#Instead of “accept the past and your regrets as part of your past and focus on what you can fix going forward”

[usedpidemo]

Mistakes were made, but not you (Le sserafim Yunjin)

“Why? Why weren’t you there? I needed you and you weren’t there!”

While Yunjin lashes out at you, grabbing at your shirt and using you as a proxy for the world and its ill-timed misfortunes, you can’t help but wonder if your presence would have changed the situation for the better.

Probably not. It’s one of those events that has to happen for character growth. 

—————

Tonight is supposed to be a night of celebration—a commemoration to the achievements, accomplishments, and accolades of the past year. The numbers and statistics never lie. They love her work, they love her artistry. They love her for what she sells and what she represents. But truth be told, Huh Yunjin couldn’t care less about what they think.

Thunderous cheers and colorful lightsticks representing different fandoms brighten the arena as the five Le sserafim members climb up the stairs to claim their award. Minutes ago, they pulled off the performance of a lifetime—an eight minute masterclass that represents everything the group stands for. You could see the exhaustion in their faces; barely mustering the strength to smile and wave to the crowd shouting for them. 

For the most part, the acceptance speech is nothing notable. Going through the motions, thanking the fans, the staff, the company, promising to do better in the future—it’s about as cookie cutter as it gets. As Yunjin tries her hardest to keep her tears from falling while she talks, the other four can only focus on her with varying weary looks. Chaewon looks especially worried; it’s her responsibility and burden to look after every single one of them. 

From the audience’s viewpoint, it’s seen as a non-issue, but the five girls recognize deep down it’s anything but. The only noteworthy thing is how suddenly quick they are on their feet heading backstage. It’s funny how everyone chases fame: to be in the moment, the spotlight. It’s funnier, Yunjin thinks, that she’d rather be anywhere else.

Unfortunately for her and the other artists attending, they’d have to wait a little longer. There’s backstage interviews and other idol obligations to do before they are finally let go. It’s not even worth all that lost time—that one award they receive ends up being their lone win for the night.

—————

Yunjin storms into your hotel room without a word with a fierce expression on her face. She doesn’t have to say it; she’s thankful she doesn’t have to spend another minute in front of the cameras, another minute being an idol—at least for the night.

In a sea of anger and auburn, Yunjin walks past you without acknowledging you at least once. She hastily drops off her purse on the coffee table before charging straight to her room and slamming the door. It’s easy to chalk up her frustrations on the monotony of the awards season—the countless hours of practice specifically for one event, the hours spent in the makeup room, the hours of interviews and fanservice—but you know she never acts like this. Rain or shine, hell or high water, she’ll walk around with a pleasant smile on her face.

Tonight simply isn’t one of those nights. You saw the whole ordeal happen in real time, and you’re already regretting the decision not to be there. At times, watching her on screen was tough. You can tell she was visibly uncomfortable, more clingy to her members than usual, when it’s normally the other way around. Admittedly, you have to give her props for holding herself back from crying when she has every right to. It’s a cold winter night, but that’s not the reason she’s trembling and shaking. It should be a night of celebration; instead, her sullen expression resembles the aftermath of complete, utter humiliation and defeat.

And it may as well be. You look through your phone; you find the messages from friends and acquaintances telling you the exact same thing; it might as well be considered spam. 

> Yo did you see what happened to Yunjin?

> Is Yunjin okay?!

> Yunjin fell! Fuck MNET!

> BRO YUNJIN FELL FROM THE STAGE WHAT THE FUUUUCK—

> Don’t tell her but I actually laughed when she slipped XD hope she alright tho!

Of course you know. It’s all caught on camera and in living color for the whole world to see. Even if it was cut from the YouTube edit, which is highly unlikely, it’s already out there on the internet spreading like wildfire. Numerous reposts with tens of thousands of likes, multiple articles immediately written after the incident—her name and her moment will remain immortalized in K-pop history for all the wrong reasons. It has the internet making jokes, it has the internet writing thinkpieces, it has the internet creating needless fanwars—it has the internet buzzing. 

You want to throw your phone from where your room is located—all the way up on the 27th floor—and pray it lands directly on a hater’s head. 

Sure enough, when you try to enter her room, it’s locked shut. The door won’t budge. All this awkward, quiet tension between you is terrifying, and sleeping her feelings off isn’t going to help anyone, not during these trying times. She needs comfort right now more than anything else. 

You give the door a respectful knock, only to be met with silence. Trying again and again leads you nowhere. Calling her name does you zero favors. Each futile attempt cuts away at your heart, little by little. Yunjin would rather isolate herself from the world than open up to anyone with no exceptions. Obviously, you have nothing to do with what happened (that is on the production team more than anyone) but you bear the responsibility and burden of being Yunjin’s partner, always there for her during the good times and the bad.

Now is not the time to give up or sulk. She needs comfort and love more than anything. She needs a shoulder to cry on. She needs a special voice to reassure her that everything will be okay.

Rummaging through her purse, you find one of her countless hairpins. It’s the oldest trick in the book—one that she always used to get you with guaranteed success. Already bent and straightened, perfectly shaped for picking—it’s as if she wanted you to reach her. You remember the disaster that was teaching you how to pick locks; dozens destroyed, to the dismay of her apartment doors, but she knew you’d need it at some point, and tried to help you to the best of her ability.

The lock comes undone. It’s a miracle, but it’s short-lived. What welcomes you as you enter her bedroom turns your uncertainty into shock and utter disbelief.

It’s imagery you only see in nightmares. Her bedroom completely ravaged and in utter ruin. Pillows, clothes, and objects scattered throughout the room. Yunjin is curled up against the wall with a blanket draped over her, concealing everything but her eyes. Bloodshot red from spilling her heart out. Around her feet lay two opened half empty bottles of alcohol and a spilled over wine glass. It takes everything not to drop to your knees or yell out “fuck” from the depth of your lungs.

Instead, it only comes out as an airy whimper, with your throat choked up seeing the sorry state your girlfriend’s in.   

Every little step you take may as well be tiptoed. Carefully treading into uncharted territory, who knows what you’ll end up meeting. The next words you pick will be the most important ones you’ll ever say. It isn’t as simple as telling her everything will be fine—that mistakes happen, life moves on, and this will be a memory she can laugh at a few years from now. She believes she’s ruined not only her career, but also her members, when anyone with common sense thinks otherwise.

With a deep breath and a gulp of your throat, you run through all the options. You pray you make the best choice.

“Jen Jen,” you mumble, crouching down in front of her, frowning. Try as you might, you can’t bring yourself to smile. You reach your hand out to peek through the curtain; she aggressively slaps down your palm. It’s as dire as you believe it looks. She sees the world crashing down before her. 

Watching her cry and hide herself away plucks away at your heartstrings. You don’t want to see her looking this sorry, this deflated. If her members—the people she’s closest with—couldn’t get through her, then how much less can you? Even so, you have to keep trying. Not as a fan nor an acquaintance, but as her partner.

Again, you’ll have to pick your way through another lock. This time, her heart. And it’s more delicate than any physical door. 

She’s drowning in her tears to realize the tug on her wrists. Little by little, you pull them apart. Yunjin’s bloodshot eyes glare right into yours, but she does nothing. Slowly, you curl your arms around hers, reaching around her back. For a moment, she appears vulnerable. Open. You press yourself close to her—

And then she hits you square in the face. 

Yunjin assaults you with a relentless barrage of fists, with one jab directly clocking your lips. They’re not the playful ones you’re used to. The kind that’s usually thrown after a serious argument, and you’ve only experienced a handful of squabbles. She sends you staggering back to the floor, violently screeching and attacking you. “Fuck you! Leave me alone!” she yells, punching you repeatedly with no sense of direction, only rage. You try to lift a hand in self-defense, only to be sent knocking down, to the point where you just give up and allow her to rip through you.

Looking into her eyes, having turned from grim to cruel, she looks as if you were there. As if you were the stage director. As if you were the one who pressed the button on the control panel. Her punches, aimless as they are, fucking hurt. You’re on the floor, defenseless, but you deserve it. You weren’t there when you should have been. The one award show you opt not to attend happens to be the one that ends up sideways. Of course she’ll pinpoint the cause back to you. That’s blind passion. That’s love.

She grabs you by the collar of your shirt, screaming right in your face, “Why? Why weren’t you there? I needed you and you weren’t there!” Angry as she is, you can tell she’s trying to restrain herself. She wants to humiliate you, but she also doesn’t want to smash your head through the marble floor. You have this ragged but innocent look on your face. The stubborn kind that would tell her that you won’t give up on her. That you’d happily take all the beating just to see her smile again. 

As it turns out, all she really needs is an outlet to air out her emotions. She has moved past her tears, and she has stopped beating you down, but everything else still remains. The glare. The dour frown. The fingers gripped to your collar. The room is silent, with the only sound filling the air is your low, airy hush of “Sorry.” Your hand rubs against her arm, conveying a message of reassurance that everything’s going to be okay.

Yunjin freezes. Unsure of how she feels, unsure of what to do. The moment stretches beyond the perception of time. You end up getting caught unprepared by what happens.

She doesn’t apologize for throwing you to the floor and verbally and physically assaulting you. You don’t really mind. A kiss is more than enough of an apology. Even more when it’s passionate, humming into your mouth before letting her tongue slip right between your lips, and her hands now pressed to your cheek. Lovemaking is how she speaks to you. Her lips do most of the talking. 

Her body does the rest.

Yunjin pushes you down to the floor. You watch her shed her leather jacket, in awe of her radiant beauty.  Her skin is porcelain, gleaming from the bedroom light. She’s a star, and shines like one. The reverence soon turns to amusement, mostly at how nonchalant she’s behaving. Minutes ago, she was hostile, out of control, threatening to turn you into a ruined mess. Instead, she’s about to leave you a ruined heap, but in a different way. 

She notices. She always does. Knows you like a book. She grins.

“You know I can’t be mad at you,” she says, lifting an eyebrow as she straddles on your lap. Smirking playfully, she’s making you double take and wonder if this was an elaborate ploy or if she was really upset. And if it’s the former, then you’d really feel betrayed and manipulated. “Sorry dear,” she adds, accompanied by a peck on your lips. “I know it’s not your fault nor mine, it’s just that we prepared so much and—”

“Don’t worry,” you interrupt, placing a hand on her bare shoulder, “I should have been there. I mean, what are the chances the one time I’m not there, this shit—”

“Shhh.” Yunjin plants a finger on your lips. “Babe shouldn’t worry about his Jen Jen’s performance. At least I looked cool falling, right?” she asks, both sweet and playful.

“Sure you did,” you chuckle, almost sucking on her fingertip as she points it directly at your lip. “Definitely the coolest fall I’ve ever seen. Will never be replicated. Ever. And I mean that.”

She laughs, heartily, even though she knows you’re flat out lying. “Yeah, because they won’t do stage designs like that ever again.” Then she kisses you again; she kisses you as if your lips are her lifeline. “I swear I’m gonna tell management not to do elevated stages when we go on tour!”

This is the Yunjin you know and love; the one that everyone knows her for. Laughs at her own jokes and her own mistakes, and smiles through it all. You’re amazed at how joined to the hip you both are when the cameras aren’t on. When you’re the only ones in the room—when she can truly be herself and not a fragmented version tailored to the public. You both have this special connection together that only you two can understand.

Her smile is so radiant, distracting even, that you recognize too little too late how tense you’re feeling.

“Jen Jen,” you tell her, looking down at her legs. She has a hand between her skirt, and her underwear is already partially down.

“What is it?”

“Can we take this somewhere else,” you tell her, flustered by your own request. There’s no skirting around the thought that you’d rather take her anywhere except for a cold floor in a messy bedroom. She hasn’t realized it yet, but you know Yunjin well; she would never let your imprints stick anywhere in her bedroom, hotel or her apartment, let alone make a mess. That, and for as much as you love the sight of her on top of you, you want to keep things on even footing—for now.

The expression she makes is priceless; it's all part of the charm. She rolls her eyes, scoffing at the thought, as if the very suggestion offends her. She takes a moment to let the notion sink in. “The audacity,” she thinks to herself, the idea seemingly harder to digest if anything else.

“You’re so unserious,” she comments, in the most blunt tone possible, it may as well be condescending. Her thighs press deeper into your jeans to further prove a point. If that’s what she wants., then you’re fine with that. It’s probably a better idea than yours, too. “You shitting me right now?”

“It couldn’t have hurt to ask.”

“Well it wouldn’t have hurt you to be here sooner,” she retorts, grinning, like those words are your biggest mistake. “Then maybe I would absolutely consider it.”

In reality, there’s nothing to consider, because you end up rolling on top of her after she first pounces on top of you. It’s how she usually greets you after a busy day: jumping straight into your arms, then it’s on to the bedroom.

But not tonight. You don’t make that far, just the table by the foyer, the chair she usually reads in, nearly tripping over the coffee table and landing somewhere more comfortable for you both in the living room. In your wake you leave behind a trail of clothes, yours and hers entangled together—mostly yours. It doesn’t take much to undress Yunjin when she’s dressed for the occasion, and by the time she’s halfway unbuttoning through your shirt, she’s on her knees, completely naked. 

She kisses you, leaves strawberry marked lips on your tummy, looking so wanton, so needy. Your eyes follow along as she continues down to your pants, before looking up to you with doe-eyed curiosity. She’s got an edge to her, they say, which really just means, “she’s really fucking hot.” Everything about her, from the attitude to the wardrobe screams fierce, someone who knows what they’re doing and doesn’t care about what others say. 

But behind closed doors, she’s more like the other girl you know. Someone she tends to look after. She looks vulnerable. It’s cute to watch her act like someone she’s not.

It’s impossible not to help yourself, to stroke your own ego, even at Yunjin’s expense. There’s no hiding that devilish grin; it’s way too obvious. Nodding, you brush your hand through her autumn colored locks as she undoes your jeans, reminding her who she really belongs to. 

“Fuck—oh God—” you moan, allowing Yunjin to do what she does best: use her lips to praise your cock. No preamble, no foreplay—just immediately taking you straight into her mouth. You were already hard, so it doesn’t take much effort for her to swallow you up. Both of you using your pent up frustration and impatience after weeks where it seemed as if you were worlds apart. 

Leaning back against the wall, you can only imagine how Yunjin looks taking it. Your hand firmly grips the back of her head, while she rubs her fingers along the length of your shaft. She forces out every curse and word of appreciation out of you with a deep tone, it’s almost concerning. 

“Slow down,” you mutter, knowing full well she won’t listen. Not for anything. Not for you. She wants this as much as you do. 

At first glance, it doesn’t really show—not in the playful, satisfied hums while she blows you nor in the slow, deliberate pump of her fingers around your base. It’s a little too leisurely for someone to act desperate. Then you peek through the curtain of sensory overload, and that’s when everything becomes clear. The furrow of her eyebrows, the fixated attention on your cock, the spread of spit and precum all over your erection. 

Maybe she does have a point after all.

She catches you staring, catches you slipping. Her eyes flutter open, then shut. In a flash, she goes from sipping on your cock to choking on it. Forcing you deep in her throat without your input. It leaves your head spinning, back at square one, with no control of Yunjin nor yourself, clinging your hands to the walls for support. 

“Jen Jen, shit—” you mouth, but it's near silent in comparison to the sloppy sound she makes gagging. It’s as if she’s laughing at you for looking so helpless against her.

The sensation of her slick mouth burns. Her ever increasing tempo and lack of care or comfort relentlessly pluck away at your resolve and restraint. Her eyes water as she violently pushes her own boundaries, her own limits. Stains gradually pile around her lips and chin, a mixture of her spit, seed, and lipstick. You have her hair wrapped around the print of your fingers, holding loose strands away from her gleaming face. Despite your best efforts, you aren’t able to see her beyond blurry little flashes and brief snapshots. Deep down, you’re set ablaze, with nothing to extinguish you. You look to the ceiling, to the side, anywhere but beneath you, trying to find some reprieve from the agony and tension pulling at your loins.

You end up finding it down there, where you want it the least.

Yunjin has you right where she wants you to be—tightly sealed between her strawberry lips as you helplessly cry out her name in a sea of curses and praise. Anticipating the moment you finally break, she zealously works around her gag reflex to keep you deep in her throat. It doesn’t help that she has your balls around her hand, rubbing away and humming in satisfaction at the big hot load that she’ll receive soon. At points, she’s pouting at the fact that you refuse to surrender yourself entirely to her, that you’re still fighting.

It’s a losing effort that ultimately delays the inevitable.

An echoed shout, a wide drop of your jaw, and right there, lightning strikes—you come undone. Yunjin welcomes you with an open mouth; your thick hot load spills down her throat without a single wasted drop. You’re left wide-eyed, shuddering, panting as your orgasm washes over you. Even so, she continues to squeeze away at your balls without remorse, pumping your cock to unload more cum down her thirsty, needy maw. 

Yunjin can’t hold in her delight and laughter after she licks your underside for any leftovers. You cushion back against the wall, your energy completely drained as she laps her lips and chin clean. Just like that, any remnant of what transpired hours ago, completely forgotten. It’s not a healthy coping mechanism—not in the slightest—but if it works, it works. 

That’s one department where Yunjin won’t let you down. 

“I wasn’t ready,” you huff, palming a hand on your thumping chest, cumbrously catching your breath. You mindlessly stare at the living room light, struggling to gather yourself. “Shit, Jen Jen, that was—”

“And we’re only getting started,” she interjects, quickly rising to her feet, pushing you upright. The grin on her face doubles down on the intent. “I’m not going to bed in a dour mood tonight, and you’re gonna help me feel better.”

God, she’s so damn good at this whole setting the mood thing.

You’re no different than anyone else, folding so easily as her fingers map out your body. Continuous circles around every part that belongs to her: from your hair, to your shoulders, arms, chest, down to your tummy, around your back, and everything else in between. Yunjin demands everything about you, her fiery gaze keeping you in tow. You’re tensing up, letting out these strained gasps, watching her watchful eyes dictate your every little move, reminding you who’s carrying the stick in the relationship.

She has you by the balls, quite literally—pumping you back to hardness—and she’s enjoying every moment of it. Teasing you with her flattering mien, she has every intention to leave you more tired and spent tonight than any day she’s worked in her life.

Then, a phone rings. It’s not the hotel landline, but from the pile around your legs. Suddenly, a lightbulb appears over Yunjin’s head, and the smirk on her lips is anything but subtle. 

“Would you look at that,” she teases, her grin growing an extra inch wider, and her ironclad grip loosens. Still, you have no room to breathe when she crouches down to dig your rumbling phone out of the pocket of your pants. She makes it a point to act shocked in response to the incoming caller, then shows her to you.

Kim Chaewon.

It’s an open secret within the group—how important of a piece she is between you two, the perfect reprieve and voice of reason when the other isn’t around. You’ve gotten tangled up with both Chaewon and Yunjin a few times, under the same guise of stress relief. In a way, they’ve grown closer together thanks to you. But the rather scornful frown she has tells you otherwise. As if she’s going to lose the one last thing keeping her head straight. Forget that Chaewon is respectful of your relationship; if she gets in the way between her and your dick, she’ll cut her down, and that goes for anyone else too, friendship be damned.

“Be a good boy and take care of the call, will you?” she asks, tone playful, handing the phone over to you. You have no say, other than to follow her command. In the process, you feel your groin tense up. You look down and find your cock sandwiched between her heavenly thighs, choking up from the new sensation of her creamy skin. 

When you try to look away, she redirects your eyes back to hers. Her palm meets your chin. Hard. She curls her lips, expressing disdain and reinforcing her control. There’s your first and last warning. 

You’ve never struggled so much just opening your own phone. It’s not that Yunjin just hacked into it; her imprints are everywhere. The very lockscreen is her kissing you, your face cropped out of frame and your homescreen is a candid photo of her more bold outfits.  If not for the texts from the other members and loved ones, you’d look like the creepiest, most obsessive stalker ever. You can feed tabloids and news outlets day-to-day information, down to the most intricate details. She’s a huge part of you, and it’s gonna eventually ruin you—

“Hurry up, dipshit.” 

Yunjin’s stern tone snaps you from your daze. Hard to maintain a steady head when she’s slowly choking you out and she’s thrusting your cock in and out of her legs, still sore from her blowjob and while you’re still reeling from your orgasm. She’s perfectly built for fucking for hours on end; you’re surprised you hasn’t caught on after so long.

“Hello?” Chaewon’s voice pulls your focus away, but only briefly. Almost instinctively, Yunjin’s legs press tighter against your hard cock in response. She raises her eyebrows, shaking her head, demanding you answer the call. No context clues, no verbal cues, just wing it. 

“He-ey, Chae.” Your voice comes out gruff, airy. A brief glimpse down and you find the growing stain on Yunjin’s thighs. Your cock entering and exiting the comfort of her legs. She doesn’t appear satisfied, not even a little. 

“Is Yunjin there with you? She’s been gone after we got back to our rooms. She's not been herself after—you know—and we’ve been trying to comfort her to no avail.”

“Yeah, she’s here with me—” you say, looking directly at her, and she nods, still stiff and sour. She leans forward, her tongue pressing against your skin, mumbling something incomprehensible on your neck. Somewhere along the lines of “If you tell her, I’m going to fucking kill you,” and she sounds like she means it.

Try to suppress your gasps and whine, you can’t hold yourself back. It affects your inflection, from gravelly and small to high-pitched and nasally. You’re one wrong move away from meeting disaster, and Yunjin is the one goading you to your own pitfall. She revels running you around in circles, leading you like sheep to a shepard. You can’t think straight from all this built up pressure. “She’s good! She’s doing just fine—”

Out of nowhere, she moans. Loud. Her tone is so obvious, it can’t be anyone but her. Any sort of illusion or pretense is immediately dashed, right then and there. You almost drop your phone, barely managing to save it with a glint of clarity.

You don’t hear from Chaewon for a bit, letting you indulge in Yunjin’s seductive motions. Your body is the perfect outlet for her pleasure: kissing and marking around her neck, her fingers tracing your arms to your chest, and your cock comfortably snug between her sculpted legs. You regain some semblance of control by pumping away between her warmth, but it’s hollow; she lets her thighs press down while you thrust quicker and quicker. At first, she’d been the one bringing all the friction, until your hips begin to glide involuntarily, the wetness dripping from her thighs and around your cock making the transition near-flawless. 

Soon, the room fills with the sound of her moans, till it becomes oh-so clear you’re fucking her. The call remains active, but you still hear nothing from Chaewon’s side. The phone in your hand is what’s holding you back, but even you feel your control slip away again; against Yunjin’s demand to pretend everything’s normal, when there’s nothing normal about the position you’re in. The only thing unusual is the fact that Chaewon isn’t there to watch, preferably while pleasuring herself.

“Shit, Yunjin, you feel so fucking good—” you sputter, clutching Yunjin’s nape as she curses and whines against your shoulder. Suddenly, you hear Chaewon again, but you’ve practically stopped caring. She’d understand.

“Yeah, well, I don’t blame her for going to you. I’d do the same right now, but I gotta take care of the girls as the leader.” Chaewon sounds so diplomatic about the matter, it’s almost surprising. “Just—” she pauses when Yunjin loudly kisses you, cooing and moaning about how big you are in the direction of your phone. “Please tell her to come back here by morning, all right?”

“Sure—thing.” Your tone jumps on the second word, as your cock hits a particularly deep stroke that teases the outline of her cunt. 

“Oh, and Kkura said hi, by the way.” 

You’re amazed at how understanding she is.

“Okay.” You look down and you see Yunjin adjust your cock around the entrance of her pussy with her hand, impatient and done with the teasing. All the possible replies to maintain normalcy and your best response ends up being a simple, hurried “Hi.”

“Bye.” 

You drop your phone right as Chaewon hangs up the call. Yunjin immediately kisses you straight in the lips, sliding her tongue between your lips. She lets out this strained whine when you grab her ass, lightly pushing her away. Miraculously, she doesn’t fight back or lash out. 

“Don’t you wanna cum right in my pussy?”

“No, Jen Jen. Let me finish right in your thighs.”  

Yunjin flashes this sad, deflated frown, but she ultimately concedes. She’s this multifaceted character only you might ever hope to understand. She's a perfectionist and wants things her way, but she’s also soft and vulnerable. You feel guilty making this rather huge request, but she reassures you by pressing your cock comfortably between her legs. Your worries soon disappear when the friction of her heat keeps your hips moving. The sight of your dick moving in-and-out keeps you preoccupied. 

Even she forgets about her disappointment too, hypnotized by the continuous rhythm of your cock. She pulls your head in, moans all these profanities of varying tones in your ear. The way you both pull each other’s bodies apart, your expressions twisting in pleasure, demanding more—you might as well be in bed, and not breaking your knees and backs against the living room wall. 

You’re not sure what’s going to break first—your legs, your back, your hips, or your cock.

“Oh—fuck—Yunjin,” you groan, losing yourself in her asphyxiating heat of her skin, on the verge of another climax. You have one hand marking her ass as you both grind into each other’s bodies. God, you’re both made for one another. Drowning in her tightness, you thrust deep between her legs. Same spot, same stroke, same result. You remember where and how well you’ve fucked her, it’s almost muscle memory to you. It drives Yunjin crazy. 

She senses your incoming orgasm and shouts. The need for you to cum isn’t a request, but a full demand. Something to be expected. Her voice hits those familiar high notes that aren’t far off from her usual recordings, and she firmly clings to you. As if you ever had any other thought than to finish on her pencilike legs. You let yourself succumb to the sensation, let all the pent up pressure set itself off while you bask in that delirious high.

The way Yunjin clenches her thighs around your cock, she may as well have snapped it off.

You both mirror each other’s expressions; eyes completely shut, jaw completely agape, resting in each other’s bodies. The only difference being that Yunjin is way, way louder than you. Your mind goes completely blank, with nothing but her name drawn out from the curve of your lips. Your back is aching; your knees are tingling, ready to fail at any time. Nothing registers for you except her voice, her endless moan that rings in your ear. It’s only after her legs involuntarily slacken their grip that you fall.

To the floor, that is.

And you stay down—a minute, maybe several, completely shaken up and your head still riding that high. Somewhere in limbo. One hand gripped to her waist, the other on her leg. You forget to breathe. Your brain doesn’t register the concept of exhaling, only taking in air. The world around you appears to pause completely. 

And then your phone beeps. Still dazed, you completely ignore it.

Yunjin brings you back to life. She has one hand gripped against the wall, the other on your hair—which you now just realize—gasping for much needed air. She can’t muster up the strength to open her eyes, so you assess the damage. It’s as disastrous as it looks: a huge splatter of cum around her legs, dripping down to her feet. To the floor. To your pants. 

You don’t say a word; you don’t really have anything meaningful or productive to add. The simple question of whether or not she feels better, but you know she’ll say it won’t be enough. That she wants your cum right in her pussy, no matter how spent or sore you are. Maybe you can quietly weave your way out of a nightlong bedroom session.

So you look at your phone, removing yourself from the situation. There’s two new messages, both from the same person—Chaewon. Nothing noteworthy, just the reminder to send Yunjin back early in the morning. The idol life never really stops.

Yunjin calls out to you, abruptly intercepting your attention. “Hey.”

You look up and find her looking down at the details, slowly gathering her bearings. She runs a finger on a sticky patch on her skin, then tastes your seed with her tongue. “What’s up?”

She ignores you for a moment to gather more cum to lap, then stares directly at you. “We should have done this in front of a mirror.”

You pause. It’s hard to believe Yunjin telling you this, when she’s been the biggest skeptic. She’d rather have it in bed, on the table—anywhere that won’t allow her to see herself. The uncanny image of a prim, desirable idol bent over while someone uses her.

With that in mind, you chuckle. “We do it all the time. Give it a break.” 

—————

You both end up doing it anyway.

It’s two in the morning, and you vividly have Chaewon’s request at the back of your mind. The group’s flight back home is in six hours, and Yunjin has to be there with them for breakfast. It’s not like you’ll be away long term; she has three days-off after today. Days when you can spend all the time in the world together to your heart’s content. But fuck, Yunjin is so goddamn insatiable, she can’t go at least three hours without your cock somehow around her. You don’t end up getting sleep, because she’s so needy for your cock she can’t help but stroke it or blow it back to hardness. 

Your suggestion? A late night coffee run that ends in predictable fashion: you, fucking Yunjin from behind in the comfort of a cafe restroom. 

Yunjin’s outfit barely qualifies as casual; if anything, it’s her performance fit (a sports bra and a short skirt) from earlier, topped only by the leather jacket she went to your room with. Yet none of that matters when they’re pooled on the floor, with your hand squeezing her bare breast and the other pressed on her shapely ass. And there’s your hard cock, pounding away at her soaked cunt like it’s second nature—which it is—and it’s quite the motivating sight. Watching it appear and disappear in her pussy, hearing her hushed pleas, echoed cries, and every lewd sound in between.

The cafe across your hotel is completely empty, which is to be expected. You can count the number of working staff on one hand, and most of them are fast asleep or busy on their phone. You’re not making any excuses for fucking Yunjin at a place like this; you’re merely laying out the scene. 

You can blame Yunjin for your precarious position. Any attempt to make some small talk she makes it about you. About missing your cock so much, about how she wants you to fill her pussy up and make her feel better. As if two orgasms wasn’t enough. You wouldn’t be surprised if she asked you to fuck her right then and there, in front of the cafe where everyone can see. You end up agreeing to a compromise, but it’s merely delaying the inevitable. The door is locked shut, nobody’s around to hear, and no one really cares.

If only it were that simple.

“Fuck—so—fucking—big!” cries out Yunjin, as if you were in the privacy of your hotel room and not in front of a public restroom. She gives it to you again, praises you in both murmurs and screams, her hands glued on the edges of the sink, eyes fluttering open and closed with her jaw agape on the surface. It’s as filthy as you imagined, if not more. Only you can see the full extent of the damage you’re making, and it is breathtaking. 

She beckons you to fuck her harder, give her more, tells you not to stop. The idea never crosses your mind. When she yells and mewls, she’s making sure each one is louder than the last. You can tell she has nothing to lose. If she’s going down, she’ll drag you down with her. 

“You’re so fucking tight, Jen Jen,” you groan out, looking at your entangled bodies in the mirror, at her arched back, at the curvature of her ass, at your cock spearing her hard. You puncture each of your next three words with increasing emphasis. “So—fucking—tight.”

As the sex dissolves into deeper madness, so does your restraint. You’re fucking her through the sink, pounding away with reckless abandon, with zero care for comfort. Thoughtless, impulsive drops of ‘tight,’ ‘fuck,’ and even a single ‘slut’ bomb—words that can get you cancelled on-air. Yunjin shudders, letting out this drawn out ‘yes’ in response, as if admitting the truth—to your utter surprise (sarcasm). Her core clenches against your cock, stretching her out. So wet, so needy—

It’s a strange thing to believe, but this is Yunjin’s first orgasm of the night. Her lands lay flat on the sink, and her mouth lolls wide, screaming your name like you’re the most important person in the world. The intense heat, the suffocating pulse of her cunt, drowning your cock—

Fuck, it’s too much for your already aching cock. And her thighs and lips were brutal in their own right. 

Moments after hers, your very own climax follows. You’ve already struggled holding back twice; whatever amount of resolve you had left is non-existent. Moving from her chest at some point, the hand on her hair yanks harder. Pushing your hips as far as they can go, wishing your cock can somehow enter her womb—you ignore the possibility that you might be hurting her. 

‘Hurts so good’ exists for a reason.

The remnants of your orgasm continue to leave Yunjin in shambles. A brief look at the aftermath, and the first impression is that you didn’t fuck her hard enough. Your hot cum spilling from her splayed, ruined hole, her clothes on the other side of the restroom, and your pants receiving some of her hot slick. Yunjin remains bent on the sink, huffing through her own climax, your hand deeply imprinted on her ass, and marks, scratches, and rosy patches on her back—vestiges of hours gone by. 

You remain like this for a little while longer: cuddling up against her frame while she rests on the sink, softly kissing around her ear, brushing strands of loose red hair. She’s gorgeous, there’s no denying that. When she performs, when she’s being herself, when she’s getting pounded hard—but she looks best when she’s calm, when she’s at her softest, at her most vulnerable. When you’re all alone and you both have nothing to hide. At the end of the day, you both need each other. For everything.

—————

You and Yunjin might as well be strangers. 

It’s as if the past seven hours happened in a different timeline. Both of you casually lounge in the still lifeless cafe, drinking the nonexistent traces of your iced coffee. You scroll through social media; Yunjin still dominates the trends and new reposts of the viral accident pop-up like they’re produced from a factory. She’s doing the same, reading through all the comments. Some memes, some praising her professionalism, some simply to get that verified ad revenue. 

This will be completely forgotten in a week. Yunjin’s career will come out unscathed. People move on. She will, too.

Yet you still remain awkward with her, completely undecided on the words that she really needs right now. She needs you more than just your body. 

“Jen Jen,” you whisper, before you freeze up at her anxious gaze. She waits for a follow-up, a sentence, anything. It never comes. 

She frowns. She’s not mad, only disappointed.

The sun begins to rise over the city, signaling the start of a new day. Knowing this, Yunjin adjusts her jacket and rises from her seat. You never told her once.

She walks through the door, and steps outside—but not before turning and taking one last concerned look at you. You quietly mouth ‘Love you,’ and surprisingly, she smiles. The Yunjin you know and love.

‘Love ya.’ 

—————

(A/N: againsorryfornotpostingmuchlatelyohgodivebeensobusy—

Ginger/red hair Yunjin didn't grow on me at first. Then the Good Bones teaser dropped. The strut. The attitude. The fact they allowed her to walk around in her bra and panties. What the fuck. I've been so down bad for her lately, and so are you. Looking forward to their new music! Thank you for reading!)

[betweenstorms]

Part Four of Where We Part (previous chapter) (next chapter) (masterlist) Childhood Friend!Simon x fem!Reader

The motorway stretched endlessly before you, the grey skies mirroring the dull ache that had settled in your chest. London was still long hours away, and all you had to keep you company were the monotone hum of tyres on tarmac and the storm of regret swirling inside your mind. Too much time to think. Too much space for regret to fester. You cursed yourself, fingers tightening on the steering wheel as your thoughts kept circling back to the night before.

You had fucking blown it.

After all those years, you saw Simon Riley again—bloody hell, he stood right in front of you, and yet you’d managed to do nothing meaningful with that moment. You had let the beer and the shock cloud your better judgement. The one chance to say something worthwhile, to ask the questions that had haunted you for years. Instead of asking him about the things that truly mattered, you got wrapped up in your own misery, your own failed ambitions.

The thought made you wince.

He had asked about you, about your damn life, but you hadn’t even had the decency to return the favour. You hadn’t asked if he was alright, if he was happy. If he was satisfied with how his life had turned out after all the hell he must have been through.

You groaned, cursing yourself again for your inability, your bloody incompetency to see the bigger picture when it mattered most, too tangled up in your own pathetic web of insecurities to make sure that he was truly all right.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

You pressed your lips into a thin line as you replayed the night in your mind, over and over, searching for the moments where you could have said something different, done something different.

Simon had been right there, and instead of taking the opportunity to reconnect, to ask the questions you had been holding onto for years, you let it slip through your fingers. You didn’t even give him your number or your address. You had let him walk away from you without leaving any way for him to find you again. Even if he wanted to, how would he know where to look? And, you realised with a sinking feeling in your chest, did he even want to? 

The bitter taste of regret coated your tongue as you tried to focus on the road ahead, but your mind wouldn’t stop replaying the encounter. In the cold light of day, with the haze of alcohol missing, it all felt so surreal, so far removed from reality. But the more you thought about it, the more it gnawed at you, and the more you realised just how much time you’d wasted. How ironic. But that wasn’t new, was it? Your whole life felt like a series of missed chances, of not recognising the significance of things until they were long gone.

The truth was, you had been doing this for years—

—letting life slip past you.

A miserable pattern that shaped your entire existence.

When you were younger, just out of university, full of fire and ambition, you thought survival was your strength, your forte. You were fully convinced you could handle whatever life threw at you. But what you hadn’t realised until now was that it wasn’t survival you excelled at—it was failing to see the things that mattered, right when they were in front of you. Survival, you’d come to learn, wasn’t just about getting through the hard times, it was about accepting and embracing the good ones, too. The moments of opportunity.

And that, it seemed, was where you had always fallen short.

Oh, you had it all mapped out, didn’t you?

The life you were meant to have. A good career, a happy marriage, kids running around in a house with a garden, maybe a dog or two. You had imagined it all so clearly, like a perfect picture in your mind. But that picture had never come to life. Instead, you had watched the years slip by, each one more disappointing than the last.

Maybe if you’d paid more attention…

Maybe if you hadn’t been so busy chasing the perfect job, you would have noticed the cracks in your relationship with your now ex-fiancé before it all fell apart. You should have seen the signs. The strange messages, the late nights, the unexplained absences. Maybe if you’d been more present, more attentive, your roommate wouldn’t have been the one to sink the knife of betrayal deep into your back. You hadn’t been watching and he slipped through your fingers, into the arms of someone you had once called a friend.

You had been so fucking busy chasing the perfect little future you thought you deserved that you hadn’t noticed the waving red flags in the life you were living.

And by the time you did, it was too late.

And your parents. Gosh, your parents.

You should have spent more time with them when you had the chance. You should have seen it sooner—your fathers’s illness. Would it have made a difference? Maybe if you had been more involved, it wouldn’t have progressed the way it had. Maybe there would have been more options, more time. But you were too wrapped up in your own life, in your career, in trying to piece together the version of yourself you thought you should be. And now your dad, your hard-working and loving father, was suffering, and you were left with the guilt of not having been there when it really counted.

The truth was, you had been drifting through life.

Existing, but not really living.

And now, as you stared down the seemingly endless stretch of road, the grey world outside your car, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had been doing it all wrong. You had always prided yourself on knowing your limits, on being self-aware enough not to overestimate your capabilities. But now, sitting here, you realised that maybe that was the problem. You’d been too cautious, too reserved, too unwilling to take the risks that mattered.

Maybe if you had fought harder for the things you desired, if you had been more aware of the moments passing you by, your life would be different now. Maybe you wouldn’t be driving back to a small flat in London, alone, with nothing but regrets for company.

It was bloody funny, wasn’t it?

As a child, you never think you’ll fail. You dream about the future with wide eyes and open hands, certain that everything will fall into place. You never think that one day you’ll look at your life and feel like you’ve betrayed yourself. Jesus, if you could meet your younger self now, what would you even say? You would probably sink into the ground with shame, unable to look into your own eyes. You should have done better for yourself. You should have loved yourself more, been braver, taken more risks.

Because the truth was, you didn’t know how you ended up here.

Somewhere along the way, the fire in your soul had gone out. The ambition, the hope, the belief in the greater good—it had all faded, replaced by this dull acceptance of mediocrity. You’d convinced yourself that this was enough, but the truth was it wasn’t. You could have done more. You should have done more.

And you didn’t.

But you could change, couldn’t you? You could pick yourself up, move out of the flat, find a job that made you happy, and take better care of yourself. It was all within your grasp. But you hadn’t done it yet, had you? You had let the years slip by, watching them drift past like birds on the horizon, too far out of reach to ever catch hold of.

Such thoughts became your constant companion over the following days.

Or had it been weeks? Months? Honestly, you’d stopped keeping track of time—everything blurred together into the same dull rhythm of work, sleep, and self-doubt. Life in London had become a strange, muted existence, the days bleeding into one another without distinction.

Tonight was no different.

You were sitting on the sofa, a thick blanket wrapped around your shoulders, working on a presentation for the following morning.

The small living room was bathed in the bluish light of your screen, the rest of the flat swallowed by darkness. Your focus drifted in and out, the words on the screen barely registering as your mind kept wandering, as if waiting for some small spark of inspiration that would never come. You sighed, running a hand through your hair, trying to will yourself to focus, but it was pointless.

Then you heard it—a knock. A soft, uncertain tapping at the door.

Your fingers froze over the keyboard, eyes narrowing in confusion. You glanced at the corner of the laptop screen. 02:29 AM. Who the hell would be knocking at this ungodly hour? Then, the knock came again, low but insistent, cutting through the quiet.

Your heart began to race, a prickle of unease settling over your skin.

You weren’t expecting anyone.

Not at this time. Not at all, really. Your parents were in Birmingham, visiting an old friend for the week, and you didn’t have anyone else in London who would drop by unannounced, especially not in the middle of dawn. You swallowed, suddenly very aware of how alone you were. The knocking didn’t stop, each thud echoing louder in the stillness of your apartment.

With a tight throat and a hammering heart, you carefully pulled the blanket off, your bare feet sinking into the softness of the carpet. Every step you took toward the door felt like it carried a weight of its own, your breath coming shallow as you pressed your ear against the wood. The knocking stopped for a moment, and you strained to listen, the eerie silence in the flat amplifying your heartbeat.

Slowly, you peered through the peephole, breath held. You blinked, your brain struggling to make sense of what you were seeing.

Hazel eyes, shadowed but unmistakable.

Simon fucking Riley.

A surge of adrenaline shot through you, your hand fumbling with the lock before you flung the door open with more force than you’d intended. The cold air from the hallway rushed in, but all you could focus on was him—standing there in the dim light, his broad frame filling the door. He looked the same as that night outside the pub back in Manchester, the same quiet intensity in his gaze. But here, now, it felt different. More immediate.

More real.

“Jesus Christ,” you snapped, words tumbling out before you could stop them. “Do you have any idea how much you scared me?”

“Didn’t mean to.”

His response was simple, understated, however, it didn’t calm the storm of emotions raging inside your chest.

You stared at him, your mind racing, your pulse drumming in your ears. He stood there, wearing a dark surgical mask that obscured half of his face and a beige baseball cap, the unmistakable Union Jack patch stitched on the front. His outfit was as unassuming as it was intimidating—black jacket, blue jeans, and military boots. And the way he was built, solid, bulky and imposing, would have made anyone else wonder if this wasn’t some kind of robbery. Or worse. He was an intimidating man after all.

But you knew those eyes.

Those sharp, piercing eyes that could cut through the fog of a thousand thoughts.

You’d know them anywhere.

For a moment, you both just stood there, staring at each other in the stillness of the dark. You looked up at him from under your eyelashes, your arms wrapped around yourself, whether for warmth or self-protection, you couldn’t say for sure. Simon stood still, his hands tucked into his pockets, his gaze locked onto yours, unreadable behind the mask. The air between you was thick with a kind of tension that was hard to place. It wasn’t quite awkward, but it wasn’t far from it either, making the space feel too small, too intimate.

As the seconds stretched out in that strange, suffocating silence, you swallowed hard, trying to gather your thoughts. Your palms were sweaty, a reminder that this was real—Simon Riley, here, at your door. In the middle of the night. You shifted on your feet, feeling the chill of the hardwood floor seeping through your skin, and wrapped your arms around yourself tighter, as though that could ward off the growing sense of vulnerability creeping up your spine.

“Well… this is, you know, sudden,” you stated softly, your voice coming out quieter than you intended, almost lost to the tension hanging in the air.

Simon shrugged, his gaze flicking away before meeting your eyes again. “Told you I’d visit,” he replied, his tone casual, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

You snorted, your nerves bubbling to the surface.

“Yeah, well, could’ve picked a better time, mate,” the sarcasm in your voice felt like armour, something to protect yourself from the whirlwind of emotions crashing against your ribs.

Simon tilted his head to the side, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“You want me gone, then?”

“No!”

The word flew out of your mouth far too quickly and with far too much force. It hung in the air between you, heavy and raw. You cringed at how desperate you sounded, biting the inside of your cheek as you quickly looked away, your gaze falling to the floor.

God, why did you always manage to make a fool of yourself in front of him? You were always like this around Simon—your emotions too close to the surface, your heart too vulnerable. It was like he had this power over you, and no matter how much time passed, you couldn’t shake it.

The familiar feeling of embarrassment crept up your neck, heating your cheeks and making your skin prickle with discomfort. Huffing softly, you dug your nails into your upper arms, grounding yourself in the sting of it.

“Do you... want to come in?”

Your voice was quieter this time, trying to hold onto whatever scrap of dignity you had left. But it felt clumsy and out of place, like they didn’t quite fit the gravity of the moment.

For a split second, Simon hesitated.

You could see it in the way his broad shoulders tensed, the slight shift in his stance, as though he hadn’t really thought through what would happen if he came here. Somehow, he seemed just as uncomfortable as you were, which surprised you. For a man who seemed to navigate life with such confidence and discipline, the idea of stepping into your flat, into your personal space, seemed to give him pause. You couldn’t quite understand why, but the longer the quiet stretched, the more you realised that maybe he hadn’t thought this through. Maybe showing up at your door in the middle of the night was more impulsive than calculated. And maybe he didn’t know what to do, just as much as you didn’t.

After what felt like an eternity, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

You immediately felt lighter as you stepped aside, awkwardly motioning for him to come in. “Sorry for the mess. I wasn’t expectin’ company. I mean, not that you’re company, well, you are, but… you know what I mean.”

He stepped past you, his frame taking up more space in the small flat than you’d anticipated. His presence seemed to dominate the room, making the icy air feel thicker, more charged. He glanced around briefly, his eyes scanning the room with the same quiet intensity you’d come to associate with him. Your tiny apartment felt even smaller with him inside it, his towering figure somehow making the room feel claustrophobic.

As he moved past you, you caught the faintest scent of something familiar—the earthy scent of leather and steel, mingling with tobacco. It was subtle but unmistakable, a reminder of the life he led, the world he inhabited now. A world so far removed from yours, yet here he was, standing in your flat like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You closed the door behind him, your fingers trembling slightly as you locked it.

You murmured something about making tea, your voice barely audible as you rushed into the kitchen, turning on the cheap neon bars over the sink. It was easier to focus on something as mundane as boiling water than on the knot of nerves tightening in your chest. You could feel Simon’s presence behind you, a silent weight of his intimidating aura pressing into the room. As you busied yourself with the kettle, your hands shaking just enough to make you scowl at your own weakness, you stole a glance at him.

He was still standing near the door, watching you intently.

His eyes tracked every movement, and it made your skin tingle under the scrutiny. He still wore his usual guarded expression, as though he hadn’t quite decided whether he belonged here or not. Plus, there was something unnerving about being the focus of his attention—Simon Riley had a way of making you feel exposed, as if he could see through every weak attempt you tried to hide behind.

Frowning slightly, you asked, “Why the mask?”

Your question seemed to jolt him from whatever thoughts were running through his head. He blinked once, twice, then slowly began to peel away the layers.

The cap came off first, revealing the familiar mess of sandy blond hair underneath. His boots followed, then his jacket, each item discarded neatly by the door with military precision. But it wasn’t until he tugged off the mask and placed it carefully on top of the neat pile that you realised how much tension you’d been holding in your chest.

It felt strange to see him wearing a mask indoors.

However, as usual, Simon didn’t bother answering your question.

He just continued as if you hadn’t said anything, leaving you to piece together the puzzle on your own. That was how it had always been with him, wasn’t it? The kettle’s shrill whistle startled you back to reality, pulling you out of the trance his presence always seemed to cast over you.

You cleared your throat and asked, “How d’you take your tea?”

“Plain.”

Of course, he did.

His familiar, deep tone that rumbled in the small space between you. You nodded and made the tea, handing him a mug with a cartoon character plastered on the front. Simon glanced at it briefly but, to his credit, didn’t say anything. He leaned against the counter, holding the mug with one large hand, his gaze once again sweeping over your small, cluttered flat. You watched him silently, mimicking his posture, leaning against the other side of the furniture.

The distance between you somehow felt too wide and too close at the same time. The sleeve of his shirt was slightly rolled up, revealing the edge of a tattoo that snaked its way along his muscular arm. Odd. You hadn’t noticed it before. The bold, black lines etched into his skin told you that this was something new, something he hadn’t had back then. You wondered what kind of significance it held.

There was a strange warmth pooling in your stomach, something unsettling about the way your mind lingered on his tattooed skin.

Before you could spiral any further into your thoughts, Simon broke the silence.

“Didn’t mean to wake you.”

You quickly averted your gaze as heat rushed to your cheeks.

Had he caught you staring? God, how embarrassing. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, brushing your fingers through it in a futile attempt to detangle the mess.

“I wasn’t asleep,” you said, gesturing vaguely toward the living room where your laptop sat abandoned on the sofa. “Was workin’, actually.”

You ran your fingers through your hair again, an unconscious attempt to make yourself look more presentable. It was absurd, really. You hadn’t exactly dressed to impress. The last time he’d seen you, you’d been more put together, more presentable, wearing makeup and decent clothes. But now, in the privacy of your apartment, you felt exposed, like he was seeing a side of you you hadn’t meant to show. You felt like a mess.

He nodded, taking a slow sip of his tea.

If Simon noticed your dishevelled look, or if he even cared, he didn’t say a single thing. The quiet stretched out again, the weight of his presence filling every corner of the room. You could feel your poor nerves fraying at the edges, but you didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know how to act. You couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking, whether he was already regretting seeing you again.

“You know… I didn’t expect you to actually visit.”

Simon shrugged, almost imperceptibly. “Told you I would.”

There it was again.

That simplicity in his words, like everything with him was black and white. Promises made, promises kept. It was as though, with Simon, the world was reduced to the simplest, starkest truths. There were no shades of grey, no second-guessing. You almost envied that about him, the way he seemed to live without being tangled up in the anxieties and doubts that seemed to haunt you.

You stared at your hands wrapped around your mug, feeling the warmth seep into your skin, grounding you, as you let out a small huff of disbelief. You weren’t really used to someone following through so directly, so earnestly, and it unnerved you.

You shifted, “But… how did you even find me?”

Simon’s response was immediate—a sharp look that made your already timid stomach twist in embarrassment. The kind of look that seemed to say, Are you serious?

“I didn’t give you my address, did I? I mean, I didn’t think—”

Simon interrupted you with a heavy sigh, one of those annoyed sighs that made you feel like you were the one missing something obvious. It was the same tired sound you remembered from years ago, when he had little patience for things he considered trivial.

“Your father,” he said simply, as if that answered everything.

You blinked, confused. “My father?”

He gave a small nod. “I asked him for it. At the funeral.”

His words struck you like a direct punch to the gut, stealing the breath from your lungs. For a moment, all you could do was stare, mouth parted in silent shock, your mind reeling.

Slowly, you pressed your lips into a thin, resolute line, eyes dropping to the floor as your bare foot nudged the kitchen furniture, seeking distraction in the quiet chaos.

“And you remembered.”

Simon, ever the pragmatic, gave a faint frown as if confused by your surprise.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

His response made your heart clench. Of course, only Simon Riley would remember something like that. He remembered everything, didn’t he? It wasn’t just a detail to him, it was a promise fulfilled, a matter of duty. You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly tight as you stood there in the dimly lit kitchen, the weight of his words hanging between you like an anchor pulling you both down into the murky depths of the past.

You had no words.

What could you say? That you were touched by his effort? That it meant something more to you than you could articulate?

Suddenly, the memory of the day after you met him came flooding back. The drive home from Manchester that felt endless, the silence inside the car thick with questions that swirled in your mind, never letting you rest. Those thoughts haunted you ever since, clinging to you in the days that followed like shadows, never letting you move on.

The questions that swirled through your mind like ghosts you couldn’t outrun, questions that felt urgent, vital.

And now, standing here in this moment, face to face with him again after everything that had happened, it felt as though the universe had conspired to bring you both back together. Every moment you’d spent wondering, waiting, longing, felt orchestrated by something greater than chance, as if God himself had pulled the strings, aligning the stars to give you this one moment.

This second chance.

But the questions you once agonised over, the ones that kept you awake at night, suddenly felt insignificant, small against the weight of this moment. What you thought you needed to ask him paled in comparison to the one question that now consumed you, burning through your thoughts like wildfire.

Nothing else mattered—only this.

“Did you… read my letter?” 

Your quiet words hung in the air, fragile and exposed.

It felt like a moment of reckoning, as if everything that had passed between you, the years of silence, the unspoken feelings, the grief, and the regret, had all led to this point, this moment. You weren’t sure if you even wanted to hear his answer, but you couldn’t stop yourself from asking. You had to know.

Simon’s expression didn’t change much, but you noticed the flicker of something in his eyes, a flash of impatience, perhaps, or maybe just weariness. He let out a small grunt, his tolerance clearly fraying at the edges.

“Fuckin’ hell. You gonna keep askin’ daft questions all night?” His tone was sharp, but not unkind, and you could tell that, despite the frustration, he wasn’t trying to hurt you. It was just Simon—blunt, honest, unflinchingly direct.

The letter. He had read it.

Every word you had poured onto those pages, every emotion you had bared without ever expecting him to see it—he had seen it all. And not only that, but here he was, standing in your flat, at your door in the dead of night, as though he had been drawn back to you by the very things you had written down. It made you feel exposed, like you had laid your soul bare without realising it.

“And…?”

Simon’s beautiful hazel eyes flicked toward you, sharp and searching, as though weighing the unspoken between you both, carefully deciding how much to reveal. The silence stretched, thick with uncertainty, and for a heartbeat, you wondered if he would say anything at all. His expression remained unreadable, the hesitation palpable, until at last, he spoke—his voice low, gravelly, and frayed at the edges, like words worn down by years of being held back.

“Didn’t need the letter to know.”

You took a shaky breath, letting the reality of his words wash over you like a gentle wave.

Simon remained still, leaning against the counter, his piercing eyes locked onto yours. But that quiet intensity—the way he simply waited for you, like he was giving you the space to process everything, it was almost too much to bear. It was like he was standing on the edge of something, waiting for you to join him, but he wouldn’t force you to make the leap.

You placed the mug down on the counter, the ceramic clinking softly against the surface.

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the tears to stay at bay, but the dam broke, and before you could stop it, you buried your face in your hands. Because for the first time in a long time, maybe since birth, you felt like you could start to let go of the past.

Not entirely, not yet, but enough to stop letting it define you.

The sobs tore through you before you could catch them, erupting from deep inside, the kind of crying that you’d never really allowed yourself to do. It wasn’t the silent, dignified kind of tears that you’d always kept private, tucked away in the safety of solitude. No, this was raw, unrestrained. The kind that made your chest ache with the sheer force of emotion behind it. You were crying like a child again, vulnerable and scared, as if every moment of hurt you’d ever felt had been stored away for this exact instant. Your whole body shook with the release, as you gasped for breath between the words that tumbled from your lips.

“I’m so sorry,” you cried, your voice breaking under the weight of the apology. “I’m sorry for everythin’. For never bein’ there. For not doin’ enough. For not sayin’ enough. I’m so sorry, Simon, I’m so sorry…”

The words spilled out like a flood, each one soaked with years of guilt and regret.

“I’m sorry you had to go through it alone,” you gasped for breath, clutching the edge of the counter for support as your legs threatened to give way under the weight of it all. “About… about all of it. I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

You apologised for every moment of his pain that you weren’t there to stop. For his father, for the abuse. For his losses, his suffering, the unimaginable hurt he had endured. You apologised for not protecting him, for leaving him alone, for not being enough. You apologised for all the ways the world had failed him, as if you somehow could have prevented it.

The tears were relentless, burning hot as they streaked down your face as you hunched over, your hands covering your face as if to hide from the enormity of what you were feeling. You were just a child yourself back then, powerless and naive, but still, the guilt was suffocating. You couldn’t shake the feeling that you had let him down. That you hadn’t done enough to save him from that life. It was everything—everything you had buried, everything you had held onto for far too long, coming to the surface at once.

And it hurt. God, it hurt so much.

But amidst the pain, there was a strange sense of relief.

Like the weight you’d carried for so long, the heavy stone in your chest that had been there for years, was finally being lifted. You cried like the rain had finally broken through the clouds, years of pent-up emotion falling in a flood. For the first time in what felt like forever, you could finally breathe. The air filled your lungs, crisp and cold, and even though you were a mess of tears and shaking limbs, you felt lighter. Free, in a way you hadn’t felt since birth.

Your hands shook as they covered your face, trying to stifle the torrent of apologies that kept pouring out, unstoppable. “I should’ve done more. I should’ve known… I should’ve—”

But Simon didn’t let you finish. 

It was his voice, even after all those years, after a decade of longing, that cut through the storm inside you.

It was Simon—always Simon.

His words were simple, but they hit you with the force of something much greater.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

And you believed him.

[lady-of-blossoms]

「 ✦ whispers of heartbreak ✦ 」

Warning: angst, infertility, mistress

PART 2

___________________________

The nightmare Y/N experiences throughout her life is having to accept the fact that her husband is careless, remarried and has two wives.

This is because you were unable to get pregnant and in the end were forced to agree to gojo remarrying.

His second wife's pregnancy made the whole family excited and all of gojo’s attention was focused on his second wife—Rebecca.

at dinner and the three of them gathered,gojo , Y/N and Rebecca.

He stroked Rebecca's stomach, who had been pregnant for 6 months. He turned to you who was eating while daydreaming

"Y/N , today I can't accompany you to sleep because I have to look after Rebecca, is that okay?" asked gojo who didn't make an expression when he saw you.

Youre eyes widened slightly at his request, a pang of hurt and disappointment shooting through your chest. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your emotions in check as you met his gaze.

"Of course, gojo," you replied softly, forcing a smile onto your face. "I understand. Congratulations again on your pregnancy, Rebecca." You offered a genuine smile towards his new wife, youre heart aching at the sight of him so enamored with someone else.

"I'll just go to bed early then," you continued, standing up from the table and gathering your plate. "Have a good night taking care of Rebecca." You gave a small nod before turning to leave, your steps heavy with unshed tears as you retreated to youre bedroom alone once more.

Gojo watched her leave, feeling a twinge of guilt for causing her pain. But he quickly pushed it aside, focusing back on Rebecca. He leaned down to kiss her forehead gently, his hand still resting on her growing belly.

"Thank you, darling," he murmured fondly, before turning his attention back to his meal. "How about we take a nap together after dinner? It might be nice to rest before the baby comes."

He glanced over at Y/N’s empty seat one last time, feeling a pang of regret for how things had turned out between them. But he knew there was nothing he could do to change it now.

In the privacy of their shared bedroom, Y/N allowed herself to crumble. Tears streamed down yourr face as you sank onto the edge of the bed, your body shaking with silent sobs. The sting of rejection cut deep, amplified by the constant reminder of your own infertility.

You curled into herself, hugging your knees tightly to your chest as if to hold yourself together. Your mind raced with painful thoughts - memories of happier times with gojo, dreams of a future that would never come to pass, and the bitter realization that your had lost the man she loved to another woman.

"Why couldn't I give him what he wanted?" You whispered brokenly to yourself, your voice muffled against your knees. "Why wasn't I enough?"

The ache in your heart felt suffocating, like a physical weight pressing against your chest.

Gojo finished his meal and excused himself from the table shortly afterward. As promised, he joined Rebecca in their bedroom for some rest.

He held her close, his arm draped protectively around her waist as they lay down together under the covers. His mind wandered back to Y/n briefly, but he quickly shook off those thoughts, choosing instead to focus on the warmth of Rebecca's body pressed against his own.

"We're going to be parents soon," he thought contentedly, and everything will finally fall into place."

But even amidst this happiness, a nagging sense of guilt lingered at the back of his mind – a guilt he refused to acknowledge fully.

A FEW MONTHS LATER

It was a bittersweet morning for Y/N. Today marked both her birthday and the day she had to share the spotlight with Rebecca giving birth. You awoke to the sound of commotion outside your room, nurses rushing past and gojo’s panicked voice echoing down the hallway.

"Y/N! Y/N!"

He burst into her room, his face flushed and eyes wild with excitement. "It's happening! Rebecca's in labor!"

Y/N sat up slowly, your heart sinking at the news. Of all days... you managed a weak smile, pushing down the swell of emotion threatening to overwhelm you.

"That's wonderful, gojo. Go be with her. I'm sure she needs you right now."

Feeling the weight of your loneliness press down on you, you got dressed quietly and slipped out of the house unnoticed. You needed space to process everything that was happening, away from prying eyes and judgemental gazes.

Walking aimlessly through the city streets, you found solace in the familiar rhythm of her footsteps and the comforting buzz of the bustling crowd around you. Each step further from home served as a reminder of your freedom - a freedom you cherished despite its bitter sweetness.

"Today should've been about me," you thought bitterly, "but instead, everyone's only talking about Rebecca."

Lost in your thoughts, You found herself at a local café where you ordered a cup of hot chocolate to warm yourself from within. You took a seat by the window overlooking the street below, watching people go about their lives without a care in the world.

Sipping slowly on your drink, you tried to push away feelings of resentment and sadness that threatened to consume you. Instead, you chose to remember happier times with gojo - birthdays spent together laughing until your sides hurt, simple dinners shared under twinkling lights.

"Maybe this is my punishment for not being able to bear children," you pondered silently. "Or maybe it's just part of life's cruel irony."

Next chapter

TAGLIST🤍❄️🫐🩵

@kuro-chi69 @aishies-stuff @kalopsia-flaneur @luns-exlipse @anonnieghost @aqxllo @chatoicboy @sashisuslover @labelt-san

Dont steal

[2aceofspades]

Update

Hi hello 🙌✨

~Little rant-y update incoming~

I debated whether to make a post about this or not, but I’ve ultimately decided to do so. I’ve been in the Rise fandom for two years now and I’ve thoroughly loved and enjoyed being a part of it. I am so grateful for this time and space I’ve had, and I have no regrets sharing my love and art for this fandom throughout these past two years.

I’ve also been making some positive changes in my personal life. At the same time, I have been/am experiencing a loss of motivation to draw any Rise content. That isn’t to say that I have lost total interest in Rise or TMNT or even art in general. My attention has shifted towards more personal artwork and projects, such as illustrating and experimenting with my own ideas and style. There was a time where this was very much my process and I was not a part of any fandom, and I think I am shifting my focus back to that, if that makes sense.

I have been sitting with this for a while now and decided that I wanted to say something about my potential lack of posting and interacting on Tumblr instead of just ghosting completely. To be so honest, I’m not entirely sure where to go with this blog, whether I’ll post and reblog things occasionally or not. I’m still very much adjusting and balancing things. That is to say that I am currently prioritizing other things in my life instead of really keeping up with updating my Tumblr page.

Additionally, I also want to thank you all for your support, your love, and for your acceptance of me into this fandom. I truly cherish being a part of a community of people where we can share art, writing, experiences, and stories with one another. I have learned and grown from this time, and I am most grateful ❤️

My ask box was also closed for a brief period, but I have decided to leave it open for now. I will answer asks when I find the time and I feel inspired, but it may be more sporadic. I appreciate y'all's patience and thank you again so very much for your understanding and support.

[sabotsen]

In This Moment

Pairing: ‘Noan’ x (gn!) ‘Commandant’/Reader

Notes: Single quotes used to refer to the originals bc I didn’t want to fill the entire fic with quotations. Cross posted to ao3; Word count 3.3k

Inspired by: Azure_mei02’s comic on twitter

Warnings: Major Ch26 spoilers! Also major (canon) character death, mild blood & (brief) implied gore

You find him first. 

Or maybe he is the one to find you — to pull you from the muck and the red, to wrap himself a blanket around your battered form and shield your ears from the cacophony. 

It’s hard to say, harder still to focus when ‘Mother’ still claws at the back of your mind. Her presence lingers at the base of your skull, carving out a place for herself so she may strip away what cannot — will not — be accepted. 

He is here, though, and in this moment that is all that matters. 

You feel him curved around you, his presence discernible only by absence — of yourself, of ‘Mother’ and her children. An extension, both a part of yet separate from yourself — near but not close enough to blur the edge of him and you into a stitched mess of blood and regrets. He is simply there, curved carefully around you like a gargoyle over the arched entrance of a church — reverent, forlorn. 

You feel him before you see him. The pressure of his arm draped over the curve of your hip, the gentle touch of his fingers against your back. The faint brush of his hair against the crown of your head as he bows his near you. The momentary press of his chest against yours when he pulls you close, large hands firm on your hips as he shifts the two of you up, propping you just enough to keep your head and chest above the red waters before he peels himself away like bloodied gauze from a weeping wound.

It takes longer than it should to open your eyes — or maybe it takes just long enough. It’s difficult to think when dreams bleed into one another, memories and pasts that never could have been seeping into your mind like a toxin as ‘Mother’ swaddles you in an embrace too suffocating to be called loving. When you open your eyes, the world is much too blurry for you to immediately discern anything but the black that curls and brushes against your forehead. Soft. It is only as your vision shifts and swims, shuddering into proper shapes, that the memories bubble to the surface.

Hair. ‘His’ hair.

‘Your’ hands combing through dark strands, plucking bits of confetti as Simeon fretted and plucked the mess hanging off your shoulders and back — his constant apologies and worries drowning out ‘your’ soft chuckle. ‘Your’ hands tucking ‘his’ bangs away from ‘his’ eyes whenever ‘he’ bowed ‘his’ head to avoid a question. ‘Your’ hands ruffling ‘his’ hair when ‘he’ buried ‘his’ head in ‘his’ arms on the cafe counter, exasperated by ‘your’ antics. 

Instinctively, your fingers twitch — itching to reach up and relive those moments. 

But those memories are not ‘yours’ and the man before you is not ‘him’. 

Close. Almost. 

But not quite. Not enough — and you two are left here, beneath the sea to rot. 

That single thought is enough of a distraction for ‘Mother’ to sink her claws into you once more. The world shifts and shudders, bleeds and weeps, as it changes. For a moment — or maybe even longer — you do not feel him curled beside you. 

Instead, you feel ‘Mother’ as she holds your hand and guides you through black waters. Her voice is distant, despite how close she stands, and it resounds with every voice — feminine, masculine, young, old — and yet none at all. Her hand digs into your wrist, tightening like a hunter’s trap upon the fragile bones as your blood slips between her fingers and drips into the waters below. It doesn’t matter how much you dig your heels into the muddy banks or claw at her hand upon your wrist to break free; she leads you on out to sea. The black water rises from your shins to your thighs and then up to your waist. Still she pulls you along, her voice garbled yet comforting — strange yet familiar. Even as the water rises to your chest and your hands are hidden beneath the waters, she pulls you forward. 

A wave crests, gaping like an ill-begotten beast’s maw. 

It swallows her. 

It swallows you. 

All you can feel is the crushing weight of something other — 

It burns away at your skin, burrows into your bones, and buzzes like a hornet’s nest in your ears. The pressure steals your breath away and you drown in those black waters, far from ‘Mother’ — farther still from any friend or help. Emotions and memories jumble together, digging knives into the back of your skull and you can’t help but splinter apart. It all floods in — the relenting pressure of a waterfall squeezing into the fragile crack of a dam, gradually and painfully clawing a larger opening. Hopes, dreams, first loves, last regrets, bitter nostalgia, nursed grudges — people you never were and could never be press against the very fabric that makes you and rip at the seams to see if they might fit in your place. Or you in theirs. 

It’s wrong. 

But their cries echo in the blackness and scream even louder in your mind. They are all you hear without ‘Mother’ to guide you and you are the only one they see. To live again. To die again. Birth and rebirth. Hope and despair. The cycle of ouroboros. 

It’s all you can do to cling to the shreds of yourself as they pour themselves into you. 

You feel it suddenly, amidst the noise and chaos — between the agony of your flesh peeling away and forming again, too much and too small all at once. Where all the ‘children’ and the remnants of the ‘materials’ clamor and claw at every molecule of your being, there lingers something at the very far edge of perception. Separate, connected only by the thinnest of strands to a place the ‘children’ have yet to reach. Desperately, with the agony of a sailor grasping at the lighthouse’s shadow, you cling to that strand — that feeling — and trace it. A piano wire you wind around your fingers and wrist, you pull yourself away from the ‘children’ clawing at you, screaming for you, begging for you. 

It is only when the black waters recede, peeling away from your flesh like tar — thick and molten — that you feel it. A faint prickle of emotion — too jumbled and knotted to be your own — and a buzz just beneath the skin that you could not notice when surrounded by others. But it’s there, familiar and gentle in the measured distance it keeps.  The more you focus on it and trace its source, the quieter the ‘children’ become. 

So you follow it, back to the source — a moth trembling towards the warmth of the fire. 

And when you open your eyes again, you feel his hand on your waist and his other gently cupping the back of your head to his shoulder. He’s moving you again. Red water laps at your chest and an odd numbing sensation gnaws away at your lower extremities. Carefully, his hand at the back of your head falls away, his arm serving as a cushion. A small part of you is grateful for his kindness, because if you spare enough thought to focus, you can feel what it is the two of you lay upon. 

There’s a warmth to it — clammy and ill. 

There’s a pulse to it — unsteady and too quick. 

There’s a texture to it — soft yet firm, rough in the way of something stretched too tight. 

You don’t have the strength or time left to worry if it is a piece of ‘Mother,’ one of her children, or the unused remains of people who never escaped this cradle at the bottom of the sea. In the end, it doesn’t matter. When the red tide rises far enough — when ‘Mother’ claws her way deep enough into your mind — none of it will matter anymore. 

Instead you focus on this moment — fragile though it is. 

You still feel it, that gentle string you’ve wrapped around your soul as a shield and comfort. It leads right where you knew it would — the only place it could. 

It is an effort to keep your eyes open, especially as the voice of ‘Mother’ echoes in your ears — muffled like a whale song underwater. But you do, you have to. Because his eye is on you, crimson and tired. Shadows curve beneath his left eye, and the bandages that cover his right are stained crimson — perhaps by the red tide, or perhaps by blood. Knowing ‘his’ ill luck, it is probably both. There’s a familiarity to his expression now as he watches you, his gaze seeing through you more than anything else. While there are subtle differences between them — Noan and ‘Noan’ — right there, like an ingrained habit, is the barely noticeable furrow in his brow on his otherwise carefully neutral expression. 

Weary though it is, the smile the spreads that across your lips is soft and delicate. Warmth blooms in your chest at the sight. It’s such a small thing, but it’s there. It’s there and it’s still him. And you’re still you. Despite it all. Because of it all. 

A weight lingers in your limbs, it takes more energy than it should to recognize your arm as your own as you pull it from the red tide. There’s a numbness that you can’t shake in your fingertips, a sensation that the limb is not entirely your own even if it still appears as such. But slowly, just shy of clumsy from the pain that still gnaws on your nerves, your hand lands on his bicep. A gentle tap. 

“You’re thinking too loud,” your voice is a small thing, laced with a chuckle and as fragile as a dandelion. 

But he hears you all the same and you feel his arms around you tense, bewilderment bleeding through his mask as he blinks at you. That expression, too, is so achingly familiar.

Even without a beacon connection, the red tide and ‘Mother’ both are erasing what little remains separating you from him. 

You’d rather him pour himself into you than all the nameless, faceless strangers who have long since lost themselves in the red waters. So you gently and slowly wind that string around yourself and feel the subtle shift of his emotions. He feels safe, familiar — foreign only in the way a companion’s reflection is after a long lapse of time. 

Your hand curls up over his shoulder as you try to shift closer — a comrade, a friend, a lover curling close to share a secret. There is hardly space between you to begin with, and you have so little strength left. But still you seek that comforting closeness — because it’s him. Because it’s you. Because in this moment, it is all that remains in the cradle. 

Noan is quiet as you settle once more, your face tilted up to catch his gaze. It’s still there, that furrow in his brow, but now a frown hangs upon his lips. Confusion still paints his features, and while his attention is focused solely on you, there is something just beneath the surface pulling at his thoughts. You feel it through the thin thread connecting you like a trembling vibration — subtle noise easily overlooked. 

“What are you thinking about?” 

For a moment, he does not answer you, but you know ‘him’ well enough to know the way he presses his lips into a tight line when he chews over his words before speaking. Careful, ‘he’ is always so careful with the words he chooses. If only there was more time, if only things had played out differently — perhaps you could sit in quiet company with him just like this and learn where ‘he’ ends and this man begins. 

Touch, gentle and nearly missed due to the numbness that has set in, his hand that had idly rested near your hip glides over your side and settles upon your back, just beneath where the red tide rises. Only when the lazy ripples in the water vanish does his lips part and break the silence. “You.” 

Oh.

A feeling flutters in your chest, warm and comforting — light and freeing, the flutter of a butterfly in the summer. 

But still you feel that emotion from him, knotted and wounded, bleeding through your connection. 

Noan bows his head towards, you his voice dropping as that knotted feeling within him seems to bristle and shudder, writhing like a dying beast. “I’m here because I made the wrong choice. But you…” 

A pause, only as brief as a heartbeat, but you see the emotion that flickers across his face — the way shadows collapse in the crimson of his eye and something almost akin to grief shimmers like a comet. His arm cushioning your head shifts and you feel the ghost of his touch as his fingers hover just shy of brushing your hair. 

“You of all people shouldn’t be here.” 

Oh…

Of course. He would worry about that, despite everything — because of everything — wouldn’t he? Even here, at the bottom of the sea, in the depths of hell even the devil forgot about, he worried for you. The measured distance, the bandages, the way he bit his lips when you stumbled from pain and blood loss and struggled to stand. He has always been like this. 

“Noan.”

His name is warmth on your lips. As gentle as April showers upon flower petals and as open as the dandelion seeds dancing in the wind. 

The smile that comes to you is genuine and effortless, the only brightness in a sea of crimson and loss. Your hand, which had curled over his shoulder, glides over it. No pain blossoms in the wake of your touch, though it is only by tracing the shape of him can you even move your hand despite the trembling and numbness. Over his shoulder and along the tattered folds of his scarf — you really wish you could have gifted him a new one, a warm one that smelled of flowers and springtime — your fingers finally find their home cradling his cheek. Gently, kindly, your thumb brushes against his skin, just beneath his crimson eye — wiping away the tears he never allowed himself to shed. 

“Was the last choice you made a wrong one?” 

A light flickers in the depths of his crimson eye, blooming to life like countless fireflies in the night. You catch sight of his lips trembling before he bows his head and presses it against your shoulder, his arms pulling you close against him and erasing the crimson space between. 

Your laughter fills the cradle, your hand that was on his cheek now lightly ruffling his hair, mindful of the bandages. The sensation feels like you remember — yet it feels entirely new, because it’s him, because it’s you. 

It would have been enough to remain like that, curved into the broken pieces of each other like mismatched puzzle pieces fitting together. But ‘Mother’ still calls at the edge of your hearing, still claws at the base of your skull. She pulls at you like a string of yarn, unraveling you bit by bit. If she pulls you under again, you fear you won’t have the strength — or time — to resurface, to see him again. 

Just a little longer. Just like this. 

If only, if only, if only… 

It takes more effort than it should to force sound past your lips, to form the shape of his name upon your tongue past the taste of blood that settles in. 

“Noan?”

He does not speak, but you feel his arms around you tighten. Clinging, desperate almost. 

Idly, you brush your cheek against his head, an unspoken request for his attention. When he does not move, you swallow past the building taste of copper in your mouth. A prickling sensation is needling through the numbness where the red tide has swallowed you and it takes a breath to realize what it is. Pain. It’s pain — twisting and winding and shredding through portions of your body you had given up to ‘Mother’. 

You feel her peeling away a piece of you — memories, hopes, emotions, thoughts — it’s hard to say what it was she took. You only know it from the void left in her wake. 

You swallow around the blood in your mouth and try again to speak and it is not merely to gain his attention that your head tilts to lean against his. “I don’t know much about magical girls…”

There’s a tremble you fight to keep out of your voice, but by the tension that coils in his arms and shoulders, he hears it. “Can you tell me a few stories?” 

A sound breaks upon his lips.

It sounds like a laugh.

It sounds like a sob. 

He tilts his head just a fraction, his breath ghosting over your neck. “Now?” 

“Yeah.” There’s a wetness to your breath that you can’t hide, and although he can’t see it with his head pressed to your shoulder, you smile. “I like the sound of your voice. It’s comforting.” 

He must hear your unspoken preference, though you do not know if he hears her as you do — feels her tearing and prying away pieces so that she may fit. If you could choose a sound to be the last one to echo in the cradle, it should be his. His voice, his stories. 

The sound of hopeful spring. 

The sound of fireflies gathering. 

Noan pulls you closer, nuzzling against the curve of your neck and shoulder. Although it is just a graze, a passing brush, you could swear you feel the thin line his lips are pressed into. 

Ah, you think, he’s biting his lips again… 

An ache blooms in your heart, a longing to run your fingers through his hair. But the pain has bled through your numbness entirely, and your arms no longer respond to your whims. You can feel ‘Mother’ burrowing deeper in your mind, peeling away memories you recall only for a glimpse before they slip between your fingers like blood — the stain of their absence the only proof they were there at all. 

There’s a brush, a faint sensation and you almost think you feel him slide his legs against yours — but the red tide has long since crawled up to your chest as you lie in the muck and grime. What lay beneath the waters is not your own anymore, but even so you’d like to think he did curl himself even closer — a shield, a comfort, a sunflower turning to its companion to entwine roots and pray in the darkest hours. 

He is closer, that is all you know, and when he speaks, you feel the soft rumble of his chest against yours and the warm brush of his breath against your neck. His voice is steady and even, a soothing note wrapping around you like a cloak. 

Your eyes close to the sound. Darkness swallows you, but it is comforting this time — the black shelter of a shield in the shape of the man curved against you. 

Noan speaks of normal origins. Of a home nestled in a bustling city. Of an everyday family and an everyday life. Of common worries like school and friends. 

He speaks of the dream you’ve been fighting ‘your’ whole life for. 

Blood is all you can taste. It slips past the seal of your lips and trickles like tears down your chin. 

He speaks of magical origins. Of fated destinies and legendary weapons. Of powerful allies and friendships forged through battle. Of prophecies and heroes. 

He speaks of hope that paves a path through the darkest of times and saves the world. 

He is all you can hear, his voice the single firefly in the blackness. 

And as ‘Mother’ reaches out, her claws finally sink into the deepest part of you —

Against the delicate skin of your neck — trembling lips pressed against a slowing pulse — Noan whispers three words…

They are the last you hear, and the light of that single firefly shudders alone for a lonely heartbeat before it, too, vanishes beneath the waters. 

[juliemolinaz]

Aside from the theme of finding yourself again and the importance of remembering where you come from, I really appreciated how well the show explored all the positive and negative consequences of letting go.

Through Sang-tae, we got to see how not letting go of your grief can blind you to the grief of others to the point that you get so focused on what you're experiencing that you hurt the people that you love. And then we got to see what happened when Sang-tae finally let go of his anger. He was finally able to see that other people were grieving for his wife. And by letting go of that anger, Sang-tae was finally able to talk about his wife in ways that weren't painful. He was able to gain back the friendships and happiness in his life that we lost.

Through Sang-do, we got to see how not letting go can cause you to get stuck and miss out on a lot of opportunities. By refusing to let go of his crush on Sam-dal, Sang-do was stuck in the past and didn't get to make a meaningful romantic relationship of his own. When he finally was able to accept the fact that his crush on Sam-dal wasn't going to be reciprocated, he seemed a lot more free. So, both Sang-tae and Sang-do were similar in the fact that letting go of something that is painful can be freeing.

Through Sam-dal, we got to see how letting go can actually be harmful and isolating. Sam-dal didn't want her relationship with Yong-pil to get in between Yong-pil and his dad, so she let go of her connection to Samdal-ri. She stopped talking to her mutual friends and she stayed in Seoul even though she had the right to spend time in her hometown just as much as Yong-pil and his dad. When she came back to Samdal-ri and let herself acknowledge that she was allowed to have her friendships and connections to her hometown, she seemed a lot happier with herself.

Through Yong-pil, we got to see that sometimes it's okay to not let go and instead hold onto things. Even though he was a part from Sam-dal, Yong-pil didn't let go of his feelings towards Sam-dal. He waited and waited and waited and eventually, he was able to be with her again. We also got to see that through Dae-yeong. He didn't let go of his feelings towards Jin-dal and they ended up back together too.

Through Yong-pil, we also got to see that it can be bad to always let go of your dreams to focus on helping others. Sam-dal was right to tell Yong-pil that he needed to go to Switzerland because he would have regrets if he didn't.

There's obviously a lot of other examples around letting go in the show, but I really did like how we got to see all the ways it can be painful to not let go, how freeing it can be to let go, how it can be okay to hold on instead of letting go, and how letting go all the time can be bad too.

[theeccentricraven]

Writer Questionnaire

Thank you @willtheweaver for the tag! Tricky but interesting questions!

What is your absolute all time favorite idea you’d ever had?

I’m so passionate about all of my ideas, it’s too hard to pick a favorite!

Is there a question you’ve been asked in the past that really stands out to you, and you still think about?

When I first shared my writing on an online writer’s workshop - the first few pages of Voice of Shadows - someone asked, “Is Myralyna supposed to be a brat?” It summed up several issues with my writing: 1) I didn’t understand what’s socially acceptable (comes with my Asperger’s) 2) My characters were not likable. 3) My characters weren’t proactive. They were reactive. 4) I really needed to work on my character development.

What is your favorite part of being a writer? What parts can you take or leave?

I love being a storyteller. I love reading, but it’s another thing to be the crafter behind the craft. I love to pull the strings of the story. I love to just let my imagination flow. 

What is your greatest motivation to write/ create?

To avoid the regret of never bringing my ideas to life.

What is the best piece of advice you’ve ever read or been given as a writer?

Write from the heart.

What do you wish you knew when you first started out writing?

If I had realized when I was fifteen that I needed to make time to read and to write, I would be in a much better state now. It’s worth sacrificing the unimportant things like Facebook and fan forums to focus on reading books in genres you love. Going along with this, I wish I had known that you’re not a hotshot if you decide to self-learn instead of studying the craft. Last of all, I wish I’d known I needed therapy. Taking care of my mental health in my later life helped improve my writing.

What is your favorite story you’ve written to completion? Link it if you like and can!

So far, The Blood Cleaners. It’s the best first draft I’ve written so far. Sorry, not ready to share yet. Trust me, I’m doing you a favor. 

Which of your characters would you say has the most controversial mindset? Why do you say so, and how do you personally feel about their ideals?

I would say the title character of my space revenge story Raven Nemesis. She has unconventional beliefs that shake the galaxy around her. She finds ways to get justice for herself and others by bending the rules. I myself question her moral grayness, but I can’t question her results.  

If you, when you first started writing, meet you now, what would younger you think?

Younger me would be disappointed at how I’m this age and still not yet a good enough writer to be published. Hopefully in the next five years, younger me will be proud of me.

Tagging: @pluppsauthor @poethill @jay-avian @winterandwords @kitkins13 @wyked-ao3 @happypup-kitcat24 @somethingclevermahogony @fairy-tales-of-yesterday @kbwritesstuff and OPEN

[one-true-houselight]

Part next ish of Psych fic! Feat. Scared Aro Shawn my poor sweet boy. I might take some of the school stuff from the middle and make another vignette more focused on his ADHD/dad stuff, but I wanted to get this portion done lol.

Gus was feeling antsy as he sat in Calculus, checking the clock every two minutes. There was still 17 minutes left in class; in practice, luckily, there was maybe ten minutes of actual class left. The teacher had long since learned the futility that was trying to keep a couple dozen seniors focused until the end of the last period of the day.

This was especially true given that many of the students had received college acceptances through the past week, and most kids lost all semblance of academic rigor. Gus thought he was one of those kids, making the decision to not finish every assignment in the same class (just most of them), and was ready to be out into the warm spring afternoon.

Despite himself, he was drawn into the last of the lesson, and was surprised when the end of day announcements started playing. He packed up, mind wandering, and his subconscious managed to guide him through dismissal, only brought back to reality when he saw a familiar figure slouched against his locker.

"Hey, buddy," said Shawn, flashing a grin that only Gus could tell was forced. "Can I walk home with you?"

"Like I could ever stop you," Gus joked, then immediately regretted it as Shawn flinched just a little. "Hey, I was kidding. Are you ok, man?" Gus realized that this was the first time he'd seen Shawn in almost a week. The last time he'd seen Shawn was-

Ah. It was when college letters came out. Shawn had been there when Gus had opened his, of course. To Shawn's eternal credit, both his smile and his tight hug had been nothing but genuine when he saw that Gus had been accepted. As much as he might tease Gus for his accomplishments, as much as he could seem flaky and aloof and all the reasons people were always giving Gus about why he should leave Shawn behind, Shawn was always in Gus' corner, no matter what.

Which is why Gus' stomach flipped when Shawn quietly opened his letter, flicked his eyes over the letter, sighed, and started making a paper airplane out of it. Shawn hadn't even wanted to apply, but had acquiesced when Gus had promised to help. Gus thought Shawn's essays were surprisingly salient, but there was nothing either of them could do about his grades.

Shawn had never been a spectacular student, but high school had been a difficult transition. There came a point where perfect memory couldn't save him, especially when he had dozens of half finished essays, posters, and other projects strewn around his room. Gus tried to help when he could, but Shawn more and more told Gus to not worry about it, that 'it wasn't worth it'. Gus started getting a queasy feeling their senior year that Shawn thought he himself wasn't worth it, but once the Spencer's relationship started falling apart, well. Even Gus' mighty intellect couldn't get Shawn to focus on academia.

So Shawn had fidgeted with his denial letter as they celebrated Gus, and at the end of the night, Shawn had given Gus another, tighter hug, and left. Left and, judging from his appearance, went on a jaunt through a desert or something. He looked exhausted, and his hair, which was normally firmly in the 'cool messy' category, had crossed the line into 'just a mess'.

Shawn shrugged as they walked, running his fingers through said hair, helping to solidify said mess. "Oh, you know, doing a little of this, a little of that."

"Did your dad get on you about the college thing?" Shawn looked at Gus and laughed, and it sounded rusty, almost, as if he hadn't made that sound in a while.

"I didn't even tell him I applied. I'm not giving him another reason-" He sighed instead of finishing. "Anyway, I've just had some trouble sleeping."

"What do you mean by 'trouble'?"

Shawn thought a moment. "It's day 3."

"Day 3 of what?"

"Of no sleep."

"Shawn, that's...that's really bad."

Shawn brushed him off, lightly saying, "I've been too busy Footloose-ing it up. It helps, you should try it."

"Playing chicken with a bunch of tractors?"

"Gus, don't be a wombat riding a unicycle-"

"That's not a thing."

Shawn sighed, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Fine. I've been wandering the mean streets of Santa Barbara, occasionally breaking out some sick dance moves, because I've been pondering a...personal quandary, I guess."

"And not sleeping?"

"You seem extremely hung up on that fact. You know, humans can go a whole month without sleep."

"That's without food, Shawn. I can't believe you're even standing here right now."

Shawn flicked his eyes away from Gus and said quietly, "I know, bud, I didn't want to bother you with this, but-"

"Again, not what I meant. You're never a bother." Shawn really laughed at that, stopping in place and leaning over until his arms were braced on his knees.

"Wow, you must be worried about me. Never? I'm almost offended." Gus couldn't help the chuckle, and soon they were both standing on the sidewalk, laughing hysterically, and things were ok again, for a second.

But then they calmed down, and Gus saw the deep, dark bags under Shawn's eyes, and his worry crept back in. They started walking, and Gus asked Shawn what he needed to talk about.

"Yes. Ok. Yes. You know Abigail?"

"Lytar? The girl you've been low key harassing since the start of the school year?"

"I've not been...ok, maybe just a little. Look...ok. You know when you see someone, and you're like, 'oh yeah, that's a hot bod', and your oats get all bothered?"

"I hated every word of that description, but...I guess?"

"Ok, so then, you know how sometimes, rarely, you also get a...desire to like...settle down with them? Write awkward poems and all that stuff people are always confessing in the rain in movies?"

Gus stared at Shawn, confused. "I mean, yeah, of course. Romance and stuff."

"Yes! That stuff!"

"I don't think that's rare, though."

"I mean, not being romantic, sure. It's part of the dance, person, queen, goddess, person again. Perfectly reasonable. But you don't...it's not..." Shawn groaned, aggressively rubbing his eyes before continuing, "When I look at her, when I talk to Abigail, there's this vertigo in my stomach, and all the sweet gestures feel like a need instead of a want, and it's terrifying."

Gus didn't know what to say for a while. "I mean, I get that with all the girls I've liked, I think? Like butterflies in your stomach."

"All of them? All of them, you've felt like the world was ending if you didn't get to hold their hand, or whatever?" Gus nodded. "And you can function? Feeling like that, all the time?"

"I mean, I guess you...get used to it?" Shawn laughed, but the mirth was gone. Gus countered, "Shawn, I think you're stressed. You've liked loads of people before."

"Ok, yes, but those were all the hot oats! I would remember...whatever cereal this is."

"Have you not been eating either?"

"Unimportant."

It was Gus' turn to sigh. "Alright Shawn, let's get you some food, get you some sleep. Maybe you'll feel better." Shawn gave a noncommittal shrug. "And for the romance thing? Why not try telling Abigail how you feel, instead of just cycling through niche movie references and your usual self-aggrandizing schtick?"

Shawn looked at Gus, eyes slightly wild. "Do what now?"

"Tell her all the nice, sweet stuff, instead of me."

"You're saying you don't like my sweet stuff, Gus?" Before Gus could smack Shawn, a low hanging branch did it for him, and Shawn almost fell over. "Ok, yeah, maybe I need some sleep."

"You know that's right."

A few months later, Gus was lying in bed when he heard a sound from his window. It rang out two more times before Gus managed to make it over and see Shawn standing in his backyard, his nice outfit (relative to Shawn, at least) crumpled. Gus snuck outside, and was finally close enough to see the tear tracks on Shawn's face.

"I couldn't do it, Gus," he said, voice raspy. "I saw her on the pier, and she was so beautiful, and I thought...I was so scared. And I couldn't stop wondering, what was wrong with me, that I felt like this? Or didn't feel like this?" He swiped at his eyes. "She deserves better than me. Everyone does."

Before Gus could speak, could reach out and say anything to calm his friend, Shawn muttered apologies and ran from the yard. The next day he was back on Gus' porch, cocky smile firmly in place. And Gus couldn't find the words, so he didn't, and the two spent their last few months together before Gus had to go off to school, leaving Shawn...

Gus knew Shawn would figure it out. He always did.

[bobcatsquad]

Wow! My first writing I am sharing with the world! And my first post to tumblr. Heres to hoping someone else likes my little (hopefully not too out of character) headcanons. Minimal fluff! We want all of the villain fuckery around here.

Having a relationship with Albert Wesker

(As a fellow researcher/umbrella employee)

(Possibly morally gray reader)

So you wanna date the evil scientist…

First and foremost, Wesker is married to his job. His work will ALWAYS come first. And for you to be his partner, you would need to be a workaholic yourself and/or accept this fact. He greatly appreciates space.

That being said, you definitely can’t be clingy or constantly demand his attention, he is a very busy and focused man. Else he will begin to see you as more of a burden than a partner and he will retract. Independence is a highly attractive trait to him.

It can by no way effect his career nor divert his focus.

Respect this and he might let you in closer past his stone walls he’s put up to the rest of the world.

Before dating he didn’t pay you much mind and would often give minimal words. But as you proved your competence in the lab, showed interest in his achievements, showed interest in his actual wellbeing, and continued to genuinely try and form a deeper connection with the quiet, reserved evil genius, he started to truly see you. Started to pick you out from the faces he simply worked with to achieve his goals. He’d never had anyone show such care towards him, the companionship intrigues him.

This stoic intimidating man finally began to crack jokes with you and let you in on his dry humor.

Lots of bringing Wesker food on the days he forgets to eat because of project tunnel vision and giving him massages on particularly bad days after work. Sometimes he’ll even return the favor. He has lots of knots and aches from poor posture.

Wesker isn’t a very physically affectionate lover. It’s easy to think of him as cold or distant however he just shows his love in other ways.

This man can easily get along with others and cooperate in teams to get what he needs, however there are very few people he truly likes being around. You actually enjoy each other’s company, even if it’s just working alongside each other in silence sometimes.

The way to Weskers heart is to show genuine interest in his work! Even the scary and darker parts (love us a madman) It makes his tiny lil heart grow when you excitedly ask questions about his work, wanting to know more. And seeing your face light up when he reveals details. And of course all of the compliments to his genius-ness are lovely. He’s very passionate about his work and will never decline an opportunity to talk about it. It’s one of the rare times you see his genuine smile. Not the fake dry one he usually gives when dealing with others, but instead a soft, warm smile on relaxed features.

He likes to tease you a lot.

When he gives you a hard time, it’s because he cares and wants to see you succeed and bring out all your hidden potential he sees stored inside.

Sometimes even after work is wrapped up, you find yourselves just chattering away.

Nobody will ever mess with you, knowing you are close to Wesker. And if they do, they will surely regret messing with the human the blonde had grown quite fond of. We all know Wesker is the master of manipulation and can be very threatening when he wants to be. He is not a force to be reckoned with.

Although he rarely initiates physical affection on his own, one of his favorite things to do sometimes when waiting for a chemical reaction or something else in the lab to finish, he will briefly come up behind you, place his hands on your hips and rest his head in the crook of your neck, pulling you slightly into his chest as he watches over your shoulder whatever you are doing in the lab for a few moments. When nobody else is around of course, as he has appearances to upkeep. It’s kind of a de stressor for him. (And if he’s feeling frisky he might move his hands down to give your cheeks a squeeze before leaving with a dramatic fwoosh of his lab coat)

His love language is definitely gift giving. Actually you both do a lot of gift giving. You may bring him coffees, food from the cafeteria when he is too busy to get it himself and would otherwise miss out on eating, little desk trinkets you think he’d enjoy. One time during a party to celebrate the researching team finishing up a large, challenging project, Wesker presented you with a slim rectangular black box with a golden ribbon tied around it. When you opened it, inside there was a beautiful watch you briefly mentioned liking several months ago. He is very observant, showing that he obviously considers and listens to what you say. His gifts are always thoughtful.

Fancy dinners after hours, you will definitely be spoiled

Not big on pet names but will lovingly call you ‘dearheart’

You are the only one who can remove his glasses to look into those beautiful blue eyes without possibly getting an arm broken.

Just because he may never properly say “I love you” or do PDA or a lot of physical affection in general doesn’t mean he doesn’t appreciate you nor care.

When he fully trusts you he will let you in a little bit on his frustrations with umbrella, leading to lots of plotting together to take them down. Maybe you even start your own secret project together because what better way to bond than to build bioweapons with your s/o.

He grows to truly care for you and enjoy being around you and I think that’s the best thing you can ask for with this man. It’s not exactly a conventional relationship, but Albert Wesker the crazy scientist isn’t normal either. No fairy tale romance here fellas

If you are like me and love RE men and want to connect with fellow villain simps, I recommend joining the Arklay Mountains discord server where you can make new friends and thirst over murderous men together! ✨(Disclaimer: Server is 18+ only)

[pantachorei]

@kushtibokt : There is an overwhelming feeling of want nagging him, strong enough to prompt this sudden approach, though he knows this time not to indulge in his impulsive need to touch—it is bad enough that what he wants is already plenty bold, so even without his unwanted contact, he couldn't guarantee yet to have the scholar agree to indulge him.

So he can only stare, even though his hand is itching to grasp his fingers and drag the other towards him, with him, away from all. He directs his focus to his eyes, instead. Warm, beautiful, just like the whole man.

"Doc." He begins, and then pauses for a moment as he digs between excuses for a justification. Nothing feels suitable, that he could tell the other would accept without getting suspicious or upset.

His gaze ultimately turns away in defeat, as if dodging the embarrassment of pushing himself to admit, at last. "—I want your attention today. It doesn't matter whether you just hang out with me, or lecture me, or teach me something, anything. I just want your focus on me entirely."

With another pause, he blinks, and peeks over his face before adding. "If you're not busy today, of course. I'm done with my workload." It had left him strangely empty and wanting.

almost   every   encounter   with   the   stoneheart   had   left   the   scholar   feeling   empty   and   wanting.   exchanges   of   little   value   were   vexing   enough,   but   aventurine   had   a   tendency   of   offering   glimpses,   mere   sparks   of   what   ratio   wished   to   submerse   himself   in   entirely.

their   shared   kisses   and   touches   never   seemed   enough,   their   conversations   intriguing,   if   often   frustrating,   but   never   touching   on   the   topics   he   truly   wished   to   discuss.   being   with   him   seemed   a   downright   impossibility,   albeit   not   for   a   lack   of   desire;   the   gambler   was   guarded   fiercely   by   what   the   doctor   rightly   assumed   to   be   past   suffering.   knowing   parts   and   deducing   others   left   him   aware   that   he   had   endured   much,   and   he   understood   that   it   likely   did   not   ease   the   strain   showing   any   vulnerability   might   bring.

still   he   seemed   brazen,   seemed   to   boldly   request,   to   want,   when   ratio   felt,   more   and   more,   as   though   he   was   tolerating   behaviour   that   only   truly   had   the   power   to   leave   him   dissatisfied,   irritated   and   regretful.

he   didn't   even   seem   to   address   him   by   name,   what   hope   was   there   that   their   encounters   would   ever   truly   bear   any   more   fulfilling   qualities   than   fleeting   pleasure   ?

ratio   held   his   gaze,   a   soft   prickle   beneath   his   skin   lingering,   defying   his   unwillingness   to   eternally   entertain   the   executive's   whims,   and   those   brilliant   eyes   of   his   only   seemed   to   assist   in   that   endeavour.   that   averted   gaze   of   his   saw   him   lift   a   brow,   a   temptation   to   uncover   the   reason   for   what   seemed   to   be   sheepishness   flaring   briefly.   it   was   promptly   snuffed   out   with   his   request.

eyes   narrowed   lightly,   his   expression   promptly   became   considerably   more   displeased.   it   seemed   obvious   that   his   request   was   not   fuelled   by   hubris   but   rather   by   simple   want;   seldom   did   aventurine   seem   so   hesitant   to   state   his   desires.   still,   to   that   day   he   had   not   been   given   any   reason   to   believe   that   there   was   lingering   meaning   behind   his   affections,   that   they   would   ever   be   anything   but   non-committal.

it   did   not   help   that   hearing   him   say   he   wanted   his   attention   solely   on   himself   did   tug   ever   so   gently   on   his   heartstrings.

❛    why,   exactly,   should   i   heed   that   request   of   yours   ?   ❜   he   questioned,   head   canting   lightly.   while   spending   time   with   him   did   sound   pleasant,   a   mere   demand   like   that   was,   admittedly,   quite   out   of   line.   ❛    unfortunately   for   you,   i   am   not   at   your   beck   and   call   to   be   toyed   with.   ❜

[mythologyfolklore]

Liù'ěr Míhóu joins the jttw gang, or: How to redeem an all-hearing celestial monkey with a superiority complex and a seriously bad attitude

(A/N: TW: mentions of past SA, forced pregnancy, miscarriage and infanticide, mention of dissociation)

Chapter Thirteen: Heart to heart

.

It was night time.

Wùkōng was on watch duty, overlooking the clearing, where they were staying for this night.

The others were sleeping, except for one.

Liù'ěr Míhóu was settled atop the head of Bái Lóng Mă (who for some reason had curled around the group in his dragon form, like the world's most protective serpent), watching Wùkōng with guarded curiosity and swaying his head from side to side (Wùkōng hated, when the other monkey did that!).

“Whatcha want?”, Wùkōng grumbled.

The Six-Eared Macaque just gave him an unimpressed look. “You've been staring into the air the whole time. Are you actually paying attention to your surroundings?”

“Of course I-!” He stopped himself and lowered his voice. “Of course I am! Don't you know I can keep watch and contemplate stuff at the same time?”

“Riiiight. So you haven't been wondering, why I didn't tell any of you anything about myself for almost two months? Come on, I can't hear what you're thinking, but I can tell you're wrecking your head. Are you trying to find an explanation for why I never told you the reason why I'm so deranged?”

Wùkōng tried to dodge: “Eh, I think 'deranged' is in the eye of the beholder …”

“Sūn Wùkōng, if you want to ask me something, get it over with now, or let me try to actually get some sleep tonight.”

Welp. Dodge failed. Apparently the “comprehension of all things” part of Buddha's explanation about Liù'ěr Míhóu hadn't been exaggerated.

Wùkōng sighed and landed beside the other, taking great care not to disturb Bái Lóng Mă.

“I'm having a bit of a hard time digesting it”, he admitted. “What we've learned about you today, I mean. Not the part about your temperament, that was no problem.”

Liù'ěr Míhóu smiled tiredly. “Well, I'm having a hard time letting it sink in, that … that none of you ridiculed me. That you all accepted me and didn't blame me. Thank you for that.”

Absentmindedly, he scratched Bái Lóng Mă behind the ears. The sleeping dragon responded with a deep rumble, that almost sounded like a purr.

Well, if that's not some cute shit right there- no! Focus!

As casually as he could, Wùkōng replied: “Eh, it's nothi-”

“Don't you dare say it's nothing!”, snarled Liù'ěr Míhóu. “It's everything to me.”

The Monkey King coughed awkwardly.

“Uh … right. Damn, I'm not good at this. Anyway, your behaviour and attitude makes a lot more sense now. There's just one more thing I gotta know.”

“Make it short.”

“What happened to the children?”

Wùkōng regretted the question instantly, as the Macaque glowered at him, clearly upset by the question.

But instead of lashing out, Liù'ěr Míhóu whispered: “Dead.”

Oh.

“Did you kill them?”

“…”

“I'm not judging you, I just want to know-”

“Yes.”

That answer wasn't as disturbing as it probably should have been.

The Six-Eared Macaque went on: “Some were miscarriages, some I aborted. But once my mind was in an especially dark place and I killed the paras- the newborn baby. And ate the dead thing. The scariest part is, I didn't even realise what I had done, until weeks later. I was in this weird state, where everything my senses perceived didn't reach my brain and everything was blurred and muffled. Like I was in some weird, distant dream zone and whatever was going on in reality didn't reach me. I was … empty. Just … not me.”

“Dissociation.”

“Pardon?”

“It's called dissociation”, Wùkōng explained. “Guān Yīn told me about that, when I was with her. Sometimes a situation is so fucked, that your mind can't take it any more and shuts down as a self-defence mechanism. It's like fainting, only mental. She explained it all to me, when I told her that I go into that state sometimes.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I was cooked alive in Laozi's furnace for forty-nine years, imprisoned under a mountain and fed molten copper and iron pellets for another five-hundred years and for the last eight years I had to put up with my master mistreating and hurting me. He frowns, I expect imminent pain. After all that shit, I'm fucked up too. So … I understand how you feel. At least a bit.”

Liù'ěr Míhóu offered him a smile.

Now that shocked Wùkōng; the other Spiritual Monkey had never smiled at him before.

They fell into surprisingly comfortable silence for a while.

Eventually, the Six-Eared Macaque said something even more surprising.

“There is one child, that I kept”, he confided in the Monkey King. “As in, I birthed it and let it live. After it had been … forced on me, I was found by the crow demon I told you about. She nursed me back to health. Was there for me the whole time. And she didn't ask for anything in return. No one had ever done that for me before, so at first I was convinced she had some weird ulterior motives.” He chuckled. “When I confronted her, she bonked me on the head and called me a dumbass.”

Wùkōng grinned: “That does sound like a demon after my heart. And she helped you with the infant?”

“Yeah. But I still couldn't stand being around it. Luckily, Tiě Yū had raised chicks before, so she agreed to take the boy. Once I had weaned him, that is.”

Yep. Definitely sounded like a cool lady.

“Good to know she supported you.”

“Yeah. Listen, uhm, can you not tell all that to the others? I'm not ready for …”

Wùkōng smiled. “Sure. I mean, they wouldn't have room to talk, but I can see the problem.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem. Hey, do you wanna hear about the story, where Master and Zhū Bājiè got pregnant?”

The Macaque stared at him. “No way!”

“Yes way!”

“Well, spill the tea! Give me all the juicy details!”

“Okay, so we were travelling through the Kingdom of Women, when Master decided that drinking water from a random river would be a good idea …”

.

---

.

Little do the two monkeys know, Bai Long Ma has been awake the entire time.

[im-sorry-what-ii]

MY THOUGHTS ON HOW THE ORIGINAL SONG TAKE ON ME BY A-HA  AND THE MTV UNPLUGGED VERSION PARALLEL TOP GUN AND TOP GUN MAVERICK (blame @blazingstar29 for enabling me)

more under the cut bc its a bit long🫠

ok we all know take on me right? the upbeat 1985 song with the really cool music video. iconic. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=djV11Xbc914&ab_channel=a-ha)

right so five years ago a-ha did an mtv unplugged version which i advise you to listen to bc its so inCREDIBLY GOOD I CANNOT. it takes every thing that makes the og song perfect and twists it into something that captures the essence of the original but mature and sad, like looking back at the past. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-xKM3mGt2pE&ab_channel=ahaVEVO)

so

my reasons for why the og 1985 version parallels top gun

80s. basic but true. 

good looking guys. also basic. also true. promise it gets more in depth

the whole vibe of the take on me video is upbeat. happy. theyre dancing around, its half animated but with pencil drawings like a teen would doodle on school books, its carefree, its goofy, its all over the place. 

the music is also upbeat and happy, it makes you wanna dance and get up and vibe

combining video, music and lyrics, the song is about being young. its about being alive, having your whole life ahead of you. taking on the world, being young and in your prime and prepared to give it your all. its happy, its looking forward to the future but enjoying and loving the now. its having options, choice and freedom, to live your life how you want to. 

this is what top gun is at heart. its about being young and in your prime, competing, living life to the fullest. its energy, motivation, but in the end its also growing up. its seeing the worst life can do to you (goose) and recognising it but moving on, finding comfort in your youth and letting go of your responsibilites. 

its the beauty of life, of strength and just the general vibe of the 80s. friendship and love and loss and the beauty of being young. its saying ‘i have my whole life left to live, and nothing can stop me’ 

to understand the next part, i kinda like to thing of the ‘85 version as the soundtrack of top gun. its the 86ers song, its their vibe.

and this ones probably got more to it, my reasons why the unplugged version parallels top gun maverick

modern times. basic again

we gotta focus on the actual musicians now. its the same guys singing, just 40 years older. the same song, just looking back instead of forward. by changing the key and tempo of the song, theyve created a whole new vibe. same lyrics, same guitar, just slower. sadder. they've calmed down, lost some of their energy

the unplugged versions looks back on a life well lived instead of forwards, to a life ahead. its reflecting on all the bad things that have happened and accepting them

in the end, theyre both about acceptance. this is very important. both versions of the song are about accepting everything that life has to offer, everywhere that life can or has taken you. ‘slowly learning that life is ok’

except, where ‘85 version is eagerly accepting and awaiting, unplugged is sadder. not regretful, just sadder. more thoughtful. theyre older, wiser, they recognise how life has changed them, for better or worse. they dont regret their life (its no better to be safe than sorry), they just see what it as it is. lived. over. theyre out of their prime, its a new generation now. 

but at the same time, its also rebellion. theyre old, not dead, they still have fight left in them (take on me, take me on). theyre still standing, a few decades hasnt changed that. 

now tell me, am i describing Take On Me (MTV Unplugged) or Top Gun: Maverick? 

mav regrets pulling gooses papers, but theres nothing he can do about it now. he has to accept life for what it is. he has to accept ice is dying, that hes dead. he has to accept hes old. and rooster has to accept life for what it is too. he needs to realise the past is in the past, the carole and goose are gone and mav is all he has left. Mav pulled his papers. There's nothing he can do about it now

top gun maverick is about growing up, getting old, how life changes a person. its seeing how everyone around you is older, no longer in their prime. the younger generation has centre stage now, but youre still there. your still fighting. youve made mistakes, youve fucked up but your still here bc thats how life works. You're quieter, the background to their lead, but you're still there

think of it as a cycle. in every movie theres an older generation, and a younger generation. the top gun movies focus on one of those generations, following them from young to old, and the song changes with them. 

the 86ers song is take on me, and it follows them, adapting with them. 

now we’re getting a bit more far fetched, but lets say the ‘22 teams song is i aint worried. its got a similar vibe to take on me, but with a 2020s twist instead of 80s synth pop. its carefree, they literally aint worried. its happy, its upbeat, it makes you wanna dance.

now we look at these songs in contrast. take on me unplugged and i aint worried are playing side by side, the older and younger generations. once upon a time, take on me had the same vibe but its grown up. and one day, i aint worried will have the same fate

one day, i aint worried will be an old timey song, the same nostalgic vibe as the og take on me has now, the same vibe as top gun has now. bc top gun is retro, its 80s. rn, tgm is new, its fancy, but it wont always be

its a cycle. its a fucking cycle. the same thing was going on in top gun 86, but with viper/jester and ice/mav/everyone else. we just dont see it, bc we're only focusing on one generation. they all parallel each other. if we we're focusing on the ‘22 team, mav and cyclone would be their viper and jester. old, important but not really. old-fashioned, out of date. but we’re not. its the 86ers story, so their song changes with them, and its what we get to see.

thank you for coming to my ted talk!! i may have gotten a bit off track towards the end there and had an existential crisis but enjoy :)

[mbr3coaching]

Do you know what Ataraxia is?

Ataraxia is a state of inner calm and freedom from worry, where your mind is at peace regardless of what’s happening around you. It comes from ancient Greek philosophy, particularly the teachings of the Stoics and Epicureans, who saw it as essential for a good life. Practicing ataraxia is about learning to keep a steady mind, no matter the chaos or stress that life brings.

In today’s world, with constant information, demands, and pressures, ataraxia can be incredibly valuable. To start practicing it, focus on accepting what you can’t influence anymore and redirect your energy to things you can. For instance, while you can’t always influence others’ behavior or global events, you can usually influence how you respond to them. Try to observe your emotions rather than reacting instantly—this way, you make thoughtful choices instead of being swayed by anger, stress, or fear.

Another part of ataraxia is finding contentment within yourself, rather than relying on outside things for happiness. Practice mindfulness by being fully present in the moment, not lost in regrets about the past or worries about the future. You’ll find a sense of freedom from this habit of letting go.

The benefits of practicing ataraxia are profound: reduced anxiety, greater resilience, and a lasting sense of peace, no matter the circumstances. In a fast-paced, often turbulent world, cultivating ataraxia helps you remain grounded, focused, and at ease. It’s a way to find stability in yourself that can positively impact every part of your life.

-Coach Mike

EDIT your GOALS

Every

Day

Internal

Thoughts

Guarantees

Our

Absolute

Life

Situations

#peace #internal #influence #practice #life

Background Picture by

Abhishek Babaria

[masongrizchel]

Forgive Yourself For What You Chose

With whatever choice we make, do we need to forgive ourselves for what we have decided to take? Despite that, forgiving ourselves is easier said than done. We all need to work on it. We've all made choices that, looking back, we cringe at or wonder, "What was I thinking?"

But the truth is, we were doing the best we could with our information and understanding back then. No one is at fault; you can't take all the blame. You can't fault yourself for that.

There was a time when I made a decision that felt right at the moment but something I regretted afterward. I hadn't imagined that and didn't know any better. As a consequence? It weighed on me for a long time. And it was hard to replay that choice and think of how it would be different. I realized I was holding on to something not meant to help me grow, making me stuck and relieving an illusion of growth.

It's a challenging but essential lesson: we can't change the past, but we can control how we move forward. Growth comes from accepting where we are and ensuring we're wiser and kinder to ourselves the next time.

Instead of being hard on yourself for what you didn't know, focus on what you've learned. Let that push you forward. Forgive yourself, move on, and see every mistake is another step in your journey. Mistakes are the best teachers; it's a fruitful lesson, especially when we take that as part of our experience.

[kthvbear]

RIDDD ofnhsueujqw i had to head out somewhere so i thought to continue reading it after I'm free.......but i couldn't stop myself from reading it and skipping the plan 💀💀 it was just a visit to buy grocery but ig candles and flames was more than enough for me to have today 😩

omg and- this fic..... u really challenged urself to write with a new style????? in the starting i was like, yeah this couldn't be rid- but ofuiw that anon, u really made her do this huh 😭💀 its amazing rid ❤️❤️❤️❤️ something new though still feels like u now after reading 🥺💌

His expression is changing, and his body is backtracking. Suddenly, his eyes look crestfallen, not as filled with fury anymore.

JUST WHAT IS THEIR PAST??? I WANT TO KNOW IT RN SO BADDDD 😭😭😭😭

“That I was an outcast. You would compare my dresses to fruits, laugh at them, or point out a minor flaw about me, or make fun of how I never smiled because of how tight my corset sat.”

And right now, your chest is burning, sadness in your eyes as you narrate further, “And I loved those dresses. The young and naive me would… prepare them days before and jump in joy. Just to hide in the back once she saw you.”

awwh no omg :(( hide in the back once she saw you.... you sadist 😫

“We were adults then, and I was ready to forgive you,” you tell him, gulping, “until you told a handful of men who liked me, that I’m the most untrustworthy snake in town. And how my sister,” you laugh; your gaze shifts to the ground, “is much more beautiful and actually worth the trouble.”

omg jk wtf???? this behaviour shall not be accepted here 🙊 most untrustworthy snake in town..... i understand why oc is hurt :(( but she said she regretted what she said before? thinking hard why 😔

Aware how ridiculous it might come out, Jungkook treads carefully, almost back pedalling before he chooses to let out, “Let me court you.”

*sipping wine* let's start with the drama 🤤

“Because I saw you at balls. You would converse and dance with the guests, but once you’d satisfied their needs to gain the attention of the beautiful honourable sisters… you retracted. As though you’d finished a task. They were happy, and you were happy to observe.”

jungkook. u didn't just see her. you observed her quite literally 🥺 he even noticed how she'd be happy even while Just looking at them? boy, that's....

And Jungkook — he just listened. That is, until he finally conjured up an excuse; you still haven’t figured out what strange reason urged him to come up with, “I apologise. The girl led me to these alleys, and I couldn’t find my way back.”

wait, how old was jk here? i mean honestly i cant FULLY blame him because he lost his father and was a child..... but if he was a little older, jungkook...u shouldn't have done that 😔 poor oc 😭😭😭

“Alright,” Taehyung whines, full lips sulking as he steps away, “not like you tell me much anyway.”

who gives u the right to make my bias look so damn cute as a character in every fic of urs???? my heart </3

“I didn’t know you’d want that.”

damn good one jk💀

“I thought you’re stuck all the time.” “Stuck?” “In… someone.”

kfnhsue ridd--- 😭😭😭💀 lmfaooo please

“I know,” he mumbles, “that I called this a courtship. But… All I want is sympathy. You’re my biggest fiend for nothing, you shouldn’t be, and I…” His hand reaches out, but he doesn’t touch you yet. You focus on his fingers. “It wasn’t you who killed him, after all. Life did.”

now he's talking 😌

And you don’t ask; instead, you repeat, “You think I can awaken something good in you?”

omg that is so sweet 😭😭😭 they sound so mature now 🥺

“Hm?” you make, and then nod with twinkles in your irises. “I used to teach some of them once a week. I would come over and read with them.”

hands fucking down. vote this oc as the sweetest rn.

The closeness is alluring, but not as much as his words, “You’re saying all that as if you’re expecting me to fulfil some of that.”

yes. u ARE going to fulfil all of that, not just some. especially the intimacy part 😏

“How about riding? Do you enjoy it?” “Riding, I do. Does not involve horses, though,”

if someone tweets this on Twitter? watch it getting 69k retweets....

You roll your eyes, groaning just a little, “Don’t remind me. They’re like tents for butts.”

tents for butts- rid ily baby 💀😭

“I’ll do anything to get out of here, so do not worry. I have it all planned out,” you hear Jungkook say.

rid listen. if this is the angst in c&f, i take my words of jk and nara sleeping together in cmi back...please.... forgive me for the route i hadst then chosen 😭 but this.... this is unbearable 😭😭 just when i THOUGHT things were going so sweet and nicely.....ofc u had to do this 🙄

Like you’re a toy to beat up. To control and play with, like you don’t possess a bleeding, beating heart.

STOP STOP STOP THIS IS TOO MUCH 😭😭😭😭 god, why did she have to listen all this? for a fact ik it's all a misunderstanding :(((

Such an idiot to trust him.

my chest feels tight, all because of u.

“I… I hope to see you again soon.”

that's it, that was my last straw 😭😭😭

RID AKEUUQUW I THOUGHT THIS WAS THE END UNTIL I SAW YOU'LL BE POSTING THE OTHER PART

omg this was such a ride... truly amazing idek what else to say for this masterpiece 😭❤️❤️❤️

candles & flames | jjk (m)

Summary: He wasn’t supposed to be yours. His foolery wasn’t supposed to target you. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

➳ pairing:Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: enemies to lovers, royal!au; angst, fluff, smut ➳ warnings: so! they’re both royalty/high in society (gd should’ve called this ‘royals’), fuckboy jk, banter, past side character death mentioned, hints of fake dating but not really, angst!, the ending.., douchebag jk at times, crying, guilt, jk is sus too, bits of jealousy, society sucks, explicit sexual content: carriage shenanigans, sexual tension, fingering, oral (m. & f. receiving), mouth fucking, spit stuff?, manhandling, spanking, dry humping, dirty talk, angry foreplay but things get softer, he comes in her mouth <3, they’re hiding during all that <3 ➳ wc: 24.6k 😐 ➳ a/n: sooo. i love e2l and regency aus, but i haven’t written much/any of those, so they’re not my strongest suit. but hopefully y’all will still enjoy reading it, bc i did enjoy writing it. it’s just the beginning hehe <3 this entirely new genre/trope took some brainpower lmao so i’d love if you dropped by and told me what you think !! 🤍 

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST | WIPs

Jeon Jungkook’s sincerity doesn’t run as deep as his undeniable beauty.

Keep reading

[egagets]

How to get back at an ex

Understanding your emotions

Dealing with a breakup can be an incredibly challenging and emotionally charged experience. Whether you ended the relationship or were on the receiving end of the breakup, it's perfectly normal to feel a whirlwind of emotions. Processing and understanding these emotions is a crucial part of healing and moving forward. In this section, we will explore the various emotions you may be experiencing and provide some helpful insights on how to navigate through them.

Sadness and Grief:

One of the most common emotions following a breakup is sadness. You may find yourself overwhelmed with feelings of loss, longing, or even heartache. It's important to allow yourself to feel these emotions fully, as they are a natural part of the healing process. Give yourself permission to grieve the loss of the relationship and all the dreams and plans associated with it. Remember, healing takes time, so be patient and kind to yourself during this period.

Anger and Resentment:

Breaking up can often bring about feelings of anger and resentment towards your ex-partner. These emotions may stem from a sense of betrayal, hurt, or unfairness. However, it's essential to recognize that harboring anger and resentment will only hinder your own healing. Instead, try talking to a trusted friend or therapist about your feelings or find healthy outlets, such as journaling or engaging in physical activity, to release pent-up anger. Refocusing your energy on personal growth and positivity can help you move forward from these negative emotions.

Confusion and Uncertainty:

After a breakup, it's not uncommon to feel confused or uncertain about your own emotions and the choices you made during the relationship. It's important to embrace this uncertainty and avoid rushing into new situations or decisions. Take the time to reflect on your past relationship, learn from it, and understand how it has shaped you. Consider seeking guidance from a professional counselor who can provide objective insights and help you gain clarity about yourself and your future.

Regret and Self-Doubt:

Feelings of regret and self-doubt are almost inevitable after a breakup. You may question whether you could have done something differently or if it was all your fault. However, it's crucial to remember that a relationship involves two individuals, and both parties contribute to its success or failure. Instead of dwelling on regret, use this opportunity for self-reflection and personal growth. Focus on the lessons you've learned and how you can apply them to future relationships.

Acceptance and Moving Forward:

Eventually, as time passes, acceptance will begin to replace the rawness of your emotions. Acceptance is not about forgetting the past or denying the pain you've experienced; it's about acknowledging that the relationship is over and embracing the possibilities of the future. Allow yourself to heal at your own pace, surround yourself with positive influences, and engage in activities that bring you joy and fulfillment. This will help you shift your focus towards rebuilding your life and moving forward.

Practicing self-care and self-improvement

Breaking up with someone can be a difficult and emotional experience. It's only natural to feel hurt, angry, or even betrayed after a relationship ends. While seeking revenge might momentarily offer a sense of satisfaction, it's important to focus on your own well-being instead. Practicing self-care and self-improvement is the key to healing and moving forward positively.

One of the first steps in this process is acknowledging your emotions. It's perfectly okay to feel a range of emotions but allowing them to consume you can inhibit your personal growth. Take the time to process and understand what you're feeling. Whether it's through journaling, talking with friends, or seeking professional help, giving yourself space to explore and express your emotions can be incredibly therapeutic.

Embracing self-care practices can also significantly contribute to your healing journey. During a breakup, it's easy to neglect your own needs amidst the pain. However, this is the opportune time to prioritize yourself. Engaging in activities that bring you joy and peace can help ease the emotional turmoil. Whether it's going for a hike, indulging in a hobby, or treating yourself to a relaxing spa day, taking care of your physical and mental well-being is essential.

Exercise is another powerful tool for self-care and self-improvement. Physical activity not only releases endorphins, but it also helps reduce stress and improve your overall mood. Consider engaging in activities that you enjoy or have always wanted to try. Whether it's joining a dance class, taking up cycling, or practicing yoga, finding a form of exercise that resonates with you can help redirect your focus and boost your self-esteem.

Creating distance and establishing boundaries

Breaking up with someone can be a painful and emotionally challenging experience. During this time, it is crucial to take care of yourself and focus on moving forward instead of dwelling on the past. One practical and effective way to do this is by creating distance and establishing clear boundaries with your ex. By doing so, you can regain control over your emotions and set the foundation for your healing process. In this section, we will explore some helpful strategies that can aid you in creating distance and establishing boundaries after a breakup.

The first step in creating distance is to limit contact with your ex. This might involve temporarily blocking or unfollowing them on social media platforms to minimize exposure to their updates and life events. While it may be tempting to keep tabs on them or maintain a connection, this constant reminder can impede your healing process. By creating this space, you allow yourself to focus on your own well-being and start to rebuild your life independently.

Another important aspect of creating distance is establishing emotional boundaries. This means recognizing that you cannot rely on your ex for emotional support or validation anymore. It can be tempting to reach out to them when you're feeling down or want to reminisce about the past, but doing so will only hinder your progress. Instead, seek support from friends, family, or a therapist who can provide unbiased guidance as you navigate through this challenging time. Remember, establishing these new support networks is essential for your growth and healing.

Focusing on personal growth and success

Breaking up with someone can leave you feeling hurt, angry, and even vengeful. It's only natural to have these emotions, but dwelling too much on them can hinder your own personal growth and success. Instead of seeking revenge or trying to get back at your ex, why not shift your energy towards focusing on yourself and building a brighter future?

First and foremost, it's important to acknowledge and process your emotions. Allow yourself time to grieve the end of the relationship and the loss you are experiencing. However, try not to get stuck in a cycle of negativity and resentment. Channel your emotions into productive outlets, such as writing in a journal or talking to a trusted friend or therapist. This will help you process your feelings and gain clarity, enabling you to move forward in a healthier way.

One of the most empowering ways to bounce back from a breakup is by investing in your personal growth. Focus on developing new skills, expanding your knowledge, or pursuing a hobby that brings you joy. Learning something new or honing your existing talents not only enhances your self-esteem but also opens doors to new opportunities in your personal and professional life.

Perhaps you've always wanted to learn a musical instrument, complete a marathon, or paint a masterpiece. Now is the perfect time to devote yourself to these pursuits. Engaging in activities that challenge you and ignite your passion will not only distract you from negative thoughts but will also bring a sense of fulfillment and accomplishment.

Forgiving and moving forward

Going through a breakup is undoubtedly a challenging experience. It can leave you feeling hurt, betrayed, and even angry. When emotions are high, it's natural to think about ways to get back at your ex for causing you pain. However, seeking revenge rarely leads to long-term satisfaction or healing. Instead, focusing on forgiveness and moving forward can bring you peace and help you grow as an individual.

Acknowledge your emotions:

Accepting your emotions and allowing yourself to feel them is an essential first step towards forgiveness. It's normal to feel a range of emotions after a breakup, such as sadness, anger, and resentment. Give yourself permission to experience these emotions fully without judgment. Remember that healing takes time, and everyone's journey is unique.

Practice self-care:

During this difficult time, taking care of your physical and mental well-being is crucial. Engaging in activities that bring you joy and relaxation can help ease the pain. Consider picking up a new hobby, spending time with loved ones, or prioritizing self-care rituals like exercise, meditation, or journaling. By focusing on yourself and your well-being, you can begin to rebuild your life and rediscover your identity outside of the relationship.

Seek support from loved ones:

It's essential to have a support system in place when working towards forgiveness and moving forward. Reach out to close friends and family members who can provide empathy, a listening ear, and advice when needed. Surrounding yourself with people who care about your well-being will help you gain perspective and remind you that you are not alone in your journey.

Practice empathy and understanding:

Forgiveness often stems from empathy and understanding. Try to put yourself in your ex's shoes and consider their perspective. Remember that people make mistakes, and everyone has their own struggles, which might have contributed to the breakup. Although it's not about condoning their actions, understanding their circumstances can open the door for compassion and eventual forgiveness.

Let go of resentment:

Holding onto resentment can be toxic and hinder your personal growth. While it's normal to feel angry, continuously dwelling on the past will only prolong your healing process. Instead, actively work towards letting go of any resentment you may hold towards your ex. This doesn't mean you have to forget what happened, but rather accepting it as part of your journey and releasing the negative emotions that are weighing you down.

Focus on personal growth:

Use this time as an opportunity for personal growth and self-reflection. Set goals that align with your values and aspirations, and dedicate yourself to achieving them. Consider exploring new interests, taking up new challenges, and investing time and energy into your personal development. By channeling your energy into positive outlets, you can rebuild your confidence, strengthen your resilience, and create a brighter future for yourself.

Practice forgiveness:

Lastly, forgiveness is a powerful tool that can free you from the burden of holding grudges. Forgiving your ex doesn't mean you have to reconcile or forget the pain caused. It simply means choosing to release the negative emotions associated with the breakup and allowing yourself to move forward without being shackled by anger or resentment. Remember that forgiveness is a process, and it may take time, but ultimately, it allows you to reclaim your peace of mind and happiness.

In conclusion, seeking revenge may provide temporary satisfaction, but it ultimately hinders your healing and growth. Instead, choosing forgiveness and focusing on moving forward can bring you long-lasting peaceWebsite: https://www.marriagecounselingnearme.org/how-to-get-back-at-your-ex/