#I'm seeing too much undeserved hate for them

[set-wingedwarrior]

Whiterose is a good ship.

That's it, that's the post

[2ndstar-ontheright]

I have way too many.

i'm not just an "apologist" for that fictional character i'm his defence lawyer

[deathbxnny]

Can I request angst for arcane characters x reader. Where they argued with each other and then later on reader is hanging on to dear life (READER SAVE ISHA FROM DEATH PLEASE! IM COPING-)

Arcane women with an s/o that dies after an argument. | Vi, Jinx, Caitlyn x Gn!Reader

So I may have taken this idea in a more extreme direction, ahaha... Anyway, thanks for the great request and I hope you'll enjoy!!<3

(I'm sorry in advance-)

Content: Heavy angst, arguments, spoilers for season 2, established romantic relationships, blood, fatal injuries, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns.

((Not proofread))

》VI

Your argument was a petty one. At least in her humble opinion, at least. She warned you not to push her too far, to not bring up Caitlyn when it wasn't needed. But you ofcourse refused to listen, and it ended in a full-blown screaming match she wasn't proud of. You were just looking out for her, scared she'll lose herself under the bright lights of the fighting pit and the flashing bass of the clubs. The alcohol consumption was destroying her, too, and you wanted to get her out of this hellscape.

You were always so kind and patient with her, something she was always so grateful about. So why did she tell you that she hated you? That you were overbearing? That Caitlyn was far better than you ever could be? She didn't know. She really didn't.

And any apology she may have had died on her tongue when you ran out of her dingy little showroom in tears. Oh, how her heart ached at the sound of YOU apologizing for not being good enough. The clarity of what she had done hit her like a truck then, making her finally see what she had become.

The shame made her turn even worse, your warnings and pleas feeling undeserving to follow. Days turned into weeks, then months, and she eventually forgot all about everyone... except for you. The image of your brokenhearted figure haunts her at every moment. Especially her dreams.

So when Jinx came to her for help, she saw it as a sign. She needed to apologize and get you back. She was desperate for it. She couldn't take it any longer without you. But alas... karma was an odd thing. Instead of hitting her like she wished, she found you being the victim of it instead. Whatever God was out there must've hated her terribly.

You were fighting with the Enforcers during the invasion of the Noxians and the Herald. Battle was never your strong suit, but you were never the type to back down from anything. Especially not when it came to the defense of your home. You had the option to leave. In fact, Caitlyn was the one to give you it. Yet, instead, you grabbed a uniform and headed to the Frontlines at her side. You were always so loyal, so goddamned good.

It was, therefore, not surprising that you threw yourself over Vi when she was being shot at. You had only briefly seen each other before it was time to move, and you gave her a welcoming, weak smile that made her heart hammer against her chest. She wasn't deserving of you. "Why... Why the fuck did you do that?!" She yelled over the sound of chaos above her, when she was finally able to get you somewhere safe. Giving her a bloody grin, you flinched a little at the pain in your chest, an arrow protruding from it. The crimson liquid drenched the blue of your uniform and Vi's palm that she desperately pressed against it. But there was no hope. It was over.

The gods wanted you dead.

Placing your hand over hers, you stopped her frantic movements with a chuckle turned cough. "I... I'm sorry-" "-Stop apologizing! I should be the one doing that! I'm the reason this all happened, I... I'm so fucking sorry." Her tears dropped onto your face, and you reached up with the last of your power to wipe them away. You couldn't breathe anymore. Your heart was beginning to fail, and the primal panic set in in the face of death. Intelligible words spilled out of your mouth, not making any sense to anyone but you. You wanted to tell her how much you still loved her.

But with a deep, rattling breathe your suffering was finally over, and your hand dropped to your side limply. Vi could only stare at you in horror, unable to say a word anymore, before she was dragged away by some Enforcers. She tried to fight her way back to you, yet there was no use.

The last thing she saw was your body being covered by debris from the falling ceiling.

》JINX

You and Jinx had gotten into an argument in the Herald's weird compound over Vander's well-being. Whilst she, too, didn't trust Viktor, she ultimately had no other ideas on how to turn him back to normal. And that's all she really wanted. She wanted her father back so badly that she and Vi were both too blinded to see how odd this entire thing really was. And it didn't help that you were worried about Isha's safety too.

Everyone here felt too robotic to be human. They didn't have real emotions or motivations other than what their leader had already preached about. It all felt superficial and lifeless, like they were husks and empty shells of people. But alas, you were the only one who saw it. Everyone basked in the warm sun and heavenly aura, never daring to glance into the darkness around them in fear of what they may see. The people that were "healed" didn't seem really healed. And you wondered if the Herald himself was blinded too.

Either way, it led to a huge argument in which you asked her to get Vander and everyone else rounded up to leave immediately. She was confused at first, but it started to frustrate her how you couldn't understand how much this meant to her. This was the first step to freedom and having her family back. A family she always wanted to have with you. Jinx got a small taste of that with Isha around now and never wanted to lose it again. But you couldn't shake the feeling that something really bad was going to happen if you didn't get out of here now. It ended with you both going your separate ways for the time being, mainly because you refused to argue in front of the poor small girl.

You avoided each other like the plague in the compound, and Jinx ignored you out of pettiness when you tried to reconcile. The safety of the family you've created was also important to you. More than she'll ever understand. But alas, no one could convince the blue haired girl of talking to you again. Not Vi. Not Isha. Even Vander tried his luck by slightly pushing her towards you. She always took everything so personally. So much so that her stubbornness often caused the death of others she cared about.

And just as she thought that she might have finally escaped that fate, the world had to once again prove her wrong.

The Noxians were attacking, wanting to get ahold of Vander, who had gone crazy and aggressive in response. Calming him down was impossible, and fighting off an entire army of trained warriors even harder. Jinx was panicking, trying to look for you and Isha in the dense, chaotic crowd, until she saw the small girl sprint towards the crazed Warwick with her gun in hand. She was quick to understand what she was trying to do and attempted to stop her, but Vi held her back. But the girl wouldn't die today. No, at least that part of her wish would come true, as she wouldn't lose her family today... just you. Her entire world.

You came sprinting out of the masses, practically tossing Isha into safety as you grabbed the gun from her. Aiming it up at Vander, things slowed down around you when your eyes met Jinx's horrified ones. Her screams echoed in your mind whilst you mouthed "I love you" to her and pulled the trigger, hoping that everyone made it out safe in the end.

》CAITLYN

The funerals of the deaths that were caused by Jinx's actions were all cold and grim. All of them evoke deep hatred in Caitlyn, who now stood at her last one, most guests having cleared out by now in grief. Looking back, she wondered when everything went wrong. After careful analysis, she came to the conclusion that your argument sparked most of the events in a way.

You were feeling betrayed by her lack of presence in her relationship ever since she and Vi had a mission to complete. She never let you in on what exactly they were up to, and she now realises that it was wrong of her. Cait could see how you might have thought that she had something with Vi that was never there. Sure, she was a pleasant company, and the only thing she had in very dangerous moments... but it was never more than that. She was a friend and that's it.

You, on the other hand, were her betrothed, the person she swore her life to and wanted to marry in the coming spring. Her mother had always approved of you two and practically pushed her to the next step, especially at how close she was with you. Cassandra had adopted you as your mother in law from day one, to say the least. And yet... she had disappointed her with the way she yelled at you to get a grip. Caitlyn was so stressed and exhausted in that moment that she couldn't think straight and let it out on you. Something she regrets deeply, perhaps even more than never being able to tell you how sorry she was now.

A hand came to rest on her shoulder, her mother’s stern, yet sympathetic expression greeting her. "It's time." She said, confirming the closing of your casket. Yes, this was your funeral. You had thrown yourself on top of her mother once the ceiling came crashing down. She lived with minor injuries whilst you were crushed by the debris. It was all so fast. Your reflexes were impressive as always. And it cost you your life. You were dead. Gone. She still couldn't believe it, even after gazing at your body for hours on end now.

The rage and anger turned into unspeakable hatred, one she could never shake for as long as she lived. She'd get her revenge one way or another. Even if it means to burn the entirety of Zaun down in your name to achieve it. But instead of voicing it, she took a deep breath and nodded. "Very well." She whispered, not trusting her voice anymore. The guilt was eating her alive, and she couldn't help but sway a bit on her feet at how nauseous she felt. You were always so scared of the dark and tight spaces. This was your worst nightmare, and she couldn't stop thinking about how scared you must've been in your last moments. Her mother said that you cried out Caitlyn's name before you stilled.

And so, as the casket's lid began shifting over your cold, stiff body, she stretched herself ever so slightly to catch last glimpses of your slumbering expression.

She may never forgive herself... but she'd make the undercity beg for her forgiveness instead. It was time for justice to prevail at last.

[aislebewithshu]

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 loveit?

x gender neutral reader.

wc: 468

cw: yandere, mentions of cannibalism (in a metaphorical sense), character death, dismemberment (but not too graphic), vomit/throwing up, dark content basically. DIRECT references to the song loveit? and love eat and also based on the revenge theory bcs ppl have different interpretations towards this song lmao (and it made a dent in my brain forever. thank u to that one that came up w the theory).

dead dove, do not eat.

author notes: hi it's been a while since i last wrote anything.. i mean anything at all.. this (obviously) might not be the accurate representation to the songs HNFF pls i tried considering other theories... thank u for reading!! scroll away if uncomfy <3

red. It is the color he could only see.

how putrid, he thinks. seeing so many people surrounding you, it irks him. how could you talk to these… lowly creatures undeserving of your presence? he eyes you like a predator, watching your possible next move. oh, how he loves that horrified look you have for a second the moment you laid your eyes on him.

“come on, eat it, darling."

he urges you as you hesitantly look at the ‘food’ served to you, then back at the male. what could he put here that he insists that you eat the meal he prepared? you take a bite, and he smiles.

it was the meat of the person you last talked to, he whispered. the moment he said that to you, you immediately threw up, not letting said human meat inside your system. disgusting, vile, even uncanny.

he was pleased, after all, you wouldn't let anyone in your life except for him, would you? the first question in your mind was, why? why, would he go lengths, as to butcher one's body just because you talked with them? he hates that you're giving all your attention and affection to that insignificant pest.

he also has to stake claims to you - a mark that you are his. that's why he proceeded to gouge out your right eye. it was excruciating, but what mattered to him is that he put a mark on you forever, and he plans to do more.

after all, love makes everyone blind, even to those who think they've seen what true love looks like.

"i'm going to eat you, sexually unrestrained."

oh, why can't you say anything? you're not fighting him back, so you must like the pain he's inflicting from you? poor thing, but he loves you too much to let you go. he promises to eat you up, deep into the marrow, flesh and blood.

that is, until you snap.

cupping his cheeks with your stained hands, you gaze into his eyes. it is uncharacteristically loving, to the point that it freezes him on the spot. what are you going to do next? he thinks.

bringing your lips to his, he indulges in the sick, yet passionate kiss, as you bring your hand to take his knife. you wrap your arms around him as he does the same, tracing lines at his back with the knife you're holding, bringing your beloved to his beautiful demise.

"you're loveit in human form."

surely you haven't lost your mind? of course, love does make everyone blind, even him. your ultimate intentions— on why you had to indulge in his twisted whims, why you didn't fight back, it all made sense to him now. after all, he fell into the fake love you presented before him, a punishment you endowed on him for killing your actual beloved.

enstars - shiina niki, tenshouin eichi (hear me out), fushimi yuzuru, saegusa ibara, shino hajime, sakuma ritsu (honestly i cld put the whole niki's kitchen circle here)

twst - trey clover, jade leech, jamil viper

bllk - mikage reo, kaiser michael, bachira meguru (hear me out pt. 2)

hsr - jiaoqiu

+ your faves.

©AISLEBEWITHSHU on tumblr. do not repost / feed to AI.

[rubyin-wonderland]

Infatuation

opla!Zoro x reader

Summary: Zoro's emotions for you are so repressed he doesn't even know he has them.

WC: 2.3k

Warnings/tags: drinking/hangover, all fluff

As he grabbed yet another bottle off the counter of the bar, Zoro's eyes turned to the empty space in the middle of the room, cleared away so the drunken patrons could dance to the music being played onstage.

You were there, in the mess of bodies, twirling and dancing with reckless abandon, and he felt something in his chest. A flutter, perhaps. Maybe even a jump. His hand instinctively lifted to his chest, trying to be subtle, but ultimately failing. It was luck that nobody happened to be looking at him.

He had been feeling the strange palpitations for a while now. Every once and a while, his heart felt strange in his chest, his stomach flipped, his insides grew warm and fluffy.

He wasn't exactly happy about it. The feeling was so unnatural to him and he hoped that it would stop so he could feel normal again.

On the other hand, the feeling wasn't bad. It was unfamiliar, but it wasn't painful. He'd prefer if it was. It would be easier to see it as a problem. Instead it was fluttery. It was nice.

It had to stop.

He'd marked each previous incident in his head, and he ran through each one, trying to figure out a reason behind it.

The first time it happened was when he was sitting on deck, relaxing after a workout. His heartrate was elevated, but he was settling down, just in time for you to come out, doing your own work.

You drew your sword, going through a few stances, slowly going through the movements, one at a time, each movement careful and precise. He watched your process, admiring it. You looked over at him, noticing his stare.

"You like what you see, Roronoa?" You asked, swiftly executing a decapitation, before sheathing your blade.

His heart beat quickly as he watched that sequence of events. He frowned, trying not to call attention to it.

"You leave your sides open." He critiqued. "Oh yeah?" You grinned. "You do." "I'll have to work on that then." You drew your sword again, going through the motions one at a time, but Zoro was too startled by the sudden jump of his heart to stay and pay any attention.

You were known for your flirtatious remarks, but they were given out to nearly everybody you knew. Not just Zoro. Sanji had been on the receiving end of a comment or two, along with Nami and even Usopp once. It could be said that you flirted with Zoro the most, but your comments were often accompanied by flashy shows of swordsmanship. It was for the bit more than anything.

And for the most part, he hadn't felt anything like this before. At first, he had hated it, but he soon grew to understand that was a part of you and consequently, your friendship with him.

The second time was in the galley. Sanji was preparing dinner and you had come in, asking him if he needed help. He said yes, and you joined him, helping slice vegetables.

You got the hang of the chopping board quickly, and without much time passing, more than enough vegetables had been cut, and you went and sat down at the table, along with Usopp, Nami and Zoro. "Didn't know you could handle a knife like that." Nami said, sipping a glass of lemonade Sanji had given her.

"Yeah, I'm a bit of a natural." You bragged, giving an overly cocky smile.

And then his heart did it again. A flutter. This time he didn't leave, but he stopped listening to the conversation. He tried to tune it out while he thought about how strange it was.

You were attractive, a fact backed up by multiple members of the crew, but what really made you shine was your confidence. There were two types of confidence you liked to show. Genuine and comedic.

Your genuine confidence showed itself after a fight, in the fiery light in your eyes and the heaving breaths you took, as a victorious smile spread across your face.

Your comedic confidence was sassy and dramatic. Usually undeserved, but the way you presented yourself with that cocky smile- akin to the one you wore when you had finished fighting- was undeniably amusing, if not attractive. It was the type you tended to use when flirting.

Zoro liked both confidences on you. The look in your eyes complimenting the quirk of your lip, a complete lack of fear on your face. You were brave and you believed in yourself. It was beautiful.

The third time was when he had gone out for a walk at night. He was unable to sleep for whatever reason and decided that maybe a walk would help.

You were on night watch, sitting alone on a banister, gently kicking your legs. At first, you didn't notice him, your eyes were skyward, scanning the stars.

He watched you for a bit, your face completely serene as your eyes drifted across the sky. He almost didn't want to disturb you in this rare moment of peace. You were constantly on edge, in need of something to do, somewhere to be, that he never saw you relax.

It was as he studied your features, that his heart once again did a flip against his rib cage, and he quickly hurried back to his room.

To see you so calm for once, not burdened with a sword and scars and a point to prove, was a rare occurrence. To see what you were like completely alone, exposed to the world, open and liberated, it was a strange sight, but a welcome one.

You were open. Bare and exposed and completely unguarded. And deep, deep down, in a place Zoro refused to acknowledge and hardly even knew about, he loved it. He wanted to see you like that again and again, one million times over, until he forgot that you had ever been burdened in the first place.

And then, the palpitation at the bar. His brain, working on enough alcohol to make him at least a little tipsy, tried to connect any dots, but came up empty. It wasn't the food he ate or the amount of exercise he had done. The times were all arbitrary and nothing made sense.

"What's wrong?" You had sauntered up to the bar and sat down next to him.

"What?" "Your brow was furrowed. You were thinking. Which is rare for you, you know." You laughed at the insulting joke, before putting in a drink order. "What's eating you, Roronoa?"

He sighed, figuring someone might as well know if his heart decided to take him out in his sleep.

"My heart's been acting funny." He huffed. "You better not be dying." You said seriously.

"I'm not." He said it so defensively you had no choice but to think he was lying. "Oh my god, you are?" Your eyes widened in fear, looking around for help. He grabbed your arm to calm you down. "I'm not dying. I don't think. So don't go telling everyone."

You settled, but your eyes shone with a new, concerned light. "Are you okay?" You said it so sincerely, his heart did it again.

"It just happened." He warned. You looked at him, scanning him for any signs of pain.

"Does it hurt?" You asked. "Because it looks like it isn't doing anything." "It just feels weird. Like it's jumping." You thought for a bit, trying to understand. "Jumping?" "Yeah. Like it speeds up. It makes my whole body weird. Kinda like when I'm drunk, but it happens when I'm not."

You leaned back as your drink arrived. "Huh. It doesn't seem bad if you get to feel drunk without drinking." You mused. "Heck, I'd give up quite a bit to feel like that."

"Yeah. Don't tell people about it though." You saluted with two fingers before walking back to the dance floor. "You got it, Roronoa."

His heart did it one more time. It was growing in frequency. He could only hope this was an outlier, no indication for the future.

For the rest of the night he pondered this strange situation, and he thankfully didn't get another flutter in the bar.

The night went on and he eventually decided to go back to the ship, stumbling, a bit drunker than he had expected to get, walking in a wobbly line.

"Hey there, Roronoa."

You appeared, and he was reminded of the night he saw you looking at the stars and once again he felt tingly. You looked incredible at night, illuminated by the streetlights, and with less inhibitions than usual, Zoro voiced his opinion out loud.

"You're very pretty."

You were not nearly as drunk as he was, having had some restraint back at the bar. "Wow. How much did you have?" You hoped he couldn't tell how warm your face just got.

"Just a couple." He responded, trying to walk again, though his drunken gait was nowhere near ready to support him. He leaned heavily to one side and you caught him, nearly being taken down by his weight, only aided by him catching himself on the way down.

"Whoa there." You helped him back to his feet. "I can't wait to see the hangover you get tomorrow." He hummed as you helped him walk back to the ship.

The walk was longer than it should have been, most of your energy put into making sure he didn't fall into the water. You assumed everyone else was already asleep, which was good for them, but you wished you were asleep too.

You got him to his room and watched as he fell onto his bed, tugging off his boots and kicking them across the room. He lay down and shuffled awkwardly to get his belt off, his swords bouncing off each other in their sheaths. You watched as he manoeuvred the swords around his body and tried to carefully rest them against a wall. You watched as they nearly fell over, and you managed to run and catch them before they hit the floor.

Taking the blades, you carefully set them on the floor, flat, so as not to run the risk of them falling over later in the night.

"So, you think I'm pretty?" You asked, leaning over him as he settled in. "Did I really say that?" He groaned, not sounding half as worried as you expected him too, given his tough guy persona. "You did. But that's a problem I'll make you worry about when you're sober. How's your heart? Still fluttery?"

"A bit." "You should talk to a doctor about it if it starts to worry you. We can't lose you Roronoa."

"It happened again." You raised an eyebrow. "Wow, it's happened twice in front of me, you'd think I was the one causing it." He laughed. "You were there for all of them."

His comment meant nothing to him, but you connected the dots. "I have?" "Yeah. And you're the only one too." He briefly frowned. "What are you doing to me?"

Your jaw dropped as your brain found the answer to his troubles. Were you the reason his heart has been acting up? Was it just the flutters of a crush instead of a heart problem?

You stepped away from him. "Just get some sleep. You'll need it." And you left him to his business.

Alone with his thoughts, Zoro sat, drunk and wondering what had scared you off. You had been hovering over him one second and left him alone the next. What had he said to make you react like that?

He wasn't sure, but he decided that along with admitting that he thought you were pretty, that would be a problem for him when he sobered up, and tried his best to go to sleep.

He slept like a rock, and when he woke up, his head was pounding against his skull. A hangover. Of course.

He stayed in bed for a while, until he heard a knock at his door.

He opened it and came face to face with you. A memory reappeared. Him calling you pretty.

"Hey." You refused to let him begin whatever he was about to say. "Good morning. Breakfast is served." You left before he could say another word, but he noted the way your mouth curved slightly upward as you turn away.

He closed the door, wondering what he said to you last night, trying to remember.

He remembered calling you pretty, and talking about his heart flutters then-

"You were there for all of them. And you're the only one too. What are you doing to me?"

His face dropped as it finally clicked. That couldn't possibly be right. Him? Like you? Like that? It was out of the question. It was insanity.

Except it wasn't insanity. It made sense. Terrible, horrific sense. The way he liked spending time with you, the way his eyes subconsciously drifted towards you whenever you were present.

He wanted to slam his head against a wall. Had you figured it out? Had you told everyone about his stupid heart flutters and how you were the reason he felt that way?

He stepped out of the room, ready to accuse you of lying about his heart, noting that you stood just outside the door.

"You wanna talk about last night?" You offered. "What did you say to them?" He demanded immediately, praying that he had gotten to you before it reached the others.

"I haven't told anyone anything and I won't. That's your business." That settled him, if even a small bit.

"Though, if my theory about your heart flutters is correct, I wouldn't say it's unreciprocated." You winked.

Zoro's heart jumped in his chest as you walked to the kitchen, smiling back at him. Another flutter. He was screwed.

[xuchiya]

Idk if you're receiving requests, but I wanted to ask a hurt/comfort/fluff where reader is receiving so much hate on the internet and Wooyoung comfort her being the best person as he always been. I'm passing through a hard moment, and need this to feel a little better.

hi my loves, yes I'm always open for request! And I hope things will turn out better for you at the end of the day, don't lose hope okay? I hope this satisfy you, my loves.

"In Wooyoungie's arms" || jung wooyoung || one-shot

|genre: fluff. comfort. angst. idol! wooyoung. girlfriend! reader. |mentions: hate comments. insecurities.

The moment you met Wooyoung inside the company meeting room, the small talks and asserting of flirty words, and the casual walk from the near cafe to grab some drinks for the staff and the boys and the numerous dates he finally took you to.

And the sweet surrender of yes on the night of the countless date nights you both have.

Your life would have to turn over for the best and the worst. It wasn’t discussed within the team to publicise your relationship but fans being fans and their possessiveness with their idols can be a little over the notch as they found out about your relationship with the main dancer of Ateez. While they didn’t know your name or what you looked like—something you were grateful for. 

But it didn’t stop them from attacking you. Indirectly, sometimes directly, their words found a way to reach you.

The glow of your laptop screen felt colder than usual as the hateful comments piled up like bricks on your chest. Wooyoung had warned you about this, his words a mix of care and frustration. "They’re just meaningless words," he’d told you. "Don’t let them break you. They don’t know you like I do."

But the cruelty of their words was precisely the point—to drag you down, make you feel small and undeserving.

Each word you read felt like a dagger, sharp and unrelenting. You had become the topic of conversation for days, and despite your better judgment, you couldn't stop looking. Each glance at the screen chipped away at you, robbing you of your joy, your passion, and your sense of self. The comments weighed heavily on your mind, and over time, the pressure seeped into your body, manifesting in exhaustion and self-doubt.

Your hands gripped your sides as anger and sadness churned inside you. Why couldn’t you be like others your age? Successful, confident, with clear skin and even clearer paths to their futures. The questions spiraled, pulling you deeper into a haze of self-pity and despair.

When you feel your eyes start to burn from staring at the screen a little too long, your hands tremble as you close the browser, you could have avoided going through this but the damage is already done. You were so curious that it killed you. It sent doubt and despair. Tears blurred your vision, and your chest tightened with the weight of emotions you couldn't put into words.

A soft knock at the door broke the silence. 

"Y/N?" Wooyoung's familiar voice called out, gentle but laced with concern. "I brought snacks... Can I come in?"

You quickly wiped your tears, but it was too late. Wooyoung had already stepped inside, carrying a tray of your favorite treats. His expression softened the moment he saw your red eyes and trembling lips. Wooyoung had promised you along the time you were growing inside your relationship, to always provide assurance and no tears to shed. Unless they were happy tears.

"Hey," he whispered, placing the tray on your desk before kneeling in front of you. "What happened?"

You shook your head, trying to muster a smile, but it faltered under his gaze. He reached out, his hands warm and steady as they cupped your cheeks.

"Don't say it's nothing," he murmured. "I can see it, Y/N. Talk to me."

The dam broke, and everything spilled out. Between ragged breaths, you told him about the hateful comments, the overwhelming pressure, and the toll it was taking on you. Wooyoung listened intently, his thumbs gently brushing away your tears as you spoke. His heart ached watching you break down, seeing the vulnerable side of yours. His own heart breaking as he felt helpless in that moment when you’d been carrying these all alone. He pulled you into his arms as you finished, holding you as though you were the most precious thing in the world. 

When you finally finished, he pulled you into his arms, holding you like you were the most precious thing in the world. "Y/N, listen to me," he said, his voice firm but kind. "Those people don’t know you. Their words only have as much power as you let them have."

You clung to him, his warmth grounding you. "But it hurts, Wooyoung. It’s like they’re always waiting for me to mess up."

"I know it hurts," he said, his fingers threading through your hair soothingly. "And I wish I could shield you from all of it but what I know …" His fingers run down above your chest, pointing softly where your heart beats slowly. You look at him expectantly.

“The scars that carved your heart are what makes you feel alive.” He leaned back slightly, looking into your eyes with a soft smile. "You're not alone in this, okay? We’re a team. And if anyone has a problem with you, they’ll have to deal with me."

A small laugh escaped your lips despite the tears. "That sounds dangerous."

Wooyoung also let out a small laugh. A moment of silence made you both bask in each other's presence. Wooyoung brushed a stray hair behind your ear, his eyes staring at your shaking ones. His hand lands softly on your cheek, as you lean in on his warmth that made his chest bloom in admiration. 

His thumb caressing your cheek,  “Life comes with a lot of baggage and you don’t know which one carries the heaviest and which one has to go.” 

The tension in your chest eased in his words as Wooyoung picked up one of the snacks from the tray. "Now, let’s eat. You can’t fight internet trolls on an empty stomach."

You chuckled, taking the snack he handed you. "Thank you, Wooyoung. For everything."

"Always," he said, sitting beside you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "Now, let’s watch a movie or something. Something funny. No sad stuff allowed."

With Wooyoung by your side, the world felt a little less heavy, you allowed yourself to smile genuinely, knowing you were loved and supported by the best person you could ever ask for. 

And for the first time that day, you come to realize that life indeed has a lot in store for you, either you remove them from you or share them with people. You don’t have to carry what you can no longer hold on to, it’s time for you to realize that having them with you will only drag you down and slower. Find the time to declutter inside your mind and things will be easier for you. Time heals and scars rejoice. 

i hope this one helps, my loves.

[rain-soaked-sun]

To hold him close

Cw: Sunday x reader fluff, religious imagery,thoughts of self doubt, hurt/comfort . Their bedroom has a private dressing you off the side, connecting to their bathroom WK 650 Gn , please let me know if I mention gender!

⊹︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶⊹

Sunday often wonders how someone as pure as you can stand or even love a sinner such as him

It will continue to boggle him for the rest of his days. He will never understand your patience for him. He can't see you all the time because of his work, his odd habits make it hard for even the most understanding people to take. He can be snappy at you for no reason ,and yet, you love him all the same

He sees himself as an undeserving devotee in your presence, constantly gifted by his god, you. Vying for your continued love and praise as undeserving it is, doing all he can to make you never leave , to reassure you that your love isn't misplaced. Perhaps it stems from his upbringing that he had to work hard to earn your approval and love. Though,you would give it out to him for free

It's not like you would ever leave, you don't understand his feeling that he doesn't deserve love like anyone else. You treasure him more than the stars in the sky,and sometimes he understands that , one day he will never question your loyalty again but for now you will remind him as much as you have to

“My dove? Are you in your dressing room?” Sunday called from your bedroom. You chirped a response before he entered .

“Ah,there you are “, he leaned over you slightly, his hands resting on your shoulders, idly rubbing circles into them. He stared at the reflection of you two in the vanity bathroom briefly before pressing his head into the crook of neck and pressed featherlight kisses down to your shoulder

You recognized his patterns by now, you recognized the stiff rigid twitches of his wings. you could see the fatigue lying behind his smile, the circles under his eyes . You worried for him as any lover would and made up your mind to take care of him. Even for the night it would do him good to relax

“Sunday?” You said softly, a soothing hand running through his hair,”Hm? What is it?” His face still buried in your neck.

“When was the last time you got to truly relax, you seem so tired. I worry for you, you know this. Don't you?”You felt a faint smile against your skin,”Don't fret over me, I'm fine I promise you. It's just a little extra work-” he looked up from your neck and could see your face, he hated that expression, it seems he could never lie to you. He huffed lightly,his shoulders sagging ,”It will be done soon , please don't look so upset , it hurts my heart. What can I do?”

“It's not what you can do for me Sunday. You give too much to everyone else and have nothing left for yourself , you work yourself till you're dead tired , like now.” You looked directly at him now, he felt seen under your gaze, how could you read him so well he always wondered. “Let me take care of you, please?”

“That's not necessary-” You silenced him with a kiss. He melted into your lips and he knew you had won , he would fall into your embrace for tonight and go work again tomorrow , he assured himself You pulled back with a satisfied smile ,”Come , first you will change into something comfortable, and then we will relax in bed for the rest of the night, perhaps have a maid bring us some food?” You said fondly , getting up from the vanity chair and led him out of the small dressing room into the main suite

“Whatever you say my dear I will do . You ask for the maid and tell her I would like some filled puffs and whatever you want, and I will change . Is that alright? " He said with a lazy smile, affection lining every word .

“That would be perfect”

[jeonginsleftcheek]

happy birthday, love

pairing: bang chan x afab!reader

genre: hurt/comfort

word count: 2.0k

warning/s: talk about insecurities and feeling unworthy of love, kinda corny me thinks, not proofread

a/n: i'm soft for him fr🥹🤍 i'm not completely satisfied with this but it's been in my drafts for weeks and it's my birthday soon so this is a little self-indulgent... hope you enjoy.🫶🏻

~check out my: Masterlist

You were never really big on celebrating your birthday. Many people made it seem like it was something so important, so grand when in fact it was just a day like any other. At least, that's how you always viewed it.

You always felt weird receiving gifts and special attention. It made you want to disappear. And it didn't help that every birthday you felt very melancholic, and you don't even know why. Often times, that melancholy would result in overthinking, feeling abandoned and then ofcourse - crying. It wasn't your birthday until you've had a little cry session in your bed.

Maybe it was because of those people who made it look like something worth anticipating, and when the day actually comes - nothing special happens. The world doesn't stop, the sun doesn't shine brighter, the flowers don't look prettier. Nobody and nothing cares. The Earth keeps spinning like it's none of her business.

That's what you told your boyfriend Chan too. You'd only been dating for 8 months but he wasn't afraid to shower you with affection, and you felt bad for not being so out there with your feelings like he is. You felt embarassed enough every time he got you a surprise present just because he thought of you. He knows you struggle with showing your feelings, much less talking openly about them but you really do love him and you are willing to do whatever's in your power to show him that you love him as much as he loves you.

Maybe through a warm meal you prepare for him when he's done with work, maybe with a shoulder to lean on when he's having a tough time, maybe with some good-hearted advice when he needs it, maybe with your embrace when he craves comfort... Maybe with your kisses, slow and intense, passionate and loving, wet and deep.

And you're sure he's the type to throw you a whole ass surprise party, make a grand gesture, buy you many gifts and that's why you begged him before your first birthday together not to do any of that.

Chan respects that, he only fears that you're pushing away his gestures because somewhere deep inside you feel undeserving of them. But he also wants to give you time to think and work through your problems, ofcourse leaning on him whenever you need to. He's always there in a blink of an eye for you.

It's hard for him to hold it in, his desire to shower you in gifts and affection but he doesn't want to seem too overbearing. It's not like he wants to buy your love, he just can't help himself when he sees something cute that reminds him of you, or something he knows you'd like or even something you two can share like a couple item.

He tries not to rush anything cause it took you a long time to even open up to him, he accepts your differences and definitely doesn't want you to change for him. He just wants you to know you deserve to be pampered, loved and gifted.

Chan thinks hard what he could do for your birthday to make it special, but also that it's nothing too grand or crazy at the same time. He knows you hate surprise parties so he crosses those off the list. He tosses and turns in bed, trying not to wake you when suddenly there's a lightbulb above his head.

-

It's just another Friday. Well, coupled with the fact that it's your birthday and your sweet boyfriend is the first to congratulate you as soon as you open your eyes.

"Happy birthday, love."- he whispers sweetly, his lips pouty and eyes shining as they look at you with so much admiration.

Him by himself was a good enough gift for you, perfect even and you lean in to kiss him as he wraps his arms around you tightly.

"No surprises, okay? I mean it, mister!"- you poke his chest as you part from each other.

"Yes ma'am!"- he smirks mischievously at you as he plays with your hair.

"You're planning something, aren't you?"- you squint your eyes at him.

"I don't know what you're talking about."- he moves away to stretch his arms and you sit up.

"Don't joke around, Chan. I told you I don't want any grand gestures."- you say.

"Who said anything about anything grand? Come on, let me make you breakfast, hm? That's not considered grand is it?"- he smirks and pinches your cheek. You swat his hand away whining in fake annoyance at your silly boyfriend.

You could do with breakfast before another stressful day at work.

-

You're tired, begging for the day to end already and you can't stop thinking about dinner and a nice warm bubble bath when you come home. Maybe even a comfort movie and cuddles with your boyfriend under the blankets.

"Channie, I'm home!"- you yell from the door.

"In the kitchen!"- he yells back, a little too eagerly and your brows furrow in suspicion. Your heart starts thumping in your chest as you walk towards the sound of his voice.

When you enter, you're greeted with a smiling Chan standing next to a table full of food, candles and flowers in the middle.

"What's all this?"- you swallow, your chest tightening.

"Dinner for my birthday girl."- he smiles, coming towards you, his hands gently grabbing yours.

"Ugh, don't call me that. But fine, I'm hungry anyways."- you say and let him lead you to the table.

"M'lady."- he pulls your chair out and you giggle at his antics.

"You made all this for me?"- you ask, looking around the table.

"Yeah, ofcourse."- he looks at you so lovingly that your heart flutters.

"Oh, Channie. You really are too sweet. Thank you."- you say. Even though you hate your birthday, Chan didn't do anything grand just like you asked and you appreciate the work he put into cooking dinner and how mindful he was of your wishes. It makes you appreciate him even more.

"It was my pleasure, trust me love."- he smiles at you and you almost melt into a puddle.

You can see how much effort your wonderful boyfriend put into dinner, making all of your favorites and making them extra tasty, like he spiced it all up with the love he has for you.

"Chan, this is amazing! I didn't know you could cook this well. I don't mean that you're a bad cook!"- you panic, frantically waving your hands around. "This is just different."

"It's okay."- Chan chuckles. "I actually called Minho for advice."- he admits sheepishly, cheeks becoming rosy.

"Oh... Did he tease you?"- you chuckle.

"He teased the hell out of me."- Chan shakes his head, a little laugh escaping his lips.

"Well, we both know he would do the same for his significant other no matter how unbothered he acts."- you say, getting up to get rid of the empty plates.

"Oh no no, you sit down. I will get the plates."- Chan is on his feet immediately.

"Baby, it's really no problem."- you say but he snatches the plates out of your hands.

"Please, sit down."- he pouts a little and well you can't say no to that face.

"Close your eyes."- he adds after he places the dishes in the sink.

"Chan, no... I told you I don't want any surprises! Nothing too crazy..."- you shake your head.

"It's not crazy. Just humor me, okay?"- he says.

"Fine."- you roll your eyes in fake annoyance and then close them, a little smile of anticipation on your lips.

You hear shuffling, then feel Chan's presence closer as he puts something in front of you on the table.

"Open them."- he whispers, closer to you than you think he was.

You brace yourself and open your eyes.

"Is that a cake?"- your eyes widden.

"Yes, it's a cake, love."- Chan chuckles at your cute reaction. "I baked it for you."- he adds proudly.

"You baked me a cake?"- you melt again.

"Lix helped with that but yeah. You said nothing grand... even though I would buy you anything you ask for. But I just wanted to do something for you. Especially after a hard day's work."

Your eyes water suddenly, vision blurred and Chan gasps.

"Baby?! Are you crying?"- he panics, leaning down to take a look at your face, his arm wrapping around your shoulder.

You don't know what made you sob this hard, but you can't even speak, tears flowing down your cheeks and sobs leaving your lips.

Chan doesn't know what happened or if he did something wrong but he wraps his arms around you instinctively, pulling you into a hug. Anxiety washes over him as he rewinds what he said or did to make you so upset. You clutch at his shirt, burying your face in his neck, finding comfort in his warmth.

"I'm sorry."- you lean back after some time, wiping your tears away with the back of your hand. Chan shakes his head as he hands you tissues.

"You have nothing to apologize for. You know I'm here for you. I just... wanna know if I did something wrong."- he says, biting on his lip nervously.

"No, no way. You're perfect, Chan. It's me... You go and do all this for me and I feel like an ungrateful bitch crying over nothing. I feel like you deserve someone better, someone who can treat you the way you should be treated. At this point, I don't even know why you're still wasting your time on me."- you spill your deepest feelings out, fearing that Chan will agree with you and you'd be left with nothing then. You barely look into his eyes and he looks hurt.

Why did you have to say that? You should've kept your mouth shut.

"H-how can you say something like that?"- Chan's voice wavers. "Don't you see how wonderful you are? How good you are to me? You may not say stuff outright like I do, but I see that you care for me in all the little things you do. You're always there for me, you cheer me up and believe in me even if I don't believe in myself. You understand me like no one ever did before. Sometimes even without words. You always think of me even when I forget about myself."- he talks, and fresh tears start sliding down your cheeks.

Your chest feels tight, and you blame yourself for upsetting your boyfriend, who has nothing but good thoughts about you.

"And I know we haven't been together for that long. But ever since the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew you were the one."

"Don't exaggerate."- you hiccup, trying to move away but his arms tighten around you.

"Don't you feel the same?"- he asks quietly and you look at him.

The puppy eye look kills you and you can't help the small smile spreading on your face.

"Ofcourse I do. I love you with all my heart, Chan. I just didn't think you love me so much. And it's really nothing you ever said or did, so don't think it's your fault. It's the stupid inner voice inside my head, telling me I'm unworthy. And whenever my birthday comes around, the feeling amplifies. I keep checking my messages and waiting for people to congratulate me. I cry if I think one person forgot my birthday. And then I feel like no one cares and that I'm all alone. I know it's dumb and it's not true but I can't help how I feel."- you explain.

"Do you feel alone now?"- he asks, cupping your cheek with his hand, his thumb swiping at the tears sliding down.

"No."- you whisper, your eyes fluttering as you lean into his touch.

"Then my plan was successful."- Chan smiles, leaning in closer to you.

"I knew you had something up your sleeve this morning."- you smirk, the sadness inside you slowly fading away.

"See, you know me so well."- Chan says and you giggle, your lips meeting his in a gentle kiss, the love he feels for you pouring from his lips to yours.

"I guess I do."- you smile as you part.

"Technically it's not midnight yet so it's still your birthday."- he starts.

"What did you cook up now?"- you ask and he chuckles.

"How about I prepare you a nice warm bath?"- Chan asks.

"Only if you'll join me."- you smirk.

"I think that can be arranged."

✨Taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg

[genderqueerdykes]

just saw that "you are loved" cuttlefish post on my dash again (idk if you know the one) but it goes through so many identities and just. does not include trans men. pan people, bi people, lesbians, trans women, intersex people, nonbinary people too i think, but not trans men. like maybe I'm taking it the wrong way, maybe I should celebrate that all of these types of people are being celebrated, i especially loved seeing intersex people included, but? the deliberate exclusion just hurts I guess. it would've been so easy to say trans people or just include trans men too.

another thing that makes me feel like I'm just being overly sensitive about it is that I do tend to lean into the nonbinary label sometimes, but it feels very "the only good enby is a femme-lite enby" and I'm. audibly sighing I used to like seeing that post on my dash

i haven't seen the post you're referring to, but i have definitely noticed this with queer positivity posts in general

like people think it's somehow progressive to aggressively leave trans men out of every conversation, ever. like, people have gone too far with profiling people based off their genders to the point where they trick themselves into thinking that trans men are now Cishet Male Oppressors and find excuses and reasons to target, bully, and emotionally abuse us. people literally just think we are undeserving of love and kindness because us disclosing that we're a man suddenly somehow is hurting that person

people are NOWHERE near as aggressive about this with cis gay men. people are not sitting here trying to weed cis gay men out of every space and post as possible. it sends me reeling to realize that people accept cis men more than trans men, even though they love to say how much they hate "all" men. is it really "all" men, or is it just trans men? because it feels very pointed toward a specific group of men that nobody loves to name, but everyone loves to hate.

i know that people who aren't trans men usually can't see the pain this causes us. but so many people just don't care. they assume that we have no feelings because they stereotype men to be emotional brick walls. they think it's okay to leave us out and abuse us because somehow, trans manhood has hurt them. like these people behave like a bus full of trans men showed up at their front door and kicked them to death.

like people really are so threatened by the idea that a "woman" can become a man. why is this an issue?

and good lord that is the ugliest take on nonbinaryhood i've ever seen. "femme-lite". wow. people really just do see nonbinary people as women, huh? nonbinary people aren't cis women jesus fucking christ. masc and butch nonbinary people are still nonbinary and there's nothing wrong with that. jesus christ people are SO scared of diversity. people are SO scared of something they can't relate to.

feminine people and women are not inherently safe to be around. i have been sexually and physically assaulted by multiple women. i have been groped by women. i have had cis women tell me that i'm "basically a woman" because i have a vagina and i'm a trans man. i've had women emotionally and mentally abuse me. women and femmes have stolen things from me. women and femmes are not inherently safe to be around. women and femmes can hurt you.

i'm sorry you're encountering this kind of stuff. people are more proud to talk about who they hate than who they love/like and it's just ugly. they don't care that it's affecting people. but if someone does something to even slightly inconvenience them, like, idk, being a trans man, then suddenly the world grinds to a halt. it's entitled behavior. it's people who want to be in control of the queer community and try to control our narratives.

there are some people who are legitimately a part of the queer community for the wrong reasons. the amount of people who are converting to rad feminism and thinking that the queer community needs to be a Cis Girls Only Club is staggering. people are trying to remove everyone but cis women who are pathologically afraid of an entire gender that hasn't hurt them. this isn't the terf club. stop trying to make this into the terf club.

i hope you're able to feel a bit better soon. people are so fucking shitty and it's time it stops. there's no reason to profile people. that's not what we do here. it's not right to leave people out of our spaces who rightfully belong. ignoring the existence of trans men won't make us go away. we're here and you need to listen to us and care about us because we are your siblings and we have not inherently wronged you by virtue of existing.

[shaynawrites23]

Compliment

Remus Lupin x reader

Word count: 583

A/N: don't worry, the requests are coming too! just enjoy this in the meantime!

It was just a simple compliment.

You're wrapped in your boyfriend's arms, comfy and half dozing off as Remus tells you, at your own request, all about the latest book he's read. There's a blanket partially draped over the both of you, an incredibly soft, fluffy one he brought with him when you moved in together, and you're content. Happy.

At some point, Remus stops talking, having told you everything he could possibly think to say on the subject, and you fall into a comfortable silence. His warm hand runs gently up and down your arm, his lips press a soft kiss to your forehead, and as you snuggle just the tiniest bit closer to him, you feel him murmur the words before you hear them.

"You're so fuckin' pretty, my darlin'. Merlin, I love you so much."

It's just a simple compliment. An utterance of love. You know how he sees you, you know he makes sure to tell you how much you mean to him at least once a day, so why does this moment, why do these words affect you so much more?

It's just a simple compliment. Remus is understandably concerned at the hitch in your breath, the way you tense slightly in his hold, and the emotions swimming in your eyes when he tilts your chin up to catch your gaze. You hate how your heart skips a beat at his featherlight touch on your skin, how your mind whispers to you that this isn't real, that you're undeserving, that you could never be enough.

"Hey, dove, what's wrong?"

The first response he gets is no more than a shrug and a small sniffle. And then you speak in what may just be the tiniest voice he's ever heard.

"Don't know. You just... sounded like you really meant it." And I can't imagine why, is the part you don't say out loud.

Remus knows all too well what it's like to feel undeserving of love. Hell, he's had this reaction to you many a time, spent months even trying to chase you away, convince you he was no good for you, that you could do better. And the idea you might feel the same way about yourself all but breaks his heart.

"Oh, sweetheart. 'Course I meant it." He pulls you close again, into his warm embrace which is still the safest place you know, especially with the way one of his hands cradles the back of your head. "Of course I meant it. I always do, darlin'. Did I ever give you a reason to doubt it?"

"No," you sigh with a small shake of your head, fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt because above all, you still crave the comfort and intimacy only his touch can bring, and you both know you're telling the truth. "No, you didn't do anything. You're wonderful, it's just... hard to really believe sometimes."

Remus knows exactly how that feels. All he does is pull you in closer, hold you tighter to his body, as if he can shield you from those cruel thoughts and feelings.

" 's okay," he murmurs, a soft whisper into your hairline. "Try to believe it, dove, because I'm here to stay. And I'll prove it to you, over and over. Enough times until your mind and your heart realize nothing can take me from you."

And prove it, he did.

[xclowniex]

https://www.tumblr.com/xclowniex/766162075699576832/i-saw-a-tik-tok-of-a-news-piece-of-a-woman-who-was

I feel like these kinds of online types who love talking about the evils of the bourgeois would love to be a new elite class in their hypothetical utopia.

They don't hate the whipcracking taskmasters because whipcracking taskmasters are bad, but rather that THEY aren't the ones who get to do it to those they see as lesser and undeserving.

No cause literally this.

We see this so much with jews. Everyone advocates for progressive policies and ideologies, ☝️except they don't apply to jews.

And it's not a Jewish specific affecting thing.

We see it with so many other things. Like with voting. "I don't like either candidates policies 100% so I'm not going to vote and you shouldn't either if you really care about insert issue" like one candidate is obviously worse, and the less worse candidate is going to lose if you don't vote for her, which means less rights for every body.

"Fast fashion is bad and anyone who supports it is also bad. Just thrift or but from sustainable branss" however they fail to understand that being poor is expensive. If you can't afford something expensive which is higher quality, you buy low quality fast fashion which because it's low quality, falls apart before you can save up for something higher quality. Not to mention thrifting isn't always size inclusive, as it's literally donated clothes and people buying things which are too big to thrift flip into something more stylish and their size also makes the problem worse.

"Buying leather is bad, it was once a cow" however vegan leather is literally just plastic and breaks easier and quicker than actual leather. If we are going to eat meat, which ignoring the fact that diet should be a choice, some people need to eat meat to get enough iron or amino acids and everyone being meat free isn't realistic from a health perspective. And therefore we should be using the whole cow instead of wasting parts of it.

And lastly, plastic straws are one of the prime examples. Yes they are bad for the environment but there are disabled folk where they are the best straw for them.

[spop-romanticizes-abuse]

arcane s2 - review

okay so now that i have given my two cents on caitvi and i've had enough time to digest s2 of arcane, what do i think about the rest of it?

overall, i have mixed feelings about it. i didn't hate it but i feel like a lot of the themes and ideas were poorly executed, especially compared to s1.

(huge spoilers to arcane below!)

but let me start with the positives:

the animation OBVIOUSLY. huge props to the animators, s1 was already phenomenonal and s2 lived up to the hype, animation-wise. the fight scenes especially were just *mwah* chef's kiss.

the character designs were great. caitlyn looks a lot prettier with the middle parting. vi's emo phase is really hot. jinx's designs in the alternate universe and the finale were iconic. jayce's beard and disheveled look was just chef's kiss. jesus viktor was hot as fuck.

the voice actors did an amazing job obviously, and i didn't expect anything less from them.

jayce's and viktor's relationship was so good despite not having all that much screentime when you think about it. they interact in the beginning when viktor wakes up from his hex-coma and then reunite and fight and make up in the final few episodes. but because of their relationship that was built up in the first season, it all worked out smoothly and made for a very natural progression in their relationship.

jinx's redemption was pretty good. not the BEST but it was carried out well enough, especially in just 9 episodes. i didn't feel like it was rushed or undeserved. her sacrifice in the end was heartbreaking but it felt natural and not shoehorned in for some added angst.

and now for the negatives:

1. the pacing was really bad, in my opinion. they had only 9 episodes but they stuffed in so many subplots into this season that it felt overwhelming.

maybe i'm just stupid but i couldn't keep up with half of the stuff that was going on and some parts of the finale didn't make a whole lot of sense to me.

like the whole storyline with mel and ambessa and the black rose was a blur to me. i honestly don't know what happened in the end after ambessa dies.

the whole deal with singed and vander and whatnot was also really murky. like i get the overall premise but it was really hard for me to grasp every single detail.

maybe this is just a me problem and i'm too dumb to follow more than two storylines at the same time. but s1 already had a lot going on and it was still a tad bit easier to follow.

s2 was just crammed with a whole bunch of different characters pursuing different goals and facing different obstacles, 9 episodes weren't enough to give all of it a satisfying conclusion. and as a result, some of the arcs felt rushed and unfinished.

like what happened to the whole found family thing with sevika, jinx and isha? they were beginning to get closer and form a good relationship but then suddenly, sevika is pushed out of the image and we never see how she reacts to jinx and isha's death.

2. while i don't think that caitvi is abusive, i still don't think the ship was great. it was just super rushed and there is a grain of truth to what caitvi antis are saying.

like yeah, caitlyn being an enforcer and seeing nothing wrong with it was.. questionable. wasn't the whole point of s1 that enforcers were ruining the lives of the people in zaun? wasn't police brutality and classism the main theme of this series? how come vi's parents were killed by enforcers and she was unfairly imprisoned for years by enforcers, but somehow she ends up dating an enforcer?

before s2 came out, i expected caitlyn to give up her job after realizing how corrupt it was. i thought that would be the natural progression of her arc, especially since she's seen how much the people of the undercity has suffered at the hands of enforcers. but nope, she keeps her job and it's never addressed in the end.

i don't think that caitlyn hitting vi once out of frustration and once out of necessity makes her a domestic abuser. but i do think it's kind of icky for vi to end up in a relationship with an enforcer, and for the show to frame it in a semi-positive manner. it's not entirely romanticized but the problems with it aren't really addressed either.

3. i feel like the themes of classism wasn't as well addressed in this season as it was in the first one. the first season had a strong message and it stuck to it. the second season was all over the place and then suddenly, there's viktor and the whole glorious evolution or whatever, and the conflict between piltover and zaun is pushed aside.

i like that sevika becomes part of the council in the end but is she the only one representing the undercity? is one person enough to speak for all these people in zaun? at least it's true to real life, i guess.

overall, i felt like the message was a lot more murky in this season. this ties to my first complaint because while s1 had a lot of storylines too, they followed a common theme. war, classism, and how privilege and the lack thereof affects people. s2's storylines are just all over the place and none of them seem to follow a theme. at least some of them could have been discarded.

4. i briefly mentioned this before but the fact that jinx stops experiencing her hallucinations never made sense to me. especially after she accidentally killed silco, shouldn't they get worse? it is implied that she has schizophrenia and c-ptsd so i really don't understand how silco's death suddenly got rid of most of her symptoms.

she still sees and hears the hallucinations from time to time and her mental state is definitely far from stable, but it was still such a huge jump from her psychotic breakdown in the s1 finale.

so yeah, these are my thoughts about arcane s2. there were more pros than cons but the cons still outweigh the pros, simply because of how much impact they had on the plot.

i'm generally not one to demand more seasons or episodes out of a series where the writers have already told the story they wanted to tell, but arcane s2 was so rushed and so filled to the brim with different characters and storylines, i couldn't help but feel like it would have benefited from having more episodes to play everything out more slowly.

i still liked this series a lot and i enjoyed watching it, but i'm not blind to its flaws and i try not to be biased.

[legacygirlingreen]

"Now we are even" || The Introduction || Commander Wolffe x OFC! Perdita

Author's Note: I am so excited to drop the first installment of a story involving Commander Wolffe. This is my first time writing for him, and I won't lie, I cannot express how much I've enjoyed getting in his head. I want to thank my lovely and dear friend @leenathegreengirl for helping breathe life into not just Perdita through her art, but also this story at large. This was truly a whim in every fashion of the word, but as Bob Ross once said, there are no such things as mistakes, only happy little accidents. I am really proud of what bit's I've come up with this pair so far. I apologize for future works involving them, because while this is an introduction set after TBB, I plan to go back in time a bit (wouldn't be part of the Filoniverse if there wasn't chaos with the timing I suppose). Also I'm still racking my brain over a shipname so I'd love the suggestions... Any who, enjoy loves - M

Summary: A story as old as time itself. A Clone Commander. A Jedi. Two people bound by honor and duty. Lives defined by unwavering codes. But now, everything is shattered as the Empire orders the galactic execution of the once-peaceful warriors known as the Jedi. When Wolffe unexpectedly crosses paths with a fleeting figure from his past, he faces an agonizing choice. Will he obey the Empire’s command, or will he risk everything—his identity, his loyalty, and his future—in the desperate hope of rediscovering the man he once was?

Pairing: eventual Commander Wolffe x OFC! Perdita Halle

Warnings: Mentions of Order 66, Brief mentions of assisted suicide, angst with a hopeful ending

Word Count: 5k

Masterlist || Next Part

Wolffe often found the hum of space to be unnerving. Not that space itself had a hum—space was cold, dark, and empty. The hum came from the ship, a constant, low vibration that resonated through its walls, a reminder of its fragile protection against the infinite void outside. He hated this liminal space, this time spent outside planetary orbits, where nothing anchored him.

The vacuum had nearly claimed his life once. He could still feel it if he thought about it too long—the suffocating press of nothingness, the frozen tendrils of death creeping up his spine as his oxygen dwindled. The darkness had wrapped around him like a shroud, a cruel mockery of safety. Skywalker, his padawan and the Sentinel had pulled him back at the last moment, but something about him had stayed behind, left adrift in that endless void. He’d survived, but a part of him hadn’t.

He wondered, often, if death would feel the same. Cold. Empty. A silence so profound it swallowed everything. Or would it be something entirely different? Something warmer, like the faint memory of a sunrise on Kamino’s horizon or the strength of a brother’s arm slung across his shoulders after a battle well-fought?

Plo Koon had once told him that death was not the end but a transition—a merging with the living Force. The words had stayed with Wolffe, though he wasn’t sure if they brought comfort or dread. The concept was simple enough, but it opened too many questions. Would he still be himself in the Force? Would his memories, his regrets, his flaws follow him into that eternity?

And what of those he had lost? Would he see them again? He wasn’t sure if he wanted to. The idea of facing the Jedi again, seeing their calm, unwavering gazes, filled him with an ache that felt too large to contain. He respected them deeply, but respect came with weight, and he often felt crushed beneath the burden of their trust. Undeserved, he thought. Always undeserved.

He stared out the viewport, watching stars streak by as the ship hurtled through hyperspace. The endless cascade of light reminded him of something—he wasn’t sure what. A memory tugged at the edges of his mind: Plo Koon standing beside him, hand on his shoulder, as they stared up at the night sky from a dusty outpost.

“There’s always light in the dark, Wolffe,” the Kel Dor had said, his voice steady, unshakable. “Even in the emptiest parts of space, the Force is alive.”

Wolffe had nodded then, silent as always. Even now, the words felt too far away. The darkness pressed in closer these days, even when he was surrounded by his squad, even when the hum of the ship reminded him he was still alive.

Maybe death was different for men like him—men who had taken orders, done what they had to, and carried the weight of it in silence. Maybe for him, death wouldn’t be a warm reunion with the Force but a cold, endless void, like the vacuum that had almost claimed him.

Maybe that was what he deserved.

He tightened his grip on the edge of the console, the familiar vibrations grounding him, even as the void outside seemed to call his name. The stars streaked on, indifferent to his musings, and he stayed where he was, caught between the hum of life and the silence of the dark.

Sure, right now he might be aboard an Imperial transport ship, tasked with carrying a highly dangerous prisoner marked for execution. But in his mind, he was still in the Abragado system, sitting in a pod, waiting. Waiting for the moment his life would be snuffed out in a war he neither fully understood nor had ever truly wanted to be part of.

He hadn’t believed Master Plo when the Jedi had reassured him, promising that someone would come looking for them. Wolffe had learned early on that he was expendable, a belief etched into him by the longnecks on Kamino. He was just another number, another body in an endless sea of soldiers bred for war.

Then came the Jedi. Their compassion, their respect, their quiet insistence on treating clones as individuals—it had shaken the very foundation of everything Wolffe thought he knew. In a world where duty and obedience were everything, where each clone was molded to fulfill a singular purpose, the Jedi had introduced something foreign—something that made him question the very core of his existence. 

Master Plo Koon, in particular, had made an inerasable impact. There was a quiet strength in the way he carried himself, an unspoken understanding that resonated with Wolffe on a level he hadn’t known was possible. Master Plo didn’t just command him; he listened—and more importantly, he understood. The way he treated Wolffe wasn’t like a subordinate or a mere tool of war, but as someone with thoughts, desires, and a sense of self. He spoke to him not as a soldier on the battlefield, but as a fellow being who had hopes, fears, and a need for connection.

When the order came, he didn't want to believe it. He hated how easily his finger had complied, how instinct had overridden thought. The words echoed in his mind, even now when he laid down for sleep: Good soldiers follow orders.

But in that moment, as Master Plo Koon’s starfighter plummeted from the sky, spiraling toward the ground in a fiery descent, Wolffe felt an emptiness unlike any he had ever known. It wasn’t just the shock of watching his commander, his ally, fall—it was the crushing realization that he was complicit in the destruction. The weight of betrayal was a heavy cloak around his shoulders, pressing down on him with unbearable force.

He had followed orders, as he always had, but this time, there was no duty, no justification that could soothe the gnawing ache in his chest. For so long, he had prided himself on his loyalty, on his ability to uphold the ideals of the Republic and the men he fought beside. But as the remnants of Plo Koon’s ship burned in the distance, Wolffe couldn’t help but feel that he had lost something far more vital than the life of a Jedi. He had lost the sense of himself as a man who stood for something honorable.

The world around him seemed to blur, the familiar sound of blaster fire and the chaos of war drowning out in the silence of his thoughts. For the first time, he saw the full, horrifying scope of what he had become—a tool of an Empire that had twisted everything he had once believed in. His identity, his purpose, had been shattered in that instant. As much as he wanted to believe he was still the same soldier, the same Commander, a part of him knew that he had crossed an irreparable line.

Wolffe had never felt further from the idea of being “good.” Not just because of the life he had taken, but because of the loss of the man he had been—the soldier who had once believed in the nobility of his cause.

The last time Wolffe truly felt in his heart that he had done the right thing was the night he learned Rex was still alive. He could still see Rex’s face—pleading, desperate, filled with a conviction that cut through Wolffe’s carefully constructed walls. Rex had begged him to see the truth, to understand that the Empire’s orders were wrong. That hunting a child wasn’t justice.

Wolffe had spent years trying—vainly, tirelessly—not to question his orders. He was a soldier. And good soldiers followed orders. 

But good soldiers didn’t hunt children or order their friends to be killed.

Good soldiers brought in criminal lowlifes, the kind of scum he now had locked in the brig, to justice. At least, that’s what Wolffe had assumed when the prisoner had been described to him as “highly dangerous.” But maybe it was his more recent desire to question his orders, or the way something about this mission didn’t sit right, that sparked the flicker of curiosity. Maybe it was the sentimentality he’d been battling since Rex’s reappearance, or the uneasy edge that always came with being in space.

Whatever the reason, he made a choice. He sent his men off for an early retreat, claiming he’d stand guard himself. He told himself it was for tactical reasons, but it wasn’t. It was personal.

Just like opening the cell door.

The door slid open with a low hiss, revealing a dimly lit chamber. Wolffe expected to see a hardened criminal, someone rough around the edges, beaten down by years of wrongdoing. Instead, his breath caught in his throat.

Seated on the floor, her back pressed against the cold wall, was a woman—young, though her posture bore the weight of someone who had seen more than her years should allow. She didn’t flinch or rise as the door opened, her bright green eyes snapping to him with an intensity that felt like a challenge. Even in the faint light, they glowed, piercing through him like a blade.

“Commander Wolffe,” she said, her voice quiet but steady, the hint of an edge betraying both recognition and caution.

He froze. His hand hovered near his blaster, not out of fear but reflex. “How do you know my name?” he asked, his tone sharp, though his heart hammered in his chest.

A faint, bitter smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “You don’t remember me, do you?” She shifted slightly, the movement revealing the scar that ran across her pale face, a jagged line that seemed out of place on her otherwise delicate features. “Not surprising. It was a lifetime ago.”

Wolffe’s eyes narrowed, his mind racing. Her appearance tugged at a distant memory—a mission gone wrong, the deafening silence of space, and a bright flash of light. Falling out of the escape pod into waiting arms. Bright Green eyes. The scar.  His breath hitched as it clicked into place.

“The rescue,” he murmured. “Abregado.”

She inclined her head, her expression softened ever so slightly. “I was,” she said simply. “And now, here we are. Funny how the force works, isn’t it?”

His grip on the blaster faltered. This wasn’t a hardened criminal. This was a Jedi—a Sentinel, at that. She had pulled him from the pod, her face masked with the exception of her eyes. But he didn’t forget the voice, nor could he forget her scar.

He also didn’t forget the way she’d accompanied him to Aleen, attempting to calm his frustrations at the locals after the earthquake. He was built for combat, not a mercy mission. But she’d been there, calming that raging storm in him with her soft spoken words and delicate place of a hand on his skin. General Halle. Perdita. 

As he studied her features for the first time, he realized the shroud she had always worn concealed far more than he had anticipated. She had once explained to him that part of her trials as a padawan had been overcoming her vanity. After that moment, she had either been encouraged—or perhaps felt the need—to keep herself covered. The distinction between the two was significant, though he now found himself unable to recall which version of the truth it had been. The Jedi’s appearance had never been something he had been allowed to fully see, and so witnessing her efforts to hold her shoulders and chin high under his gaze felt wrong. Not that he hadn't been curious—he had. But seeing more than just those bright eyes and that scar across her face felt intrusive, as though he were crossing an unseen boundary.

Seeing her now, with her ghostly pale skin, so light that it was as if it had never touched sunlight. Her hair, equally fair, was a tangled mess of long braids and matted strands, though the right side was sheared close to her scalp, hinting at the harshness of the life she had experienced. Bruises etched into her neck, a testament to her resilience, showing that she hadn’t been easily subdued.

She was far more delicate than he’d imagined for someone of her position. She didn’t match the mental image he had formed of the woman who had once saved his life with her luminous eyes and sharp voice. Yet, in her very features, there was a contradiction that unsettled him. Her soft, pale skin was marred by a jagged scar that seemed to tell a story of its own. Her long hair clashed with the shock of short strands that spoke of some past confrontation. Her gentle eyes, framed by dark kohl. Her delicate lips—so soft and inviting—contradicted the clipped, controlled tone of her voice.

There was a complexity to her, an unsettling blend of contradictions, and it was that stark difference between appearance and reality that made her all the more enigmatic.

Not to mention, she truly was much more beautiful than he could’ve imagined. Even after their brief conversation together. He’d wondered, but to see it in front of him now, he found words difficult on his tongue. 

She wasn’t like most Jedi. Distant. Quiet. She wasn’t one to preach or stand at the frontlines of politics. Instead, she focused on the people of the Republic, working directly with them in ways that often went unnoticed, or at the Council’s rare request. But she was no stranger to rebellion either. He remembered how she’d stormed away when General Skywalker's padawan had been placed on trial—angry, in a way that Wolffe found unexpected. He had always been told Jedi were supposed to rise above emotions, especially anger. Yet here she was, as human as anyone else.

“Why are you here?” he asked, his voice quieter now, the weight of his own disillusionment pressing down on him. “Why would the Empire want you dead?”

Her smile disappeared, replaced by a shadowed expression. “Because I am breathing,” she said, her tone defensive. “And because that’s enough to be a threat to the Empire,”

Wolffe’s stomach churned. He wanted to call her a liar, to draw his blaster and end the conversation, but something about her words rooted him in place. She didn’t move, didn’t press further, as if sensing the storm inside him.

However, her eyes flashed with realization, and Wolffe felt the rare tug in his mind. He wasn’t immune to it. The Jedi, though usually respectful of a clone’s privacy, occasionally breached that unspoken boundary—usually in moments of intense concern. His thoughts became muddled, a fog settling over his mind, and in that instant, he knew. She had used the Force to reach into his mind.

“They sent you to hunt a child,” she said, her voice softening, almost mournful. “And now they’ve sent you to deliver me for my execution. How much longer are you going to follow orders, Commander?”

The words struck him harder than he expected, the weight of her gaze pinning him where he stood. For a moment, he didn’t feel like the soldier standing guard. He felt like the man adrift in the pod, lost in the silence of space, waiting for someone to find him.

He exhaled sharply, the silence broken by the harshness of his words. “What do you expect me to do? Not following orders makes you a traitor,” he spat.

She stared at him for a moment, uncertainty flickering in her gaze. “You’ve already disobeyed more than one order, haven’t you?” Her tone shifted, probing deeper. “Tell me, Wolffe—or do you prefer your number now? Should I respect the identity the Empire has forced upon you? After all, you seem so eager to follow their commands, to remain obedient, even if it means abandoning everything else.”

Wolffe’s jaw clenched as her words hit home, each syllable sharp, cutting through the layers of his resolve. He shifted uncomfortably, his fingers twitching at his side, but he refused to let her see the crack in his metaphorical armor.

"I follow orders," he said, his voice tight. "It's what I was made for. It's what we all were made for. You think I like this? You think I want to be this?" He gestured vaguely toward his armor, the cold, sterile shell that defined him as much as his number did. "The Empire... they gave us purpose. A place in this galaxy. A role. And what do you want me to do, General Halle? Turn my back on that? After everything?"

She took a slow step forward, her eyes unwavering, assessing him like she always had. He could feel the pull of the Force, a subtle pressure against his mind. She wasn’t pushing, but her presence lingered, and it was almost like she could see through him.

“I’m not asking you to abandon your past, Wolffe,” she said, her voice softer now, though the challenge remained. “I’m asking you to remember it. To remember who you were before the Empire twisted everything. You have never been just a number.”

Her words settled into the space between them, heavy with meaning, and Wolffe felt something shift deep inside him—a faint stirring he didn’t want to acknowledge. He had spent so long burying that part of himself, the part that still remembered loyalty to something more than orders. But now, in her presence, in the weight of her gaze, it felt like the walls he had built up around himself were starting to crack.

"You think I can just walk away?" he muttered, almost to himself. "That it’s that simple? The wars, the lies..." He paused, the words thick in his throat. "I don’t even know who I am anymore."

Perdita’s expression softened, a flicker of understanding passing through her eyes. She took another step toward him, this time with less certainty. She didn’t reach out, but the gesture was enough.

“You can always start again, find a new purpose, and maybe along the way find who you once were. I know you Wolffe. You are a good man. You always have been,” she commented quietly.

Wolffe didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched between them, filled only by the hum of the transport ship’s engines. The weight of his own thoughts pressed on him like an anchor, dragging him deeper into the abyss of uncertainty. He didn’t know what the right choice was. But standing here, facing the Jedi, he felt something stir in him that hadn’t been there for a long time.

The man he had been—the man before the Empire—was still there. Somewhere.

But could he still find his way back? Or was he already too far gone?

The question lingered, unanswered, and it gnawed at him from the inside out. The conflict within him was too great, an overwhelming surge of doubt and guilt. He was lost between what he felt and what he knew. He knew the Jedi were kind, compassionate—humane in a way the Empire could never be. But there was another part of him, the part shaped by years of conditioning, of following orders without question. The part that told him Jedi were the enemy, that they had betrayed him, betrayed all of them.

Even if she was correct, he didn’t feel he deserved a second chance.

"Stop," he snapped, his voice low and harsh, barely containing the fury building within him. "You're twisting my mind. That's why all you Jedi were executed." He spat the words, stepping back as if to escape the heavy weight of his own thoughts.

But Perdita’s gaze didn’t falter. Her eyes flashed with frustration—and something else. It was the same intensity that had pulled him from the wreckage of the Abregado system all those years ago. The depth her eyes had shown when he’d looked into them deeply under the glow of the setting sun on Aleen. The same ferocity that made her a Jedi in a way he could never fully understand.

“Did you pull the trigger yourself, Wolffe?” she demanded, her voice sharp and cutting through the haze in his mind.

His eyes widened. “What—?”

“Master Plo.” She took a step closer, her bound hands held out in front of her, as if she were trying to approach him without triggering some kind of defense mechanism. “Did you take the shot yourself?”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. His mind flashed back to that day, to the moment when it all went wrong. The blast rang out, and Plo Koon had fallen, silent and still.

“I didn’t—” Wolffe started, his voice shaking. “I didn’t want to…”

But she was relentless, her voice a hiss, her anger barely contained. “Did you pull the trigger yourself, or did you let one of your men do it for you? Did you stand by while they carried out the order?”

Wolffe’s heart pounded in his chest. She was right. He hadn’t pulled the trigger, not directly. He hadn’t been the one to execute the order. But he had been there. He had stood by calling the order while his brothers did the work. His hands had been tied by duty, by obedience and the relentless weight of his training. 

Her words cut deeper than he expected, and for the first time in years, he felt a crack in the armor he had spent so long building. The Jedi saw through him in a way no one else had in a long time.

“No,” Wolffe said, his voice heavy with bitterness. “Boost did it. Shot down the starfighter,” he explained with a dramatic sigh, as though the memory still weighed on him like a stone in his chest.

Perdita’s gaze never left him, unyielding. “Why?” she pressed, her voice soft but insistent, searching for the truth behind his words.

Wolffe hesitated, his eyes darkening with the weight of the past. “Because I couldn’t. Because I was weak…” His voice trailed off, thick with shame. He had always prided himself on being strong, unwavering. But in that moment, when the world seemed to fall apart around him, he had faltered.

“To lay down arms is not weakness,” she replied, her tone calm but firm, as though she had spoken those words to herself a thousand times.

He scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping him. “Says the woman marked for execution,” he muttered, a sharp edge in his voice. His gaze flickered toward her, searching for the woman who had once saved him, who had risked everything to pull him from the wreckage when all seemed lost. The memory stung.

“You saved my life once,” he reminded her, his voice quieter now, tinged with a mix of gratitude and regret.

“I did,” Perdita agreed, her eyes softening, but her expression remained steady. “And now, may I ask one favor of you? A simple one, so that we can finally be even?”

Wolffe raised an eyebrow, the weight of her words sinking in slowly. There was something in the way she said it, something that made him pause. 

“Kill me,” she whispered solemnly, her words cutting through the silence like a blade.

Wolffe froze, his breath hitching in his chest. For a heartbeat, he couldn’t even process what she had just said. Kill me? The weight of those words landed on him with a staggering force, and for the first time since they’d started this uneasy exchange, his mind went utterly blank.

“W-What?” he stammered, confusion and disbelief mixing with a knot of panic that twisted deep inside him.

Perdita’s gaze never wavered, though there was a deep sadness in her eyes, a quiet resignation that tugged at something buried within him. She didn’t look like someone who feared death. In fact, she looked like someone who had made peace with it long ago.

“Kill me, Wolffe,” she repeated, her voice soft, but heavy with the weight of a thousand unspoken things. “Where you are taking me is a fate worse than death,”

The words hit Wolffe like a punch to the gut. His heart thudded painfully in his chest as he absorbed the depth of what she was saying. She was asking him to end her life, to release her from the nightmare that had followed her since the purge, since the fall of the Jedi. He could hear the quiet despair in her voice, the resignation that she had already accepted that no other option was left.

"Stop," he snapped, stepping forward with a sharpness he hadn't meant. His hand clenched into a fist at his side. "Don't say that."

Perdita’s eyes flickered to his, a fleeting glimpse of vulnerability breaking through her hard exterior. "It's the truth," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I’ve lived through so much betrayal, Wolffe. I’ve seen what the Empire does to those it deems 'enemy’, it’s not a pretty sight I assure you"

Wolffe’s breath caught in his throat as he processed her words. He had heard whispers of the horrors of the Empire, the ruthless efficiency of its cruelty, but hearing it from her—someone who had once been who had fought beside the clones and now found herself hunted—made the reality of it all feel sharper.

“It’s not fair for you to ask that of me,” he demanded, his voice tightening with frustration. The very thought of it made him nauseous. To kill an unarmed woman—especially a prisoner—was not only unjust, it would be a betrayal of everything he had ever stood for. It could lead him to a court-martial, or worse.

“Why not,” she demanded.

Her words struck him harder than he expected. The Empire had already claimed so much from him—his autonomy, his sense of purpose, his very soul at times. But now, the reality of what she was saying pressed against him like a vise. Was he just another pawn? Would he become expendable too, the moment they had no more use for him?

“I’m not one of them,” he said, his voice a mixture of defiance and doubt. He wasn’t, was he?

But Perdita only stared at him, her expression unreadable. “You’re more like them than you think,” she whispered. “You’ve followed their orders. You’ve done their bidding. And now… now you want to pretend you don’t have a choice in what happens to me. Pretend I got free, tried to kill your men. I’m a threat am I not? Is that not what they told you? Please Wolffe. I do not wish to suffer needlessly. However if your resignation truly is with the Empire then I suppose you truly do not have a choice.”

Wolffe took a step back, his breath quickening. She was right in one sense—he had followed orders, too many times without question. But was that enough to define him? Was that all he was now? A soldier for an Empire that cared nothing for his humanity? Or worse, the humanity of others.

“No,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I still have a choice.”

She looked up at him, her eyes wavering just slightly. “Then make it.”

He stared at her for a long moment, a thousand thoughts racing through his mind. Should he kill her? Should he let her go? Should he risk everything? How much more guilt would he carry in delivering her to whatever fate she had foreseen? She was asking him to do something impossible, something that could destroy him just as easily as it would destroy her.

But the longer he looked at her, the clearer it became. This wasn’t just about survival anymore. It wasn’t just about doing what was expected or what was easy. This was about redemption—for her, for him, for them both.

“I won’t kill you,” he said, the words steady but heavy. His eyes darted around. The cybernetic one struggling to see in the dimly lit cell as he searched for the control panel on the wall. 

Perdita didn’t respond, assuming he was ready to leave and her last attempt at peace, foiled by a clone who truly owed her little loyalty. As she prepared for his departure she felt the chains around her hands unlock, before falling away. Flexing her fingers she looked up to see him much closer now as he tugged her forearm.

“But I won’t let them take you, either.” His voice was low, almost aggressive in nature, as if he was revolting against the very action he was taking.

Perdita didn’t smile. She didn’t thank him. She just nodded, the flicker of something like hope passing through her eyes. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to give him the courage to take the next step—whatever that might be.

“Why?” she asked, her voice calm, though it carried the weight of disbelief. She paused for a moment, taking a breath to collect herself in the wake of his unexpected actions.

Wolffe met her gaze briefly, then dropped his eyes to the floor, his attention lingering on the mud caked on the tops of his boots. After a moment, he lifted his gaze to hers again, his eyes scanning hers as if unsure whether to reveal the truth. Yet, in this moment—after throwing caution to the wind—it seemed honesty was the only option.

The problem? He wasn’t entirely certain himself. Of course, he had theories. Wolffe had been searching for a way out of the Empire ever since that night he crossed paths with Rex. Having a Jedi by his side would significantly increase his chances of desertion. So, part of his reasoning, at least, was rooted in a tactical advantage.

But then, as his gaze fell on her face, resting on the scar that marked her eye, something else surfaced. He remembered how much he owed her—how she had been the one to help locate their damaged pod. Without her, he would have been lost to the cold expanse of space. A debt like that, a life saved, demanded more than mere gratitude—it demanded something deeper.

“You saved my life once, General,” he said, though internally he wanted to slam his head into the durasteel wall. He knew that she had done so more than once—countless times, in fact, for him and his brothers. “Consider us even,” he added, his words laced with a mixture of gratitude and frustration.

After a brief pause, he heard the soft sound of her approach. Her arm brushed against his unintentionally as she spoke, her voice steady but curious. “What’s your plan?”

Wolffe felt the faintest stir at the brush of her arm, but he quickly focused on her words. He turned slightly, his gaze meeting hers, but there was a momentary hesitation in his expression. The question hung in the air, heavy with more than just the immediate answer.

He knew she wasn’t just asking about the details or the strategy—she was asking what came next, what he planned to do with everything that had led them to this moment. He could feel the weight of her question, the uncertainty that hung heavily in the air between them.

For a moment, he stayed silent, his mind racing through countless possibilities, each one more uncertain than the last. Finally, he spoke, his voice steady but tinged with the weight of the decision. "It’s a long shot, but I think it might work. You’ll have to trust me on this." He met her gaze, a quiet resolve in his eyes. "As for everything else, we’ll improvise—if we make it out of here."

"Alright. After you, Commander—"

"Wolffe," he interjected, his voice flat, almost terse. The weight of the moment pressed down on him—the knowledge that he was about to turn his back on everything he had ever known, to abandon the man he had been for so long. It felt like an impossible choice, and yet it was the only one left. In the face of such a drastic break, being addressed by his rank felt distant, cold, and impersonal. It was as though the uniform, the title, had become a mask for something that no longer fit him.

She paused for a moment, as if sensing the shift in the air between them. Her gaze met his, a flicker of understanding in her eyes before she nodded slightly, her voice equally dry, yet carrying a certain weight of its own. "Lead the way, Wolffe."

Her words, though simple, held a quiet acknowledgment—an acceptance of the change that had already begun. Neither of them needed to say more. The decision had been made, and whatever path lay ahead, it would be walked side by side.

To be continued...

(Also if you made it this far thank you so much! Below is the unedited image of Perdita courtesy of my lovely friend… you can find her bio HERE, on her page! Additionally, I may start a tag list soon so if anyone's interested just drop a comment or shoot me a DM <3!)

[bird-inacage]

Only Friends: What Led to Ray's Explosive Tirade (Playing 'The Bad Guy')

I have to admit that this was not how I expected this scene to play out. I was just as flabbergasted as everyone else at first. However I think there's one clear thing that Ray's outburst reminded me off: no matter whether you reveal the truth or keep it to yourself - either way, you are the bad guy.

I'm NOT the Villain

As Boston very derisively claims, if Ray reveals the truth of the affair, he'll be the one unleashing the damage. A similar parallel to what Boston did last episode (with very different intentions may I add, but damage is damage nonetheless).

Mew is incredibly important to Ray. If we talk simply outside of Ray's love for him, Ray wants to treat him well, repay him for his kindness and support over the years. Therefore, once Ray was in possession of this information, he felt very strongly that Mew needed to know. He knew telling Mew was the right thing to do. He does genuinely care about Mew as a person.

Does he warn Mew and ruin his present happiness (which is based on a lie)? Or does he hold his tongue and potentially watch his friend get hurt from other mistreatments by Top further down the line?

Ray doesn't want to hurt Mew in any way. He doesn't want to be the bringer of bad news. Why should it have to fall to him to reveal this awful act of betrayal to someone he cares for so much? And when Mew supposedly doesn't react in the way he expects to this information, Ray goes ballistic with frustration, concern and anger. Why is he the bad guy for trying to help his friend, when Top can seemingly get away with it, and be in everyone's good graces even when he's completely undeserving? Why can no one else see Top's true colours?

I'm NOT the Worst

Something else that occurred to me throughout this episode, is how often Ray's friends belittle and overlook him. And it's so routine they hardly even notice.

Boston has never tried to hide his snide little back-handed comments at Ray. Since their fight at Sand's, he's become even more callous when throwing quips in plain sight. Namcheum makes an observation about all of them being partnered up, and it's only after a few beats that April points out Ray is still single. It's as if they forgot he was even there. Namcheum doesn't tend to pick up on any of the animosity or tension within this group. She's generally not the most tactful or best at reading people.

Then when Ray speaks to Mew in the bathroom, Mew immediately assumes Ray's been taking drugs. Ray looks clearly stunned by this. Yes, he's always coined as the 'drunk' but that's not his one and only personality trait. That's not all he does and is as a person.

It dawns on Ray that even his closest friends seem to always assume the very worst of him. He had a bad feeling about Top from the offset but no one cared or listened. Rather, Ray never gets given the benefit of the doubt, when he's not committed anything as problematic as the heinous crimes amongst their group. Particularly when compared to Top, someone who gets all the praise and adoration when Ray knows he's a certified piece of shit, is desperately unfair. And most of all Top gets the respect of the best friend he loves.

I think what really sent the situation hurtling south was Ray watching everyone play happy families, when he knows there is a web of dishonesty and resentment lurking beneath. It's all a farce. And Ray couldn't stomach it for another moment longer. He had enough.

Become the Very Thing You Loathe

In Episode 4, Ray displays a classic example of self-loathing and self punishment when he goads Sand to scold him. In doing so, it's as if he's deriving some warped form of satisfaction in owning these criticisms. Because he's told these things so often, he starts to believe it, so why not own it too? I actually mentioned this in my Episode 1 meta (regarding Ray's self-actualisation of becoming a burden). Sometimes embracing the very thing you hate being know for, at least validates the presence of that criticism. 'If people keep calling me an asshole, then fine, I'll become an asshole. At least then being called an asshole makes sense.'

So Ray brought it on himself to air out everyone's dirty laundry. 'Fuck it, if you really all think I'm the worst, then fine, I'll do what needs to be done, I'll be the worst. You all happy now?'

Even though Ray adopts the persona forced onto him, he's not happy about it at all. He wants to be identified with more substance, with more credit, as more than just what everyone claims him to be.

[wutheringskies]

Post-Canon Fics in MDZS...

You know, what would make post-canon fics great? If they adhered to canon! This post is honestly just a list of character tropes, and plot tropes I find incessantly OOC, replaced by plot tropes I wish we hyped up more.

1. Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation

There are plenty of reasons this will never happen. Firstly, Jiang Wanyin will not apologize to Wei Wuxian further beyond the apology that he has made in Guanyin Temple, because to apologize, you need to see "wrong" in your actions and regret them. Jiang Cheng doesn't have a similar morality index as Wei Wuxian and their beliefs have always been different. Not to mention Jiang Cheng is inherently bitter since he was young; following down the path of his mother. His first instinct when someone is being praised is so squash them down.

Secondly, Wei Wuxian will not apologize to Jiang Cheng beyond the apology of breaking that promise that only Jiang Cheng was left holding onto - a culmination of their broken dreams and desires, a marking of them being a generation of war.

The only thing both of them have in common is their love for Jin Ling and a shared, painful past - a past that Wei Wuxian wants to move on from, a past that Jiang Cheng is simultaneously rooted in, and moved away from.

Note: that this, I am speaking for is MDZS canon. Not CQL, as well, Jiang Cheng didn't directly kill those Wens which is the tipping point.

Replaced by: Loving Jin Ling

In the MDZS Novel, we go from seeing Jiang Cheng become increasingly abusive and violent towards Jin Ling as the stakes worsen and Jin Ling becoming annoyed and having arguments with him, not agreeing with his thinking.

We also see, Wei Wuxian, being the one to push Jin Ling to talk to Jiang Cheng in the Iron Hook Extra. We see Wei Wuxian being disgustingly affectionate towards Jin Ling, and Jin Ling being a tsundere about it and promising to himself that from the next time, he'll stick around Wei Wuxian in night hunts, implying these two will be consistently in each other's lives.

We also learn that Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji take Sizhui out on night-hunts (a family). And that Sizhui and Jin Ling go on night-hunts together. Also, that Wen Ning often joins their night-hunts.

So, hear me out, post-canon fics revolving around this strange, muddly, messy support system and family that Jin Ling has amassed.

Yunmeng bros reconciliation is never going to happen; too much interaction might worsen their tentative mutual ignorance of each other. Wei Wuxian, who's always pushed himself into other's personal spaces, is fine with just ensuring Jiang Cheng is okay. Distance is better than proximity.

But what plausibly might happen is Jin Ling forming deeper connections with his scattered, support system. Jin Ling might open up to Jiang Cheng for help with this or that, as Wei Wuxian has advised. Jiang Cheng might learn how to not be emotionally abusive or harsh and show the love he has for Jin Ling in better ways. Jin Ling will probably end up getting closer to Wei Wuxian and Sizhui and understanding just so many things about, everything. He might be supported by Hanguang-jun.

He might grow up to be the best Jin sect leader there ever was.

2. Wei Wuxian navigating through a world where everyone hates him, withering away.

This is, not only one of the saddest post-canon takes, but also very OOC. It might not make sense what I'm talking about so I'll list out common tropes I put under this categorization:

a) Wei Wuxian has terrible self esteem

b) He feels undeserving of Lan Wangji's love and keeps him at a distance emotionally by seducing him for sex instead

c) He has a childlike innocence, he goes out and hears everyone talking shit about him and stays indoor most of the time

d) He is mistreated by Lan clan and Lan Wangji is oblivious to it all

And such. I definitely understand why these tropes are so popular. It feeds into a particular sort of misery but there is a lot that it ignores:

a) Wei Wuxian firstly doesn't have terrible self esteem. If he did, he wouldn't have made it this far (coughs, the big age of 21 or 22). People ignore the fact that Wei Wuxian is a strong protagonist. He is proud, and aware of his worth. He never plays down his talents. He understands quickly the perspective of other people, and already knows that the people who talk more, do less.

In his first life, he went through being coreless and powerless, hated by all, but still standing up for stuff he believed in and lounging and drinking. He's not afraid to make others uncomfortable with his presence. That is a part of his charm. He cares for the opinions of only few people - and those few love him.

b) The one where he's emotionally distant towards Lan Wangji is the one I possibly hate the most. Especially because these sorts of fics often have him distracting Lan Wangji from his bouts of worthlessness and insecurity by his body, and Lan Wangji jumps straight into action.

Lan Wangji knows Wei Wuxian well enough that he offers comfort to Wei Ying even when he doesn't realize he needs it; like hugging him in Intrustion extra when they are on the topic of servants. Wei Wuxian can read Lan Wangji well, and so can Lan Wangji. Both of them have a relationship built on mutual trust and understanding. Wei Wuxian isn't sticking around with the Lan Clan and the jingshi because it's what Lan Wangji wants, but it's also what Wei Wuxian wants.

Also, Wei Wuxian doesn't feel undeserving of Lan Wangji. He knows he has caused Lan Wangji a lot of pain, intentionally or not, and is dedicated to making him happy, and being in love. It was all in his Guanyin Temple confession - their relationship is not out of gratefulness or anything like that.

c) Wei Wuxian is innocent at his soul, but he's not a child. He knows what the world thinks and he doesn't care. He doesn't expect the world to talk nicely about him; he probably doesn't even hear half the chatter, and even if be acknowledges it, it doesn't need to emotionally hurt him. Unrelatable? Yes. But that's how his character is like.

And if he ever is hurt or surprised, he's going to seek comfort. Act childish, ask to be pampered, etc.

d) THIS one is so... We see Wei Wuxian stepping into the Lan Clan. One day later, he's sitting next to Lan Wangji in a banquet, accepted as his cultivation partner. Lan Qiren is definitely against his presence. But like, sincerely, how long will that go on when we know that Wei Wuxian is the one who takes Lan juniors to night hunts everyday? We also see Wei Wuxian acting independently with juniors onto missions where assistance from the Lan Clan was requested (Iron Hook extra) without any Lan Wangji or anyone else. He even has a jade pendant, just four days after settling in. Lan Qiren has to hear his moans like... every night. A few hours in and he's talking to a Lan female cultivator?

Lan Wangji himself has injured thirty three Lan elders and been punished by the worst punishment, probably, ever assigned. Beyond Lan Qiren's glares and admonishments, I sincerely doubt anyone can do or say much. What I don't doubt is that Wei Wuxian is loveable and makes friends easily, and that despite everything, he's Lan Wangji's cultivation partner. A teacher. Accesses all Lan cottages and buildings. And now an addition to the Lan family.

And as for what the general people speak, perhaps the Yiling Laozu will always be a figure that haunts children bed time stories. But Senior Wei, and Hanguang-jun's husband, and Wei Wuxian - is shown to be a figure that is loved, respected by many.

The whole of cultivation world TRIED to kill him (Second Seige). They were embarrassed. Only like 20 people were actually there to kill him.

These 20 people will probably never be able to touch a hair on his head.

The WHOLE of cultivation world was saved by Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji and the Wens' remains. Stories always travel fast, don't they? The cultivation world has found their newest figure to hate - and it's not Wei Wuxian. Not just that, even the one with the most hostility towards him (Jiang Cheng) didn't DISALLOW him from coming to Lotus Pier where in front of him, they transferred crimes previously "done" by him to Jin Guangyao (like the death of Jin Zixuan - let's not fool ourselves and think anyone other than Jin Ling cares about the truth). Not just that, the cultivation world asked "Master Wei" for help.

Wei Wuxian didn't come back to life only to live a terrible, hated, agonizing life. Most people don't care. He doesn't care. Those who care are not strong enough. Those he cares about love him.

Replaced by: Wei Wuxian navigating through life without heavy burdens on his shoulder

Much of the fics focus on the "burden" of the trauma he's been through his life in the fics. Very few focus on the lack of burdens. Like... the guy is now well fed. His feelings are returned. There's nobody in danger. He has a body that can grow a core again. He can slowly pick up Suibian. He can learn new tunes on Chenqing. He can hang out with Wen Ning. He can think back to fond memories. He can paint, read, travel, teach, have great ideas and tap 100% into his actual personality.

He can process stuff he's been through in a healthier way. Like, I don't know, that intrusion scene where LWJ immediately hugs him when the topic of servants come is so important to me, because, it makes me wonder what sorts of conversations they have had. He now gets pampered and indulged - and we all know he loves it, but often the portrayals of his thoughts about being loved is very self critical which isn't canon. And it would be really cool for Wei Wuxian to have just, time, on his hand.

He was barely free for a year and changed the ways of the cultivation society forever. Without much resources or money. Now, the possibilities are endless. He can not only travel, but buy expensive stuff and have a bunch of Lan texts and a very educated and smart husband to help him invent more.

3. CQL Shade but Post-Canon Fics where Wangxian is too busy with responsibilities for each other ???

Why are you guys hurting yourselves? Like, there's only a certain amount of these sorts of fic that's acceptable until it becomes a sort of widely accepted canon.

I think it definitely has to with Chief Cultivator Lan Wangji. My poor baby, his romantic heart, extremely concise replies, and disdain for worldly matters (HIS LITERAL NAME IS WANGJI. HIS SWORD IS BICHEN) was ignored in the favour of making him a cold, busy husband who's sorting minor clan disputes, surrounded by length drabbles and politics by those that once killed his husband.

This is just so awful for me. In the intrustion extra, even after dressing up early, with a guest waiting outside (Master Qin), he lets the guest WAIT than wake Wei Ying up (who sleeps until noon).

If he became chief cultivator the world would collapse. If Wei Ying held onto his robes a little too tightly, he wouldn't even step out of the Jingshi.

Like he told Wei Ying, "I've been damned since long ago." Lan Wangji is a pure romantic. He's never going to be too busy for Wei Wuxian, or too distant, or too cold.

Like, guys just no. Let's write post-canon Wangxian. Not Madam Yu-Jiang Fengmian inspired Wangxian.

[creature-wizard]

If programming isn’t real then what happened to me. If programming isn’t real why do I have the conditioned responses due to what happened. If programming isn’t real then why am I the way I am. There’s literally no other explanation.

Basically every alleged symptom of the DID programming process described by the likes of Fritz Springmeier and Cisco Wheeler is a likely symptom of something else. Many are potential symptoms of other abuses, including corporal punishment, psychological and emotional manipulation, emotional neglect, and the like. These types of abuses have can have far more profound impacts than many of us realize, especially if we grow up in an environment where they're normalized or where adults assure us that they don't count as "real" abuse.

If anything, the DID alter programming myth functions as a way to scapegoat the trauma from being raised in environments like this onto secret cults of devil worshipers so these kinds of people can go on pretending their own childrearing methods aren't inherently abusive.

Now what I'm going to talk about next, I'm not saying that it necessarily applies to you, but I also can't rule it out, and I figure it's good to mention it in a general sense.

At least some of the alleged symptoms of DID programming are symptoms of growing up autistic in a world that hates autistic people. (I'm not saying that you're necessarily autistic, but I can't rule it out, either.) Many autistic people are put through a cruel conditioning process called applied behavior analysis, which is supposed to make them act like allistic people. Autistic people who can't pretend they're allistic are often shunned and bullied, and develop people-pleasing habits as a consequence. This type of conditioning was never carried out on purpose, and yet it was very much carried out.

We can also internalize shitty things people say both to and around us. (Like adults calling certain types of people worthless and undeserving - but whoops, turns out you're one of those kinds of people.) We can also pick up on implicit messages in media that aren't good for our self-worth (like when a trait you have is overwhelmingly depicted in villains, or when people like you are never depicted as attractive). This can impact us in numerous ways, including exacerbating people-pleasing tendencies.

This thread over here mentions some sources of trauma that are often overlooked.

Editing to add in case this post gets reblogged: This anon chimed in with some excellent points, too.

I think it's a safe guess that your life sucked, and that you were not treated well. One way or another, you were hurt very badly, and you did not get the care or comfort you deserved. But saying that your trauma symptoms can only be explained by the alter programming conspiracy theory is like saying the weather patterns of the Little Ice Age could only be explained by witches. Conspiracy theories appear to explain things, but what they're actually doing is offering false explanations in order to further bigger narratives that target a lot of innocent people.

For more information on the origins of the alter programming conspiracy theory, and how we KNOW it's a conspiracy theory, see this post.