too upset about this. what is wrong with her?"

i think she also feels very, again, shy over this whole thing, because of the meaning of putting a ring on her finger in her world, and wants an excuse to get it off. which is why she asks for his demon staff. 

ziqi is so unserious. like not only does he not want to indulge in an emotional convo but he also has to pick on her and take personal offense.

miaomiao only taking fuyis hand. yeah thats on purpose.

say what youd like but i think he stares at her chest because he wants to confront her by looking at her face but cant, so he settles for that, then perhaps realizes that its inappropriate, so he looks back down. im just reading into things, thats what i do here.

Your observations are so fun to read! Would add a star to this drama's rating for it. Thank you for sharing!

lgief rewatch ep. 9

yay ep 9! lots of shy ziqi AND miaomiao moments~ thats basically most of what this episode is to me minus the few times miaomiao discusses her world/CD world and the novel storyline.

if youd like to discuss lgief, feel free to send me asks, chats, or reply to any of these posts.

ep 1 / ep 2 / ep 3 / ep 4 pre-festival / ep 4 festival / ep 5, 5 part 2 / ep 6 / ep 7 / ep 8 / ep 9

following up to the ending of ep 8, we see ziqi STILL HOLDING HER HAND after putting on the ring.

and when miaomiao rips her hand away, hes like "wtf?"

did they put rings on fingers back then for marriage (yes im too lazy to look it up, sue me)? regardless, this feels like, even if it is, ziqi is clueless regardless, because he has no romantic awareness.

he purses his lips because he feels like hes committed some faux pax, but he doesnt know what, so he has to ask. the way he asks is so gentle, he really wants to know ;_;

miaomiao doesnt wanna tell! i think she was truly feeling some attraction towards him in this moment, but shes shy, and if she tried to tell him, hed make fun of her, or he wouldnt get it.

THE STUNNED LOOK ON HIS FACE LMAO. hes like "what did i do? did i do something wrong?" but then hes thinking "she is way too upset about this. what is wrong with her?" and maybe he also, though this is just me making things up, felt some sort of jamais vu, perhaps.

cut to her feeling like shes just gotta drop it now because hes watching her and sent her here to practice.

he looks. so good.

LOL its so funny she says she doesnt think its as good as the ladle when it very clearly is. i think she just wanted to get out of training here.

the way that as SOON as she hears him take in a breath she says "dont call me stupid" and she can barely look him in the eye when she says that. hes so cute for obliging.

i think she also feels very, again, shy over this whole thing, because of the meaning of putting a ring on her finger in her world, and wants an excuse to get it off. which is why she asks for his demon staff. the way she shuffles over is so fucking funny. oh miaomiao, never change.

fully reblogged ver here

[sainz100]

2024 Brazilian GP | x