#The pain of wondering if that one person's life would've been better if you never known them

[bambooswordwielder]

Yue Qingyuan's character is so interesting to me because this man just reeks of guilt-till-death. His relationships with Shen Jiu has always oddly reminded me of parents who blame themselves for everything bad that happens/is caused by their children.

I feel like Yue Qingyuan genuinely can't really punish/scold Shen Jiu for any controversial action he does because deep down he blames himself.

He wonders everytime he hears of Shen Jiu's scandals if he could've done something when they were younger to perhaps make Shen Jiu more... calmer.

Shen Jiu of course we know has always been suspicious of everyone and been somewhat aggressive, but I feel like Yue Qingyuan is convinced that if he had done something more, maybe Shen Jiu would've been at least a bit more happy.

After Shen Qingqiu's 'sudden memory loss' and subsequent personality change, Yue Qingyuan must've realised that Shen Qingqiu was happier... especially after he forgot everything they went through. He doesn't yell at meetings, he doesn't violently discipline his younger disciples for minor incidents, he actually improves his relationships with the other peaklords.

All he needed for this change was to forget his and Yue Qingyuan's past. Forget his trauma and pain. Forget how cruel the world had been to them. Forget Qi-Ge and Xiao Jiu.

Maybe Yue Qingyuan suspects something is off. Maybe he doesn't. I just feel like either way, he just hopes Shen Jiu is living a happier life without him in it.

[lowkeyerror]

The Family Business Ch.13

WandaNat x Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Ch. Notes: short

Summary: Fisk gains a new unexpected ally that deeply affects a member of the family.

An: Short filler Ch. but with a warning. Sorry for the mistakes, just wanted to get something out for yall. Also fear not, we will be getting the very essential "date" chapter soon, but first some world building yknow.

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

With the way life had been treating you lately, the ups and downs, you felt as though this should be harder. You felt like there was a funk or depression that should be settling into your mind, but there wasn’t. There should’ve been anxiety building up, but all you felt was calm.

After the beating you suffered you thought you’d be more on edge. However as your body healed itself, you found yourself at ease. There was something smug about your survival. Perhaps it had to do with the blossoming relationship that you had been reveling in.

Throughout the years you had prided yourself on changing and morphing into someone with a tough exterior and an even stronger interior. While you never regretted becoming that way, you admit that in it you lost some of your personality.

You were so much more than a victim of the abuse you had suffered at the hands of your mother. As you grew, after separating yourself from her you were set on not ever being a victim again that you hid everything that you thought made you vulnerable.

Your likes and leisurely activities all of sudden seemed like weak points. The only one who was able to make you let your guard down was Pietro.

Now however, having Wanda and Natasha by your side, you find yourself on a path of rediscovery. You feel like you’re coming into yourself again. The women are the perfect models of work life balance and you think it’s everything you’ve been missing.

The can go into the office work diligently and complete their jobs, but also clock out and relax. The enjoy themselves and they enjoy you.

Wanda personally loves seeing you open up a bit more, after seeing how much of yourself you pushed down. Natasha finds herself collecting bits and pieces of information about you that she plans to commit to memory.

In the very back of your mind you think about how quiet the streets have been. You expected Fisk to brag about your beating just like he did with Dragos. However there had been no commotion, and the intel that you were getting didn’t indicate any attacks soon.

It was eerie and you would've dwelled on it in the past, but Natasha and Wanda reassured you that everything was under control. Natasha constantly let you go over her team strategies to show you she was utilizing the soldiers given to her.

They tried to keep you out of the office for your recovery, but you just found yourself working from home until your ankle was healed. As soon as you were able, you stepped back into the office.

While you had made nearly a full recovery, you could not say the same for Dragos. It pained you hear that doctors have reported a stagnation in his progress. Flora relied that certain doctors were starting to suggest pulling the plug as a feasible option. The entire family was adamant to oppose any talk of such actions.

“Baby?”

Your eyes leave your compute to see Wanda and Natasha entering your office.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Natasha speaks, “We were wondering if you wanted to grab dinner tonight?”

You nod, “For sure.”

Wanda clarifies a bit, “Like a date, Y/n.”

Your eyes widen a bit, but you nod excitedly at the prospect, “Even better, of course.

“We’ll go home, get ready and go from there?” Nat suggests.

“Can’t wait,” a small smile plays on your lips.

Everything about this has felt casual and you love that, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t want to have the typical romantic experiences. This would amongst the first few dates you three had gone on.

Pietro storms into the office breaking up the relaxed atmosphere they had been sitting in. The man looks like he is complete emotional distress.

“I need to talk to Y/n.”

His sister wants to question him, but with one shake of your head she pulls her wife out of the office.

“What’s wrong, Piet?”

He doesn’t hold it together much longer as he signals he needs a hug. You stand up quickly and wrap your arms around him. You feel his tears hit his shoulder and admittedly, your worry multiplies.

“Monica,” he says in his broken tone.

You rub his back soothingly, “What about her?”

He pulls away, “ Two months we lasted, Y/n. I had asked her to be official she said yes, but she’s ended things with me.”

“Oh Piet.”

He shakes his head, “It’s worse than that. She indebted to Fisk, Y/n. She owes him money and favors, she never told me because he’s never come to collect. But now, he’s cashing in.”

You frown deeply, “So she’s protecting you.”

“I need to be protecting her,” he grits his teeth.

You feel for your friend, you don’t believe you have the right words to bring him comfort, “ But you don’t know how.”

Pietro has a new fire in his eyes, “With a bullet in his skull. He’s tried to take everything from me. Papa, you, and now the love of my life.”

You knew the man could be hotheaded at times, and for once you knew he had every right to be. Yet, you couldn’t justify him doing something irrational.

“When the time comes, he will be dealt with,” you say.

Pietro shakes his head, “Nothings happened since your attack, everything is settling. This war will drag on and on if we let it."

“We can’t tear apart the city for no reason, Piet. It’s a bad look from us,” you try to reason with him.

“I know that, but it’s not what I want to hear.”

He slumps down on your office couch with his head in his hands. You sit next to him and rub his shoulder.

“How about we do something tonight, like old times? Something so that we can feel normal for once,” you suggest.

“I can’t even text her because what if she becomes a pawn in this scheme,” he sighs.

“ We’re hanging out tonight. To take your mind off of this, even if it’s only for a moment,” you speak sincerely to him.

He nods slowly in agreement, “Fine, but only because I don’t want to be alone and maybe I’ve missed you. Wanda too, I miss when timed were simpler.”

You get a little excited, “Tonight, me, you, Wanda, Natasha we can do something together. It’ll be reminiscent of old times.”

Pietro agrees and you let him stay in the office as you work. You texted Wanda and Natasha filling them on the details. They were understanding about having to cancel your plans. Natasha also took note of Monica as one of Fisk’s new allies.

The three of you brainstorm to come up with some plans to help your friend for the time being. The night still had promise and none of you wanted to waste it.

Unfortunately for you all, the air was about become ten times more suffocating and no one would see it coming.

Fisk knew you all would become complacent sooner or later, drop you guards prematurely. He was watching unfold and getting ready to strike again, however this time, he planned for the kill shot.

Taglist: @natashaswife4125 @autorasexy @alexawynters @blkmxrvel @toouncreativeforausername @likemick @sgm616 @bstvst @dorabledewdroop @sapphic-simp4015 @natty-taffy @justarandomreaderxoxo @mmmmokdok @tarathia @bgwlsmahf25 @lezzylover @og-kxsh-420 @vanessashands @untoldreader @sxlfishbrokenheart @marvelgirlx @elle161989

[artxmus]

watching the snow with fox

the snow was pretty; reflecting the light of the morning back at you from where it gathered on the outside of the windowsill, inviting you to give in the coldness of it. you wished you could walk out to feel the snow against the bareness of your feet, against the wounds fox had scattered across your body to entertan an audience you've come to think about in passing thoughts that often drove you into a feeling you often thought might've been the start of madness. (and if it was, you don't think you'd be surprised, not with the life you've been forced into.)

you became all too aware of the feeling wrapped tightly and professionally around your abdomen. you almost felt as if you could feel every fiber of the bandage against your skin, and the stitches that pinched your wound, soon to be removed in a few days. it had only been freshly changed before fox had left you, a new routine since you'd been on the track to healing after the last show. you never asked where he went, and you never asked to leave the room he'd since kept you in (you knew better).

you stared at the bars just outside the glass, kept close together so you couldn't squeeze through. although you doubted you could even reach the bars, not with how thick the glass looked to be, or the way it was bolted shut. ─ not that you had any plans to try, with your injuries and kangaroo or rhino always outside your door, and cameras that watched your every move. (and then there was an odd part of you; one that didn't want to leave. ─ you'd blame it on all the drugs you'd been on for the pain, or maybe the pain itself.)

you didn't bother to turn towards the door when you heard it open; it was either rhino or kangaroo checking in on you as they often did, you assumed.

you were wrong ─ you realized when your visitor stopped beside you, the familiar orange fur of a tail threatening to brush against your arm. you hadn't moved from the chair you'd asked to have set in front of the window just before he'd left you alone (because it's not like you could risk opening your stitches).

the you before now would've been terrified to have him standing so close, so unpredictable and quiet. but right now, you didn't care, not when you stared out into the snow that piled around the bars and gathered in a beautiful pile of white. you wanted to touch it, reach out the window and hold it in your hand, feel the cold against your fingertips and falling between your fingers. you wondered what it would feel like to hold it to your face, feel it against your cheeks, you didn't care if it irritated the skin around your eye, threatened to fill where your new prosthetic will be.

you wondered when was the last time you touched snow. your life before you ended up as some pet to fox was a blur now, replaced by bright screens, chains around your wrists, and torture.

"are you in any pain?" he asked and you flinched; he noticed, of course he did, but he only waited for you to answer.

you knew he didn't keep you on so many pain killers just to stop the pain, but to keep you docile. (you're not sure if he did that because he couldn't be bothered to deal with you, or because he just couldn't have his pet make their injuries any worse. perhaps even both.)

"no," you whispered, so quiet that a normal person wouldn't have heard you, but fox did. you didn't know why you weren't, you often were when the pain killers wore off ─ maybe they hadn't yet. or maybe, sitting there, unmoving for however much time has passed, had made you numb.

"the snow is beautiful." you said. you don't know why you spoke; often you kept quiet, your brain so foggy from the drugs, you couldn't quite form a proper thought, outside of answering simple questions.

fox grunted, but he didn't reply to you. and then you felt his hand on your head, his nails in your hair and petting you. there was a tense in your shoulders at the touch, half expecting him to dig his claws into your scrap or pull your hair. ─ he doesn't; he pets your head and remains quiet, as if he were enjoying the moment.

you chance a glance up at him, and you notice he's not looking at you, his attention on the snow that fell outside. ─ perhaps he did find enjoyment in the moment, peace in the silence. you would've laughed at the ridiculous thought; someone so cruel finding peace in sitting with you, staring at the snow as he plays with your hair.

and yet, you relax, and you sigh, sitting back in your chair, and admiring the beauty of the snow you'll never get to touch again.

[suzukiblu]

Ko-fi thank-you sentences for redflawedglass behind the cut; they asked for dealer's choice, and I picked "Clark wakes up alive". ( chrono || non-chrono )

“I hope you don't mind me just showing up like this,” he says, gentle and apologetic. Conner never had enough choices in his life, short as it was. He feels like–Clark just wants better for him, this time. “Is it alright that I'm here?”

It was partially his fault, that Conner thought he couldn't choose things for himself for so long. Thought he couldn't have things he wanted. Thought he just had to accept whatever he was offered, more often than not. 

Not always. Not every time. But–too much of the time. 

If Clark can help him learn otherwise sooner . . . 

Well. Of course he's going to try to. 

. . . yes, appears very slowly in Clark's head, and he smiles at Conner again. 

“Thank you,” he says. “I'm happy to hear that. I hope us meeting each other makes you happy too.” 

Conner's face stays perfectly impassive, but his eyes go wet. He blinks, and Clark hears his heartbeat stutter again. 

He could've done this last time. He could've done less than this, and Conner would've had a much easier and much less painful start to life outside Cadmus. 

But he didn't, of course, so he can't do any less than this now. 

“Call security,” Desmond says flatly. . 

“On Superman?” Guardian asks in disbelief. “Sir, even if there was a reason to call security, I wouldn't do that to security.” 

“He’s trespassing!” Desmond snaps. “And interfering with the subject, besides!” 

“I mean, I don’t know if this is interfering . . .” Guardian says skeptically. 

This is absolutely interfering, and Clark is going to be doing as much of it as (in)humanly possible, but he does prefer no one calling security and interrupting the conversation. 

“Don’t mind me,” he says to them, as pleasant and sweet as Ma’s most passive-aggressive “bless your heart”. Then he smiles a little softer at Conner, trying to be . . . careful, maybe. 

He did this so badly last time. Did so badly by Conner last time. 

He doesn’t intend to do anything like that again. 

Ever. 

“It really is so good to meet you, kid,” he says gently. Simple and straightforward, still. Easy for a child to understand, he hopes–or at least easier. Conner had enough trouble understanding other people to begin with, and he can’t imagine it’d be any easier while operating a younger brain and with an even earlier interruption to his education uploads. “Would you mind if I hugged you now?” 

Conner’s eyes . . . flicker, just barely. There’s confusion in them, Clark thinks, but it’s a little hard to tell. He’s even less expressive than the version of himself Clark’s used to. 

. . . was used to. 

Clark doesn’t think about that. Not right now. 

. . . ‘hug’? appears in his head, slow and hesitant over an obviously unfamiliar word. 

Clark debates throwing Desmond through a wall. Just a thin wall. Not a load-bearing one. 

But definitely a wall. 

“I mean I’d like to hold you,” he explains, because if Conner sees him get angry, he’ll blame himself for it. Of course he would, between his current age and the kind of things he’s likely had shoved into his brain so far. “Like you were holding your friend a moment ago.” 

He points at the G-gnome to clarify, and Conner . . . hesitates. Nothing appears in Clark’s head. 

“Call security immediately,” Desmond snaps at Guardian. “Now!” 

“Sir–” Guardian starts, half-raising his hands, and Desmond’s expression turns murderous. 

“That was an order, Guardian,” he says dangerously. Clark half-expects to feel G-gnomes in his mind or for Guardian to change his mind under their influence, but nothing happens. 

He doesn’t look at Dubbilex, but he . . . wonders, a little. 

Conner just barely shrinks in on himself, and Clark wonders how many times he’s been faced with an angry person so much bigger and older than him in real life, or even been out of his pod at all. Is this the first time? A regular occurrence? Something in-between? 

The G-gnome hops up on Conner’s shoulders; leans forward over his head and inspects Clark curiously, tilting its own head. Conner freezes, and Clark sees the faintest trace of fear in the back of his eyes. 

He wonders if the G-gnome’s putting it there, but Conner’s looking right at him. 

So if the G-gnome is putting it there . . . 

If it is, Clark can’t help but suspect it’s not actually a deliberate effort on the creature’s part, as opposed to a genuine by-product of Conner not knowing what to expect from him. 

Not knowing if he’ll hurt the G-gnome, he means, remembering the way Conner had hesitated when he’d called it his friend. 

Considering what he knows of how Desmond ran this place–is running this place right now . . . 

“Hello,” Clark says, and smiles at the G-gnome. “It’s nice to meet you too.” 

The G-gnome stares at him for a long, silent moment, and then slips back down behind Conner’s back and wraps its arms around his neck. Clark hears something like a whisper from another room, but not that clear, and Conner . . . hesitates, again. 

Then the word hug appears in Clark’s mind again, this time tentative and longing, and he doesn’t hesitate himself at all. He scoops up Conner and stands up with him in the same moment, and Conner lets out a little breath as his thrumming heartbeat stutters in his chest, and Clark holds him against his own chest very, very carefully, as if he’s holding something more delicate than melting frost on a sunny morning or cracked porcelain. 

Conner doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself; where to put his hands or arms. If he should hold onto him or lean into him or not. 

Clark keeps him in his arms anyway, and swears to himself he’s not leaving without the kid. Not for anything. If Conner doesn’t want to come with him right now, then he’ll wait here with him until he does, no matter what happens outside. 

If Conner never wants to come with him, well–then he’ll just stay, if that’s what it takes. 

He’s not giving Desmond the chance to hurt or hide him. Not giving anyone that chance. 

He wonders if the Conner he remembers even remembered being this small himself, or if it was so brief an experience that it didn’t stick in his head at all. 

He suspects it might’ve been, and hates the thought. 

Buzzes, appears in Clark’s head, still tentative. He doesn’t understand, for a moment, and then realizes Conner’s ear is practically against his chest. So he’s probably talking about . . . 

“I always thought of it as more a ‘thrum’, myself,” he says, and Conner stares mutely at him. Their heartbeats aren’t a perfect match–even with cloned DNA, Conner isn’t quite Kryptonian enough, and his heart beats a little slower and harder than his does. The separate beats are more audible, too. 

But it does still thrum, when it comes to it. 

Warm, appears in Clark’s head too, and Conner ducks his head just enough to hide his face from Desmond when the tears start falling. 

His expression doesn’t change at all, but the tears on his face are undeniable. 

Maybe a load-bearing wall wouldn’t be so bad to throw Desmond through, Clark thinks, bundling the kid up tighter in his arms and wrapping his cape around him as he does. Then he looks at Guardian, and puts on the most pleasant smile he can manage without needing to actually throw Desmond through a load-bearing wall first. 

“I appreciate you taking care of him, but it’s not good for him to be down in the dark like this,” he says, gently stroking what of Conner’s back the G-gnome isn’t perched on and pretending not to notice the fat, heavy tears dripping onto the El crest on his chest. “He needs the sun.” 

“There’s, ah–a solar suit, sir,” Guardian says, but he looks uncomfortable even as he says it. “I mean–he’s being fed solar energy, not just . . . uh . . .” 

He trails off, and looks much more uncomfortable; like he’s just realized what he’s saying. Maybe he has, given Desmond’s influence over the G-gnomes and what they do and don’t let people down here think. 

Guardian still thinks he’s human himself right now, after all.

[mcllover]

How do you think the characters from my candy life are in bed? If you're comfortable talking about this, of. Please don't feel pressured to answer/ talk about this. ❤️

I want to hear your opinion, but here is mine:

FOR NATH: I saw different illustrations with Nath where he is under candy and she has "control" and I think he might be prone to be... a bottom? Like not all the time, but most of the time. The only thing is that he would've been/is like this only with her. In the past during his many one nights stand and meaningless sex, he would've always be dominant and in control. Never giving the reins to the other girls, always showing that he was in control of the situation. But with Candy, he feels safe 🥺, he feels like he can relax, be taken care of 💕, but he gradually gave her control on top, maybe not at first, not because he didn't trust her, it could've been a little difficult for him, that's all.

If he is on top, I think he'll be a gentle Dom and wouldn't want to hurt Candy in any other way. He definitely wouldn't be into pain or into putting his partner in pain. Due to trauma and bad choices, I feel like he likes praise and reassurance. In the game , in non sexual context, we see him blushing when she is giving him compliments or praising him. I don't know word by word, but saying things like he is an amazing person and he's also working on himself (during the honeymoon trip while talking a little that he's taking therapy). We also see him liking to be called inspector by her. Of course, he wants make her enjoy it !

He definitely wonders at some moments how he managed to win her when he was still in dangerous illegal activities. He loves her so much and she would be the only person in the world that could make him feel those things and want to be a better person for. 😭 He would do anything for her.

FOR CASTIEL: I think he might be a switch. We've seen him at one point initiate, but Candy wanted to take the lead and he was completely on board with it. He just wants to give her pleasure and make it enjoyable. He would be mesmerized by her! He would only be a switch with her tho. Like the one night stands that he had with her when he tried to "forget her" after doing it. He was with the other one night stands in the past like that, being a dom.

I think he only had meaningful sex and made love with her. 🥺❤️ I also feel like he would be a gentle Dom. Like Nath, he would do anything for Candy and he would feel understood by her. Candy's presence is the only he craves and loves to infinity!

FOR RAYAN: I think he is an ass man and is more in charge. But I am not exactly sure about him about this topic.

FOR HYUN and PRYA: No idea, I did not play their routes.

What about you? What do you think about the little cinnamon rolls? 🥰 And what is your opinion about my headcanons?

-Selenophile 🌙🌌✨

Oof, it took me a long time to write this and I just saw how long it was. 😭

🔞⚠ MDNI ⚠🔞

Well, I think you're totally right, I see Nath as the type of loving making love to the person he loves, many kisses exchanged and soft words and praises. I also think you're right about letting Candy takes charge but he'll like to be the one to tell her what to do from time to time.

I think you're right for Casteil but when he's dom he likes it rougher than Nath

For Rayan, most of his NSFW illu his doing it from the back so i guess he likes it from the back but he worships Candy so much his hands would be all over her, not a part of her body isn't loved by him.

Armin is a hard dom no question asked, he likes tie her hands and probably loves leaving marks

For Priya she's a switch depending on how her and Candy feels, she love holding Candy tight and love the intimacy too

For the other i never did their routes so i dont know

[lunaxstrange]

TRAUMA IN ORV

[SPOILERS]

While it's a common theme in any manhwa or manga for characters to not address each other's (or their own) trauma, I think ORV shows that beautifully.

We, as readers, feel each character's pain because we see every aspect of it. A spectator is mostly the only one well-qualified to differentiate right from wrong in a conflict. The only reason why we're able to do that is because we're readers (or shall I say "fragments of Kim Dokja" because I'm delusional like that T_T).

Do you notice the similarity? The reason why Kdj knew exactly what everyone was feeling at all times is because he always saw them through the eyes of a reader. But that goes contrary to "just because he's read about it doesn't mean he understands it". So, here's my take on it - just because he knows their pain doesn't mean he knows how to confront it. Kdj is the least qualified person out there to talk about one's feelings. He can't even address his own trauma because he doesn't see it from the eyes of a reader. To him, that was the one real thing that's ever happened. And that's why he's a sacrificial squid.

Maybe if we were in ORV (we were, we're all Kdj, remember?), we would've done the same. Kdj's got attachment issues, he's got a lot of issues that need to be paid attention to but nobody knows how to make him feel better. It's difficult to help a person who looks and acts like he doesn't need help.

This distinct parallel that ORV has between Kdj and the readers is what makes this novel so great - what makes it feel alive. It's not that hard to believe that "yes, maybe Kdj did exist", "maybe we all are fragments of Kdj", "yes, it's possible".

I cannot stop talking about this novel. Every part of it is so beautiful. I recommended it to a friend and the only thing I told him is that he can only truly understand the manhwa if he falls in love with the story or the characters. ORV as someone's debut novel/manhwa into reading would be questionable. But for someone who is already a reader, someone whose whole life is books, this is a must read.

I wonder how different the story would've been if Kdj acknowledged that he needs help. Sometimes it hurts that he never even realised the sheer extent of love everyone had for him. Inversely speaking, none of them could ever do what Kdj had done. They might be willing to - to save him, but they couldn't. Because everyone wanted to "see the scenarios end" or something similar to that, while Kdj was the only one who wanted to see the "epilogue". He doesn't even think of himself when he thinks about the future. It's always my companions this my companions that. Everyone's motivation was either each other or the dream of a normal life but his motivation was a story.

Even the author cannot love their own story - they'll always find something wrong with it. Only a reader will ever truly love it. Only a reader can.

[lafiametta]

I love your fics so far, they're so sweet. I know they're fictional characters but Ani and Igor deserve some happiness together and it's great they can have it in this way.

Also, your fics show that happiness can be shown in small but meaningful way. Honestly, watching the film, even if it hadnt been cut short, I don't think ani would've been truly happy with Ivan. Yes not worrying about money is great, but it would've been a life of being ignored by him until she could tempt him back with sex (shown twice which is another reason why she tries it with Igor, she thinks it's a power when it's actually a dumb boy thinking with his dick. Obviously it wouldve been better if she discovered this herself instead of it forcibly being taken from her, but at least now she can have some happiness with someone who actually cares.

Aw, thanks, Anon — I'm glad you've been enjoying my fics! I also really think they deserve some happiness and my goal is just to find those moments where they can start stumbling towards it. The ending of the film was such an emotional gut-punch and left the unresolved question of what would happen to Ani and Igor once the credits rolled. But what's so great about fic is that we can imagine what that might look like and give them a shot at happiness that the film's ending left unanswered.

And I totally agree with your assessment: Ani would have never been truly happy with Ivan because she could have never really been herself for fear that he wouldn't like it (and as a consequence take away all he had promised her in terms of a new life). Aside from yelling at him the tarmac (when she's starting to get the sense her relationship is over anyway), she never raises her voice to him, never argues with him, never really pushes back on anything he wants to do. She's docile and compliant, using her sexy customer service voice that she's honed after years of working at the club. One wonders how long she would have been able to keep up the act, but it's certain she would have had to drop the mask one day — who can really keep living a lie? And ultimately, Ivan never demonstrated that he was capable of love; in the end, he proved himself to be young, immature, and monstrously selfish. He could temporarily please her with expensive gifts, but she was also always going to be the lesser partner in the relationship because he held all the cards (i.e. the money).

Why it's different with Igor — at least in my opinion — is that Igor knows Ani far better than Ivan did, even after only knowing her for two days. He fundamentally wants to learn more about her as a person and in the end he truly sees her, who she is behind the masks she puts up. And like you said, he cares about her and wants her pain acknowledged (and, failing that, gets the ring back for her so at least there's some renumeration for what she's suffered). The two of them are far more likely to find happiness together because what they have is based on truth, not on transactions and performances.

[liketwoswansinbalance]

All Is Fair

This concept is not a fic, and I may not actually write it out as a fic. It's just a summary of an alternate sequence of events I had in mind that I wanted to record on impulse.

Warning: The content is dark. Comment if you want more specifics or spoilers before proceeding.

Summary: Vulcan won.

⸻

Vulcan didn't turn Rafal over to the prison warden of Monrovia. Instead, the Evil School Master was paraded down the halls in a straitjacket and locked in what was to become the "Doom Room," a name later coined by a future Dean years down the line, inspired by Rafal's blueprints for a veritable dungeon that Vulcan stole.

Vulcan kept Rafal as a prisoner of war instead of turning him over to Monrovia, and tortured him everyday, personally. Eventually, he became a lazy "fat cat" in his own right and hired Man-Wolves to continue on without him, so he could revel in his nemesis' agony.

Rafal never even had a fair chance to escape. Vulcan knew to use electrified, sorcery-resistant bonds, specially ordered from Monrovia, that rendered Rafal as powerless as any mortal.

Rhian languished in the tower over Evil, also trapped by Vulcan, and was administered drugs and various sedatives of questionable legality on the regular—all so he would agree to everything without putting up a fight and sign off on important documents to the Kingdom Council without retaining the presence of mind to read any of them.

And, to make matters worse, the Council never checked up on the Schools and assumed Rhian was spineless, like he'd always been. Or that's how it looked on paper.

Thus, Rhian lived in a haze of memory and Rafal lived in pain and obscurity—if one could call either of those states living.

And the lack of a Council fail-safe occurred because Rafal, for lack of foresight, wanted everything to be regulated by themselves, the twin School Masters. Thus, by the time handing over partial authority to the Council would've been convenient, Rafal was in no position to do so, and the oblivious Council had no jurisdiction to intervene on the Masters' behalf.

The brothers had no support system outside of themselves. How wrong they were to realize it as late as they did.

Those days, Rhian was not usually lucid, and eventually began responding to "Duckling." Though, when he was lucid, and remembered vaguely who he once was, he worried for Rafal and was consumed by guilt, overcome with nausea, wondering what had happened to his brother.

Whenever he was called useless for refusing the red "wine," a sleeping draught Vulcan kept bringing him, Vulcan pinned him down and forced it down his gullet. Rhian loathed the drink he'd once lauded.

Eventually, Rhian was killed when Vulcan got sick of his toy, and Rafal never knew.

Rafal was mentally disoriented, enough so that he could barely fathom his love for Rhian consciously and preserve his brother's life. His sense of self was slipping away.

The students greatly regretted rejecting Rafal and choosing Vulcan over him. As it was, Rafal would've been the better option over Lord Vulcan.

Fortunately, Vulcan never did gain the Pen's favor as a usurper, so he also died one day, decades later.

Yet, the Evil School Master was never spoken about and never got a tale to his own name, so he was lost to the sands of time, erased from living memory.

⸻

Since day one of Vulcan's reign, Rafal had been hanging by his wrists off a wall in the Doom Room, until he had gone numb, and his circulation had cut off. And yet, he was alive, sustained by only the Pen, the Pen that had once planned to allow him to become the One, as per its original plan, now a discarded plan, centuries old.

The damp cell grew black mold and the chains rusted, but the one who dwelled there never aged.

Perhaps, the Storian had forgotten to cancel its subscription for the one remaining School Master, in a sense, so there he hung.

Over the years, each day, or at best, a few times a week, he heard the screams of students he'd never met and had never taught and the gravelly threats of probing Man-Wolves. The screams never phased him.

Then, one day, he hears pleading, in soprano, and shortly after, a great splash.

That was new.

He opens his eyes and listens intently for once. His eyes had already grown used to the constant, endless dark.

The girl who peers in through the doorway looks haunted, lost in the labyrinthine sewers below the Schools. He senses her soul is Evil.

⸻

At first, Sophie believes she's stumbled upon a corpse, strung up on the wall, and almost runs off in alarm, until she notices it's blinked at her.

She shrieks.

Oh, it was a boy. A rather handsome boy.

He hasn't spoken in years, so he says nothing, and besides, he has no seductive appeals to offer her in the dense fog occluding his speech.

She musters up the courage to ask what happened to him.

His answer doesn't entirely make sense.

He says "bats."

Though, no one can expect coherence because he's been alone with his thoughts for two hundred years and has gone well off the edge of sanity. And his memory doesn't serve him as well as it once did, as, every unchanging day in the dark has bled into the next.

On his deathbed, as a wizened old man, Vulcan had ordered that the Man-Wolves keep torturing his prisoner for eternity, but eventually the Man-Wolves lost discipline without a leader, and faced with declining pay, they decided to let the prisoner alone to essential solitary confinement. They were too young to know his crime regardless.

Back then, Vulcan loved having a fresh "canvas" to bloody every session, thanks to Rafal's invulnerability. The days when Rafal still had functional nerve endings.

Not that either of them could know all that. He or the Nevergirl.

Rafal had all but forgotten, and never did truly register the passage of time, and Sophie would very much have liked to have surfaced right then instead of stare at the ghostly, hanged man.

Sophie thinks for a moment, and realizes she'd done what any prince would do. Kill the beast, save the—

The prince? He looked like a prince. Close enough. Albeit, he was a prince in a tattered, sorely outdated suit.

Thus, for once, Sophie chooses to do a "Good" Deed and releases him, as if to atone for her first murder. She melts through the bonds with her fingerglow, her magic fueled by the fear and burgeoning tension within her.

And, without so much of a bow or a "thank you," the man practically vanishes into thin air, shooting out of the sewers like a bullet, face grim.

But, Sophie doesn’t know she’s released two hundred years of pent-up fury into the Woods.

Her classmates seem afraid, not by the beast's disappearance. That's been overshadowed by something far worse. The changes in the sky.

The Coven had started to creep into the sewers to check on her since Sophie's punishment had gone on for longer than was customary, and even Hester steps back, bewildered, as a skeletal being whooshes by the entryway, up the stairs and into the blue day.

Lightning rains down from the already darkening sky.

And the Nevers all wonder what unholy eldritch being had risen from the grave? What abomination had Sophie released into their midst?

⸻

The daylight of the outside world blinds Rafal and burns him like it would a Night Crawler as he's spent centuries in the dark. His name has been lost to time, and he feels low, more base and wretched than a primal beast.

His rage and sorcery unleash themselves without so much of a command as he realizes this is a new time. Another era. And the magnitude of that starts to eat at his insides. The nearest forest is blue. The seasons have changed more than a hundred times over. His Stymphs have molted.

Then, it dawns on him: his brother is dead.

His head spins, and the sunlight doesn't provide anymore clarity than what shreds he ever might've had, and he starts on an utterly, literally blind, murderous rampage, his sight seared away, his irises sun-bleached to the coldest white-hot blue, besting even the lit sky itself.

This material world is his rival, as he's already lost his sight to it and wishes to, if not right the wrongs this world has scorched and slashed into him, to, to wrong this world. Right back.

Only the Storian remembers the archived tale it left with loose ends the day it had written itself into a dead end, but it must deal with Rafal, now that he has returned a threat.

During its first intervention of this new era, the post-School Masters era, the Pen lances through its once-last-hope for the One, and the balance resets, the two brothers laid to rest as equals in death.

With no corporeal form left, Rafal wanders the grounds, until he comes across Rhian in a quiet glade.

The two ghosts are reunited and they turn their back to the Schools for the rest of eternity, save for the rare times they return during a tale, to speculate about events that don't concern them from beyond, and to enjoy the offerings a new hire, a certain Professor Sader, leaves out for them on windowsills.

Rhian reminds Rafal of who he was, and gasps out shuddering sobs, apologizing for everything, and Rafal simply lets him, and doesn't scold him for once because he believed he was the one to fail and lose Rhian.

Occasionally, when Rafal watches the mortals below, he regrets having left Evil in that girl-in-pink's hands, but he gradually comes around to the fact that, perhaps, ruling was too precarious of a position for him.

Better to watch the mortals fell themselves to ruins. It's what they did best.

[prythiansfavoritefox]

The first time he went back --> Tamcien, ACOFAS

"Tamlin." Lucien's face was carefully neutral, his limbs loose, nothing in his scent or his body language giving away anything about how he felt to be standing before his once High Lord again.

"Lucien." Tamlin was relieved, at least, to see that his old friend had not adopted the Night Court fashion, opting for a blue and silver tunic instead. "I see you've been keeping this place clean in case I decided to come back," he said sarcastically. Then, there was a strong scent of rust and embers as Lucien began using his magic to move some things around. "There. At least it's somewhat livable now. Don't you have servants, Tamlin?"

Tamlin didn't fail to notice that Lucien called him by his full name rather than by his nickname. Lucien had called him Tam practically from the moment he'd arrived despite Tamlin's insistence that he show him the respect due of a High Lord, and decorum, blah blah blah. After some point, he stopped fighting it because he liked that Lucien had a special name only for him.

"Some. Most are too scared to question the state of the place. Many have left." Tamlin stared blankly at a wall. He had no fight left in him. All his anger had left him the moment he'd brought Rhysand back to life. There was no one left to be angry at. Nothing left to fight for.

Feyre had ruined him, and yet Tamlin had done that. Why? Why did he still love her? Why did it still hurt that she chose him? How long would she be able to hurt him?

As long as he loved her.

But how did he make it stop? How did he make this love go away, stop it from carving his heart out of his chest?

"You ignored me. After the war." That's what Lucien wanted to talk about? Surely he'd understood how painful it was to see him in Illyrian leathers, how painful it was to see him so quickly accepted as part of another group, how painful it was to see him away from him. For the longest time, Lucien had been his, and his alone. Now he had a mate and a whole other court and family. He wondered now if he had possibly taken Lucien for granted.

Well you know, Tam, there are several courts who'd pay an arm and a leg to have me working for them, so you'd better start listening to me more oft-

Little did either of them know how those words would turn out to be prophetic. Fitting, he supposed, with that seer mate of his.

"The sight of you in Illyrian leathers disgusted me," Tamlin replied dully. Lucien snorted. "What else was I to do? I didn't have anything else to wear; all my clothes were back here."

"You could've just stayed with me," Tamlin replied. A stupid thing to say, he knew, but he couldn't help it. Rhysand would never understand and appreciate Lucien's value like Tamlin could.

Lucien leaned back against a wall, putting his hands behind his head. "Right. And continue to watch you listen to the female who raped me over me, the person who not only loyally served you for centuries, but has connections to every damn court in Prythian. If I had a little more power, I could rule this whole damn place, I know so much."

Tamlin snarled. "Don't remind me of that. Believe me, I am well aware of my transgressions."

"Then surely you see why I had to leave. Even if my mate were not trapped in Night, your attitude would've eventually prompted me to leave."

My mate. The words sent shards of glass into his heart. "The mating bond is a curse," he rasped. It had to be. Why else would it mate his parents together, Rhysand's parents together, and his Feyre with Rhysand? Why would it mate Lucien with Elain, thus taking his Lucien away from him?

"The mating bond is a blessing from the Mother herself," Lucien insisted.

"Don't just blindly spit back the bullshit the temple taught you," Tamlin snapped. His claws emerged from beneath his skin, trembling rage filling his body. "God can offer us many beauties, sure, but we already know that She can also be cruel. Is it really so hard to believe that the mating bond is not what it's made out to be? Imagine a bond compelling you, forcing you to be with someone you don't want forever."

"Who said I don't want Elain?" Lucien whispered. Tamlin stilled. Those glass shards twisted in his heart a little bit more. "You think it's just a bond compelling me to stay with her? I thought you more intelligent than that, Tam." Tamlin squeezed his eyes shut, slumping against his chair. Heartbreak was all too familiar a feeling to him at this point.

"Look, Tamlin, I'm trying here," Lucien said, his voice sounding as though he were repressing some emotion. "I know it hurts, Tam. Please, let me help you. Don't push everyone away like you always do. Don't try to go it alone."

Tam.

As though drawn by a magnet, Tamlin's eyes lifted to Lucien's. The handsome lord stared at him with an earnestness that threatened to melt all that Tamlin was into nothing. He could never resist that soft look, and that wasn't about to change.

At last, he lost control. His shoulders caved in and he began to cry into his hands.

"Tam." Lucien closed the distance between them, kneeling before him. He placed his palms on Tamlin's cheeks, brushing away tears with his thumbs. "Don't cry," he murmured. "I'm here. I am here, I am with you."

Tamlin sniffed. "You should hate me."

His former emissary gently pulled him by the back of his head, pressing their foreheads together. "I know," he answered quietly. "But I don't."

He pulled away, offering a hand to stand up. "You look terrible, Tam. Have you been sleeping enough?"

Sighing, Tamlin shook his head. "Not really."

Lucien rolled his eyes. "Of course not. Go sleep, Tam."

Tamlin just crossed his arms over his chest, pouting. Lucien raised a brow at him, placing his hands on his hips. "Oh, I get it. You think because you're the High Lord, you can do whatever the hell you want. Well you know, Tam, there are several courts who'd pay an arm and a leg to have me working for them, so you'd better start listening to me more oft-"

The Spring Court lord grinned as the words sparked a far more pleasant memory of the two of them, leaping up in an instant. "As you wish, Lucien." The Autumn Court faerie smirked as he placed a hand on Tamlin's back, guiding him to the bedroom.

After tucking him in, Lucien was about to leave the room when Tamlin called out weakly, "Lu?"

He turned around, cocking his head. "Tam?"

Tamlin hesitated, a blush coming over his face. "Do you think- well could you...stay with me?"

Lucien sighed exasperatedly. "Just sleep, Tam."

"I can't. I've been trying for the past several days." Lucien took a deep breath, pinching his nose. "Fine. But don't expect to see me here when you get up."

"Ok." Lucien strode towards him and hopped onto the bed, leaning his head against the bedframe. Tamlin crawled towards him, placing his head on his lap. Lucien just scoffed.

"What are you, a six-year-old child?" he asked, but he ran his fingers through his blonde locks. Tamlin purred.

"After all this time, you still purr like a goddamn kitty cat whenever someone touches your hair," Lucien muttered, and those were the last words Tamlin heard before sleep overtook him at last.

[nightmarexdove]

Special Specimen

Intro:

(Taking place before the raccoon city outbreak)

You are one of the best scientists working under the great virologist Albert Wesker, your a hard worker and that's something everyone knows. However, what people lack to understand is that you are working yourself into the ground weather it was to be noticed or to get back at your verbally abusive family Your mental health has begun to tumble due to your lack of self preservation and you are on the verge of loosing it, however- you are saved by the last person you would have guessed to come save you from your destructive behaviors.

Note

This is purely fluff! Wholesome (out of character?) Albert Wesker and how I personally depict him reacting to a well respected individual reaching there breaking point, I wanted to write sum' a little more on the softer spectrum of things. Apologies for any inconsistencies/poor writing or phrasing, I will continue to polish this fic before I eventually move onto making another one, all constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!!

TW: mention of poor mental health, past verbal abuse, mentions of alcohol

It wasn't like you to feel such intense waves of emotions, at least not like this. You were good at staying calm under pressure, hell some people would say your a master but it's seems as if the projects as of lately for you have begun to build up an immense pressure weighing on your back.

Your colleagues in the unbrella laboratory you worked at would've been paying close attention when you leased noticed it, your difficulty paying attention, the wandering stares into the void consisting of the white walls infront of you, your stuttering and lack of interest; These were little things that seemed to have been making there ways across the whole facility, making its way to your boss; The well respected and feared Albert Wesker.

You were always ontop of up-coming projects, always pushing yourself and always devoting overtime into the silence of the deep of the hours of night to study your findings and work to improve your ability to understand the things presented to you, even if it costed some hours of rest- To you it didn't matter even if you'd end up sometimes taking a nap at your work station, to say you were obsessed with being the best of the best was a understatement you had a passion- a drive to be just as intelligent as your boss the same man that inspired you to be a virologist in the first place.

You were on a journey not just for your company but you were also on a journey to prove your family wrong; That you could make it that you COULD be something in this life, you wanted to make the years of suffering worth it all that money poured into your golden education WOULD mean something and you gave it your blood, sweat, tears and health to be standing here right now.

But you could feel it, you felt it in your chest beat itself into your core with all the baggage it carried haunting you every night in which you'd spend hopelessly in your bed on the verge of tears wondering why you felt such a need to rip yourself apart like this, to overwork and fatigue yourself till your head sometimes was struck in throbbing pain. You were the best in the company, at least- one of the best why did that not feel enough for you? Why did that cold empty tunnel dug deep in your mind still linger like it had since your younger years?

"You'll never be that good, you lack intelligence."

"You can't even hold a conversation, what makes you think you can become a scientist?"

"Just like your father, you are just like him."

You hated it, the way it made you feel so worthless; "I have to be better"...You repeated in your mind, every minor mistake you'd ever make in the day you'd beat yourself up for it.

"Y/N, c'mon let's get outa here. It's already past-"

"I don't have the time I'm sorry, I know it's the weekend but you know how important this is to Doctor Wesker. Can't just leave these calculations unfinished, I don't want to get bitched at; That's all."

You'd say, hiding the exhaustion in your voice with a room temperature; half cup of burnt black coffee, a result of your lack of attention to the boiling pot earlier that morning.

"Y/N you look like your going to pass out."

They'd announce, there eyes contorted with worry as your figure kept slouched over your work station hair disheveled in a messy bun and somewhat shaky from the four cups of caffiene surging in your system your eyes gave away just how near to passing out you were as your eyelids gave away how heavy they were weighing by how desperate you fought the urge to let them fall and allow yourself to slip into a long long uninterrupted rest.

"Just let me work, I'm almost done anyways."

You'd say in the politest fashion you could muster, but it would role off your tongue in a more passive aggressive mutter. not wishing to speak on your lack of self preservation any further, you wanted to be done with this so you could hopefuly get a well night of rest, you could hear them; The hushed whispers of your colleagues listening to your snappy attitude, some would've laughed while others just turned the other cheek doing there damn best to mind there business.

Your colleague rolled there eyes in reaction to your lack of patience, they'd sway off nonchalantly in a manner that could only be seen as 'carefree' something you lacked.

As one by one your colleagues would disappear from the laboratory, you'd be stuck there once again below the flourescent lighting of the lab that would dim only a hour or so later. You'd stare down at your notebook full of numbers and equations and infront of you sets of testing tubes and a sample of black bile under your microscope sitting aside of your notebook, your mind was a fog a thick fog that clouded your every thought. The only sounds that would keep you company were the tapping of your pencil and the occasional sounds of beeping machinery around you, doubt swallowed you whole your eyebrows knotted together as a wave of distressing sorrow stormed your self control, the inability to think beyond the fog keeping you wrapped in incoherent ideas was tormenting and it infuriated you that a little sleep deprivation was causing you to behave like this.

You couldn't figure out a damn thing, the sample you were provided with was impossible to properly analyze you couldn't make a single conclusion without back tracking, without feeling stupid. You could hear your own voice shaping into the ones of your colleagues, into the one of your idol and family. It angered you- saddened you, you just could never feel adequate enough that you could never find yourself being recognized by the one person that's kept you sane for this long even if he's done little to take notice in you, you were delusional enough to think maybe- he would.

You could feel the cold gusts of air from the vents make your skin rise with goosebumps, your lab coat doing very little to keep you comfortable when your tears poured down on your hard work the pencil markings smudging as you'd whimper silently slumped on your hard, uncomfortable seat.

Slamming your fists harshly on the table in a fit of defeat you felt every emotion pour from your closet of self pity, the closet you'd never share the closet in which you'd spend your recent days glued in because your stubborn nature was the same force causing your downfall, causing you to feel like a piece of common rock amongst the gems untouched by man.

No one was here to hear you, no one to question you or comfort you or god forbid- laugh at you what lingered was just your usual lab equipment and computers.

You craved it, the arms of your boss no- your god caressing your shaking- tired body. You wanted to hear him with his voice in your ear, telling you JUST telling you that YOU were doing enough that YOU weren't the words you stabbed yourself with.

You were so lost in your own thoughts that- You wouldn't notice a hand ever so gently caressing your shoulder, it would make you jump rising from your seat in the slouched state you were quick to clean the stains of salty tears that ran down your cheeks.

Your eyes were a light red, irritated from the crying and lack of sleep.

When your head would peer up to the figure standing next to you, it took you by utter surprise to see wesker beside you staring down at you with those mysterious shades that always sat on his face.

"Crying in my laboratory again, dearheart?" Wesker inquired breaking the heavy silence between you two, his tone was soft and oddly gentle considering he was always such a stern; Serious man when interacting during the day it was a total shift in his personality that made you question his motives, you felt he didn't care about you; Hell you felt that you were just as disposable as all your other colleagues as much as you wanted to deny that. But to you it was worth the risk, Your parents asserted you as 'delusional' and 'childish' for ever thinking you could land a job at unbrella to start with, but you wanted to prove to the world you weren't the pinnacle of these nasty titles everyone in your family painted you with, even if you were delusional at least no one would question your mental superiority now.

"I'm so sorry Dr Wesker, I promise it won't happen again." You were quick to compose yourself, sniffling the build up of snot collecting in your nostrils that made it hard to breathe.

"Is that so?"

He asked after a moment of silence, reading you like the open book you'd been ever since you started here. He knew of your preformance better than anyone else, your work and efforts was something so fascinating to study unfold the ways you mumbled to yourself when you were so deep in thought the way you'd always try to present yourself with so much confidence to him when showing off your latest work you were always one of a kind, a ' special specimen ' to say the very least. Even if he didn't want to admit it he couldn't deny the feelings of admiration he had building for you. When you thought you were alone all those other nights where you'd cry in the isolation of the lab, he'd always be watching through the security cameras always watching how you pleaded shouted and sometimes even pulled at your hair how you'd always refuse your pushy colleagues that wanted to drink with you after work or how you'd always chew pieces of gum instead of taking lunch breaks or isolating yourself from everyone else in order to work better.

Perhaps he found you entertaining because he didn't quite understand your fussy nature, maybe it was because he wanted to see just how far your frustrations would take you, but the more that had became of these occurances the more curious he grew to find out the reasonings for you increasingly wreckless behavior even if it may have made you feel discomfort he WOULD hear from YOUR mouth regardless of what you wanted in the end.

"I'll be going now, I'm so sorry to waste your time like this. I'm sure you must be a very busy man."

You asserted, standing from your little stool chair. Once again, there you were cought totally off gaurd the firm grasp of his leather cladded hand wrapped around your wrist had you take a few glances at him in confusion your mouth gaping just enough to see your teeth and eyes wide like a deer cought in the headlights. His gaze just lingered locked on yours and you could see the dumbfounded expression on your face reflecting back on his shades but no matter how hard you searched his eyes could never be spotted through the pitch black lenses.

"I want an answer, why is it do I find one of my best scientists in such disarray?" He asked, his grip on your wrist not tightening or loosening.

Best...scientist...?

"Sir, with all due respect; I promise it's nothing." You tried your damned best to shrug it off, you've already damaged whatever good your image was. your silly problems wouldn't matter, you thought- "He's too busy to actually care" you'd chant those vicious lines to yourself until you'd find yourself being brought to the reality of the situation his oddly gentle tone wrapping your lonely heart in a metaphorical blanket.

"I won't stop until i get a answer Y/N." He persisted, gently tugging your arm his voice remaining in that calm voice that had you feeling a little unease, it was almost...uncanny. His tone warming you from the inside out.

You didn't have a choice at this point, you knew you'd only wear down his patience with your stubborn words of defiance, something you knew he despised yet here he was taking his sweet time with just another employee of his.

"I just need some time to think sir, I really just need to clear my mind that's all."

You tried to say, surely pushing his buttons when his grip would eventually tighten yanking your body sharply forcing you several steps closer to his body. Eyebrows furrowed and teeth grinding together, you could feel his own strings of self restraint and tolerance snap at your tenacious attitude, it was carefully making him regret coming to initiate any kind of talk with you and the longer you stalled the more time he believed to be squandering.

"If you don't tell me Y/N, I'll insure your time here will come to a swift end."

He threatened, your body was only a few centimeters away from his you could hear his gentle breathing and watch the way his chest effortlessly rised and lowered even through his gritted teeth and the sudden sharpness to his tone the way his threat carried out like a scalpel blade running through your thick skin of stubbornness didn't feel like it carried much real weight at all, but you would be lying if you didn't say it stung like a papercut.

That was enough to bring you to your senses, that crack of patience wearing itself out. The tiniest hint of that smirk ghosting across his cheek now weighing into a gentle scowl, your stomach felt a bit sick just realizing how far you pushed the man made you want to run away and hide forever, run away and just find a new fucking job that wouldn't make you feel such disdain every day. But that couldn't have been an option, you made your bed now you had to make peace and lie in it.

You felt the words pool at your throat, you didn't know where to begin or if you ever could in this moment your voice wanted to elaborate every sensation coursing through you but the only way you could speak is if you lost control of your ability to keep your tears restrained- which in ways you did.

"I just...I just don't feel like...I'm enough...I feel so hollow like...like I just can't...I CAN'T..." your words choked out as you'd hold back the many tears creating rivers of defeat down your cheeks.

You felt so tiny, so lost and disgusted with yourself for breaking down like this infront of your boss, you felt wesker's judgement weigh heavy on you in ways you couldn't describe it hurt in millions of ways letting your words tumble from your lips you felt embarrassed and ashamed and you were so prepared for the lecture of your life when you realized you couldn't stop yourself from blabbering on and on nonsense about your feelings.

After sometime of just listening to you in total silence, eventually wesker would've placed a gentle hand on your cheek cleaning away your endless stream of tears with his gloved fingers.

"I think I've heard enough..."

He said, his other hand gently snaked around your waist pulling you into a much closer embrace till your head was against his chest. For the time being; Watching you stain his expensive clothing didn't seem to bother him like you thought it would've, he didn't pay mind to when you'd sniffle and pant in a desperate attempt to calm down he'd just let you do what you wanted because even if he didn't entirely understand the ways you felt he did his best to pacify your heartache in one of the few ways he knew how.

His hand gently ran through your hair, taking slow steady deep breaths he was trying desperately to be patient doing his damn best to not treat you the same ways he did to everyone else because he truly couldnt bare the thought of pushing you off your limits. At this point you didn't realize the way your arms desperately held onto him like a child seeking validation from there parents your curled fingers wrinkling the back of his lab coat, your nose nuzzling mindlessly into his shirt.

"I'm so sorry sir...I'm so sorry I'm such a fuck up!" You whimpered with quivering lips, you hated this so much- you hated it yet here you stood, practically begging for the validation that was sitting at the back of his throat.

"Shh...it's quite alright, you've done enough. Your work is acceptional in ways I cannot begin to describe, its because of you this division is able to function."

He'd say, slow enough for you to take in every word and also because he was internally scrambling to find the best words to sooth you to begin with.

"Really sir? You think that?" You asked, your eyes hesitantly glazed up to meet his you searched desperately through those damn glasses to see even a minuit detail of his eyes to see through them so you'd know for certain his words weren't just bullshit being tossed at you to keep you quiet.

"I mean it, not many of your generation behave the way you do or work the way you do, It's not your fault so many people cannot reach the levels of success you've obtained. But it's wise for you to know; That you absolutely cannot abuse yourself just to prove a point, to prove your own theories right that you can go for hours working on crumbs of rest and still be the best version of yourself I know you are, because you are just..."

He could have let it slip, he could have said it 'could have simply cheapened your worth to the level of a specimen like he planned to in the beginning, but he'd once again bite his tongue he wouldn't let you hear that word he wouldn't let you become it...not now at least.

"Just a human."

He said, listening to your breathing slow and steady out.

You felt the warmth in his voice fill your empty glass heart, pouring water to keep it full and content. His words repeated in your mind like the record player in your room playing that one favorite song of yours on repeat keeping you company, his presence right here and now was like a light shining down a tunnel full of monsters keeping your fragile self safe keeping you from complete; Irreversible self destruction.

You could hear the hammering of his steady heart beat, it was a sound unlike any other like the bang of a drumbeat or the crackle of furious thunder. Taking in a deep breath the scent of his expensive cologne lingered in your senses while the exhaustion you would have been fighting off for so long would have been taking its course over your aching body and mind.

You couldn't deny his words, if he was telling you this there must've been a truth as for him to even talk to you like this for him to even hold you like this...it must've been something, you didn't have a reason to doubt yourself now not when his fingers gently patted your little head.

"Perhaps you should take your leave my dear, I'll finish where you left off."

He offered, no- he insisted. He wouldn't allow you to keep pushing yourself, to keep going the way you did and pull yourself into your own grave via overworking. He still needed you, he just couldn't let his most valuable asset fall into crumbling bits infront of him and not do a single thing about it.

"Ok..." you'd almost hesitate, it felt like you were letting go of a heavy burden and you almost felt ten pounds lighter just by saying that very simple word. You felt as if you'd regret it, that you'd find a way to overwork yourself again after this, because you had to prove yourself that you could be the best that you were worth this sacrifice of his own rest he was making.

Patting your shoulder, Wesker's lips curled into what seemed to have been a very soft, but present smile of reassurance.

It wasn't long till you'd find yourself in a deep state of rest on your mediocre bed, normally it took a while to get yourself comfortable in that old thing, but not tonight Your own fatigue was what maybe had blessed you, or cursed you because when you'd finally snap out of deep sleep. You'd realize that you had been at least running three hours late. Your hand brushed over to snatch your phone into your hand from the nightstand beside you, pressing the power button the numbers flashed at you reading exactly;

"10:35 AM."

Your stomach felt like it dropped, your small intestines felt as if they were being crocheted and your heart felt like it just exploded from a grenade of panic, your blood felt as if it just drained from every orifice and was replaced with embalming fluid.

You almost forgot about the disaster which was last night, the memories slowly cought up to you whilst you'd fumble with your clothing and hair. You didn't know what to feel, at least not yet you were sure to hear about it from your co workers and boss. I mean...The adult world was no different from your dreaded years of high-school, it didn't matter who was present and who wasn't because these walls had ears. Even if your little mental breakdown was a show for Wesker's eyes and ears only, you could only comprehend the possibilities of your name going around with vicious lies and jealousy, jealousy because it was you that got his attention more than anyone else in that lab.

As your painful heals clicked down the tile flooring to the main center of the lab, you'd use your badge to scan yourself through the doors and as they automatically open you would have been holding in a breath of air. Fear was all you could feel in that particular moment, fear and apprehension to move into the lab but you would've found yourself surprised at the lack of interest they payed to you there busy bodies and minds keeping up with way more important things than noticing your fashionably late presence.

"So you actually got some sleep for once? I don't think I've ever seen you look so well rested in months, jeez...you were starting to look like one of those damn testing subjects for a sec there! I was starting to get worried we would've had to contain ya at some point." Your colleague from yesterday, in a rather disturbingly lighthearted manner announced in his upmost obnoxious tone. Hell, you were surprised no one was talking about HIM or if they were; They were making a damn solid effort not being noticed in doing so.

To compare you to a victim of all those failed test runs took you aback, you weren't sure if maybe he just couldn't hear himself talk or if the alcohol he loved drinking was killing his braincells. You were certain it was, because what mentally sound individual can speak about those weeks of messy trials causing so much havoc so casually? And so jokingly?

All you could do at that moment was let out a very (noticeably) forced chuckle.

"Ya, I was able to catch some hours of sleep. Didn't expect it myself honestly, I'm going to start my work ok? I'm already late." You said with a nervous smile, passing by him in a hurry to get to your work station.

As you'd approach your work station sitting a bit away from the others, you noticed a crimson red bouquet of roses, a box of assorted chocolates and a black little box with a gold symbol ontop of it.

At first, you'd have to take a second glance at the station you hovered over to insure it was the right one, and sure enough it was. Looking at the roses, you had never been so confused before, your eyes investigated the people around you and wondered if there was a secret admirer lurking amongst the large group of fellow scientists. You questioned who in there right mind could possibly ever fall for someone like you? You were a hot mess that needed the hand of your BOSS to finish YOUR work , if that wasn't wreckless to you then you were lost.

Picking up the leather textured box, you'd carefully slip the lid off insuring that everyone could care less at that point to notice probably ignoring you in part because of your little lash-out towards that (well deserving) ignorant 'colleague' if you could call him one at all.

Once the lid slid off, your eyes widened in awe your lips parted as your fingers gently ran over the delicate metal. It was a rose gold bracelet, intricate details danced across the metal appearing as flowers that would have held little crystals in the centers to give the flower accents more appeal and elegance.

You didn't know who could spend this kind of money on some emotionally drained loner like yourself, you didn't deserve these gifts- not a bit. You felt that gifts should only be given, and not received. At least to you this was a philosophy you lived by, internally you felt a tinge of guilt. What if this was really for someone else and you were ruining a surprise never meant for your glassy eyes to begin with? The sender must've gotten mixed up with someone else, that was the only logical explanation.

You probably would've tucked the bracelet away in it's box and hurried in search for its more rightful owner if it wasn't for the black envelope hiding unmistakably under the bouquet of intricately placed roses that were bunched up together by a red bow.

Pulling the envelope to closer inspection, you could see your name written in cursive in what seemed to be a fountain pen.

Yea, this was for you. It wasn't some poor misplacement by any means, your curiosity couldn't have been contained all thoughts of your work was pushed to the side to study this letter and its contents.

Opening the letter, your eyes followed the cursive handwriting staining the light colored beige paper. It would have read;

"Dear Y/N, I have scheduled a private conference between you and I.

You are expected to reach my office at 6:00 PM sharp, I wish to see you in your best attire and wearing this bracelet I've personally chosen for you for this appointment.

Do Not Keep Me Waiting

Signed

A.W"

You weren't sure how to react, you weren't sure weather you should pinch yourself because your whole body became weightless reading those words. You could imagine his velvety tone of voice saying this to you, you were so lost by that letter that you didn't realize the stupid grin growing on your flush red cheeks. Your boss, a conference with you? The vague way of his wording could have meant anything; A promotion, a simple chat, maybe even a date. You wouldn't know until later, way later. But you were willing to wait, you were willing to work the time away until you'd reach the deadline of yet another day.

Wesker could only watch through the cameras, your bright toothy grin, your dreamy eyes and the way you moved with excitement and anticipation in your seat. Even if you didn't work the same way you normally did, Wesker was still cought up in your little antics your attempts at staying focused on your piling tasks was a bizarre delight that he indulged shamelessly in, because to him you were his

special human being.

[kyouka-supremacy]

Ngl sometimes I feel like Asagiri doesn't know what he's writing. Like in many many interviews I feel like he straight up contradicts what him and harukawa are doing in the manga which often just makes me go ????

Like the way he treats Akutagawa has never been framed in a positive light, he has shown how desperate akutagawa was for his recognition. The cycle of abuse is a constant theme in the manga...

That interview just baffled me so much that I can't help but wonder if asagiri just really sucks at expressing himself or idk because I also feel like if some sentences would've been slightly changed it would've fallen more in line with the manga and it wouldn't have sounded like excusing the abuse Dazai had put Akutagawa through.

... I honestly don't know how to answer to this. I sincerely don't think the author's words contradict what already slipped through the manga? As I said, I think the statement was just a very unfortunate case of intersection between 1) abuse apologism and 2) Dazai idolization... But that's both things bsd ALWAYS had.

Chapter 39 Portrait of a Father is right there; the author's framing of Akutagawa and Dazai's relationship in the interview is precisely the same case of “the abuse you went through actually shaped you to become a better person, and your abuser always acted in your best interests and should even be regarded highly by you, like a father / meaning to your life”. So, nothing new on that front. About Dazai, I guess that's harder to pinpoint, but I do believe bsd has a bad case of Dazai is omniscient / perfect / flawless / can-do-no-wrong syndrome, something someone already made a very interesting elaboration of here. That explains why the author could never admit that Akutagawa was Dazai's failure, because that would be admitting Dazai can fail, and it's evident that the author doesn't agree with that.

I'm not really sure Dazai's treatment of Akutagawa is portrayed as cruel, either. Like, if it was, then why didn't Dazai stop treating Akutagawa that way when he joined the ada and started doing good? That sounds like implying that Dazai didn't stop because he is doing Akutagawa's good. When you think about it, Dazai acts very coldly to Akutagawa in chapters 36 and 51, treating him with condescension and vague contempt; and yet, those scenes are framed as being either endearing or comic, never cruel. Overall, I can hardly find the interview to be inconsistent to the manga when it's basically just expanding on what Akutagawa already told us here:

and where in the past one could have suspected this was only Akutagawa's biased perspective¹, this new interview simply confirms the author thinks it the same way too.

¹ I'll never forget my sister saying, when I was live reacting chapters 84-88 to her, about this exact passage: “That depressingly sounds like an abused person trying to find a meaning in the pain the abuse caused them, something able to give a sense to the pain and excuse the abuser”

I was extremely surprised by how everyone reacted to the interview, because I found it saddening, yes, but people are acting like it's something new and surprising when... I really don't feel the same way? I always thought bsd was full of problematic stuff and fucked up worldviews I don't agree with, from the moment I was watching the first season for the first time. And like, it kind of sucked initially, but I came to terms with it because there's other aspects I find enjoyable to explore and dwell into! (And also simply because I don't get to pick what I hyperfixate on). Personally, I assumed that people in the fandom either agreed with the author, or turned a more or less conscious blind eye to its issues in favor of more compelling stuff, or did like me and acknowledged its problematic stuff while also believing that doesn't necessarily have to get in the way of your enjoyment of the media (we're all just here to have fun). But I never thought... People just didn't notice? Like, the author's world views are all there and they've always been there, what changed exactly? Again, seeing it put so plainly and with no shame is saddening, but can't be deemed surprising. Yet somehow I've seriously seen people say stuff that sounded worryingly like “the abuse defending manga author is defending abuse in real life, how did this happen” and I'm. ?????????¿¿¿¿¿¿¿¿¿????????? I'm sorry, and forgive me if I'm sounding somehow pretentious, but I swear most sincerely that I just don't get it. When in two years the author is going to make a comment of the kind “no female character will ever be as complex as male characters because women simply don't have it in them”, will everyone suddenly be surprised because the author of the sexist manga revealed themselves to be sexist?

It's just... As someone who as it turns out has done this (deeply disagreeing with bsd's themes, but hyperfixated on it nonetheless) longer, very humbly, allow me some words of advice: you're here for entertainment, you're here to have fun. That means you get to decide what parts of canon are worth focusing on and dissect and enjoy, and that doesn't in any way hold you from acknowledging bsd's problems when they're at and overall having a critical approach to reading the manga. I think that's a good advice for interacting with all kinds of media actually! In the words of another old answer of mine:

I don't know who needs to hear this, but someone definitely does: “I love s/kk!!” “the bsd storytelling has many compelling aspects!!” and “I recognize the bsd writing has flaws some of which actively harm an already disadvantaged part of society” are statements that can and should coexist, and if anything - and I know you hate to hear this, I'm sorry, I'm sorry - it should be kept in mind when deciding to support the franchise by buying its products.

And lastly, but most importantly: bsd stopped giving you joy? Walk out!!! The world is full of beautiful stories. Read The Promised Neverland.

[streamdotpng]

Here guys, my Enid x Tara premise :)

To the peeps who don't know shit abt scream six, the guy here is one out of two dudes who were originally going after Sam and tara before getting killed by the main ghostface in the movie!

"psst, hey" is the last thing the man hears before he got a fist to the face.

Enid blinked down at the passed out person infront of her before staring at her knuckles.

Whoops.

She forgets that normies are alot squishier than most.

A pained groan hits her ears and Enid shifted because she didn't think this far. The wolf scratched at her hair, pursing her lips as she grasped at his hood and dragged him deeper into the alley.

He was a rather short dude, with a moustach and brown skin. Enid would think he was just a guy, so obviously she doesn't go punching willy nilly but he totally had bad intentions.

Enid stared harder. Are stalkers a normal thing in new York?? She honestly got no idea.

Bah, whatever.

She pulled out her phone to quickly snap a pic.

To think this was the fucker stalking Tara. She expected someone more, maybe a thin lanky person with no life but he seemed okay enough. She shakes her head, it's always the normie dudes.

So with the irritation of someone who had to fight a normie dude last school year, Enid smacks the guy awake.

Immedietely when he grumbles to the living world, she coughed as her voice shifted to something all the more gravelly. Bless being a werewolf with vocal chords that can make her pitch the good ol normal head tone to corpse husband. To think she was using her growling powers to cover up her crime.

God, Wednesday is such a bad influence.

Oh wait, she should probably keep this guy from escaping.

Enid looked around before finding an empty trash can bin. She stared for a moment, wondering just how unsanitary that thing must be before sighing and pulling the guy up and into it.

She watched as he kinda folded in, ass first. It was a tight fit so the guy is definitely going to have trouble getting outm She would pat her back if she could, she so resourceful!

Aight enough dilly dallying, time to get this show in the road.

Enid pulled out a ghost mask, having bought the thing a week ago. It was pretty cheap and it included a voice changer too so that's cool. But as an all natural girl, she tossed that part away and situated the mask over her head. Cheap plastic is all she smelt and she scrunched her nose.

Ew, maybe that Jason Voorhees mask would've been better but rubber might smell even worse.

"whuh- what?" said the person she was going to beat up.

Oh hey, he's awake.

Enid reached forward and shoved him deeper into the bin, watching as he scrambled against the glove she wore.

"he- what are you doing!?!" damn, he's kinda noisy.

Luckily it was night and in a time where nobody sleeps, hopefully the buzz of cars were enough to drown out one person's scream. Like come on, it's new york.

Once she was satisfied with how deep he is with the rest of his kind, Enid slapped him again. Damn was it satisfying to see his head snap back.

"now," Enid starts before blinking, pleasantly surprised at the smooth purr in her voice. Holy shit she should start an asmr channel.

"what the fu-" before he could shout once more, Enid gave up in theatrics and just shoved her palm into his mouth.

"now," she starts again, tightening her grip along his cheeks and smiling when he froze. Ooo, he must've felt her claws dig through the glove. "what're your intentions with Tara?"

He doesn't answer, instead staring with this sort of wide look as he paled. He looked sweaty and worried and irritated at the same time. That's an impressive amount of emotion, people never fail to amaze her!

She waited patiently for an answer.

When a second passed and none came, she began to feel that familiar prickle of irritation. Seriously? Was this guy all talk and no game?

Maybe she got the wrong person, a part of her panics. Then she tosses that thought right off the window. No she did not. He stunk of that disgusting stench, the same one that trailed after her and Tara.

She still remembers how the shorter girl moved. While she was friendly, it was not surprising to think that she may have gotten stalked before.

Tara didn't like alleys. She didn't like people in dark clothing sculking nearby and she really appreciated being in places with people she knows.bThere's also a knife wound through her hand, so it wasn't hard to put two and two together.

Eugh, people can be so disgusting at times. It pisses enid off, to see someone that should be enjoying life to be so scarred.

"I was going to let you off with a warning," Enid drawls, making sure he understood everyword. The wolf patted his cheek, making her hand heavy with every touch. "but you're kind of pissing me off!!"

She steps back, clapping her hands together before pointing at him with a cheer. "so let's play a game instead! You try to get away in five seconds and I'll play fetch, sounds easy right?"

Still no answer and Enid sighs, about to throw her eyes to the back of her head with the amount of times she's done it. People are so unreasonable at times. Here she was, trying to see his damn intentions but nooo nothing goes her way.

"sounds easy, right?" she grits out.

He nods.

Finally some reply.

So she turns, cheekily putting her hands over her eyes as she counts.

"one," she starts and she couldn't stop the giddiness from curling in her gut at the immediete sound of struggling.

"two," she purrs, absolutely delighting at that panic. That's right mother fucker, you get to feel what Tara felt. Not so fun being the hunted now is it?

"Three."

Immedietely, she turns to find him one leg out the bin.

He gaped at her before heaving as he all but throws himself off. It didn't work, leaving him on his side with the bin. He looks absolutely pathetic and she walks up to him with a skip.

"it hasn't been five seconds," he breathes. "that's- that's not how this works. You're not playing by the rules!"

Enid smiles, finally allowing her nails to fully pierce through her glove. Who gives a fuck about playing by the rules?

"I've always been an exception."

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Don't You Forget About Me

Part Two

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw

Description: Jake's had to live with a lot of incredibly annoying people over his life. But of all of them, he's never been as frustrated by anyone the way he has been frustrated by one Bradley Bradshaw. Rooster may be a textbook perfect pilot but he hesitates too much. Tell someone they'll never get anywhere once and get your head bitten off? Sure. But at the same time, Jake can't help remembering the one person who had inspired him to dream of the sky. That Bradley, wherever he is, had better be proud. Because Jake is. This Bradley, no matter how sexy and alluring with his damned pornstache and effortlessly tousled curls had better watch out. His callsign is Hangman for one particular reason, after all. Everything comes to a head after the Uranium Mission. Maybe Jake's Bradley from Texas is closer than he thinks? Disclaimer: This is a Hangster story -> What you see is what you get, folks. Slight mention of homophobic/ lgbtq+ phobic family members. Word Count: 2755 Author's Note: Hiya! I wrote this fic for @roosterforme's Top Gun Rocktober Event based on the song Don't You Forget About Me by the Simple Minds. Here's part two. I hope you all like it! Part two happens after the Uranium Mission and is in Jake's POV.

It's been a long road, getting to where I am right now. Years of sweat and blood and tears. Years of ignoring my uncle's insistent demands for money, years of sporadic contact with Mom. But I don't regret one bit of the pain or sorrow of the past decade. I can't imagine what my life would have been like if I hadn't met Bradley at the party all those years ago. Hell, I probably would've been working on some ranch in Texas, still under my uncle's thumbs and miserable to boot.

I can still remember the smile on his face and how gentle he'd been with me. I mean, don't tell Phoenix or anything, but I haven't always looked this good. There was a time when I weighed about ninety pounds soaking wet. I was gangly limbed - all the grace of a newborn colt with none of the dexterity. The only thing I knew I wanted for the future was to stay with my boyfriend. That went over well, didn't it? Especially considering how monumentally that relationship crashed and burned.

It's weird, attributing so many of the biggest accomplishments in my life to one person, especially someone that I knew for only a night over a decade ago.  His words, his opinions, I remember them like I’m still sitting in the passenger seat of his car. But I barely remember his face or what he was wearing. The attraction? That I still remember. I remember that all too well, one could say. I’ve never felt like that with another man before him. Even the fact that he’d called me ‘kid’ hadn’t seemed to matter, not when my hand was in his and when I was transfixed by the heat in his whiskeyed gaze. It’s no wonder that whiskey is one of my favorite drinks, not when each sip makes me remember his eyes.

There’s only been one other person in the past twelve years that has made me feel the same way that Bradley did. Even his first name is the same, and his eyes. But he’s never once looked at me like he remembers me. So he can’t be the boy who changed my life. Then there’s the fact that until not too long ago, I couldn’t stand him either. Him and I, we’ve always been like oil and water. Bradshaw was the responsible person. The guy COs loved to fawn over because he flew by the book without ever deviating from it. I’m the renegade, the maverick - the guy you send in to get shit done no matter what. He was the asshole who everybody liked and who wouldn’t get off of the perch his namesakes loved to sit on. 

But even I can admit that things have changed over the past few weeks. I’m a part of a team, for one. Not just a lone ranger doing their own thing. I’m actually a part of this squadron. Standing in the Hard Deck after what has to be the hardest mission of my whole career, I feel better than I ever have. Let me make it clear. I was the auxiliary on the mission. A part of me is still not over that fact. I understand it now, but call it my ego or my need to succeed or whatever you want, it still stings. Maverick saw my performance up in the air, he saw how I flew and he still found me lacking.

But I was the man everyone could count on. The guy who made sure everyone came home. But why is the true hero of the mission, the man who made the one-in-a-million shot, sans laser sight, during the mission, nowhere to be seen?  Phoenix is doing shots with Bob. Payback and Fanboy are poorly serenading some unsuspecting girls on the other end of the bar to the song pouring out of the jukebox. But where is Rooster?

There must be something wrong because he hasn’t unplugged the jukebox even once and led the bar into an easy rendition of some Jerry Lee Lewis throwback from a century ago. I haven’t spent a single night at the Hard Deck out with him where he hasn’t rounded the night out with a surprisingly tuneful albeit drunken rendition. Between me and whoever else hears my mental dialogue, it should be illegal for someone to sound that good while drunk. The bar is packed, but well, you’d think finding a six-foot-tall man would be far easier than you think. But even as I order two beers from Jimmy at the bar, I don’t see Rooster Bradshaw anywhere. At least that is, until I’m in the corner of the bar near the pool tables.

He’s sitting on the deck out back, looking out over the placid ocean. It’s honestly a relief to escape the hoppy stale air and the insistent crowd the minute I open the doors. If I have to tell the story of my dashing rescue mission, complete with “Good afternoon, ladies and gentleman, this is your savior speaking.”, I might just scream. My throat is sore and I wish that the news of my derring do’s hadn’t passed around base the moment the carrier docked. 

But all of my thoughts fly out of my mind the minute I see his face. He looks good, it wasn’t exactly a secret that first night back in San Diego that I thought that. I’ve always thought he looked way too good to be true. But tonight, even I can admit that Bradley Bradshaw has looked better. There are dark bruises rising up across his chest, his arm is in a sling and as a whole he looks like he’d be better suited to curling up in bed than sitting out on the beach outside of a bar. Should he even be drinking with the potent meds I’m sure the doctors gave him? I’m kind of afraid to ask, so instead I sit down near him and hand him one of the beers. I rub the condensation away on my jeans and truly, I don’t know what to say.

A part of me knows that I should ask if he’s okay, but instead I ask, quietly, my voice barely audible over the rushing ocean tide, “Why did you do it?”

“Do what, Bagman?” He’s slurring his words, exhaustion evident in every pore. When he picked up a bruise on his cheek, I have no idea.

“Why did you go back?” I don’t know why of all the questions I have for Bradley Bradshaw after over a decade competing with him, it was this one that I chose to ask.

He looks confused for far too long before he rasps out, “I had to. Mav’s the only family I have left.”

His earnest, easy acceptance and love for our Captain leaks from every word. The look on his face, too, is unspeakably familiar. I can’t help wondering if maybe I have met Bradley Bradshaw before. But when? How? I don’t think we’ve actually talked to each other, not once since the day we met. It’s been friction, just glorious dizzying friction since that day. He pushes me to be better, even when he’s acting like I’m not worth the space I inhabit.

Tonight, though, Bradley Bradshaw makes me feel different. It’s probably just the exhaustion on his face as he sips lacklusterly on the beer in his hands. But I feel younger and older all at once. In the glint of the moon, his eyes flash golden.

“Why’d you do it, Jake?” I wasn’t expecting that question. Not at all. 

“I…” If he notices how my throat works as I try to string my disparate thoughts together, he doesn’t call any attention to it. I feel transfixed under the liquid amber of his gaze. “I had to.”

“Mav said we all had to come home. All of us meant you and him too. I’ve lost a wingman already. I’m not ready to lose anymore.”

I busy myself shredding the sodden label of the beer in my hands. It’s mostly full still, my mouth too dry and throat too tight to swallow any of the liquid. My head’s spinning too, caught in his gaze.

“Huh…” His chuckle makes my cheeks warm. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“I didn’t either.” For several moments, it’s quiet outside. Then someone props the back door open and I can hear some of the music pouring out of the jukebox. 

Don't you try and pretend

It's my feeling we'll win in the end

I won't harm you or touch your defenses

Vanity and security, ah

Don't you forget about me

“Why’d you join the Navy, Hangman?” My eyes open at the unexpected question. I guess they’d closed when I listened to the song on the juke.

“I figure I might as well ask.” He shrugs, just the one shoulder, gesturing with his bottle to get me to spit the words on the tip of my tongue out.

“I met someone going to Officer Candidate School when I was seventeen in Austin. He was different … nice. I’ve never been called a kid more affectionately. He told me about the Navy, and well, there was nothing better waiting for me. So I joined up right after I graduated.” Nostalgia colors my tone as I think back to how different I was back then. “I think this song was playing on the radio actually.”

What I don’t expect to hear is laughter. Pained, overloud, sudden, jarring laughter. I turn my head and like I expected, it’s coming from Bradley Bradshaw. It rankles a little having someone laugh at something I’ve never told anyone else.

“What?!” If I sound like I’m snarling, well I’m sure it’s my prerogative.

“God you always were a little shit, huh?” The naked fondness is more than a little surprising. 

“What do you mean?” I’m pouting and grumbling, I know. My beer’s sitting on the decking and I have no idea where I should look. If I look into his smug face, I’m going to say something I know I’ll regret. 

“You ran into me that night, if I remember correctly. Called me an asshole and everything." This can't be happening. There is no way this is happening. My Bradley, the kind, supportive one, can't be Chicken Bradshaw. That's not possible. Please don't tell me I've spent the better part of a decade trying to antagonize the one person who convinced me that there was something better for me than being my uncle's whipping boy.

"I definitely did not." 

"You were about ninety pounds soaking wet. Sure, you look different, but that particular rage in your eyes? I've only ever seen it on one other person." He licks his lips, but while I should be focusing on what he's saying, I can't help noticing how chapped they are and how incredibly soft they look.

I'm frozen, paralyzed. Until a hand nudges my own. I'm not sure why I do it, but I put my hand in Rooster's. His hands feel the same as they did all that time ago. Big, just a little bigger than my own, the long fingers calloused but gentle and warm as they clasp mine.

"I know I'm probably not who you thought you wanted to thank." Is that self-deprecation in Rooster Bradshaw's tone? No way. He just saved the entire world as we know it.

"Who says, Roo?" It's gratifying to see the pink on the apples of his cheeks. This close it feels like there are whole galaxies in his eyes and I feel this sudden sense of deja vu.

In Austin, all those years ago, as we were talking high above the city in Bradley's vintage Bronco, all I wanted to do was sink into his lap and kiss him until all he knew was me. I thought I'd outgrown that particular fascination with the stars in his eyes and the scars trailing down the side of his face. Obviously not. 

A lot has changed in the decade between that night and this one. I'm still incredibly handsome, obviously, but muscular and fit, no longer emaciated and malnourished. Bradley's even broader and stronger than he was before - beefy is the only term I can use. And DADT, that one governing guideline for all non-heterosexual people in the military is dust in the wind.

But more than what I want, which is to croon 'Roo' into his ear as he rails me until I can't feel anything below my waist, I have to consider whether he wants me, too. It wouldn't be the first time that I'm too much for somebody. It probably won't be the last time either. 

"Hangman? Jake? JAKE!" I blink, sure I'm blushing because I think I just zoned out looking at his lips.

"You okay?" 

I nod, smiling just a little. He's close, incredibly, impossibly close to me.

"Jake. Tell me if I'm reading this wrong, but I really want to kiss you." His raspy voice sends shivers down my spine.

But I know he's not feeling his best, so I take control. His hair feels like silk at my fingertips as I peck his lips, once, twice, and finally a third time. It feels way too good, how even those simple kisses make me feel giddy in a way I've never felt before.

I cradle his face gently in between my palms, levering my body onto his lap until I'm straddling his waist.

"You look good, Bradshaw." His chuckle makes me smile, something real. Something soft and new.

"I am good, Seresin. Too good to be true." I kiss him again, relishing in the prickle of his mustache against my lips and cheeks. This new angle also lets me look, really look at Roo. There are dark smudges under his eyes, bruise-like in their intensity.

"Roo," My voice is gentle as I pepper kisses against his jaw. "How long has it been since you've slept, baby?"

His nose wrinkles. "I haven't really slept since before we left."

"Let me take you home, then, sweetheart?" His eyes darken at my words, but I stop him with a soft chuckle. "Not to do that. Though I do want to. You look as exhausted as I feel. I just want to see you sleep, darlin'. Okay?"

His nod is a little dazed, but he doesn't argue when I grab the beer bottles and slip back in to drop them off back at the bar. I get accosted on my way back out to Roo by the one person who would be perceptive enough to notice the two of us out there.

"Hey, Hangman." I blink, more than a little surprised at the surprisingly strong arm barring my way.

"What can I do for you, Bobby Boy?" 

He pushes his glasses up and says in a serious tone, "The two of you are good together. Take care of him, yeah?"

Now I really must've entered the twilight zone. I've got everything I've ever wanted and the one person who probably should disapprove of everything I do just told me to take care of Roo. But I can't help the giddy grin on my face. Rooster's still right where I left him, watching the few sparse clouds sail past the moon.

"Take me home, Seresin." I don't think I could stop smiling if I tried. He's said my last name so many times, in so many ways, but it's never been so fondly.

"You got it, Bradshaw." His hand is warm and secure in mine as I get him into the passenger seat of my pickup.

By the time I pull into my parking spot on base, Roo's nearly half-asleep. Sleep's tugging at me too, but I manage to keep it at bay until I have him in a pair of my flannel pajama pants, curled up comfortably under the sheets of my bed.

I lie down and face him, tracing each dip and strong line of his face with my eyes as I finally start to fall asleep after the mission.

"Hey, Jake?" I hum lightly, too tired to say anything more.

"Don't you forget about me, okay?"

"I'll be calling your name, Roo. I couldn't forget you if I tried." It's true. I never would've expected one of the worst nights of my life to lead to the one person who has always known what I needed. Now it's my turn to make sure he has what he needs.

Taglist:

@chaoticassidy @kmc1989 @shanimallina87 @mayhemmanaged @desert-fern @cassiemitchell @dakotakazansky @roosterforme @cherrycola27 @thedroneranger @mak-32 @beyondthesefourwalls @sarahsmi13s @horseshoegirl

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

[throes-of-redemption]

"hey you": a submission to a departed blog

You'll never see this. You'll never post this. Unless they have Tumblr in whichever realm you exist in now.

I have regrets. The last time we spoke I was dismissive. I honestly didn't think it would be the last time we'd run into each other after a long absence. Well, it wasn't the first time either. But before then I was convinced I'd never hear or see you again. I was wrong twice. Fuck.

Anyway, since we last spoke I've felt like been an asshole. A selfish pervert with bad habits and boundary issues. It's disgusting.

At first, my decision to leave you alone was to protect my emotions.  We've already talked about it, but it was impossible to settle for just being friends. It was painful. You deserved better-so much better than me tbh. In retrospect, I wonder if you were trying to protect your friends from the heartache of your sudden loss. I suppose I felt justified in letting you go. I finally found someone to fill the void that you were never meant to fill (see, that already sounds dumb as hell cause people aren't responsible for filling each other's vacancies). Besides, reigniting our friendship might have caused unnecessary drama in my current relationship. Nonetheless, it felt right. 

Now that you're not here anymore it feels like I miss you a bit more all the time. I miss your new obsessions every month, and the way your eyes light up whenever you talk about some fictional character in some obscure piece of media only nerds like you know about. Shit, I logged back into Tumblr for the first time in like 6 years, and in less than 3 days I'm here scrolling through your blog checking out the last things you posted. I miss your queer fanfics and head canons. I miss the eloquent way you spoke when you read. I miss you tryna bake, even though I would sit there and eat them burnt cookies. I miss bickering about Star Wars v Harry Potter. I miss you teasing me about my cishet masculine insecurities. I miss the way you stood firmly against injustice and oppression, particularly your arch nemesis the fuckin patriarchy! I miss how you really didn't give a damn how anyone saw you or tried to squeeze you into their little box. I miss how you would drive people nuts just being yourself. I miss how loving you were even when you tried to hide it from the world sometimes. 

Remember that one time you spotted me on the bus all zoned out, and you sat right next to me and forced me to practice our lines for that play we were in? I was annoyed and happy at the same time lol. This year I did 4 plays. First one I did was HAIR up in Harrison, and you would've loved some of my cast mates. At one point we had a recasting...um..."crisis" to find a new Dionne. I couldn't think of anyone else but you. Except you'd already been gone for some eight months by then. That almost broke me. Oh! And one of them was this bizarre musical parody of Hamlet (I was hamlet btw). It made me think about hearing how you were such a talented Lady Macbeth in high school that the production was requested at Purchase Collage. So whenever I prepared to step on that stage, I thought to myself secretly "I hope she's watching and I hope she's proud." Honestly I felt that way for every show, but that's the one I wish you could've seen.

When you left it seemed like all of Mount Vernon came to see you go, probably a lot of people you didn't even like. But as each person got up to talk about their favorite memories of you, I realized as much as we talked and hung out, all I ever experienced of you was just a fragment of who you were. And I always knew you had heart issues, but I didn't realize just how sick you really were because you were so fiercely independent and full of life despite it all. As we left, my friend asked me how I thought I could honor your memory. I told him "By doing everything with as much passion and energy and purpose as she did." 

The problem is that when I had an opportunity to be friends again, I took you for granted. There was only one of you. Anybody similar to you by comparison was a bootleg with missing pieces. You were the genuine article: the Real Deal. I'll be processing the guilt of how things ended for quite a while longer than I should. I don't know if you were upset or indifferent, or if there's any slight that you held against me after we parted ways for the last time. But I hope, if it's okay with you, that I could take part of you with me in my journey through life.

You are missed, and you are loved.

Beloved (11/18/1993-6/21/2023)

[swiftsdelucaa]

Hello! I hope you're well. Sorry if I bother you. I was wondering if you write fics. Maybe a Merluca fic? If it's within your means or if you know someone who can do it... I have this alternate universe idea where Meredith and Deluca met at the same time Addison arrived at Seattle Grace. It's just that they are a lot alike and no one talks about that enough. Andrew is as reckless and cunning as Meredith before she became that indestructible woman who went through a lot of loss and pain. The Meredith before being a wife, mother and widow, the Meredith who loves tequila and loves passion. They would both be a comical and chaotic duo and I'm just very curious. I send you my best wishes

❛ 𝑹𝒆𝒃𝒐𝒓𝒏 ❜

𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: Meredith × Andrew ♡ (AU)

𝘼/𝙣: first time writing for a ship and glad i could do it with them! Thank you so much for this request as I really liked writing it, and also for your patience omg!! :) I feel like I could've written an amount of chapters to build this story cause I absolutely share the same idea, but I tried to reassume it all in this fic and I really hope you'll like it anon <3

“The seven years you spend here as a surgical resident will be the best and worst of your life” Meredith knew that well, her only goal was excel in all that would determine her future career, she was ready for everything. Well, almost everything.

This last period had just been an absurd sequence of events that only affected her personal life, making also the working atmosphere impossible. It wasn't about her internship group. Actually she got along really well with them. It was an endless competition but also teamwork and support at the same time.

She was probably better at making crucial decisions about other people's lives than choosing what was better for her own. Now she would leave everything behind and move on. She thought it was the best thing, especially after Addison Montgomery came along. She promised herself that she would never again indulge in anything more than a professional working relationship with one of her colleagues, even less one of her bosses.

However, Addison wasn't the only new presence at the hospital. Andrew DeLuca, that was his name. He was just an intern like her even though he didn't act like one. The way he was so confident in anything he did almost annoyed her. He wasn't the kind of person that showed all his feelings, he seemed to be ok on his own and if it was needed a risk, no matter if a little or a big one, he just threw himself into that. Sometimes he reminded her of herself. That's why she didn't know how to feel about it.

Somehow it was pretty easy to have a conversation with him. The 'Grey' in her name was always such a good excuse for a starter, she would've expected the usual envy and contempt that was often offered by the others. Instead with him it was different. Andrew's father was a a well-known and quite famous surgeon in Italy, he was not Ellis Grey, yet the fame and all the pressure could be felt. Seemed like his future career was already written as well. But both Meredith and Andrew had worked their hardest to arrive where they are now, with only a main goal inside: never become like their parents.

Their duo always managed to take a different turn and adapt to the situation. While working Andrew's cocky and intuitive side contrasted against Meredith's reflective side; whenever they just were together in the group it was impossible to stop them, her dark and twisty trait with his sarcastic side made an unstoppable match. In short, either you loved them or couldn't stand them.

And it was later when the best part came. A bit of tension had built up between them, which was quite pleasant. Andrew had been the first one to fail to keep his eyes off her and couldn't stop the occasional flirting sometimes. Meredith had obviously noticed, and she couldn't hide the fact that it amused her. She liked to tease him back and not letting him win so easily, but he was very stubborn and he wouldn't have given up. What was stopping her though? Actually she found him really charming, handsome and there were many traits of his personalities that made him even more attractive. He knew what he wanted and apparently how to get it, but the most important thing was that he understood her, he really did. So yeah, she did like him, a lot. The only problem was her. She didn't want to fuck everything up or worse fall for what she had already faced.

It could be said that she gave him a hard time for quite a while and that the only thing he could do was offering her evenings where she could just forget everything with some simple tequila. They were the best parts of the days; either they all went together as soon as they had free time or it was just the two of them. And that's how it all began. One night when they had drunk so much that they had forgotten even their own names, Meredith had given in. A long night that brought about the most significant change, and she couldn't say she regretted it at all. Ever since Andrew had finally managed to get what he wanted, he had never stopped respecting her and treating her as she deserved. With that, Meredith had also discovered his soft and loving side, maybe her favorite part of him. It was difficult to choose actually, she slowly fell in love with every little thing about him, unlike Andrew who had already loved everything about her from the beginning.

From the perspective of others, in addition to being the same chaotic duo as always, they had also become pretty nauseating. But nauseating in a cute way. When they needed support they were always there for each other. Everytime that she was with him, that his lips were on hers, that his arms were around her, that he was holding her, she felt nothing but safe. The way they also tried to be professional at work was almost hilarious, They didn't even bother to hold back or hide and most of the time they ended up hooking up in an on call room.

Things really seemed to be working out. They both were happy. Meredith couldn't ask for something better, the relationship she had with Andrew was one of the most precious ones in her whole life. With him she was completely reborn.

[marshmallowprotection]

Heya! I was wondering if i could suggest a semi-specific request 😅😂

Could I request a scene where I reunite with Ray in VAE? I was thinking I could've been with him in Mint Eye and had a relationship with him - even though it is V's ending.

What happened to Magenta with the bomb shattered me, and that uncertainty about Ray was just 😖😖😖

I would miss him so, so much

Would he miss me as much too? He's everything to me 😅

After all the time V spends with him in his AE, would Ray still remember me? Would he be shocked that I remembered him? And still love him so much?

Aaah 🤧🤧

Skittish.

Tentative.

Frightened.

Those are the words Jihyun used to describe him at his worst. Even after years of trying to pull himself back together, there was nothing that could change the fact that he was forever scarred by what he'd done that day in Magenta. On the of losing everything, he thought it would be better to get rid of himself than it would be to join the rest of the believers in paradise.

What was life worth if everyone left him all over again?

That was how he felt for the longest time... his only regret being that he called you before the bomb went off. He didn't want to scare you with the truth of his actions, but that selfish part inside of his chest wanted you to know he loved you with everything his heart had and he would never love another soul like he loved you.

He thought you'd move on with your life, become happy as can be, and have everything he ever dreamed of.

In some ways... his love for you would carry on in your happiness. It was the only thing that brought him peace in those final moments, and yet, even so, he always yearned for more than that.

Maybe that was the most human thing about him. He always obeyed the rules given to him because they were an oath made in blood... like a tool or a puppet, but his love for you gave him a bleeding heart that made him feel alive. It was his love for you that kept him alive as long as it had. That's what he wanted to believe.

You were an angel unlike any other he'd ever met.

And maybe, just maybe, by the grace of your love... or just dumb luck, he survived that explosion. He suffered torment for weeks as the scars rattled his bones and fried his skin, but one thought never left his head. You. You were the singular thought that he both yearned for and dreamed would never come close to him again.

He hurt you in every sense of the word, and he couldn't bring himself to let go. It would've been better if he let you go. You could have a life with the RFA! You could enjoy everything the world had to offer and it would make him happy. As long as you had a life... a life you dreamed of... he knew nothing could ever dampen his dream. You were his true dream... his only dream, but he knew that he may never have you the way he wanted.

You would never look at him the way he looked at you... he would be a fool to think otherwise.

The light in your eyes saved him.

That was why he agreed to come with Jihyun to the party. He didn't want to go in the beginning. He only wanted to stay in the shadows... to erase himself until it was time to find his brother, but the thought of seeing your face one last time made him yearn to come along for... for what would probably be the last time he'd allow himself to see you in person.

He planned to stay in the crowd, hidden by the number of guests and patrons, and then he would retreat to the hotel to spare himself a lot of painful circumstance. Seeing you at the party, smiling, was meant to be enough for him.

If you were dancing with someone or thriving in a way that would've challenged his memory, it would've stung deep and made it hard to breathe, but... the risk was worth it. Even if you were in love with the world outside of him... and you found a reason to smile... he would be okay with that. He would have to be.

He just... needed to see your face one final time.

It had to be worth it.

You found him despite his desire to hide when Jihyun extended his hand to welcome the newest member to the RFA. He looked over at Jihyun, nerves eating away at his very soul, but a smile remained on Jihyun's face, as if beckoning him to task a risk. He stood there, like a deer in the headlights, unable to move or say a word as you stared at him.

Everything felt like it was moving in slow-motion.

His body was stuck.

Then, all at once, when he felt like he needed to run away, you leapt in his direction before his brother could—throwing your arms around him with a sob on your lips that sounded like—misery and hope all at once. He stood there, eyes wide and jaw-slacked, unable to say even a single word as Saeyoung embraced the two of you as well.

"Ray," you wept. You sounded like it hurt to lose him in the first place. He never thought you would miss him. "You're alive! I was afraid that I lost you forever! I can't believe you're here! You're here and breathing. Tell me it's not a dream...!"

"You're okay," sobbed his twin brother, his voice filled with just as much relief and pain that it felt otherworldly to someone like Ray. Years of his life were spent thinking he was nothing more than the nuisance he was taught to be, and now... just like Jihyun said many times in the past... his loved ones were telling what he thought was a pipe dream. "My baby brother, you're okay!"

Ray couldn't believe it.

Saeyoung missed him... truly.

You'd missed him... deeply.

Jihyun hadn't lied to him.

"I'm sorry," he croaked. The tears flooding his vision as he broke down for the first time in a very long time. "I'm sorry!"