#an endless cycle of hurt and misery!!!!

[cosmic-spectre]

one last dance before we end everything and begin something

here's the version without shadows because i couldn't decide which version was better lmao. anyways. these two make me insane

[giigil]

9.29: ⛧ ﹒He's at the end of his days.

tw: suicide

notes: remember when i said i was going on a break? apparently i have covid and i'm like in this chokehold that is vampire!satoru x angel!user that this is all i'm in the mood for right now.

Life had the penchant of screwing him over.

It allowed that bastard Suguru Geto to walk in and bless him with the curse of immortality—a sentence of endless bloodshed and loneliness—something he wouldn’t wish even on his worst enemy.

Fueled by the anger and hurt as a fledgling left to fend for himself in a world unbeknownst to him, he led a destructive path, overwhelmed by his unquenchable thirst and immense strength. As a result, he killed countless humans who had the misfortune of being at the wrong place at the wrong time.

The higher-ups had a fit after they learned of his existence. His actions had the entire vampire society in an uproar; however, they had no control over a creature like him. He’d always been too powerful for them to truly do anything. So they let him be, cleaning up the remnants he’d left behind during his frenzies.

Luckily for them, after hundreds of years of walking the Earth and living a meaningless existence in the persistent cycle of killing and feeding, Satoru didn’t see much of a point in continuing on.

˚₊‧꒰ა. .໒꒱ ‧₊˚

He sits on the ground of a dark alleyway, propped against a brick wall. His blindfold’s long since fallen from his eyes and lays on the cement; he’s fatigued and weak from not feeding for the past few days. It’s a slow and painful way to go, but he considers it warranted after everything he’s done.

When he hears footsteps approaching him, he opens one eye to see someone standing before him. That’s when he realizes…

An angel. A sardonic grin forms on his lips.

“One of God’s little servants has graced me with their presence,” he bites out with a cynical laugh. “What? Here to put me out of my misery?”

He welcomes it.

[call-me-copycat]

The Weight of Regret

So... It seems I can't save requests to drafts without them disappearing... なぜこうなるのか…( ꐦ•᷄ὤ•᷅)و

I deeply apologize if I've never received your ask! I have many requests waiting right now, but now that I know about this I'll make sure to try my best to keep them from disappearing (_๑óωò)_

*I FORGOT TO SCREENSHOT IT!! NOO ｡°꒰ ՞ ´ ᗣ`°꒱°｡

➤ Welcome: Links to all my masterlists, rules for requests, and some info about me (⁠๑⁠¯⁠◡⁠¯⁠๑⁠)

▶ [CHARACTERS]: Dadzawa x Daughter Reader (platonic)

▶ [GENRE]: Hurt/Comfort + angst

▶ [SUMMARY]: You've always struggled with smoking, and it tears away at you until you're caught. Will you get into trouble, or will you be spared and helped?

▶ [WORD COUNT]: 6,868

▶ [WARNINGS]:

- This one is rather angsty all throughout

- Mental breakdowns

- Smoking (obviously)

- Mentions of addiction

A deep inhale. The smoke filling your lungs gave off a comforting feeling that temporarily masked the guilt that ate away at you. A heavy exhale. The remnants of your action shamelessly filling the air in a heavy cloud of smoke.

It was a tiresome night, and stress was breaking apart your mind as exams rode closer and closer to the present day. Too many things had to be done at that moment, and even more things were left undone or unfinished, waiting for you to come back and complete them. You didn't know when that time would come though.

It all seemed so heavy. You'd push yourself to complete the burdensome amount of classwork you were assigned and then will yourself to train on your quirk. You'd repeat this cycle day after day, but you never seemed to gain any benefits from doing all this. It seemed as though all your efforts were in vain. You weren't much of a suck-up, but there were still small expectations that at least someone would notice how hard you were pushing yourself. Alas, that day never came.

No one else seemed to be struggling this much. It caused your mind to wander where you didn't want it to. You began to think... Were you falling? Was there something wrong with you? Were you not cut out for the Hero Course? Troubling thoughts such as these began to slowly litter your mind. Beginning like a small weed, they festered and grew to unimaginable proportions.

They began to tear apart your sanity, and it felt as though you were having an argument with your own brain every single day. It was exhausting, and horribly painful to endure. But you didn't let anyone know. You couldn't. They'd think you were insane. Or they'd baby you, seeing you as too unstable to be a hero one day. All the work and effort you put in would all be wasted without anything to show for it.

Endure. That's all that rang about your head. All you had to do was to keep yourself moving. To endure it, that's what made a hero after all, right?

Too bad no one told you how pointless it all felt. It seemed as though you were spiralling, into an endless pit of misery that welcomed lost and pained souls into its gaping mouth. It was times like these that sparked the flame of your habit.

Twisting the white stick around your fingers, you thought back to how it started while staring into the flickering yellow flame at the end.

It was all too much that day. It was too much everyday, really, but that day in particular had hit you hard and knocked everything out of you without any preparation time. A misaligned testing schedule, a broken phone, a dropped dinner. Everything seemed to go wrong for no apparent reason. You wanted to burst into tears, but as a last resort you willed it away.

Your mind had been running a marathon, and you were exhausted beyond belief from the work your class had been put through. You had originally walked into your father's room to ask him if you could have some help on an assignment you had been struggling with, but it quickly changed.

Looking around Aizawa's room, you didn't see him anywhere in sight. You saw some of his things littered about the room, not particularly messy but in an organized chaos kind of way. Realizing he must've been busy with something or called by someone, you sighed and went to exit back to your own room not too far away. However, something caught your eye.

A white box was partially sticking out from under his work bag, and although you knew what it was you still lifted the bag to see anyways. A clean, already opened box of cigarettes met your drained and exhausted gaze. It was no secret Aizawa was a smoker, in fact a good chunk of the teachers smoked every now and then. However, unlike the others, you noticed your father never really talked about it openly. He'd answer questions briefly before moving the topic of discussion, and that was about as much as you got out of him.

Memories of him scooting you back inside the house when you were younger flashed across your eyes, as he always wanted you to be somewhere else when he was submitting to his slight addiction. It was almost like an unspoken rule, but it always infuriated you how he never outright told you anything.

You didn't have time to read in between the lines. Pushing yourself to simply get out of bed was a struggle, so that's probably why you weren't thinking clearly that night. All the tests, assignments, criticizing, and sleepless nights bursted throughout your mind, burning your thoughts on the rising anger.

You hadn't had time to think. What were you so angry about that night? You don't remember. Possibly the work without reward. Or the unspoken sayings. Or the fiery thoughts that charred your mind everyday and night. Who knows.

But what you did caused a chain. A chain that you wished never existed. Looking at the open box was tempting. But you were a good kid, right? You got good grades, you treated everyone decently, you did as you were expected. But what about you? You hadn't thought about that. And the rage filled your consciousness once again, fueling your shaky fingers to nab a single stick from the box before running out of there.

Only, you didn't know what to do when you got back to your room. You had clutched it to your chest, panting from the run. You had never even held a cigarette before, so you took the time to examine it. You didn't think it looked like much, but you heard it caused nasty effects and addiction that was overall very hard to cope with. There wasn't much you heard spoken about it, except for maybe a passing stranger on the streets.

It was seen as a taboo. To smoke was to throw yourself into being delinquent. You'd be seen as one of those bad kids that got tattoos and wore spiky clothing. Only... That's what you were taught, but seeing average people like your father, or even Nezu smoke every now and then debated that thought.

You wished you threw it away. Burned it without putting it in your mouth. Anything but smoking it.

A "cancer stick", a "coffin nail", you had heard it go by many names. It all worried you, but the thrill of doing something so wrong, of doing something just for you... It excited you for once. You didn't care that it was bad, nor did you care that you'd come to regret your actions. Life was heavy and cold, quiet and unforgiving. You needed something to pick you back up, to distract you from the swirling winds of reality that screeched outside the flames of the smoke that shielded you.

You lit it, watching the flame flicker. That was your last chance to throw it away. Too bad you listened to impulse instead. You certainly learned your lesson. Putting it to your lips was foreign, and it felt so dirty. The first inhale was the worst, leaving you in a coughing fit and a state of confusion and irritation on the lack of soothing that was supposed to come from it.

After trying again, it got easier for you. And easier. A little too easy. You sat there, enjoying the vague calmness that washed over you as the hot nicotine filled your lungs, pushing away everything that once hurt. It was refreshing, and you wanted more. You wanted a stronger escape, one where you were nothing but a floating blob in your head. Unfortunately for you, the cigarette ran down too far, the slight burn ripping you away from your temporary euphoria.

You watched the little flame burning the paper down in present day, eyes empty and brain too numb to cope properly. The memories haunted you, but in a way it had become routine. Although you knew it was bad, and although you knew the effects, you couldn't tear yourself away from it.

Addiction had long since clung to your head, taking control of your thoughts and behaviors. You soon found yourself doing things you wouldn't have before, your limbs being puppeteered by a broken mind. It spread, until there wasn't a single part of you that wasn't succumbed to this "infection", as you called it.

You never stole at least, you had already succumbed to one of the drops in life, and you certainly wouldn't let yourself fall even further. You couldn't. Knowing the look in your father's eyes if he were to find out... It was haunting. But it was the only form of restraint that kept you sane in a way.

You worked small jobs when you could, such as helping yardwork or cleaning. Being a student left no time for a side job, and even if it did you knew you definitely wouldn't have enough energy for one. So you had to make do with what you had.

You'd always buy from smaller stores, or ones that were in lower quality, trying to diminish the risk that they'd ask for your age. You only got asked once, but you panicked and said you were buying it for a family member. You never went back, but of course you were still new to the way things were at that time.

It'd long since grown into something that seemed ever so permanent, and you were only counting down the days until you knew you wouldn't be able to go a day without a huff.

A soul contaminated and controlled far too young by a never-ending, all-controlling force that seemed so powerless at the time. You couldn't brush the disgust from your mind each time you reached into the box. It was an obsession you couldn't bear to be a part of any longer.

That one event led to others, creating an even worse cycle for you to be a part of. The chain of events leading all throughout your life until it reached to where you were now.

Looking at the pale paper tube lit aflame in your hands, the memories only served to cause more self-loathing and repulsiveness. Sighing, you brought it back to your mouth once more.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

The morning after was one that mirrored every other awakening that had happened before it. You threw on your uniform, ate a quick breakfast, and went off to UA with your father.

As you walked through the halls in the early morning, thoughts of the previous night's memories flashed through your mind once more. Peeking over at Aizawa from the side of your eye, you wondered if he could possibly have known how to erase this addiction. With all his added years of experience with things of all sorts, he always had an answer to everything you asked of him. But this was different.

Lately you had been thinking of different ways on how you could force yourself to quit. The constant fear of discovery and disappointment continually unraveled your tattered mind, making it only so much worse to suffer at the hands of your own mind.

Too lost in thought, your attention was torn away from the delicate and intricate rays of sunlight shining through the tall glass windows of UA, coating the world in a filter of pink and orange as the sun began to wake up with its people of Japan. The wind swayed the leaves of the trees, causing a small flock of birds to rise up into flight. The world still spun around you in its elegant symphony of everyday life, and it would've calmed you if you had bothered to look up.

You stayed looking at the ground.

The day went by as normal as possible, a reminder of the continued cycle that constantly swallowed you without decision. General classes, lunch, more general classes, hero training, home. It was all the same, with only a few diminutive details that made that day slightly different from the others, just as they always do.

Except, to your annoyance you got hit with a craving right at the end of the day. It wasn't uncommon as the cravings had a habit of hitting you at random times, and if anything you considered yourself lucky since it happened to be the end of the day. Nothing a quick break out at the back of the school couldn't fix.

The back of the school was mainly empty everytime you saw it, and it was a sort of unspoken unwind-place for people to relax when they struggled being under the constant pressure of the expectations of perfection that came with being a part of UA. It was also the only spot without cameras as well, and there was only a miniscule risk of someone walking in on you. The only people that went to the back were tired teachers or students, or Lunch Rush every now and then who empties the waste contents of his equipment into the large ground drain that sits by the only door back inside.

The ground was covered in smudges and bits of debris, most uncommon to see from the elite UA high, but in a way it added to the charm since all other areas of the school were constantly squeaky clean. The bell had rung, and your father wasn't leaving until he finished his grading and daily training with Shinso, so you had a good amount of time to get what you needed done (you hated what you had become).

Opening a hidden side pocket from your school bag and bringing out the box, you promised to yourself you'd make it quick. You lit a stick. A deep inhale. A heavy, hatred-filled exhale. You watched with weary eyes as the cloud of smoke fluttered around in the wind, growing lighter and diminishing completely from the edges in. It was peaceful in a way, seeing something so terrible eventually disappear before your very eyes like you hoped. If only you could will it away from your head.

Taking another breath in, your little moment of calm was broken away from you as the back door creaked open, causing you to sputter and cough in surprise as your heart practically ripped itself from your chest.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Didn't mean to catch you off guard, Pocket Rocket!" A familiar voice reassured, the familiarity failing to do anything other than cause more panic and self-loathing.

You looked up to see none other than Present Mic turning around from where he had his back turned, his work bag in one hand and the other trying not to let the back door slam.

"Just trying to escape a little early, y'know?-..."

Too late to run away. There was no time to hide your wrong-doings as you saw your father's best friend turn around and watched as his casual smile faltered as it fell upon the white stick that was currently lit and in between your fingers and your eyes that were wide open in surprise.

A million thoughts ran across your head. Disgust with the fact that you let your addiction get this bad. Rage at the world for pushing you so far. Fear of getting a disappointed look and an even more heavy discussion. Too many things to focus on, much too small a window of time.

The air was thick and heavy, the awkwardness you felt in the moment ate away at your very soul bit-by-bit as you waited for the silence to be cut through somehow. To be cut loose no matter the cost was what you so desperately wished for. But he stood there, an unreadable expression on his face.

Eventually Mic sighed a bit, and even though it was small it ripped a hole like none-other across your state of mind as the weight of the situation finally bore down on you.

He took off his glasses and quietly cleaned them with a small cloth from his pocket, lengthening the stretch of painful silence further as you waited in terrible anticipation. Placing the glasses on his head rather than back across his eyes, he turned and looked at you with a tired expression, dragging his hand down his face and sighing once again.

"Geez, kid. You're really killing me here..." He muttered, loud enough for you to hear. "How long?..."

Such a simple question, just two words. Two words too much. Two words you never hoped to hear, nor to ever have to answer.

"I, um.. Awhile..." That was all you could get out, voice slightly raspy from the hot smoke that went down your throat not too long ago. The shame was unbearable to endure.

"Man... What'm I gonna do?.." Mic looked exasperated, and truth be told he was. Although he was confused and worried, you were caught off guard with how calm he was. You expected shouting, scolding, immediate action, something. The fact that he wasn't showing much made you stuck on as to worry about if he was hiding his actual anger, or if he actually didn't care that great a deal. You doubted it was the latter.

He shook his head, folding his arms and leaning back against the wall. "Your dad know ..?" He asked it with a shallow tone, almost as if it was redundant and the answer was already known. You could only meekly shake your head no in response.

"Look, I'm gonna be honest with you - 'cause I'm your uncle. I'm not going to ask any questions or anything, I just... want to know if you're doing ok?" His green eyes shone with concern, and you felt another hole being torn in your heart as guilt gnawed at you.

You didn't initially answer, opting to bring your knees up to your chest and stare at the ground as you tried to conjure an appropriate response. You breathed out of your nose as you decided that there was no point in hiding anything anymore. It was already uncovered, why bother with more layers of nonsense?

"No... Sometimes I feel ok. But, then I feel like this other times..." You vaguely gestured to your surroundings, signaling that you weren't feeling mentally well currently, causing your habit.

"Geez, I'm so sorry [name]... " His expression was heavy, but still displayed an air of lightheartedness in an odd kind of comforting way.

"Look, here's what's going to happen ok? First I want you to tell- no wait.." He cut himself off, thinking for a second before beginning again. "No, first things first; hand over the box", Mic reached out a hand in your direction, signaling to you with a quiet air of kind authority.

Your eyes widened in initial surprise, but you supposed it had to have happened at some point when you got caught. It was harder than you liked to admit, grasping the box a little tighter until you clenched your eyes shut and swiftly dropped it in his hand before your mind could further disagree and get you into more trouble.

Mic let out a little breath as he looked at the box, and once again he caught you off guard as he opened it and handed you a single cigarette.

"Here. I'm not sayin' it's ok or anything... But I know from experience that the urges are tough to handle. Just don't want to throw you straight into the pool without a little help, y'know?"

Tears welled up in your eyes as you pitifully took it from his hands, wishing you could just never have to look at it again. Sensing your disdain, he lightly sighed and patted you on your head. Your attention stayed fixated on the ground, avoiding his gaze.

"You know what you have to do next, right?"

Staying silent, you nodded.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Staring up into the night sky from the apartment balcony, you relished the quiet peacefulness you felt when you gazed up at the sparkling stars ahead.

The little town of Musutafu was always lit up at night. The distant sounds of cars and people's chatter filled your ears. There was a slight breeze that caused you to rub your uncovered arms despite it not being that discomforting. Windows were randomly lit up different shades of yellow or white from the surrounding buildings, and you distracted yourself by looking around to see if you could spot anyone walking around. You saw none, but you heard people all around.

You let out a heavy breath, wondering how you would be able to approach your father on the subject. You knew you had no choice, because if you didn't then Mic would definitely tell Aizawa himself, and that would make your situation worse and your reputation would go down. There was no escape and no more hiding.

At this point you'd accept any punishment that came your way - after all you were stuck at such a deep point in this hole you made that you couldn't even see a way out anymore. You'd get scolded, punished, people would think badly of you. You accepted it because what else could you do?

What hope was there really, when life pushed you to take such measures at your lowest only to punish you for falling into its trap? As much as you wanted to grow cold and bitter, you couldn't find it in yourself. You felt like a small child again, awaiting a cosmic trial that was about to be given to you by the mighty hands of the universe itself. A silly way of thinking, but at this point in your life you felt you needed it.

The breeze stilled, and the weight of the unmoving air settled on you. Looking up at the twinkling stars again, you tried to steel your mind as hard as you could so you could get the hard part over with. To have to come out all by yourself and to out yourself on a bad habit you gained from the lowest moments of your life made you feel like putty being pulled and twisted.

"Bit of a breeze out... Where's your jacket?"

You startled at the feeling of Aizawa's hand that suddenly placed itself on your shoulder without warning. You jumped a bit more than you would've under normal circumstances, much more tense than usual.

Blinking, you registered his question before answering with a feeble shrug of your shoulders, not bothering to look behind you to see where he was.

You heard the chair next to you creak before he spoke up again. "Bring your jacket next time you want to go outside. It's getting colder and I don't want you to get sick."

Sliding your eyes to the side, you glanced over at your father sitting casually in the soft chair that matched the one you were in, his hands in his pockets and his hair tied up. He was looking up at the sky just as you were, only with a more empty glaze as he scanned over it in exhaustion.

The sounds of the town didn't help the slightest in deterring the wave of stuffy silence that laid itself down over the both of you. It seemed you were the only one slightly bothered by it, which made sense since it took quite a bit to bother Aizawa.

You turned away and looked solemnly at the ground, eyes filled with the weight of all the dignity you knew were about to lose. The chilled breeze slightly numbed your fingers, it not being able to do much since the warmth of your hands clasped together kept it away.

"I heard from Ectoplasm that you were struggling with certain aspects of math, that right?"

Sighing, you clenched your hands tighter to the point where your fingernails were digging crevices into the soft skin of your palms. You weren't in the mood for small talk, especially about things you needed help on or were struggling with, so you just nodded stiffly.

He leaned back further into his chair. "I'm going to put you in Vlad's Hero Financing, that after-school program, until I see improvement."

Ah, the place where the bad or stupid kids go, you thought to yourself. There were many after school programs, but the hero financing class was (unsurprisingly) the least popular, so teachers had to send in disobedient or struggling students just to keep its attendance record up. You were sure Vlad got forcefully assigned to teach it since he never seemed to want to be there every time you saw him.

You didn't need this extra weight being thrown on top of you, only serving as an unnecessary reminder of your struggles and failures that turned you into the person you were today. It already gnawed at your skull every morning as soon as you opened your eyes and up until the last second before they closed again at night. To hear further criticism being tossed onto the already overflowing pile was only helping to force the bottle closer to bursting.

Warm tears began to fill your eyes once again as the thoughts and memories began rapidly assaulting and battering your bruised mind that had already endured so much. At that moment you felt nothing but rage. If asked, you couldn't explain what it was that you were angry at. Possibly too many things built up to pinpoint one single reason.

You were trapped and pressured, and what else could you do when you hit rock bottom besides digging deeper and letting loose? You were going to be seen in a worse light, to be met with angry and disappointed glances and glares, so why bother trying to fix a plate that was broken so far to the point where it was just dust?

What was the point of trying to push yourself further if it was all going to be blown away before your eyes? Your mind was a spinning cycle of pain and color, memories of both hatred and loathing helping to boost the deep-seated rage that burned the edges of your thoughts with red fury. You couldn't see clearly, couldn't think clearly, not a single logical thought breaching contact to help restrain the broken reigns that tore after giving their all for much too long.

"Because that's all I am to you, right? A bad kid? One that can't even comprehend something everyone else can?"

You spat with a venom that wasn't intended, the fiery rage burning your logic to ash. Looking over, you saw Aizawa turn your way in his chair, eyes scrunched in either worry or irritation, now on full alert at your angered outburst.

"Now look, I never said anything about your behavior, but since we're on the topic I think you could certainly use an adjustment-"

"Let me guess, it's once again good enough for you? Not happy with me again?" You interrupted, heart racing in your chest as you finally spoke without a forced filter. You were in the moment, and the adrenaline rush felt exhilarating. "Because too bad! I guess I'll never be the perfect student or daughter you want! You raised a delinquent, a failure! "

It was too much. You clawed at your face, eyes squeezed shut and jaw clenched tight as laborious breaths rushed out of you. The fear of being seen as a bad kid because of your habit ate away at you ever since that first smoke years ago.

Too overwhelmingly angry to think of anything further, you barely registered the gentle hands that urged your grip to loosen. Despite being detached from your surrounding environment, you still felt the soft pads of fingers wiping under your eyes and down your cheeks, and to your surprise you came to the realization that you had started crying at some point.

Trembling, you tried pushing away from your father's touch, still loopy on the rath you felt. Refusing to look up at him and avoiding his reaching hands, you hastily dug around your pocket, only for Aizawa to successfully grip onto your shaking hands and bring them into his comforting hold. He tenderly rubbed his thumbs over the soft skin on your hands, before letting one hand go to try to bring and bring your face to look at him.

"[Name]..." He breathed heavily out of his nose upon your blatant refusal to look at him once more despite his efforts. "Sweetie, what's going on? Talk to me, please."

The hurt tone in his voice caused another sting of guilt to burn its way into your heart. The concern, patience, and worry all made it so much harder to open up what needed to be let out.

You clutched his hand tighter in yours, earning an affectionate squeeze in response from your father before you pulled your hands out of his grip. Confused, Aizawa went to reach for you again, only to pause as he felt an unknown object in his hand that wasn't there before.

Opening his hand, he was met with a single, lightly crinkled cigarette sitting on the center of his palm, and his heart dropped upon the realization. This was a silent confession.

The silence was deafening, pounding into your eardrums with a heavy weight. Your heart was hammering so rapidly it caused concern as to whether or not it'd burst itself right out of your skin. In a way, you would've preferred that to sitting in that insufferable silence any day of the week.

Aizawa could only look at the object in his hand, cold and still. Memories of his own childhood and addiction haunted him everyday, but it had gotten to the point where he learned how to numb it out. So to see you, his one and only daughter, suffering from the same fate he had dealt with as a teen... It frightened him to an abysmal extent.

He felt in that moment that he had failed you as a father. After all, one wouldn't smoke without reason, and that reason normally wasn't something good. He knew you were pushing yourself, but that was something he had grown to expect. To be the daughter of Shota Aizawa meant that some burdens and expectations had to be carried, that was a fact. He never knew it'd get taken that far, though.

Oh, how he cursed himself. He cursed himself as much as he could mentally. Aizawa couldn't stand the thought of you hurting, of you struggling alone and in silence. He was your father, for goodness sake! And wasn't a father's job to care for their children, to keep them safe and happy? To be a shoulder for them to cry on? And yet, here he was, doing none of that, and his dear daughter suffering right in front of his eyes.

He looked up, only to see you staring at the ground, face hidden and hands clamped shut. There was no doubt in his head you were clenching your jaw as well.

Quietly, tenderly, Aizawa pushed your head up to face him, and this time you didn't object. Upon meeting eyes, he saw yours were watery and red, and you could only look at him, feeling pathetic as you let out a sniffle.

You were only able to wait. To wait for the disappointed speech you were given each time you messed up, to receive a harsh glare, or stern punishments.

But you received none. What caught you off guard was the gentle way Aizawa held your face in his hands, and the soft worried look that sat in his eyes. The complete opposite of what you expected.

"[Name]... Oh [Name]... " His voice resonated with remorse, as if he, in a way, felt more at fault for your bad habit than you were. You never wanted him to feel bad, you had only expected yourself to get dragged down because of this problem, and you fully accepted the thought too. So to see your father in so much pain... Stricken with grief and guilt over the habit you got yourself into... The hole already in your heart ripped further, and a heavy block of heartache settled upon you.

Choking back a sob, you were only able to get out a strangled "I'm sorry...". Aizawa shook his head no at your apology, eyes rimmed red now as well. "No, it's not your fault, kid." Gently pressing a tender kiss to your forehead in reassurance, he continued.

"... How long?" In a way, his question mirrored Mic's, although his voice held more distress, coming out in a slightly strangled manner due to his conflicting thoughts that jumped about his head.

"A few years..." You looked away, not being able to bring yourself to look at him in the eyes. You felt as though you should be completely honest in that moment, because after all lying would only bring about unnecessary complications, right?

You could see Aizawa visibly tense up a bit, obviously surprised upon receiving a solid answer so easily. He let out another sigh, continuing to look at you with a mix of bittersweet fondness and concern. Aizawa was never really an affectionate man, nor was he really one to show much emotion on the daily. But this time was different. His hands never left you, and his eyes gleamed with deep, thoughtful emotions that carried the weight of his thoughts.

"You aren't... You just-" He let out a heavy breath, struggling to get his words out. Normally he'd have an answer for everything. For some reason, at this moment his mind was failing him, possibly due to the fact that he had never expected to be visited by this day.

He opened his hand once again to take another look at the cigarette. He blankly stared at it before it evolved into a glare, angry at how both of your minds were bound to such a small, feeble item. Upset with how easily it took ahold of both of your lives, and how it preyed on the both of your vulnerable moments.

"I'm sorry... I don't want to be a bad kid... A delinquent..." Your shaky voice broke the silver of silence as you struggled to contain all the years of built up guilt and self loathing that were ready to burst from your mind, threatening to snap the reigns and break free.

Aizawa let out a soft sigh, his expression delving further from a look of anger into a more somber one.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, kid-"

His casualness and calm tone caught you by surprise, especially after you had steeled your mind in preparation for a lengthy scolding and disappointment. It seemed that wherever you went nobody gave it much thought, and although it was supposed to be relieving it gave off the opposite effect: as though no one cared.

"B-but I... I smoked! I'm no good, a delinquent, right? I-I..." Your thoughts began swallowing you, mocking you in its thick putty-like memories. The days when it was too much and you'd cry after. The anxiety that always came with the fear of getting caught. The forever fading hope that this would be over.

You weren't thinking properly, too many things you had imagined not coming true upon discovery. Your world was turned upside down, and it was a mess in your head.

You just wanted this to be over. You couldn't forgive yourself as easily as those around you had.

The flying thoughts and panicked irrationality of your mind was suddenly stalled as Aizawa abruptly placed a firm, solid hand on your shoulder - most likely to snap you out of it.

Looking up you were met with stern yet caring eyes, a swirling mixture of knowledge and pain behind the deep brown color they wore.

"I can tell you regret what you did, that's why I'm telling you to not be so hard on yourself. It'll only break your self-image if you expect perfection. Look..."

He signaled for you to sit, slowly pushing you back down into the chair you once were in before dragging his chair over so it was sitting directly in front of yours. His expression became serious, his features knotting into one of deep focus and thought. Hunching over and leaning his chin against his hands you suddenly realized just how close he was. Remembering him only acting like this once or twice, it was noticed that he only became like this for serious, close moments.

The first time he had sat you down such as this was after the USJ attack. He had held you in his arms after the bandages were removed, silent and... Different.

"We all make mistakes... " Aizawa spoke slowly, suddenly seemingly aware of life around him as you noticed his glazed look was no longer there.

"... We all tend to fall down at some point in our lives... But what matters is that we get back up. Even if you know you'll fall down again." He opened his hand and dropped the cigarette plainly on the small table that sat to the side of you both.

"What matters is that you learn from where you failed. That's why we mess up, to learn. And just because you've fallen certainly doesn't make you a delinquent."

He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "You've made a mistake, you regret it, and you've learned your lesson. That's doesn't make you a bad kid, that makes you human."

You started tearing up, the weight of his words finally managing to sink in. Human. You were only human after all... Weren't you?

"Besides... It's not like you've committed some deadly crime. I was standing in your spot myself when I was your age, only..." He looked away and towards the stars littering the sky. "I didn't have anyone to go to. And look where that's got me" Letting out a humorless dry chuckle, he took a deep breath before letting some silence fall in between the two of you.

"I... I want this to end. I want it to all be over..." Voice meek and raw from all the crying, you didn't even know if you were speaking to Aizawa directly or if you were just letting thoughts fall out of your mind without restraint.

"Is that really what you want to do?" Years of teaching had given Aizawa a large handful of experiences, allowing him to meet students of all types who each suffered from something of their own. Of course he had known many who had fallen for this addiction, smoking without care. There were only a few, however, that actually wanted to drop it. "I'd be more than happy to guide you through it... I know it's redundant seeing as I'm still hooked myself, but I know I'm not ready yet..."

He looked up at you, surprised to see you looking right at him instead of the ground. "I've helped more than a few folks quit their habits, so I know a few things... If you want my help that is-"

Accidentally cutting Aizawa off by throwing yourself at him, you wrapped your arms around him in a tight hug of affection and regrown hope. He only chuckled, not the slightest upset, before hugging you back and patting you on the back a few times.

He had on the first soft smile of the night. "You sure you can handle it?" His voice was filled with concern, worried for how you'd handle the dark claws of addiction gnawing at you. He knew it was tough, because just as he said he himself had been in your very spot years before. He failed, but at least he knew he was content with where he stood.

"It's a difficult thing to give up, but if you really have your heart set on it, then I believe you. I'll help you through it as long as you're willing. And if you ever feel like giving up..." He paused for a second to get up and head back inside, helping to hoist you up as well.

After the back door to the balcony was open, he turned and smiled with a lighthearted wink.

"... Just remember why you wanted to quit in the first place."

A/N:

Again, I'm so sorry about the disappearance! I do hope this reaches out to the person that requested it... =͟͟͞͞(๑º ﾛ º๑)！！

Notes:

• Tags are okay with me! Just ask if you'd like to be tagged for something specific (like a specific genre, character, etc. Especially if you want to be tagged for either my art or my writing!). Once you do then I'll do my best to tag you appropriately! ✌️(˶｀‪‎��ࠔ´˵)🙏( •∀< )👍

° Requests are open! Request rules are in my pinned post (I'm not that strict)! You can request and I'll do my best to write it, I just might take some time to do so. I promise I haven't deleted or forgotten anyone! (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧

♡That's all I have to say, other than that I hope everyone here has a lovely day/night! ( ⑉¯ ꇴ ¯⑉ )

[mel-155-a]

I fucking hate being trans and also transitioning was the correct decision and I have no idea how to square those two things.

Hormones took way too long to do way too little, almost twelve years down the line I still get constantly misgendered, my tits are...fine. I guess. Average, which is honestly more than I expected so.....woo.

Vocal training makes me suicidal and a significant majority of the people offering it are actually offering extremely overpriced singing lessons when they aren't even qualified in anyway to do that beyond "being good at singing". I'm still stuck in a shitty cycle of trying it and failing hard every couple of years, because my voice makes me cry when I fail to disassociate properly from it in my day to day life and actually hear it.

It took me ten years to get the first stage of a colovaginalplasty in July, and it's been three months of pain, frustration, anxiety, and fear as my reward for the previous ten years of endless humiliation and stress that was constantly getting fucked with by surgeon's offices and insurance companies. I have never been particularly horny, but even for me, three months of any kind of masturbation or sex being complicated and difficult to get anything out of is a whole fucking lot to deal with.

I am getting the second stage in December, and the wait is hellish and the healing process is going to be worse, another extended painful, frustrating, anxiety and fear inducing healing period that will likely last at least a year, maybe longer. And it may or may not be over at that point, I might need revisions which will require more healing and frustration and pain.

I could try to get some kind of FFS so I could look in the mirror without cringing, but god, MORE surgery? Having to go through another years long process to try and force an insurance company to cover it, only to get the chance to be miserable for a year or more? Yeah, sounds great. Just what I wanted.

Make-up is a no go because of the face stuff, clothes generally don't fit me because I am a freakishly large 6'3" 230 something pound giant, and even when I do find something, a new skirt might feel good for an afternoon if I am really lucky. Getting misgendered in it regularly lasts forever.

And the trans community is just FUCKED. I know I am a traumatized, depressed, downer pretty regularly, and that is after ten years of therapy and trying really hard to get better. There are quite a lot of trans people who have not had the chance to do that ten years of work on themselves and oof. It shows. It's not their fault, but god is it draining to constantly be around.

Add in the fact that I am a trans woman who has the gall to not be bright, happy, and conventionally attractive, that I am not the girldick sex bunny AND I am also not the humble non-passing ogress who is none-the-less so proud and happy to be trans, who has pride flag everything and a dozen Blahajs around and just...ugh. I can feel people just waiting for a reason to make the call-out posts and when I eventually come across them where they think I won't see, I just want to never talk to anyone again.

Nothing about being trans is good for me. It is all an exercise in misery both internal and external that I can never escape. But it was also the right choice, not transitioning was worse. What the fuck do I do with that?

It's made even worse because I feel like I am "betraying the cause" or something, hurting all the other vulnerable trans women around me and the non trans femmes I love and have in my life, by being this just constantly screaming pain parade. That there should be a finish line to all this and I should have reached it by now, and been able to come back and happily report to everyone else that their time wandering in the desert will end as well.

I am just stuck. I don't have the resources or ability to disappear into the background and leave being trans behind except as a historical footnote, and it's all so normalized that any joy or novelty is long, long gone, leaving just the pain. I am not sure the joy and novelty were EVER there for me personally. If they were, the memories are so distant and faded as to be meaningless.

So...what the fuck do I do? There isn't a Transition 2 to get me out of the rut. This is just my life. And it fucking sucks.

I feel really apprehensive about posting this, I feel like people will be weird about it. But I am pretty sure that I can't be the only person who feels like this. Who feels stuck, left behind, and unwelcome because they are miserable with the thing that they are constantly told should have saved them. So, if that sounds like you, you aren't alone. I don't have any answers either, but we can have a little pity party together I guess. Wooooo.

[metal-mouse]

Not the One to Worship, Not the One to Blame

pairing: Sebastian Sallow x gn!Slytherin MC (no y/n used)

themes: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: swearing, trauma, panic attacks, depression, self-isolating

summary: 1.4k word vomit. The battle against Ranrok is over. You are in your sixth year, and now have to deal with the aftermath that is emotion and nightmarish memories. Despite having kept Sebastian Sallow's secret, you have no interest in his friendship. However, he certainly makes a good scapegoat for all of your pain.

note: This is the first piece of writing I have posted publicly in over 10 years. It is going to be rough, as I am very out of practice. I never expected to write anything to post ever again, but I've had such a massive streak of inspiration I figured I'd put myself out there. Be gentle with me because I'm a big baby but be honest - I'm getting better at receiving feedback. I also don’t edit anything ever, so there’s probably plenty of bad grammar/confusing sentence structure/spelling errors. 

You stood alone at the top of the astronomy tower alone, hugging yourself tightly against the chilled air as you watched the sun set. The silence was welcome compared to the chaos of the Great Hall over supper. With hundreds of students meeting together at the same time, the sound of countless conversations overwhelmed you far too easily. You had eaten quickly and excused yourself from the company of Ominis, ignoring the concerned look on his face. You knew he worried, but he also knew enough to respect when you needed your space. It was one of your favourite things about him. 

The world around you was washed in a gentle golden glow that you desperately wanted to enjoy. The colours of the sky were beautiful, but no emotions stirred inside of you. You remained numb and empty. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d smiled. You wished you could feel something other than this awful cycle of misery, anger, fear, and hollowness. You wished that people would leave the past in the past. Every time a classmate brought up Ranrok’s defeat at your hands you felt like you were going to be sick. Your chest would tighten, and a clammy feeling would cling to the back of your neck as the rest of your body felt smothered by flames and smoke. You had been furious with Professor Black for being the one to share your involvement in the battle and causing this endless stream of praise and questions. All you wanted was to forget. 

Even worse than thinking about Ranrok was seeing Sebastian in the halls, in your classes, in your common room. You may have spared him from expulsion and imprisonment, but you still hadn’t found it in yourself to forgive him. Perhaps the blame you placed on him was unfair, perhaps he was an easy scapegoat for your pain. He had, afterall, caused a great amount of that pain. Yet, you weren’t any better than he was. Every night you dreamed of flashes of green and how the light left Victor Rookwood’s blue eyes… Dozens of men and countless goblins lay dead at your hand, and people actually celebrated you for this. In the beginning, you had been intrigued by the power you held. You had been eager to learn it and grow it. You had liked having a unique power that put you above others. Now, you wanted nothing more than to turn back time. You wished you’d never found out about this magic. You wished that none of this had ever happened. 

You were deep enough in your spiraling thoughts that you hadn’t noticed your unwelcome company until a warm cloak was placed over your shoulders. You flinched, immediately in attack mode as you looked at your intruder. Sebastian Sallow didn’t look at you. Instead, he put his hands on the railing and leaned out to see the world below. 

“I’ll go away if you want me to.” He said, breaking the tense silence. You watched him apprehensively, without saying a word. Sebastian took that as permission to remain in your presence. 

“What do you want?” You asked. 

“I may not be your favourite person right now, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care. You’re not alright.” Sebastian looked over at you. You scowled at the way he jumped straight to the point. The empty feeling inside of you was slowly replaced with anger. Not alright? What fucking gave it away? Why the hell was Sebastian the first person to bring it up besides Ominis - who had been there when you started to truly fall apart? 

“I’m fine.” You said. 

“I haven’t seen you smile since the year started - it’s now February. Not at Ominis. Not when you’re brushing Puffskeins with Poppy. You don’t even smile when Weasley makes his stupid jokes.” Sebastian stood and took a step towards you. It felt like his eyes were burning into your face. All you wanted was for him to look at anything but you. How dare he talk to you about this. Talk to you about your happiness - which he fucking stole from you. Why was he even paying attention in the first place? You adjusted his cloak around you, hating how warm it was and how it smelled like Sebastian. 

“If I haven’t smiled, it’s your fault.” A low blow. Sebastian’s nostrils flared and hurt filled his eyes, but he tilted his head as if to encourage you to carry on. You didn’t. 

“The last time I checked, you were the one acting so miserable. It’s you who doesn’t bother to even try anymore.” 

“I don’t have to try anymore. I’m a hero, Sebastian, everyone will love me all the same. Who cares if I’m miserable?” you spat out, “Can’t you see it? I don’t get to have emotions! Only people have feelings. I’m merely a tool to be used - a weapon if you will - whenever someone needs to use me. It makes it so much easier for everyone to forget what happens under the surface of battle. To forget the atrocities I’ve committed. The horrors I’ve seen. You wouldn’t understand it.” Sebastian’s eyes were wide as he stared at you. 

“Is that truly what you think? That I don’t understand? You’re not the only one who went through hell last year. I was right there the entire time. I helped you fight trolls, goblins, spiders, poachers, must I go on? 

I saw the look on your face when you came back from killing Victor Rookwood, and I knew before anyone else did what had happened. Want to know how? Because I know how it feels to fucking take someone’s life.” Sebastian bellowed, making you take a step backwards. You glanced towards the stairwell, hoping nobody was nearby to eavesdrop. 

He had been there. Sebastian had known from the beginning what you were going through, and he had helped - even if it put his life in danger. His true motives may have ultimately lain elsewhere, but you knew he didn’t want to see any more people harmed at Ranrok’s hands. Guilt pushed its way through your unjustified anger. He was certainly making it difficult to blame him for more than what he deserved. 

“Just leave me alone, Sebastian.” You whispered. He shook his head, his lips pressed in a firm line. His brown eyes were unusually glassy, almost as if he was trying to hold back tears.

“Whether you like it or not, I understand.” He was still shaking his head, stray tears indeed spilling from his eyes. Sebastian’s lips fell into a frown and quivered a little. It was an ugly face, he was not a pretty crier. Something in this insignificant flaw of his made you pause. Seeing him feel so strongly about how you felt… To show these emotions to you, this clearly meant a lot to him. You meant a lot to him. You approached him carefully, reaching up tentatively and wiped away an errant tear. 

“I know, Sebastian. I… I don’t blame you for this. None of it.” You looked down at your feet, your hand still on his cheek. 

“And I think you’re far more than a weapon. You don’t have to be the hero with me, you can be just you. I just want to see you smile.” Sebastian very carefully took your hand in his. You looked back up to his face, and you knew he meant it. 

“Can we try again?” You asked. He exhaled deeply, you could see the thoughts racing in his mind. 

“I think something could be arranged.” Ominis Gaunt’s voice made both of you jump. He stood at the top of the stairs, fidgeting with his wand. Sebastian’s hand squeezed yours tightly. Ominis walked towards where you stood, his cheeks flushed and an uncertain look on his face. Ominis held out his hand for Sebastian, who dropped yours instantly and grasped it. They shook hands firmly, and then Sebastian pulled Ominis in for a hug. 

“Boundaries! Sebastian! I will be placing firm boundaries!” Ominis protested, but his arms wrapped around his friend all the same. You let out a weak laugh that was more of a huff full of emotion. You didn’t know fully what this meant, or how anything would play out, but you knew that this would be easier with Sebastian and Ominis on your team. On each other’s team. Life was either going to get better from here, or worse, but you supposed it could be bearable if you lived it with people you cared about. You felt awful for targeting Sebastian like that. He hadn’t deserved all your hatred. Some anger and resentment, sure, but not all of it. As Ominis complained about the cold and coaxed you both back inside, you silently resolved to make it up to Sebastian. You could support him, just as he supported you.

[harri-etvane]

Title: morning coffee Pairing: idk? Maks/Vova/Lena if you squint Summary: Volodymyr, Olena and Maksym share a morning coffee in the sunshine Word count: 1k-ish

Yawning, Volodymyr rolls over, one hand searching for a familiar, warm presence, keen to shuffle back into sleep even as morning makes itself known. Eyes still closed, patting the mattress insistently yields nothing, and as he opens his eyes begrudgingly, he finds the other side of the bed empty and bright morning sunlight streaming in through the windows of their cabin. For a moment, he's content to lie there in the warmth, the quiet - relishing in it.

It still feels strange, intransient; as though if he makes one wrong move everything will vanish. This peace is more beautiful than anything he's ever known and it feels like a fairytale. He exhales slowly.

Idly, his eyelids still heavy, he watches a few dust motes dance in the sunbeams that blanket the room in gold, his thoughts drifting without consequence from one idea to the next - the day full of untold promise. They could swim, cycle, or fish. They could go for a walk, run or ride. They could read or cook or just sit and do absolutely nothing. It is still something of a novelty; there are no five am wakeup calls, no six am meetings. There is no endless barrage of relentlessly horrible news that he must confront, no-one to console or mourn. Just this - a cosy, quiet cabin in the Carpathians where nothing is needed from him, except perhaps to decide what he would prefer for dinner.

He notices a folded piece of paper propped on the nightstand. Unwilling just now to peel himself out of bed, he instead leans over to unfold it and read the contents, rubbing at his eyes, wakefulness slowly descending on him as he shuffles into a sitting position against the headboard.

On the porch with coffee. Come join us x

He considers the words for a little while, stretching luxuriously until he can feel his shoulders crack gently, all the tension gone from him now. He is still getting used to this, to a body that does not ache with exhaustion. In the beginning, it had felt so strange, to be without the ever present tension that thrummed through each muscle, the absence startling. He had forgotten what it felt like; to not hurt, to just be at rest, to be still. 

Eventually, coffee is enough of a lure in and of itself, alongside company, to have him finally tip himself out of bed, shoving on a too-large sweatshirt and some socks as he shuffles across the sun-warmed floorboards. The cabin is quiet, almost as though the building too is at rest, waking up at the same time as he. The sound of the birds filters through the windows, bright and joyous. He pads through the corridors, quiet, as though surely - this can’t really be for him. He wonders if it will ever feel real, if the fact that this, for now at least - is his life. There are no more hours to be spent in the harshly lit situation room, or the dark misery of a bunker. No longer hurtling from one emergency to the next, from speech to press conference to interview, his whole self filled with adrenaline and anger at the pain of his people.

Just this place, here -  in the golden sunlight.

He pushes open the door, met with all the warmth of the smiles of both Olena and Maksym as they turn toward him.

“Morning sleepyhead-” Olena steps towards Vova, pulling him towards her and pressing a kiss to his cheek, taking a second to relish the warm softness of him, here, just beside her. He will not be pulled away by work, by war and all its chaos this time. They can have this - these shining moments. 

“Took you long enough-”

Their joking is affectionate, Maksym with one arm open, beckoning him forward. Automatically, Vova pads forward and leans against his side as they look out over the mountains from the porch at the front of their cabin. Another quiet exhale leaves him, his eyes closing for a moment. Unseen, Maksym and Olena share a glance at one another, the bare warmth evident in both their faces for Vova could rival the sun. For all it feels as though a  weight has left him, it has left the both of them too. They are no longer quite so terrified for him - no longer filled with the inescapable dread that a frontline trip to Kursk or Donetsk might be his last, no longer gripped by the relentless anxiety that one day something might happen to him and he would go from them.

He is here, with them.

“The note mentioned coffee-” he looks at them both, all soulful eyes - not quite pouting but close to it. It’s easy to see how persuasive he must have been in meetings with their partners; all that charisma, that sweetness; seemingly for them alone. This time however, Olena rolls her eyes and Maksym elbows him in the ribs gently, both of them almost entirely immune now to his tactics.

“Get it yourself- I’m not running around after you anymore-”

“What happened to I swear to serve?”

“The Ukrainian nation, Vova. Not you specifically-”

“You mean I’m not important to you?”

“You are. Terribly important. Doesn’t mean you can’t get your own coffee-”

Vova grumbles something that sounds suspiciously like ‘traitor’ at Maks before he looks hopefully at Olena, who blinks at him innocently.

“What? I didn’t take any oaths to the Ukrainian nation so don’t start that-”

“You did swear to love and to cherish, forever might I add… so surely that counts, no?..”

She can’t keep a straight face for much longer and she laughs sweetly, handing over a mug of coffee. It’s piping hot, steam still rising from the dark brown liquid and he beams at her in thanks.

The three of them stand in the quiet, the only noise about them is the call of the birds in the trees, the endlessly blue sky stretching out above them without pause. 

[sunwarmed-ash]

🔥Sinful Sunday🔥

My love language is misery

Chapter 1: Hurt

Fandom: Detroit Become Human Ships: one sided hankvin/established hankcon->hankconvin Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst,Hurt Gavin Reed, Supportive Hank Anderson, Supportive Connor, self harm, pining gavin, jealous gavin read, two part hurt/comfort fic, pre relationship TWs: Post SA aftermath, reference implied SA Chapter preview:

Gavin's hands are shaking so hard he drops his lighter three times onto the half frozen surface of the smokers patio. He phcking hates today. Hates Anderson. Hates his plastic replacement. Hates that he will never be good enough for anybody again…  Hates that he’s so ruined.   He’s three pulls into his second cigarette when his fist comes flying in contact with one of the four bricked pillars. Pain shoots through his split knuckles and radiates up his dominant arm into his shoulder. It still doesn't hurt as much as being alone does. Having nothing and no one. He’s old (37, a grandpa in queer math), he's damaged, (sexually traumatized beyond repair), no one wants him, at least not in the way he wants them (why the hell would they?) All that’s left for him is another 40 years on this endless, repetitive cycle, forever.  Something drops on the concrete behind him and it takes Gavin a moment to check back in and realize who and what it was.  The What was a cup of coffee, rapidly cooling and soaking into the bottom of his left pant leg.  The Who was Connor, Anderson’s new phcking soulmate, who is now just standing there silently dumbstruck, his stupid mouth gaping wide enough to catch flies. His eyes are staring at Gavin’s hand, which now that Gavin looks at it he can see it’s bleeding. Like a lot.  “PHCKING WHAT?” he shouts, the overwhelming feeling of being caught sends Gavin���s defenses reeling. Gavin watches as Connor stumbles back at the outburst. Shows fear for the first time in his presence, and it’s because he’s personally responsible.   Good. Leave me alone.  “I-I…” Connor says, looking at the empty styrofoam cup before bending to pick it up. He doesn't try and look at Gavin’s hand again, but he finds Gavin’s eyes and somehow that's worse. "Detective…” “The phck are you even doing out here Connor?” Because they are not talking about this. About him.  “I...I was bringing you a coffee.” Gavin scoffs. Yeah fucking right.  “Why?”  “...A peace offering.” A peace offering?! What did Connor fall and hit his head? “For what? Am I not leaving you alone enough?" The android blushes and Gavin can’t even begin to try and decipher what that means.  “Yes... Well, I suppose that's the root of the problem. I don't… want you to ignore me.” “So you’d rather I go back to messing with you?” “No. I just… a fresh start? Maybe? For the both of us? We are coworkers now and I think it-” “No thanks,” Gavin interrupts, “Not really looking to make any new friends.” Connor’s brow furrow and he looks genuinely upset by the rejection. Gavin doesn't know what the phck he expects. What the hell would they even have in common? Except for a hard-on for Hank.  “Very well. Can I get you something for your hand Detective? It's still bleeding.” Gavin’s disbelieving scoff is mean.  “Get the phck out of here Connor.”

[kortacqueen]

Drowning

Konig jumped off the ledge of a cliff and plunged into the water below. He surfaced but was quickly dragged under by the current.

He could feel hands holding his arms, the struggle to get control, get away, away from there, from them. Even if he could break the grip, the lock to the bathroom stall would delay him too long. A fist in his long hair and the other under his chin forcing his head to look directly above him at the bully looming over him. The light above making his face dark, a demonic looming figure that feeds on misery and pain. His misery and pain. Smiling, always smiling at his misery, showing his teeth and eyes squinted. The eyes watching him with sick delight almost scared him more than that smile. They absorbed him into a dark endless abyss. A void he could never escape.

The figure above him was speaking, to his friends or to him, König doesn’t know. Doesn’t remember, he never could and never wanted to.

He does know that one moment he was looking up and the next his head was underwater.

Konig wasn’t always a king. He started as a boy. A nervous, scared, and scarred boy. Scared of the people at school and the rent at the end of the month that he never knew if his mother could pay. Scared of the loneliness of the next day spent by himself, hiding in corners and empty bathrooms.

His mother always said a good child like him will go far in life, but he didnt believe her then and he still doesn’t now.

All he knows is that the world is cruel and the people in it, far crueler.

He remembers how the end never seemed to come that day, the reprieve never appearing. They lifted his head out of the toilet water and held him there, yelling at him for something. His head hanging low, weighed down by his long soaking wet hair in front of his face. His scalp hurting from where they yanked his head, seeming to enjoy watching him fall onto himself without their grip holding him up.

He almost thought they were finished after two plunges. He had never been more wrong.

Out and in, out and in, over and over again. The cycle never ending, never changing. Plunge, wait, lift, yell, hit, grab, plunge, wait, lift, yell, hit, grab, plunge, wait, wait, wait. Wait… wait…..

König pulls himself out of the water he had jumped in. Finally on dry land, he collapsed and coughed. The water expelling from his lungs as he caught his breath.

After a moment, he sighed and lifted himself back to his feet. Resigned to finding his way back to his team in soaking wet clothes. He lifted the balaclava under his hood over his nose, the fabric no longer suffocating him.

The walk left him to his thoughts, a curse right now.

König remembers waking on the floor of the bathroom, cold and alone. His wet hair over his face and the floor, soaking his hoodie. Remembers thinking how miserable and lonely he was, laying on the floor of a gross bathroom with no one to comfort or hold him in his times of need. He ended up sobbing on the floor, unmoving, for an unknown amount of time. He left school early that day, with his hair soaking and freezing in the cold fall weather.

Oh, how miserable life can be. König no longer has delusions of it getting any better. So, here he will stay, receiving misfortune after misfortune and trudging through them. Waiting for the reprieve that he feels will never come. A breathe of air he will never get.

[thefouraboveall]

A strange ask, for each God if you would humor me.

To khorne: how would you feel about a warrior who is both weak and strong? Unable to stand most days, but able to endure the pain of it anyways. Able to rip themself apart to get to a fight they know they can't handle, solely because they know no one else is close enough to fight. A warrior who only ever sheds blood from the cruel, but more often than not, sheds his own blood as a shield or to sacrifice and be food.

To slaanesh: how would you feel about a person who cannot find pleasure in anything for long? A person who is terrified of being happy, and cannot even have the simple pleasure of stale bread without feeling like a monster who deserves to die for not sharing, when really they deserve the world. A person, who has only had pain, torture, and despair in excess... a person so terrified of being happy or comfortable, they think the world will end if they ever love.

To Tzeentch: how would you feel about someone who has done everything to make a change, a difference, only for it literally to blow up in their face horrificly. A person who has started an endless cycle of death and destruction, because every opportunity in their life is either fake, ripped away, or they fear it... not out of coweredance, but genuine terror that has been conditioned from all the terrible failures that they are convinced are all their fault.

To nurgle: how would you feel about a child growing up, abandoned by their God, feeling undeserving of love? Not even a second into life, this hypothetical child already has experienced the worst of pains and losses. Everything in this child's life methodically burned away, and they are blamed for it. Growing up, raising not only themself, but a planet's worth of others who are all younger than them. Every life they ever loved, forcefully taken by their God, to where they wonder if loving anyone is a sin... a poor child, surrounded by so much suffering and death, with bodies of their loved ones piling miles high, unable to decay, as a reminder for what happens when you betray a god.

And after each of you have processed each hypothetical person: how would you all feel if this was the same demon? All just one tragic being, that none of you can even influence. Not because they're protected, no... because they're too hurt to trust any of you.

" There is value in gameness. But only so much in the absence of strength. This being sounds loathsome and their terror would taint my armies. I would sooner have their head than entertain them. "

" Sensation encompasses pain and suffering as much as pleasure and delight. The person serves my purposes, their terror and misery a draught. They do not need to trust me to serve, to worship me for me to get what I want."

Tzeentch does not appear to be present. The question goes unanswered, not that the Changer would've been truthful or forthright even if he were around.

"Why, that child is one of my very own, even if they do not know it! To be touched so early by despair, the fates have deemed them for me. I will shield them in a bodice of mouldering flesh and twisted bone, dead nerves and deliver upon them a delight based in resignation to to the end. I am a patient god, willing to build trust with this hypothetical daemon. Time weathers all barrier."

[thatoneneuvichiliauthor]

Small Jayvik drabble loosely based on the myth of Prometheus

Warning: Spoilers for the end of Season 2 act 3

Summary: Viktor has stolen magic and given it to mankind. For that, he must be punished. (Also on ao3 if you'd prefer that format)

Viktor has stolen fire and given it to mankind. A fire that does more than just burn and warm; An all-encompassing flame that devours, consumes, integrates. A might no mortal can resist.

Hextech.

Viktor has stolen magic and given it to mankind.

He has learned the language of the runes, solved mysteries reversed for the eyes of mages only, and appointed himself as a savior of the weak and luckless.

He has freed himself from the chains of this decaying body the gods had him born in, has walked straight into Olympus to study the very essence of the arcane right under their noses, has transcended his very humanity, and achieved glorious evolution.

Against all odds, he has shaped his very own happy ending, and overcome fatality.

Or so it may seem at first glance.

But when you steal from the Heavens, you should expect consequences.

Oh, not death. Never death. Thieves do not get such an easy way out.

Instead, you get punished. Tortured. Bound to a rock for eternity, with a famished eagle as your sole companion.

And across all universes, across all realities, he tears your chest open, stains his claws with your blood, then flies away, leaving you hurt and alone, again and again, in an eternal loop.

Endless suffering, with no chance of redemption. Immortality so painful it makes you regret the weakness of mortal flesh. Your most precious, intimate dreams, turned awful, unrecognizable, and falling apart before your very eyes.

That’s what you get, for stealing magic.

However, Viktor’s torment doesn’t end here. No, the gods aren’t so merciful.

And the eagle? It cannot just be a mindless beast, driven by hunger and instinct.

That wouldn’t hurt nearly enough.

Instead…

It’s Jayce.

It’s Jayce, his friend, his partner, who won’t let him embrace death. Jayce, who has been tasked by some higher power to shoot a hole through his sternum and abandon him bleeding.

Jayce, who holds his heart in his hand and keeps squeezing.

And who will keep doing so, until the end of time, until the world crumbles apart.

Because that’s how the story goes, how the story will always go.

Or maybe not.

For, you see, the myth doesn’t always end here.

Because that is the true nature of tales and legends. A myriad of alternate versions exist all at once, plentiful as the grains of cosmical dust, and more keep sprouting to life each time the story is retold.

And so…

Sometimes, the gods take mercy.

Sometimes, punishment doesn’t have to be eternal.

Sometimes, a hero comes along, to put both the thief and the eagle out of their misery. In ancient tales, he wields a bow and arrows. In Viktor’s, he uses a time-reversing clock instead. The outcome, however, doesn’t differ much, for the thief and the eagle’s fates have already been decided. Either they stay trapped in an alternate cycle of pain and grief, or…

When a savior comes to strike them down, they become constellations in the sky. Together.

However, there is often more to a story than what myth accounts for. Key moments that lack a witness, a poet to pass them down the ages, for only the protagonists are present when they unfold.

And it’s in those undisclosed passages that the sweetest tales hide.

Because, sometimes…

Sometimes, the thief and the eagle’s destinies are so tightly intertwined that they fall in love. Sometimes, that boundless love is all it takes to extinguish the magical wildfire they created.

Sometimes, they are content with their seemingly unjust fate, because it brought them together, always will bring them together, and all they need is each other.

Viktor and Jayce. Thief and Eagle. Undercity and Topside. Machine Herald and Man of Progress.

Moon and Sun.

Forever entangled, across worlds and among the stars.

[sunflowerabyss]

The Phoenix Rises: Chapter 6

Pairing: Older!Remus Lupin x Professor!Fem!Reader

Series Masterlist

Plot Summary: Starting your third year at Hogwarts as the Charms professor proves to be difficult without having Remus by your side as you face new and irritating challenges at work, as well as joining a secret society.

A/N: I know I promised this to be out like two days ago, however, I had a minor writer's block episode and had no idea where I wanted this to go. Hopefully, you can forgive me and enjoy this chapter!

______________________________________

The days that followed your abrupt departure from Remus were consumed by a relentless wave of work. The initial rush of anger and hurt had given way to a persistent sense of emptiness. The more you buried yourself in tasks, the more you began to question whether you had overreacted. Remus's letters, filled with apologies and pleas to talk, piled up on your desk, but every attempt to respond ended with you staring at a blank parchment, unsure of what to say.

Weeks passed in a monotonous blur of routine. The exhaustion from the constant workload, combined with the loneliness that now seemed to permeate every aspect of your life, weighed heavily on your shoulders. Remus's absence left a void that not even the distraction of work could fill.

The situation at Hogwarts took a turn for the worse. Dolores Umbridge, now deemed the Hogwarts High Inquisitor by Fudge, asserted her control over the school with an iron grip. The position seemed absurd and unnecessary in your opinion, but Dolores's influence continued to grow. She initiated interviews with everyone, and you couldn't shake the feeling that it was only a matter of time until she targeted you.

The stress at work escalated, the looming threat of dismissal hanging over you like a dark cloud. The once vibrant and welcoming Hogwarts now felt like a place of constant tension and uncertainty. Each passing day intensified your yearning for the familiar warmth of Remus's presence, but pride and lingering hurt kept you from reaching out.

As the weeks turned into a seemingly endless cycle of misery, you couldn't help but reflect on the choices that led you to this point. The ache in your heart grew, and the realization that you might lose not only Remus but also your place at Hogwarts added an extra layer of despair to your already troubled mind. In the solitude of your office, you found yourself longing for resolution, a way to mend the fractured pieces of your life.

You sat at your meticulously organized desk, its polished surface marred by scattered parchment and ink stains, a visual representation of the internal chaos that consumed you. The quill trembled in your hand as you attempted to compose a response to Remus's letters. Each tear-stained word blurred the ink on the parchment, a tangible testament to the emotional turmoil that gripped your very being.

A sudden knock echoed through the room, interrupting the solitude that had become both your refuge and your prison. Startled, you hastily wiped away the evidence of your vulnerability and cleared your throat before granting permission for the unseen visitor to enter. The heavy door swung open, revealing the unexpected presence of Dumbledore.

His entrance was marked not by surprise but by an understanding that transcended words. Dumbledore's gentle eyes held no judgment, only a deep awareness of the toll recent events had exacted upon you. Despite the dread that filled the room, you found a sense of comfort in welcoming him.

Dumbledore settled into the chair before your desk, his wise eyes meeting yours with a compassion that seemed to reach beyond the surface. "I understand," he spoke softly, acknowledging the emotional maelstrom that raged within you. "Remus has written to me."

The conversation unfolded like a delicate dance between shared confessions and unspoken pain. The anger resurfaced, yet beneath its fiery surface, a seed of understanding began to germinate. You bared your soul to Dumbledore, confessing the wish that you could have done more, grappling with the foolishness of your obliviousness to the secrets that had burdened Remus. The narrative unfolded, revealing the push and pull, the gradual distancing that had fractured your once-close connection.

Dumbledore listened with a patient empathy that transcended mere acknowledgment. "I know it's hard," he admitted, his demeanor compassionate and understanding. Leaning forward, he fixed his piercing blue eyes upon your face. "But I need you to join the Order. I need strong, loyal people—individuals I can trust. They are becoming far and few between, and your strength, your dedication, would be invaluable in these trying times."

Dumbledore's gaze remained steady, a beacon of wisdom in the storm of your emotions. "I know this revelation is overwhelming, my dear. The burdens we carry often shape us in unexpected ways," he spoke, his voice a soothing balm to the raw wounds of your soul. "But your strength is undeniable, and your willingness to face this truth head-on speaks volumes about the kind of person you are."

You nodded, grateful for his understanding even as the weight of the decision ahead settled upon you. "It's just… everything happened so fast, and now I feel like I'm standing at a crossroads," you confessed, your voice carrying the weight of uncertainty.

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, his expression contemplative. "Life has a way of presenting us with choices when we least expect it. The Order needs individuals who can navigate these challenges with courage and resilience," he said, his eyes searching yours for a sign of resolve.

Taking a deep breath, you found the strength to voice the question that lingered in your mind. "Why me, Headmaster? Why now?"

Dumbledore's response carried a weight of responsibility. "The times we live in demand courage from us all. You possess qualities that are crucial in the face of adversity. Remus believes in your strength, and so do I. The Order is not just a collective of powerful wizards; it's a fellowship bound by courage, loyalty, and the unwavering commitment to stand against darkness."

As you absorbed his words, a newfound determination began to stir within you. "I won't let you down," you declared, your voice steadier than before. "I'll join the Order and do whatever it takes to make a difference."

With a purposeful expression, Dumbledore reached into his robes and pulled out a small note. "Here," he said, handing it to you. "This will guide you to our headquarters. 12 Grimmauld Place in London. Burn it as soon as possible, and make sure to be there on Friday evening, right after your last class."

You took the note, your heart pounding with a newfound sense of purpose. "How should I get there?" you asked, eager to follow through on this commitment.

Dumbledore leaned in, his eyes locking onto yours. "Do not use the Floo Network," he emphasized. "Apparate to King's Cross Station. Alastor Moody will be there to collect you."

You absorbed the information, the details sinking in as you mentally prepared for the journey ahead. "Thank you, Professor," you said, your voice filled with gratitude and determination.

Dumbledore gave you a reassuring smile. "You are doing a great service, my dear. Remember, your strength lies not only in your magical abilities but in your unwavering loyalty and courage."

"Thank you, Albus," you say softly, a small smile forming your lips--the first one in a while.

With a final nod, Dumbledore rose from the chair, leaving you with a weight on your shoulders that seemed both heavier and more manageable, knowing that you were stepping onto a path where your strength would be tested, and your loyalty would be unwavering.

_____________________________

Friday arrived sooner than expected, and despite the stressful week, you hadn't written to Remus, wanting to surprise him with your sudden appearance. However, you managed to sneak away to Hogsmeade to gather an ungodly amount of chocolate bars from Honeydukes, along with a new sweater and a Muggle book you spotted at Flourish and Blotts. Deciding to take an overnight bag just in case, you stuffed it with Remus's gifts, some clothes, and other necessities. With your wand in hand, you Apparated to King's Cross.

Navigating through the bustling crowd, you quickly spotted Alastor's distinctive figure. His large frame and magical eye made him stand out, and you saw wary glances from passing Muggles. Waving at him, he responded with a small grunt before motioning for you to follow him to a more secluded spot.

As you and Alastor walked through the crowded King's Cross, he spoke with a gruff tone, his magical eye scanning the surroundings for any signs of danger. "You're late," he grunted without looking at you.

"Sorry, Alastor," you replied, a touch of nervousness in your voice. "I had to make sure I wasn't followed."

He merely nodded, his focus unwavering. "Smart move. Always watch your back."

You caught sight of Alastor's magical eye twitching around, observing the people around you. "So, how's Remus really doing?" you asked, trying to keep the conversation light.

"Mopin'," he said simply.

"Moping?" you inquired, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

"Yeah, moping. Brooding over something or other," Alastor responded, his magical eye flickering as it surveyed the surroundings. "Annoying, if you ask me."

A mix of concern and curiosity stirred within you. "Why do you think he's been like that?" you questioned, trying to gauge if Alastor had any insights into Remus's mysterious behavior.

Alastor huffed, his breath forming a visible cloud in the cool air. "Missing you, I reckon. Can't seem to shake off whatever's bothering him."

Your eyes widened slightly at the revelation. Remus missing you was both heartwarming and perplexing. "Does he know I'm coming?" you asked, deciding to keep the surprise under wraps a little longer.

Alastor shook his head, his grizzled features expressing a mix of frustration and hope. "No, and it's high time someone pulled him out of this funk. Maybe your surprise visit will do the trick. He could use a bit of cheering up."

You smiled at the thought, appreciating the grizzled Auror's straightforwardness. "Well, I hope so. It's been a challenging week."

"Challenging is an understatement in our line of work," he grumbled. "But you seem tougher than most."

As Alastor checked over his shoulder to make sure no one was, he summoned two brooms. You eyed the broom with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. "It's been a while since I've flown," you admitted.

"Nothing like a bit of airborne freedom. Follow my lead, and you'll be just fine," Alastor assured you.

Once in the air, you found your confidence returning, and the wind rushing past felt invigorating. "This is incredible!" you exclaimed, and even Alastor managed a gruff chuckle.

You followed him to a massive building after your feet reached the ground. Initially, you noticed the absence of number 12, but as the building expanded, it came into view. Alastor walked in, and you quickly followed behind him.

The interior of 12 Grimmauld Place was a mix of haunting memories and an undeniable air of secrecy. The faded elegance of the Black family home held a certain dark allure. Alastor led you through the gloomy corridors, eventually arriving at a room where you could sense a flicker of warmth and familiarity.

As you walked, you couldn't help but ask, "How did you end up involved with the Order again, Moody?"

He glanced at you with a glint of nostalgia in his magical eye. "Old habits die hard, especially when there's a fight worth fighting. Dumbledore knows I can't resist a good battle."

Sirius Black heard the front door of him home open. Curious, he stood from his chair and walked out to the hallway, seeing who else had arrived. Spotting you, his face broke into a boyish grin.

Sirius's tall frame filled the doorway, and as Alastor pushed himself inside the room, you found yourself standing in the hallway, taking in the scene. The door opened into a dimly lit space where a group of people sat around a table, engaged in hushed conversations. Recognizing the familiar faces, you felt a mix of nerves and excitement.

Sirius nodded at Alastor, acknowledging the arrival, before opening his arms wide in a welcoming gesture. Without hesitation, you rushed into Sirius's embrace, the warmth of his familiar presence enveloping you. "I missed you," he confessed, holding you a little tighter.

"I missed you too," you replied, leaning back to look at his face. You were pleased to see that he was looking healthier than the last time you had seen him.

Sirius, ever the blunt one, leaned back against the doorframe, a smirk playing on his lips. "Remus has been a real joy to be around lately," he quipped.

You chuckled at the understatement, teasingly saying, "Moping, short-tempered, and moody? Alastor told me all about it on the way here."

Sirius let out an exasperated groan. "Yes! It's like living with a teenager going through their angst phase."

You couldn't help but laugh at Sirius's dramatic description, the tension from the week slowly dissipating in the presence of your friend's humor. "Well, I brought an overdose of chocolate and a new sweater for him. Maybe that'll lift his spirits."

Sirius grinned, appreciating the effort. "You might just be the remedy he needs. Though, personally, I'm counting on you to bring back some semblance of sanity to this place." As Sirius playfully nudged you towards the room, you couldn't help but feel a surge of nerves at seeing Remus for the first time in a while.

As you stepped into the room, the animated conversations around the table ceased abruptly. All eyes turned towards you, creating a momentary pause as the surprise settled in. Remus, however, was the first to react. His eyes widened in disbelief, and he stood up abruptly, whispering your name with a mixture of shock and joy.

In a swift motion, Remus rushed towards you, closing the distance between you two. His arms enveloped you in a tight embrace, a mixture of relief and happiness evident in the way he held you. "I can't believe you're here," he whispered into your hair, the words carrying a blend of astonishment and sheer delight.

Sensing the need for some privacy to navigate the complexities of the situation, you gently suggested, "Remus, let's step into the hallway for a moment. I'd like to talk."

Remus nodded, his eyes still reflecting a mix of emotions. With an apologetic glance at the others in the room, he led you into the hallway, where the ambient light spilled in from the room behind. The door closed behind you, providing a semblance of seclusion for your conversation.

Once in the hallway, Remus maintained a gentle grip on your arms, his eyes searching yours for an understanding of the whirlwind of emotions that accompanied your unexpected arrival. "I didn't know you were coming," he admitted, a mixture of surprise and concern in his voice.

"I wanted to surprise you," you explained, offering a small smile to reassure him. "But it seems there's a lot we need to talk about."

Remus nodded, releasing a breath he seemed to have been holding. "I've missed you so much, and I should have told you about everything sooner."

You looked at him, a mix of frustration and understanding in your gaze. "Remus, I'm not upset about joining the Order. I wanted to. I'm upset because you didn't trust me enough to tell me. We're supposed to be a team, facing everything together."

Remus sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I know, and I should have trusted you. It's just…everything is getting more dangerous, and I wanted to protect you."

You nodded, realizing the depth of his concern, but determined to bridge the gap that had formed between you. "Remus, we can face this together. But I need you to trust me."

He looked into your eyes, remorse and determination mingling in his gaze. "I promise, from now on, no more secrets. We'll face everything together."

He pulled you close, your lips ghosting his. "I love you," he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity. You mirrored the sentiment, reassuring him of your love.

Before you knew it, you both were surging forward, capturing his lips to yours. As the intensity between you grew, the kiss deepened, fueled by the emotions that had been kept at bay for far too long. The world around you faded away, leaving only the warmth of each other's presence.

Just as the atmosphere between you two became more heated, a sudden, awkward cough pierced the bubble of intimacy. Startled, you and Remus pulled away from each other, a shared embarrassment coloring your expressions. The source of the interruption was a young woman with bright pink hair.

"Ahem, sorry to break up the party," Tonks grinned, mischief dancing in her eyes. "But the meeting's about to start. Dumbledore is waiting, and we wouldn't want to keep him waiting, would we?"

You and Remus exchanged sheepish glances, realizing the necessity of regaining composure. "Right, of course," Remus stammered, his cheeks tinted with a rosy hue. You couldn't help but chuckle nervously in response.

"Name's Tonks," she said, sticking out a hand to you. You give her your name, returning the gesture, shaking her hand.

As you walked past Tonks to rejoin the others in the meeting room, you caught a glimpse of her looking at Remus with an intensity that went beyond a casual glance. You pushed the thought back as you took Remus's hand in yours, sitting down next to him. You felt a frown settle on your face as Tonks took a seat next to him.

Tonks's lingering gaze on Remus during the meeting had not gone unnoticed. The way she observed him seemed more than just casual interest, and a subtle unease settled within you.

As the meeting continued, Dumbledore provided updates on recent sightings of Death Eaters and their activities. The atmosphere in the room grew tense as he discussed the increasing frequency of dark magic disturbances and the potential signs of Voldemort's resurgence.

Moody began detailing the increased movement of dark forces. "Got reports of suspicious activity near Diagon Alley," he grumbled. "And a couple of Death Eater sightings in Hogsmeade. Nasty business is picking up again."

A murmur of concern rippled through the room as the members of the Order absorbed the grim news. Sirius, leaning against a wall, crossed his arms and scowled. "Can't say I missed this part of the action," he remarked dryly.

Dumbledore, his expression grave, addressed the gathering. "The resurgence of Death Eater activity is not unexpected. Voldemort is regaining strength, and his followers are becoming bolder. We must remain cautious and act swiftly to counter their moves."

Tonks, who had been unusually quiet, interjected, "I've heard rumors about a gathering at Malfoy Manor. Might be worth looking into." Her eyes flickered towards Remus, a subtle tension in the air.

The gravity of the situation settled over the room as everyone absorbed the information. Dumbledore urged the members of the Order to remain vigilant and emphasized the importance of unity in the face of the growing threat.

Throughout the meeting, your attention involuntarily gravitated toward Tonks whenever she spoke. There was an indescribable unease lingering in your gut, a feeling that something about her presence didn't sit right with you. As she discussed various sightings and activities, your mind couldn't shake the suspicion that there might be more to Tonks than met the eye.

While the others engaged in the conversation, your gaze subtly followed Tonks's movements. The way she interacted with Remus, her seemingly deliberate attempts to be close to him, only fueled your discomfort. It was as if an invisible thread connected her to him, and the unease within you grew with each passing moment.

Remus, sensing your distraction, shot you a concerned look. His presence provided a reassuring anchor, but the feeling of suspicion toward Tonks lingered. As the meeting progressed, you couldn't shake the nagging doubt that there might be hidden motives behind Tonks's actions.

[cynicalmusings]

i don't even go here but your brainrot post gave me some ideas

ambiguous, implied romantic, relationship, gender neutral, adepti reader. warning for: major character death, severe ptsd/depression, vivid descriptions of ptsd attacks, self harm, mentions of reincarnation, that erosion thing adepti do, inexcusably long, not proofread.

he remembers, he always does. xiao has always had a good memory. and to someone like him, with a past like his, this is a curse.

they mock him- mirages of the past, the whispering screams of the tortured and the damned, the wavering, spectral, haunting voices of his friends, even you, a voice so soft, so sweet, so undeserving of the rot that he brings, that it makes him sick. even his own voice, hoarse and broken, both pleading and condemning, the hanged man and the executioner. they claw up from deep in his gut, tearing through his lungs, withering his very bone; twisting words and memories into something awful, rotting every happy moment, corroding his very psyche as they taunt, whisper, mock- every small detail, every little thing, and endless cycle of starving and gorging on the urges. 

they plant noxious seeds into the space between ligament and muscle, so that later, they may sprout, and tear through his flesh as they wrap slowly around his throat. in these moments, he wishes they would suffocate him just a little more, and maybe then his misery would end, but it never does. perhaps, death is too good for a sinner like him. perhaps, he is meant to carry this punishment for the rest of eternity.

no one has hurt xiao more than himself, no one knows how best to torment him, than him. and it is evident in every sleepless night, every unwelcome recollection, every time his head feels as if it’s splitting with the sheer weight of the amount of ghosts living there, every time he carves his nails into his own skin, because perhaps if the physical pain can surpass the mental… but no, it never does. 

in these quiet moments, you liked to sing to him. and it helped more than he would like to admit. (even so, in small hours of the night, in vulnerable moments, xiao confesses to you, in almost silent whispers, how much you mean to him.) the urge to push you away was strong, but in moments like these, xiao is weaker than he likes to think. especially when its you. when your voice slices through the haze of delirious pain, soothes his wounds, lets him fall apart in your hands and have those same hands lovingly, meticulously, put him back together. you pretend you cannot see the way his lip trembles, the way his eyebrows cinch together and the way his breath shudders, and his lashes flutter. as the gentle moonlight gives away the shine of tears in his eyes, you tell him he’s beautiful, even in moments like these, and it breaks him in the most painfully soft way.

xiao remembers, when you both were young. all those years ago, when you dug your way into his heart, and you have never left since. when you would lie in the tall grasses of the hills of a budding liyue, side by side, just like you do now, holding one another. even as the ink stained blood soaks into his clothes, into the mud. even as your heartbeat flutters into silence, as you grow cold, stiff. even immortals cannot live forever. every living thing must suffer the same fate. xiao knows this more than anyone. but it does not make it any less painful. time and time again, he has had to watch everyone he has cared about leave where he cannot follow. and when the last person that means anything to him walks through that door, xiao can do nothing more but wait to join you.

in a moment like this, he can think of nothing else, but to sing. so that, perhaps, he might be able to return the favor. his voice is hoarse, pleading, wavering as he chokes down the sobs.

please forgive him, please. xiao knows you would, and that only makes him cry harder. even if it was his fault, his karma, his spear in your side, you would forgive him.

xiao has loved you for hundreds of years. he will love you for a hundred years more. and he loves you now, as much as he can, even as you erode away in his arms. even when he himself can feel his own heartbeat ebbing away. even when the sharp pain dissolves into a dull ache, and when someone, who he cannot recognize through the haze comes to drag him away from your body. 

xiao will love you across every lifetime. if you would do him the honor of letting him fall for you all over again. in a place where, maybe, you could live that dream of a peaceful life… with him. 

10 out of fucking 10 what the actual fuck you legend

this was so beautifully written and the angst hits in just the right spots… well done; seriously. that was really good. thank you for sending this.

[xnuwax]

I think I'll never get out of this nightmare alive.

I'm trapped in this endless cycle of misery with no way out.

As I sit in the dark, with the shadows of old wounds spread across my body, the only sound I can hear is the sound of my dreams falling apart.

My whole body is trembling from anger, my sanity is slowly slipping away from my hands.

Throat hurts from yelling so much, but decades of unspoken words still threaten to overflow.

I spent my whole life fighting, I'm friends with my dark side.

Will I snap one day and turn into a monster?

[coolcoelacanth]

i've been so fucking sad about my ex recently and i feel like a crazy person. it's deadass been 1 year since we last saw each other but it's all just hitting me right now. i was relieved for the first few months after we ended things, then i was sad, then i was doing just fine, now all of a sudden i have been fucking miserable about it for the past month. i really wish i could take my brain out of my head and run it under cold water. i feel like im short circuiting. ive just been overall depressed then ill randomly burst into tears about it for like 30 minutes. i've only been one one date since we ended things, and im starting to feel like ill never find someone i love like that again. he didn't treat me right, and i deserve better, but damn did we work together so well. if he hadn't been an idiot things could've worked out really well. now im back to square one, with all these people i genuinely have no interest in. and im pretty sure he started seeing someone shortly after we ended things and theyre still together. so i just feel even worse, like did all of that really mean that little to him? and why does he get to move on and have a happy ending? i feel like nothing is ever fair bro, i give my heart and soul to this shit and i get the short end of the stick every time. and i really, truly, deeply trusted him. i really really did. i dont know how to get over this horrible feeling of betrayal. it burns a hole in my stomach. it doesnt feel real. i dont want any of it to be real. its all just some kind of sick joke. and i keep playing back all the memories of all the things he did that hurt me, so im just hurting myself over and over again and just crying about it all. my brain is truly putting me thru my own personal hell, for why? who fucking knows. maybe bc i havent had a day off since august and im finally having a nervous breakdown, so my brain is just throwing everything its got at me. and i literally spent 8 hours studying today, then im working 8 hrs tmrw and studying afterward for my exam on monday. but it doesn't end there, it all just repeats on an endless cycle until my semester ends in december. i only have this semester and next semester left until i will only be doing rotations, but jesus christ if this doesnt kill me. and i used to have a reprieve on the weekends when my ex would come over for three days and we would just LOL and eat good food and i really felt like i could completely let all my walls down. now i never get to let my walls down because i dont trust anyone to be myself around. so im just constantly holding everything in all the time until i finally explode one day. this is literally so long but if you made it this far, im literally at my breaking point. and i dont even have time to have a break down, i get to cry about my life for a couple hours a day then i just keep going and going and going like a fucking lunatic. somebody please put me out of my misery for fucks sake

[blu3b3rry-t4rt]

Unpopular opinion that needs to be more popular: TikTok should be erased from the Internet

This app has become a safe haven for so many people. As a result, many people have started to find solidarity in those who share similar likes and interests, which is all well and good until it really sinks in. It's borderline insane to watch people like this pick apart every teeny tiny aspect of someone's life in order to find a reason for the stupidest things. "You like [X] because your childhood was horrible.", "you hate [X] because you're mentally unwell.", "you think [X] because you're a bad person", etc.

It's as if people can't think for themselves anymore. Some people rely on TikTok to tell them what to think and how to feel. If it weren't for TikTok we wouldn't have had so many periods of people in mass hysteria over the smallest issue

If you or a loved one are convinced that you're sick in the head because someone on TikTok said so, please reach out to a therapist of some kind. Or a trusted friend/adult. I mean this wholeheartedly. We need to stop feeding our brains more information than we can physically handle. All this has led to is communities of people regurgitating tidbits of speculation and presenting it as fact

To provide a reality check to those who desperately need it: Stop listening to TikTok. Stop listening to this cesspool of ill-informed teenagers who are trying to find every variation of every label to give meaning to the most insignificant topics. People don't need to define every aspect of their life in order to live. Humans aren't made to psychoanalyze themselves to this extent. Apparently to the point of breaking down *which holiday they like better* by connecting it to some completely unrelated part of their childhood

I'm sorry to those who had a difficult upbringing, but please stop trying to integrate your hurt into every aspect of your life. All this will do is keep you trapped in an endless cycle of misery. You're actively perpetuating the trauma you went through by convincing yourself that all of this is connected in some strange, arbitrary way. It's gotten to the point where people cannot live without thinking about their trauma as if it's the definition for why someone lives. Yes, these points in a person's life will absolutely shape how they view the world, but this is getting so far out of hand. To resolve your hurt, you need to learn to live without it. Please, instead of turning to TikTok for comfort, work on yourself *by yourself*. Surrounding yourself in this toxic bubble of reminders of how hard it was for you to grow up is not helping anything

To everyone who has read this: take care of yourselves. Take the time to live by your own terms instead of the guidelines of an app that is curated to kill your individuality

I am calling for a total and complete ban on tiktok pop psychology until we can figure out what the hell is going on

[vulnerablepoet]

Tw: stupid rant so don’t read unless you’ve a lot of time in your hand that u wanna waste

I’m so tired of this constant, invisible struggle. People say, “But you’re so high-functioning, how could you possibly be struggling?” as if having a routine or meeting expectations means I’m okay. They have no idea how much energy it takes to wear this mask, to hide the storm that rages inside me every single day. And if I dared to reveal even a fraction of it, they’d probably say I’m being dramatic, tell me to “just get over it,” or that I’m too sensitive. So I hold it all in, bury it deep to keep everyone else comfortable, while it eats me alive from the inside out.I get attached to people so easily because of this aching emptiness, this void that never seems to go away. It feels like there’s something missing, a hollow ache right in my chest that I can’t fill no matter what I do. And when someone finally makes me feel seen, loved, understood—even for a moment—I latch on. I build my world around them because, for once, I don’t feel like I’m drowning alone. But then, any slight change in their tone, a moment of distance, and my brain spirals into overdrive, telling me they don’t care, that they’re going to leave. I go from feeling on top of the world to plummeting into a pit of self-doubt and resentment, hating myself for not being “enough” to keep them around.I bend over backwards for people just to keep them in my life. I sacrifice my own needs, my boundaries, even my self-respect—whatever it takes to make sure they don’t leave. But the minute they show signs of pulling away, I fall apart. And then, inevitably, they do leave, and it confirms every fear I had that I’m unworthy, inadequate, disposable. This cycle of clinging, losing, and hurting just fuels my fear of vulnerability, until I don’t know how to let anyone in without the terror of being abandoned.It’s this endless loop, and the worst part is, I don’t even know who I am without it. The emptiness, the anxiety, the constant fear they’re all I’ve ever known. Happiness feels foreign, even dangerous, like I’m losing control if I feel too good. So I cling to misery because, at least then, I’m prepared for the worst. It’s like a twisted kind of comfort, but I hate it. I hate that I don’t know how to just be, to live without this constant weight. And every time I think maybe I’ve found someone who can help pull me out, they leave, and I’m left even more broken than before.I don’t want to feel this way. I don’t want to be this way. But I don’t know how else to exist. It’s so lonely, feeling like this, like I’m trapped in a cycle I can’t break, even though I want to. And now, I’m left clinging to the hope that maybe, just maybe, this person won’t leave, that they’ll see through my mess and stay. But deep down, I’m scared. Scared that I’m too much, that this pain is too heavy, and that they’ll walk away just like everyone else.

I’m so tired.