#even when i was reading i was angry and hateful and despairing

[lord-squiggletits]

*grabs your head and holds it tightly between my hands*

Do you ever fucking think about the ending of the Unicron series. Do you ever think about how it wasn’t a weapon or a battle that saved Earth from extinction but empathy? Do you ever think about how it was a single organic being at the center of Unicron, aching for the billions of lives (of his own species and others) that were slaughtered by Cybertronians and how Unicron is a representation of vengeance but also grief. Do you ever fucking think about how Optimus walked right up to that aching soul and said “you’re right to hate us and maybe we do deserve to die for what we did to you” despite how easy it would be to hate this person for nearly eradicating all Cybertronians? Do you think about how the moment of Unicron’s defeat happened not because Optimus defeated this lonely being by attacking him, but because Optimus embraced him and told him to remember the name of his long dead daughter-- to focus on love for a person he cared about rather than hatred and perpetuating the cycle of violence? Do you fucking think about how Optimus had every reason to hate this person for slaughtering innocents of his own kind but chose compassion, and choosing compassion is what saved the remnants of Cybertronians and Earth from extinction? Do you think about how Optimus sacrificed himself to save his race using the power of love? Do you ever fucking think about it????

[mewguca]

Shame

this is a rather personal piece; it's primarily based on my own struggles

It probably could've been executed better (like having more of the interaction she's agonizing over), but I really wanted to focus on that visceral reaction of shame, guilt, and self-criticism

here's a long ramble I wrote while starting this ...

I realize, perhaps much of the reason certain depictions of moon trigger me so much is due to my own overwhelming shame and guilt. It's a defense mechanism crafted because I yet lack the strength to accept myself. I suppose that's why characters like Five Pebbles are so appealing to me — he is someone I've given the room to express his faults, his flaws, his hatred, his despair, his pain, and all his imperfections... For him to be mean or angry is natural and expected, so it's not as scary to express my negative feelings with him as the instrument. He's not a "good person", after all, so it's fine if he is "bad." His standards aren't as high.

Conversely, because I idealize LTTM so much and connect her to myself, I deny her the same things I deny myself. I do it without even thinking, really...

I've often thought, "but this sort of emotion doesn't really suit her... isn't this sort of projection too self-indulgent? If I made this, it'd be too obvious that my own emotions are bleeding through onto the canvas..."

So, I wonder if she's experienced that same sort of emotional repression. It'd be cathartic, in an unfortunate way. To see someone else struggle to grapple with such things, because they want to be pure and virtuous and not upset others...

It's harder when you spend so much time shaping that perfect, faultless, virtuous sort of image, especially when you do it reflexively. Unconsciously. You're making the pressure for yourself worse, but you can't stop... I'm actually not a very friendly person. I'm actually quite afraid and irritable, and I push people away when they get too close. I don't want to hurt anyone, and I don't want anyone to hate me... I don't want to cause suffering or strife. Sometimes, I wish I could just be a completely passive observer.

But I suppose I'm a human being instead, so I have to accept that. Thanks for reading, I guess. I'm not really looking for emotional support here... I just want to be understood.

[betweenstorms]

Where Ghosts Linger Obsessed!Simon x fem!Reader

In honor of both kinktober and spooktober, I’ve stepped out of my comfort zone to write something darker. Imagining Simon in this twisted scenario wasn’t easy, but I wanted to push the boundaries and see where it would take me. Hope you enjoy this eerie little experiment!

TW: contains themes of obsession, depression, alcoholism, violence, child abuse, self-harm and non-consensual behavior. It includes dark psychological elements and emotional distress. Please read with caution.

London. Fucking London.

A city that thrived on misery and despair, where the air was thick with the stench of piss and where Simon Riley found himself suffocating in his own personal hell. He hated the crowded streets, the gray, lifeless sky, and the dirty rain that seemed to wash away any trace of hope. London was a festering wound, and Simon was stuck in it, rotting from the inside out.

His apartment was a reflection of that rot. A shithole in Southwark that was as neglected as he was. The landlord didn’t give a shit about it, and neither did Simon. Why bother? This place was a bloody tomb, and he was just another fucking corpse waiting to decompose in it. The walls were stained with years of filth and smoke, the paint peeling off like the skin of some dying beast. He lived in dirt, where he belonged, surrounded by the remnants of a life that felt like it belonged to someone else.

The medals on the shelf, once a source of pride, now sat gathering dust, their shine dulled by time and indifference. A painful reminder of who he had been, and who he would never be again. He’d been an elite soldier, a protector, a fucking weapon. But that life was over, dead and buried just like the people he’d failed to protect.

Now, he was nothing but a broken-down wreck, a ghost haunting the ruins of his own past.

How pathetic.

It had been a year since the army had tossed him out on his arse, like a piece of shit they couldn’t be bothered to flush. ‘Early retirement’ was the official story, but Simon knew better. He’d seen their looks, heard their whispers. They thought he was broken, fucked in the head. And they were right. The nightmares, the flashbacks, the undying rage that simmered just below the surface of his inked skin, ready to explode at the slightest provocation—they were all signs that something inside him had snapped. And it had.

The day Johnny died, the last bit of humanity in him had died too.

All that was left was anger, grief, and a deep hatred for the world and himself.

The military forced him out after he nearly killed a rookie during a training exercise. He could still hear the bone breaking, still feel the flesh tearing under his bare hand. It had taken four men to pull Simon off, and even then, he’d been like a rabid dog, snarling and spitting, desperate to finish what he’d started.

After that, there was no saving him. They gave him some bullshit about ‘rest and recovery,’ about how he needed to ‘take time for himself.’ But he knew what they meant. They wanted him gone, out of sight, out of mind. Another broken soldier thrown on the scrap heap, just another casualty of a war that never really ended.

Most days, he was angry. So fucking angry that it felt like he was burning from the inside out, like his veins were full of liquid fire.

He’d go out looking for something, anything to let the rage out before it consumed him. He’d pick fights in pubs, in alleys, in abandoned sites, anywhere he could find some poor bastard who looked at him the wrong way. It didn’t matter if he won or lost either.

On the days when the anger wasn’t there, he felt nothing.

Just a cold, hollow emptiness that left him numb and disconnected from everything. Those were the days when he couldn’t bring himself to leave his soulless flat, when he’d sit in that creaky old armchair and drink himself into oblivion with cheap whiskey.

Those were the days he feared the most too—the days when he didn’t care if he lived or died, when the gun in the drawer seemed like the only way out of the endless nightmare.

Something always stopped him before he could pull the trigger.

Maybe it was cowardice, or maybe it was some small, stubborn part of him that still clung to life, even though he didn’t know why. Whatever it was, it kept him going, kept him trapped in this limbo of existence. He would get up, go through the motions, take his pills, and try to convince himself that tomorrow might be different, even though he knew it wouldn’t be.

Sometimes, he tried to fight it and hold on to some semblance of a life. He’d wake up at dawn, like he used to, force himself to shave, to shower, to eat. He’d try to follow the old routine, the one that had kept him sane during all those years of deployment.

However, it never worked. He’d been a soldier, a man with purpose, but now he was nothing. Just a useless, sick in the head, broken piece of shit, abandoned by the only thing that had ever given his miserable life any meaning.

To ease the pain, he walked during the night and slept through the day. The only time he could find any peace was under the dark sky, the only time the voices in his head quieted down, even if just for a little while. Sometimes he was drunk, stumbling through the dirty streets like a wraith, barely able to keep himself upright. Other times, he was sober, the cold night air cutting through the fog in his mind, sharpening the edges of his thoughts. He wandered the shitty, empty streets of the worst parts of London for hours, sometimes until the sun started to rise, trying to outrun the demons that haunted him.

It was on one of those nights when he saw you for the first time.

It was a cold, damp night in October, the kind that seeped into your bones and made you feel like you would never be warm again. He was sober, or maybe he just felt that way due to the cold, because for once his mind clearer than it had been for a seemingly endless year.

His father’s face flashed before his eyes, twisted and angry, the same expression the bastard always wore when he was about to beat the living shit out of him. Simon could almost feel the blows, the sting of the belt, the sharp pain of a fist connecting with his ribs. He’d learned early on not to cry. Crying only made it worse. So he’d learned to take it like a man, to bury the pain deep down where it couldn’t touch him. But that pain had never really gone away. It had just festered, turned into something dark and ugly that had followed him his whole life.

And then there was the memory that haunted him most of all.

The day he’d come home to find lifeless bodies in his childhood home, his family slaughtered because of him. Because of a bloody mission that had gone sideways, because he hadn’t been fast enough, smart enough, good enough. He’d dug himself out of a grave with a fucking rotting jaw, only to find his brother, his dear mother, his baby nephew—all of them dead, butchered like mere animals because of him. He will never forget the sweet, nose-wrenching stench of corpses and blood that filled the house.

That was the day Simon Riley had died.

The day Ghost had been born.

He was so lost in these thoughts that he almost walked right past you. How could he do that?

Walk past you.

Oh you. You were standing under a rusty streetlamp, the rain forming a mist around you that caught the orange light in a soft, golden halo. For a moment, Simon thought he was seeing things. Maybe he wasn’t as sober as he thought, and the whiskey he’d downed earlier was playing tricks on him. Because you didn’t look real.

You looked like something out of a dream. A hallucination.

You were dressed simply, in clothes that were too thin for the cold weather, but Simon barely noticed. It was your face that held his attention, the way the light played across your skin, making it glow against the backdrop of the city. Your hair was wet, locks sticking to your cheeks and shoulders, but you made no effort to brush them away. They hid your eyes for a moment before you shifted slightly, looking down at your phone and he saw them—eyes that seemed to stare right into his pathetic soul.

For a seemingly endless moment, Simon just stood there, staring at you, feeling like the ground had been pulled out from under him.

You didn’t belong here, in this ugly, rundown part of London, in the middle of a miserable night. And then, out of the blue, a sudden, crazy thought flickered through his broken mind.

Maybe you were waiting for him.

The thought was absurd, ridiculous even, but it latched onto Simon's twisted mind with the tenacity of a pitbull, refusing to let go. Maybe you were there for him, a bloody angel in the midst of this wretched city, just standing there in the piss-poor rain as if you didn't belong to the same shitty world that had turned him into this... thing.

This broken, hollow shell of a man.

He shook his head, trying to clear the fog of desperation that clouded his better judgment, but it didn’t help. The sight of you had triggered something deep inside him, something he hadn’t felt ever. It was like a spark had been ignited in the pitch-black darkness of his mind, a tiny flicker of light that he was terrified would go out if he didn’t hold on to it. Maybe it was the booze still swirling in his body, maybe it was the years of torment and guilt twisting his brain into knots, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He couldn’t stop himself from believing, if only for a moment, that you were meant for him.

He took a step closer, the soles of his black boots splashing in the cold, dirty puddles on the pavement, but you didn’t seem to notice.

Simon’s pulse quickened, his breath shallow and uneven as he moved closer, his steps soundless despite the wet pavement beneath him. He surveyed the area with practiced eyes. The street was empty, a desolate stretch of asphalt and crumbling brick, lined with decrepit buildings that looked like they hadn’t seen a lick of care in decades. There were no people nearby, no signs of life in the windows above.

Just him and you, alone in this forgotten corner of the city.

You were still oblivious to his presence, lost in whatever was on that bloody phone of yours. He watched you, hazel eyes narrowing as he considered his next move. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. Part of him just wanted to get closer, to see you more clearly. But there was another part of him, a darker part, that wanted more.

Simon moved closer, every step deliberate, controlled.

He felt like a predator stalking his prey, his military training coming back to him in full force. It was second nature to him now, the way his mind cataloged every detail, every possible threat or escape route. He had been trained to hunt, to go for the throat, to eliminate, and those instincts were hardwired into his core, impossible to shake even after all this time. The lines blurred in his mind, his thoughts tangling up in the memories of past missions, of dark nights spent creeping through hostile territory, of the adrenaline that surged through him when he was on the hunt.

For a brief second, Simon could almost hear his old captain’s gruff voice echo in the hollow of his mind—a special forces operator’s worth is tested in blood. The words twisted in his chest, cold as the barrel of his rifle, his breath catching in his throat. A phantom touch grazed his shoulder, and for a heartbeat, he could almost feel Gaz there—tapping lightly to signal the breach. His brother, always at his side. But no, not anymore. He must be a lieutenant now...

Simon blinked hard, forcing the ghosts back into the shadows.

He focused on you instead, the only anchor left in the storm.

Just as he was about to take another careful step, a sharp, sudden sound shattered the stillness of the night. Your phone rang, the shrill tone cutting through the silence like a knife. Simon froze, instinctively ducking behind the wreck of an old, rusted car parked at the edge of the street. Your lovely voice was tinged with frustration as you spoke. It was quiet, almost too quiet, yet it clung to the air with a strange sweetness that made his breath falter.

In that moment, something in him shifted—like a taut wire snapped loose, vibrating through his chest. It was an obsession born not of choice, but of instinct.

“Derek? Where are you?”

Derek.

Simon’s stomach twisted at the sound of the name. He could feel the anger bubbling up inside him, hot and vicious, as he imagined that bastard leaving you out here, alone in the dark, like you were nothing. You were too good for this shithole. And Derek, whoever the fuck he was, had left you, you out of all people, stranded.

Simon’s hands clenched into fists, the leather of his gloves creaking as he fought to keep his temper in check.

“No, I told you I didn’t know this area,” you said, pacing back and forth, the anxiety clear in your every movement. Your tone was sharp, but beneath it, however, Simon could hear the fear creeping in. “No, I’ve been wandering around for an hour! I’m lost, Derek, and this place is creeping me out. I don’t know where I am. Help me, please."

Simon felt a surge of protectiveness, mingled with fury.

Of course you were creeped out. You should be. This was no place for someone like you. You were lucky, though. So damn lucky that Simon had been the one to find you, that it wasn’t some thug or worse, some twisted bastard who’d see you as easy prey. Oh no, you were safe with him, even if you didn’t know it.

Safe from everything except him.

“I don’t care about the discount in the pub, come on,” you huffed, your voice trembling a bit, now tinged with a note of desperation that made Simon’s chest tighten painfully. “The guys will understand, I’m sure. Please, just come and help me.”

Simon could almost hear Derek’s response in his head—a lazy, careless dismissal, maybe a drunken laugh as he waved off your concerns. The thought made Simon’s blood boil.

Derek didn’t deserve you.

Didn’t deserve to be anywhere near you, didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you. You were precious, an angel in a city full of demons, and that bastard was too fucking stupid to appreciate you. If Simon ever got his hands on him, he’d make sure Derek knew exactly what kind of danger he’d put you in. He’d break every bone in his worthless body, make him pay for every second you’d been left out here to fend for yourself.

“I told you I couldn’t come tonight, but you insisted, so I did,” you continued, your voice growing more strained with every word. “I need your help. Please, come and pick me up. I’ve got work in the morning, I don’t feel really good and I really need to get home. What? Yeah, I’m a little bit tipsy, so what? I’m lost. Please.”

Simon’s jaw tightened as he listened to you, the anger simmering just beneath the surface. You were begging now, practically pleading and it made his skin crawl.

You shouldn’t have to beg. Not for something like this.

You deserved better, so much better. You deserve someone who would move heaven and earth to keep you safe, to make sure you were never in a situation like this in the first place. Simon wasn’t good for much anymore, but he knew how to protect. He knew how to take care of those he cared about—he’d spent his whole life doing it, even if it had all gone to shit in the end.

But Derek clearly wasn’t that man.

Simon could hear the frustration in your voice as you asked, “You called a taxi? Really? You couldn’t just come?”

There was a long pause, and he could feel his heart beating faster, his muscles tensing as he waited for your reaction.

When you finally spoke again, your voice was much softer, much resigned. “Okay. Fine. We’ll meet tomorrow, then.”

You ended the call with a deep sigh.

For a moment, you just stood there, staring at the ground, your shoulders slumped in defeat. Simon watched you from his hiding spot, his mind racing. The deadly fury he felt toward the pathetic excuse of a man you were speaking with was almost overwhelming, but underneath it, there was something else—something darker and more insidious. A need to be the one you turned to, the only one you could rely on. He wanted to be the one who took care of you, who made sure you never had to feel this way again.

But he couldn’t just walk up to you, not now. Not yet. You were too vulnerable, too raw, and he didn’t want to scare you off. He had to be careful and had to find the right way to approach you. You needed to see him as a protector, not as a threat. His mind was a mess of emotions, the anger, the need and the sick sense of possessiveness all tangled up together. He couldn’t let that control him. He had to be smart about this, had to play it right.

Simon took a deep breath, forcing himself to think clearly.

He had to be smart about this, had to think like the fucking special forces operator he once was.

The shadows of his old life clung to him, and in the quiet of his mind, he could almost hear Price’s voice barking orders—to scrape up every damn thing he could find. That was his mission now, wasn’t it? To know you. To learn your name, where you lived, where you worked, every inch of your life, mapped out like terrain before a strike. It was the instinct that kicked in, something so ingrained it almost felt like muscle memory.

Johnny would have definitely teased him for his honest mistake—“forgetting the basics, Lt.,”—his voice mocking, lighthearted, but Simon couldn’t let this slip through his fingers. He needed to know everything. You were his target, but not to eliminate.

His heart pounded in his chest as he watched you from his hiding spot. The rain continued to fall, pattering against the metal roofs, but Simon barely registered the cold droplets soaking through his clothes. All his focus was on you, every nerve in his body attuned to your slightest movement. You stood there, alone and vulnerable.

He inched closer, moving with the same precision and silence that had once made him a ghost on the battlefield.

Despite his size—broad shoulders, heavy muscles that made him look more like a walking tank than a man—he moved with an eerie grace, his footsteps soundless on the wet pavement. Decades of military training had taught him how to blend into the shadows, how to become part of the night, after all.

He was close now, too close to risk you noticing him, so he stayed low, hidden behind the wrecked row of cars. He couldn’t see you anymore and that frustrated him to no end. It was like torture, being this close and yet so far, but he knew he had to wait. Patience was something he’d learned the hard way, and now it was paying off.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a taxi pulled up to the curb. Simon’s heart skipped a beat, his pulse quickening as the car’s headlights cut through the darkness. He heard the window of the vehicle roll down, the driver’s voice breaking the tension in the air.

The driver called out, his voice hoarse but polite.

And he said your name.

It hit Simon like a sledgehammer, echoing in his broken mind, searing itself into his memory. He repeated it to himself, over and over, like a mantra. He would never forget it for the rest of his miserable life. He would burn down entire cities to remember it. 

“Yes, that’s me,” you replied, her voice softer now, but Simon caught every word, hanging on to them like they were the most important thing he’d ever heard.

He strained to catch the rest of the conversation, hoping for more clues, more intel. You murmured something about the old market in downtown London to the taxi driver, and Simon’s mind raced, trying to piece together what little he knew. The old market—that could be a clue, a starting point. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

And right now, that something was all he needed.

The door of the taxi shut with a soft thud, and Simon was left alone in the dark, empty street, the rain falling steadily around him, soaking him to the bone. But he didn’t care. All he could think about was the name that now echoed in his mind, the name that had given him a purpose, a reason to keep going.

He had a name. He had a direction.

As the taxi drove away, its taillights disappearing into the night, Simon finally let out the breath he’d been holding.

His muscles ached from the tension, but there was a strange sense of relief that washed over him, a feeling of liberation. He had something to hold on to now, something tangible. He knew your name. He knew your name, and that meant everything.

He stood there, letting the rain wash over him, his mind buzzing with possibilities. He could find you, he could get close to you. He wasn’t the man for you now, but he could become the man you needed. He could become your provider, your guardian, the savior you deserved. He could protect you, keep you safe, take care of you, and in return, you would give him the thing he craved the most.

A reason to live.

You didn’t know it yet, but you were about to become the most important person in Simon Riley’s life. And he wasn’t going to let anything or anyone stand in the way of that. The storm that had raged inside him for so long had quieted, leaving behind a cold and unyielding determination. He had a purpose now, a mission. One he had to see through alone. Price would have approved, Simon was sure of it—Gaz and Soap too. He could almost feel them at his back, their shadows guiding him forward.

This wasn’t for them, though. This was for him.

For the part of him still capable of feeling something other than anger. He would find you again, and when he did, you would never be alone, vulnerable, or scared again.

Because Simon Riley was a man who protected what was his.

And you were his.

➼ Masterlist

[wooziorgans]

moon song || ljh

warnings: post breakup au. ex idol!reader. reader has an implied suicide attempt(s) in the past. reader is implied to do something akin to relapsing at the end of the fic. ed talk. lots of pressure that comes w being an idol. clubs. drinking. seungcheol hates y/n for leaving. leaving the idol industry behind. seeing your ex after four years. hurt w very little comfort. right person, wrong time.

word count: 4.2k

a/n: vent piece mostly. abt my frustration of still being sick, abt my frustration of not seeming to get better, abt how it never seems to stop. abt all of my wasted potential as a person. all of it, none of it, everything and nothing at all. i am so tired.

please read with caution. this is just a lot of emotions all in one place.

The loud bass that hits your head as soon as you enter the club makes your head pound immediately. It’s been four long years since you’ve even been in this part of Seoul, let alone been in a club with this group of ex-colleagues.

Ex-colleagues is certainly one way to put it. They were all so much more, and you know that this is just an excuse for all of them to get drunk. You wonder briefly if Jihoon’s here. He never used to drink, but then again, he didn’t do a lot of things until you were in the picture. You wonder how much has changed now that you’re not.

The memory of him burns like a hot iron branding your back, and you head to the nearest table of refreshments to grab a drink. If he’s here, you’ll need all the alcohol you can get your hands on. Maybe that makes you no better than anyone else; no better than the scene you so desperately needed to leave four years ago. It doesn’t matter anymore.

You’re no longer apart of it. What you do now won’t cost you your career. If the night ends with you passed out in an alley way simply because you saw your ex at an album release party for an album he produced, so be it. He never comes to these things anyways.

At least, he didn’t when you knew him. You haven’t known Jihoon for a long time. It’s been four years after all; a lot can change in a week, let alone four years.

Like your decision to leave the K-pop industry. You had mulled over it for weeks, before you brought it up to anyone, and you didn’t go to Jihoon first. He was the last person you told. At least, officially, that you were leaving.

All those years of work as a trainee, just for it to be nothing. All of the tears, the angry screams into your pillow, the poverty your company forced you into in the first few years of your career because it was boarding on bankruptcy. All of this wasted potential. Maybe you could’ve been someone great.

You were, for a few years. Your group took off, and the first few years of success made all of the hard work feel like it was worth something. But as the saying goes, too much of a good thing won’t be good for long.

The pressure started to build, and it built until it boiled over and you were found on the verge of doing something terrible in your bathroom by your boyfriend and your manager after a week of unusual silence. Jihoon never was a crier, but god did he sob as he held you in the back of the ambulance. He had never begged for anything the way he begged for you to talk to him.

Please, god, please talk to me Y/N. Please, baby. I can’t— I can’t lose you.

It’s funny, really, how things work out. You dug yourself so deep into this hole of despair from the pressure of being an idol, that the only way out of it was to completely separate yourself from that life and start over.

After terminating your contract, you broke up with Jihoon. Or, you didn’t break up with him, only told him that you needed to take a break while you sorted yourself out. After being on a break for four years, is it still just a break? Or are you broken up at that point?

Both you and Jihoon know the answer to that.

Three years of no social media, no articles about you, none of your old friends reaching out to check in on you because they held a contractual obligation to be nice to you in the hallways. Three and a half years out of the spotlight. Three and a half years of peace, of healing, of sorting your life out and learning how to breathe again.

It’s been four years without Jihoon, and you didn’t really think much about the consequences that potentially sharing a space with him would have. But now they’re suffocating. All you can think about is the potential possibility of him being here, which, he wouldn’t be, right? He hates these kinds of gatherings. He used to skip his own release parties to watch shitty romance movies with you on the couch in his studio.

Does he have someone new to watch romance movies with? Or has he given up romance altogether? You know from the first few months, updates provided by Soonyoung, that he didn’t take the distance very well. You know that he missed you, and he worried about you constantly. You know you’re spiralling, and you know all those years of therapy will be for nothing if you don’t pull yourself out of it.

You don’t have to do that, because Seungkwan does it for you. “Y/N? You came!” He seems elated that you’re here, off his rocker, probably drunk.

“Of course I came! It’s your first album as BSS, Seungkwan.” You smile, and it’s not forced at all. You have completely forgotten how easy it is to fall into banter with Seungkwan. It’s almost like you never left in the first place.

Except something in his eyes seems off. That’s your first red flag to turn around and get the fuck out of this club, but you don’t. “My god. It’s been so long. How are you doing?” With anyone else, the small talk would’ve taken you out back and killed you. It’s different with Seungkwan.

Different how? He was one of the only people who consistently checked in on you when you first left. As you settled into your new life, the texts became less frequent; now, four years later they’re hardly anything to notice, but he’ll still send you a text on every holiday, and he’s wished you happy birthday every year since you met him.

“I’m doing a lot better. I’m… I’m good.” You laugh softly. Seungkwan smiles at you.

“That’s good. I’ve missed having you around— of course I don’t expect you to come back into this scene, but it would be nice to see you sometime.” Seungkwan squeezes your shoulder softly and smiles wider.

“Yeah, of course. I know I’ve been gone, but I’ll make it less hard to get a hold of me. I’ve missed all of you, truth be told.” You smile back. “I’ve just… been doing a lot of healing and I think it’s about time I finally start reconnecting with people. Is everyone here?” You ask.

“Oh, yeah. We’re all here! I kind of spilled that I invited you so everyone decided to come just in case you showed up.” The depth of all doesn’t really seem to cross Seungkwan’s mind; he’s certainly not thinking about Jihoon right now, or Seungcheol for that matter. You’re pretty sure Seungcheol would punch you if he caught sight of you. Maybe Jihoon would too. You have no idea how Jihoon even feels about you.

“Even, uh, Jihoon?” The smile falls from Seungkwan’s face.

“Oh. Yeah. He’s here too.” Seungkwan swallows when he sees your face shift. “You… he-he wants to talk to you. It’s not my place to really say, but he’s not mad. I think he just wants closure.”

So maybe Jihoon wouldn’t punch you. That’s a bit of a relief.

“Oh my god! Y/N! You came!” It’s Seokmin, very clearly drunk. You didn’t keep in contact with him, though he did send you a few paragraphs over text as he wished you all the best, telling you to reach out if you ever needed anything. You didn’t take him up on the offer.

“I did!” You smile, tilting your head as you look up at Seokmin.

“Can I have a hug?” He’s already opening his arms and you slide right into them. His hug is firm and warm. You’ve missed Seokmin a lot more than you cared to admit. Seungkwan grumbles about how he should’ve asked for a hug and you laugh, pulling him into one.

You catch up with Seokmin briefly before he’s being pulled away by someone you don’t know. You stick with Seungkwan, talking about your life, the album, avoiding the subject of Jihoon.

And then you turn your head at the bright sound of laughter, and you see him. You see him, and he’s not the same mess he was when you left him with no promise of when you’d see each other next. He’s not the scared man in his early twenties who had no idea if you were going to die on him. He’s not the man who stayed with you in the hospital for days on end.

He’s not the producer you knew who’d slide his headphones over your ears as he pulled you into his lap. He’s not the warm hand that held yours because you forgot your gloves again. He’s not the hushed giggles at four in the morning, or the hurried kisses, or the soft whimpers and praises as you tangled yourselves in his bedsheets.

Jihoon isn’t yours anymore.

You had hoped he wouldn’t be such a sore subject for you anymore, but seeing him in all of his glory four years later… god does it fucking hurt. You’ve done a lot of healing in the last four years, but in that time you never really had the time to process the loss of Jihoon.

Soonyoung spots you, and that’s when you know you’re doomed, because if Soonyoung is distracted, Jihoon always notices the thing that catches him off guard. You try to pull your eyes away from Jihoon, but you can’t. You swear he’s gotten more beautiful in the last four years.

He’s gotten bigger, physically— far more muscular. You can see the curve of his pecks through his shirt, one that isn’t even tight against his body. Jihoon’s always been a big fitness buff, but it appears he’s put more effort into himself. His biceps strain against the fitted sleeves of his long sleeve black shirt.

Jihoon’s face looks different too. He still has the same round cheeks you used to always pinch and prod at. His jawline is still soft, but it’s more defined. His eyes are bright, and the bags under them are still there. You wonder briefly if he’s ever gotten rid of them; if the skin under his eyes has ever matched the rest of his milky complexion.

His hair is longer than you’ve ever seen it. Dark and flowy, it’s reflective and healthy, half tied up with what would be his undercut hanging freely. A few pieces frame his face. It looks soft and healthy. Jihoon looks soft and healthy.

He’s smiling as he scans the crowd to find what Soonyoung is distracted by, and then he spots you. The smile is wiped off of Jihoon’s face faster than your brain can even register it. Seungkwan stiffens beside you, hand finding your shoulder to steady you as you stumble briefly, but the pull between you and Jihoon is too much.

Both of you start moving towards each other, pushing your way through the crowd. “Y/N.” His voice comes out in a breath, chest heaving and then he’s there, right in front of you, after four years.

You don’t know what to say, can’t process the fact that he’s in front of you, as beautiful as ever. “Jihoon,” you echo, “hi.” You can’t help the small smile that threatens to pull at your lips. The tension on Jihoon’s face eases, but he doesn’t smile back.

“Hi. How are you doing?” Jihoon asks, and if it was anyone else, it would’ve been a sad attempt at small talk. It’s Jihoon, so you know he’s asking how you’re doing now, if you’re better. A part of him is asking if you still feel like killing yourself. The answer to the last part is no.

“I’m… better. A lot better.” You laugh awkwardly. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t doing okay.” Now, Jihoon actually does smile at you, and though it’s small, it’s still there.

“You look a lot better. Healthier. I’m glad.” Jihoon takes a sip of his drink as he looks down at you. He’s right; you’re much healthier now. There’s solid meat on your bones, your thighs touch and your ribs don’t show anymore. Your face has filled out, cheeks full and round. Your eyes don’t look as though they’re sunken into your skull, they’re brighter now; they seem to shine with life in a way they never have before.

Jihoon takes you in properly, and god, you’ve gotten so much more beautiful since the last time he saw you. It hurts. It hurts a lot to see how good you look now, without him. He knows it’s a lot more complicated than that, but it still hurts nonetheless.

You look healthy, like an actual person and not a skeleton, and you were never that way when you were an idol. You were never like that when you were with Jihoon.

“Oh, um, thank you. Should we… should we sit? We have a lot to talk about.” You laugh again to hide your nerves. Jihoon can still read you, and he knows you’re brimming with nerves. He knows you’re a little scared, probably more than a little, and he is too.

You’ve never breached the subject, hardly even talked about your breakup. Jihoon doesn’t like to think about it. He just doesn’t. He doesn’t like to think about how much worse you were doing, even if it destroyed him. The breakup was harder on you, tenfold, and you went through it alone.

“I- uh. Yeah, yeah, we can go sit. It’s probably about time we talk.” Jihoon laughs nervously, closing his eyes for a second. He wordlessly starts walking towards the vacant booths of the club. You follow close behind.

Jihoon sits down, and you take a seat across from him. It’s silent for a few moments. Both of you are staring at your cups, not drinking, just swirling your liquids of choice.

Jihoon speaks first, but he can’t look at you. “Why’d you have to leave me?” He asks, and his voice breaks softly as he says it. You certainly weren’t expecting that as the first question he asked, but you don’t really know what else he would’ve asked.

“I… I had to leave everything that had to do with being an idol behind. You… you included.” It’s a shitty answer, but you can’t think in Jihoon’s presence.

“I understand that, but I would’ve been there for you. I would’ve helped you get help. You didn’t have to do it by yourself, Y/N. I loved you; I would’ve done anything to make sure you were safe.” Jihoon’s bites at his lip, eyes sparkling in the low lights of the club. He looks like he’s about to cry, and god does it break your heart.

He loved you, past tense. It’s jarring. It stings, but what else did you expect? For him to still want you? That’s unrealistic and completely unfair to expect from him.

It hits you then that you might still be in love with him. That makes this next part so much harder.

“I know. I know, but it made sense to me at the time. I can’t- I can’t rationalize anything that I did at that time in my life. None of it makes sense, but I made a lot of choices that I regret and I can’t go back on them now. It’s too late for that and I’m- I’m so sorry for everything I put you through, Jihoon. All of it; everything, god, I’m so sorry.” You spill, and the soft burn in the back of your throat makes it hard to speak as you try not to cry. “You didn’t deserve to deal with any of it.” You whisper softly.

“Y/N,” Jihoon whispers back, “I forgave you a long time ago. I just want closure.” Closure. Jihoon wants closure, meaning he wants to move on. The tears in his eyes shine brightly, though they don’t fall, but he’s crying nonetheless, and that makes you feel worse.

“I don’t deserve that though. I don’t deserve to be forgiven for just leaving you. Seungcheol still hasn’t forgiven me; why the hell would you?” You swallow hard, and that seems to break the dam as the first few tears slip down your cheeks.

“Seungcheol has his own issues. We never told him the full story, and maybe that’s why he’s still… iffy about the whole thing. But I forgive you. I just, I want to stop hiding from you. I don’t want to be worried about running into you somewhere and not knowing what to say. I still care about you, so much, and, god does it fucking kill me to still worry about you when you’ve never made an effort to reach out to me.” Jihoon’s always been blunt, so you should’ve expected this, but it makes you feel worse; guilty. “I would’ve answered your calls, in a heartbeat. You know I would’ve.” Jihoon blinks, and the first few tears fall down his face.

“I couldn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to call you after so long. I spent six months in and out of the hospital, and after that I had to get back on my feet. By the time I even had time to think about calling you, it’d been a year, and to me that was too late.” You close your eyes and exhale deeply, fingers twitching.

Jihoon used to hold your hands when you were upset to stop them from twitching so much. He used to pull your head close to his chest and wipe your tears with the pads of his thumbs. He makes no effort to do so now. Jihoon can’t even look at you properly.

He’s focused on picking at the calluses on his palms. Some things never change.

“You- six months? Y/N, fuck, I had no idea. I knew it was bad but, shit, really?” Jihoon’s voice breaks fully, and all you can do is nod. “How many more times? How many times did you—?” He can’t finish his sentence. His throat closes up.

“Four.” Jihoon has nothing to say in reply. He can’t, not with the deep hurt that settles in his chest, so you elaborate. “I really just wanted to die. The media was on my ass for the first year and it was just bad. I spent the next year after that in a rehabilitation program to fix my relationship with food and it helped a lot. I found a good therapist and I’m still seeing her. It’s helped a lot. I’m- I’m clean.” You pick up your cup, hand shaking, and take a large drink to calm your nerves.

“I’m really glad that you’re healthy now. Really, god, that’s such a relief.” Jihoon’s tears are steady now. He wipes at them with his sleeve. You mutter a soft thank you.

Outside of the booth, the noise has been blocked out by your conversation, but you hear something peculiar. It’s Seungcheol, his voice is loud and booming. He’s angry.

“What the fuck are they doing here?! Seriously, why did you even invite them?” Both you and Jihoon look up at the same time to see Joshua and Mingyu trying to deescalate the situation. Seungkwan is yelling back, face red as he tries to block Seungcheol’s view of the booth you and Jihoon are sat in.

“No, I’ve fucking had it with all of you. Defending them for just fucking leaving Jihoon without a word. What the fuck is wrong with you? Why would you bring them here?” Seungcheol is drunk and looking for a confrontation with you, and that’s enough of a threat to have you and Jihoon standing as he tries to usher you out of the club without Seungcheol seeing.

“Fuck, you should probably go.” Jihoon pulls you close to him, shielding you from Seungcheol’s view. You nod, walking fast beside him as you push your way through the crowd.

“Yah! You, get the fuck back here!” Neither of you listen as you push your way out of the door. You make the mistake of looking behind you to see Joshua and Mingyu physically holding Seungcheol back. Wonwoo is there now too, standing in front of him to prevent him from walking.

The outside air is cold and bitter. You shiver as you pull out your phone to order a ride. You and Jihoon are completely silent. He’s standing so close to you that you can feel his body heat radiating off onto you.

“I’ll wait with you. How long?” He asks, voice shaky.

“Two minutes.” You only have two minutes left with Jihoon. It’s so finite, the time you’re spending with him. If only you had more time.

You’re not afforded that luxury as you shiver beside him. “Can I- is it okay if I—?” You nod, unsure of what he’s asking. It’s a yes either way. Jihoon pulls you into his arms in a tight, warm hug. His hands don’t find their way into your hair, or rub your back. He just holds you. It’s all he can do.

Both of you ignore the mutual swell of warmth in your chests. You’re still in love with him, you know that, and that’s why the car seems to show up in no time. Your phone chimes as the car pulls up in front of the club as you reluctantly start to separate yourselves.

There’s so much you didn’t get to talk about. You tell him so. “We, fuck, I had so much more to say. I had so much more to explain. You, god, you were the right person, Jihoon. Everything else was just so wrong.” You thought the weight would’ve been lifted off your chest, but it only hurts more. You close your eyes as you turn away.

“Y/N, fuck, don’t do this to me right now.” Jihoon whispers, eyes filling with tears once again.

“I’m sorry Jihoon. I love you. I’ll see you around.” You open the door to the car.

“I, yeah. Take care of yourself.” Jihoon can’t look at you, no way in hell can he look at you as you close the door and drive off. He stands still in the cold, watching as the car disappears from his sight. He leans against the wall, head falling back as the tears start pouring freely.

As he pushes the door to the club open, it hits him hard, fills his whole body as a bone deep love for you settles. And it hurts, god does it hurt. Seungcheol’s calmed down, but the snide remark that slips past his lip doesn’t even register in Jihoon’s brain. All Jihoon recognizes is his tone, and that’s enough.

“I’ll punch you right in your fucking mouth, Seungcheol, I swear to god. Shut the fuck up.” Jihoon hardly ever makes threats, but when he does it has everyone going quiet. Seungcheol, Joshua and Mingyu stop in their tracks. There’s been enough drama for one night.

Jihoon grabs a new drink and chugs it, before he goes to grab his coat. He needs to get out of here before the sob building in his throat bursts.

You manage to keep your tears at bay until you enter your apartment. You find yourself in the bathroom, against the cold tile and the porcelain of the bathtub. You don’t do anything, just sit there and breathe as the tears flow freely.

It wasn’t supposed to end like that. You were supposed to have more time to reconcile with Jihoon. You and bathrooms have seen a lot of hurt. Most of your bad decisions are made in bathrooms. You don’t do anything, you just sit there for a few minutes as you cry.

Nothing happens the next night. Or the night after. A week after the release party, Jihoon still plagues your mind and that’s when you crack. Your old manager turned friend answers the phone.

“Hi. You okay?” Yena asks softly, voice ridden with sleep.

“Drive me to the hospital? I think I need stitches.” You laugh nervously. The adrenaline has worn off and all you feel is regret.

“Y/N.” She sighs, but it’s not disappointment. She’s seen a lot of things with you, and supported you through all of them. You’re the reason she quit being a manager and went back to university. You made her realize the idol life isn’t as glamorous as it seems, and you’ve formed a very solid friendship over the past five years. “You know they’re gonna keep you for a few days, right?”

“Yeah. I know. It was impulsive. Like, I’m fine now. I just couldn’t stop thinking.” You sigh.

“Give me a few minutes and I’ll be on the way. Cold water and pressure until I get there, yeah?” You laugh softly.

“Already on it.” The call disconnects soon after, and you look up at the mirror. Briefly, you imagine Jihoon standing behind you in a much different situation than the one you’re in now.

His thick arms are wrapped around your waist, head leaning against yours. He’s smiling in your vision. You smile softly in your reflection, though it’s strained. The blood on your hands pulls you out of it.

a/n: i wrote this when i was going through it. i’m fine now but i seriously can’t do angst like i used to so i might write a part two or something where they end up back together.

[cxlamarisalxmi]

Being Miguel’s legitimate daughter that he left behind and hosting Venom [FEM]

[Platonic Drabble]

c/w: cringe writing, angst

—

[Unedited]

“How dare he?”

You ignored the symbiote raging in your head as you watched your father Miguel finish the battle with the Green Goblin variant. Binding him with glowing red organic webs and aligning him up and over his shoulder.

“How dare he return here?!”

“Venom,” you trailed exasperated. Obviously you weren’t happy at all to Miguel either but he hadn’t even seen you yet so what does it matter? Originally you and Venom had fully intended to take down Goblin and inform Peter B. Parker there was a variant in your dimension. (Don’t ask how you know him).

But then Miguel showed up instead, and honestly you should’ve expected that he would because he was the one who led the spider society. And he was among the first to know of any anomalies or unusual readings in any dimension.

And only Jessica and Lyla were a witness to the internal conflict inside him at the prospect of going to his daughter’s dimension. The daughter he abandoned in favor of a different one, a different daughter, a different universe… a different life.

He was absolutely certain that you hated him and you did, you held such bitterly angry and maliciously hateful feelings for him for such a long time. When you were young all you felt was confusion for his disappearance, but as you grew older and as time passed those feelings turned from rage at his betrayal… to utter heartbreak and despair at his departure.

For the longest time you’d believed that you’d done something wrong, because what had tog done that was so bad? What had you done that was so wrong? You didn’t mean to.. whatever it was you didn’t mean to.

Eventually you had come to learn that this was not a fault of yours, but of Miguel’s. You didn’t do a damn thing wrong, and you didn’t deserve this. Nobody did.

So you grew in the suffocatingly isolating darkness that was hate and grief. And as time passed you built walls thick and tall surrounding yourself, barbed defenses to protect your broken and vulnerable pieces. Behind those steeled doors you also tucked away the last part of your inner child, to keep her safe and protected.. from ever feeling this abandonment again.

When you were fourteen you’d found Venom, and at the time you had been living on the streets for close to two years. At fourteen is when you had very nearly quit on life, being alive was pain.. constant hurt that was very close to swallowing you whole.

Venom had stopped you, not because they had talked you out of it but more so because you were intrigued by the way they had glided across the ground. Even more so interested by the way the deep onyx goop slid up your hand before sinking into your body.

And you’ve been together ever since, the constant babble of the alien grated your nerves slightly but other than that you’d grown to love having them attached to you. And you wouldn’t change it for anything—

“[Y/Name]?”

You froze, previously having turned away from the scene of Miguel opening a glowing golden portal on the street below your perch to make a swift exit. But his voice had stopped you, and you’re not sure why you had even bothered to halt in your tracks.

“Wonderful,” you spat with toxin, “you remember my name.”

Miguel shouldn’t have been taken aback by your response, and he shouldn’t have been thrown off by your bite. He didn’t deserve to feel confused as to why you had responded to him so aggressively— because he knew why you had.

“Of course I do, I gave it to you.”

“Right,” you replied boredly before you were moving forward intent to leave the conversation there.

“[Y/Name]!” He called, and again you shouldn’t have given him even a second of your time but your broken and guarded heart longing for answers seemed to work your feet for you.

“[Y/Name], keep moving. Or I will. He does not deserve your time. He does not deserve you.”

“Did you ever wonder if I had even survived after you left? Did it ever cross your mind even once if I was still alive?”

“I checked on you regularly.”

“I see, the technology to travel through the multiverse also grants you the ability to peer into the lives of people you have ruined.”

You still hadn’t turned around, refusing to give him any sort of indication that you had actually cared about whatever it was he had to say.

“Look, I-I know that I’ve screwed up. I know that I hurt you—”

“Hurt me?” You chuckled humorlessly, a hitch of pain in your throat and fire on your tongue. “Hurt. Me? You may have before.. but you’ll never hurt me again.”

Venom had come through on the last word, enunciating the end of the sentence with a snarl. Ferocious and purely built from the pure emotional pain they could feel coming from their host.

Miguel subtly flinched at the deep growl in your tone, not enough for you to see but enough of a twitch that your heightened senses had picked up on it.

And you chose that moment to make your escape, stepping forward and utilizing Venom to vanish within the pitch black abyss of the shadows. The added darkness provided by the night sky and waning pale moonlight casting deeper shadows aiding Venom in helping you disappear entirely.

“[Y/Name] wait!—” Miguel reached out expecting to touch flesh but was met with nothing.

He stepped back, looked left then right then both directions once more before he exhaled tiredly and leapt back down to the road below. He lifted the Goblin and threw him in before jumping in himself, the portal closing behind him leaving the desolate street in utter darkness once again.

You had watched, this time from the gargoyle statue attached to the side of the roof’s lip on the building above. Venom formed off your shoulder, their head with white eyes and a mouthful of razor sharp teeth complimented well by the black ink of their exterior. And their head stretched off your shoulder by several tendons and tendrils still attached to your body.

You met his blank, milky white stare as he spoke.

“He will return. Whether he wishes to talk or— something more.. what will you do?”

“I made my feelings clear, if he returns. If I see him in my universe again. We. Kill. him.”

You watched as Venom’s grin grew exponentially at your sinister promise. The ominous threat on Miguel’s life exciting him after all the years of trauma and pain he had inflicted upon their host Venom wanted nothing more than to sink his teeth in and never let go.

And if granted the opportunity he would seize it with little to zero hesitation.

Every Spider-Man needs a nemesis, no emotionally richer story than having that nemesis be your own daughter.

“You are sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“You’ve grown cold. Sinister.”

“I am what he made me.”

—

a/n: I’m a little stoned and had this abrupt idea— 🫢 this is weak and maybe a lil’ cringe.. I know that, I’ll make it legit when I’m not baked 😐👍🏽

[neoameba]

"Promise to me, please."

Aizetsu x Male!Reader

Warnings: a bit of yandere!Aizetsu, Self-degradation, melancholy (but it's Aizetsu, so that's to be expected), Aizetsu kills a few people, so maybe there's some gore implied. Can be read as ftm!reader.

Summary: Aizetsu is a difficult thing to deal with. He always seems depressed, and it's hard to be his boyfriend while dealing with this. His melancholy reaches absurd levels when he's around [Name]. 'Tell me you love me, please... Don't look at me like that...' was what he always said as he knelt on the floor like a poor soul. Even though he just killed someone and accidentally made his boyfriend see everything.

[Name] knew what he was getting into. From the beginning, when he opened the door for the oni and let him in. Why did he do it? For two reasons: If he didn't open the door, maybe the oni would still come in and out of anger and despair would kill him in the most brutal way... The other reason is simple, that sad, sly little face wanting to come in because the sun was about to rise and he needed to hide broke the human boy's heart. He looked hurt, he probably fought with someone who was a hashira and ran away from the sun. Worthy of pity.

Since that day when Aizetsu didn't kill [Name], they began to create a subtle and fragile bond. In the past, [Name]'s father was a formidable swordsmith, and thanks to that, the two lived in the swordsmith village. The boy knew about the existence of oni because of his father, but he never paid any attention to it. When his father died, [Name] felt that he no longer had any obligation to remain in the village, and fled far away. But who knew, now he's harboring an oni that refuses to leave his home. Aizetsu only came out at night and nothing else, before the sun came up he was already inside [Name]'s house. He would close the curtains and windows, blocking any rays of sunlight from coming in while he was buried in [Name]'s arms... The boy hadn't even given permission for Aizetsu to sleep in the same bed as him, or even come close.

"I'm sorry, [Name], I won't do that again... Don't talk to me like that, it makes me sad..."

That's what he always said, even though he remained suffocatingly close and always did the same thing the next day. After a while, [Name] didn't even complain anymore, it was a waste of time. He just hugged him back and went back to sleep. Their relationship became stronger... But at the same time, more irritating.

"[Name]!... D-Don't do that... You know it makes me sad, makes me feel like scum, pitiful when you go out for the day with your friends, just because I can't go out..." Perhaps he enjoyed degrading himself, as his cheeks would turn pink and his legs would tighten to relieve something as he knelt. It's a difficult thing to know. And in a way, [Name] even liked seeing Aizetsu like this... It was a strange feeling, something like having such an inferior and humiliated creature in his care.

But... Aizetsu is still an oni, one of the most dangerous. Even though with [Name] he acts like a puppy that sits on his owner's lap when doing things he doesn't like, he still kills innocent people and destroys families, swallowing the flesh and blood of those who pass by. He needed to feed, and he didn't want to have to go as far as he had the last few times.

"AIZETSU!"

A voice echoes in that hut, disturbing the oni's meal. He recognizes that voice before it is even heard. "[Name]! D-Don't be mad at me...!" But how can he not get angry? All the corpses there were those of [Name]'s friends. Aizetsu knew this. And he cut their throats anyway. He drops that corpse and runs to [Name], who doesn't have time to react.

He cries, like never before. His face showed pure despair at losing his boyfriend. "[N-Name], it wasn't my fault... I swear! But I had to, it was my hands...! Don't hate me! I'm scum, a depressing being..." He threw the entire weight of his body at [Name] causing the boy to fall to the ground. With that, Aizetsu sits on his lap and hugs him.

"You always knew I was an oni and you still let me into your house! Don't look at me like that... Promise me you won't abandon me...!"

He said, while looking like he was on the verge of an anxiety attack. Anyone who knows the true body of that oni, or its history to be more precise, knows that that behavior is the purest juice of its true personality. A wolf in sheep's clothing, someone who cries like an innocent but has a lot of blood on his hands.

"I promise."

The oni looked at him with wide, glowing eyes as he looked in disbelief. He kissed the boy's lips without any malice, and buried his face in the human boy's chest. Maybe it's pure mental exhaustion and desperation, maybe [Name] did it so he could have time to call a demon slayer... Or maybe he just loves Aizetsu. There's no way to know for now.

Masterlist~

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Release

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Mild angst, oral (m receiving), rimming (m receiving), smut Word count: 1.2k

Summary: When Aemond receives some unwelcome news, his wife finds a novel way to cheer him up. Based on this request.

Author's note: No gods, no masters, no tag lists. Community labels are for cops.

She sighs, a shiver running through her when she catches sight of her husband’s face as he sweeps into their apartments. Aemond’s jaw is set, teeth obviously clenched together as the usual pout of his lips is set into a tight line. His seeing eye blazes with anger, brow furrowed, and nostrils flared. She can practically feel him seething as she steps towards him, tentatively reaching for him.

He withdraws from her with a slight shake of his head. “Don’t,” He says quietly.

Her heart aches for him, she cannot bear to see him like this. “It’s happening, isn’t it? They’re making Aegon King.”

His mouth turns downwards into the faintest of grimaces as he nods, his eye refusing to meet hers.

She longs to throw herself into his arms, to comfort him and tell him it will all be okay, but she knows Aemond, knows he does not want that, what he perceives as pity.

“It should be you,” She whispers.

Aemond’s face softens slightly, he bows his head, but does not answer.

“I’ll have a bath drawn for you,” She offers, desperately wanting to lift his spirits. “Would you like that?”

“Hmm.” He moves through their chambers, unbuckling his tunic. His anger does not feel quite so intense as it did mere moments ago, it has shifted, morphed into something more melancholic.

She can handle Aemond when he is angry, it is familiar territory for her. However, to see him so defeated, quietly despairing, is utterly foreign and unease sits like a weight in her chest as she struggles to decide how to traverse his present state of mind.

Instructing the chambermaids to prepare a bath, she retires to the bedchamber, readying herself for sleep. It is clear that Aemond is in no mood to talk, and she hopes that the quiet solitude of a long, hot soak will aid in restoring his mood.

She is sitting up in bed, reading, when he enters the room, dressed only in thin, cotton breeches. His skin is still damp, the planes of his chest and abdomen glistening in the candlelight, his long, silver hair hangs loose, the moisture causing the ends to stick to his skin in waves. He has removed his eyepatch, but it is not the sapphire that glints softly within his eye socket that captures her attention, it is the solemn expression he still wears. 

Wordlessly, Aemond climbs beneath the covers, laying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. She had hoped bathing would relax him, it usually does after a particularly tough session of sparring in the yard or when his eye is causing him pain. However, she can sense how tense he is as he lays next to her, as though a dark cloud hangs over him. She hates seeing him like this, it makes her feel powerless to not be able to comfort him.

She closes her book and sets it to the side before rolling to face him. Tenderly, she traces her fingertips over his brow bone, along the aquiline bridge of his nose and across his prominent cheekbones. His eye flutters closed as he leans into her touch.

“He doesn’t even want it,” He murmurs after a few moments.

“I know, my love,” She whispers reassuringly, peppering soft kisses across his jaw and down the length of his neck.

Aemond inhales deeply, full lips parting as she continues her downwards trajectory, pressing her mouth over torso. “You don’t…you don’t have to…” He murmurs.

“I know,” She tells him, eyes flickering up to meet his intense stare. “But I want to. Allow me to treat you like the King I know you are.”

She grins against his flesh as she hears his shaky exhale, clearly excited by her words. Her lips move over the still damp hardness of his abdomen and the sharpness of his hip bones, before tugging his breeches from his legs. He is half ready for her, resting heavily against his thigh, and she takes him into her hand, stroking him languidly to full attention, laying her cheek against his groin as she watches him stir to life beneath her touch. 

He smells faintly of lavender oil, and she leans forward to lick tentatively at the flushed head of his length, her chest swelling with pride as she hears him hiss through his teeth.

“Do not tease your King,” He all but groans, and she rewards him by parting her lips and allowing him to sink as far as she is able to take him into her mouth. She hums around him as the salty taste of his arousal hits her tongue, bobbing her head up and down and using her hand to pump at what will not fit. Aemond lets out a pleasured grunt, his knuckles turning white as they grip the sheets with the effort not to grab her hair and thrust upwards into her throat.

Drool gathers at the corners of her mouth, and she pulls off of him with a gasp when her jaw begins to ache. She focuses her attention on the plush swell of his stones, running her tongue over the sac and delighting as she feels him shiver at the sensation. 

Growing bolder, she suckles at the delicate skin, moving lower to run her tongue over the expanse of it. The tip catches lower than she means for it to, swiping between his buttocks and she feels him lurch.

She pulls back, eyes wide and apologetic. “I-I’m sorry…I didn’t mean–”

“Do it again,” Aemond rasps out.

Her breath catches in her throat, unsure of if she has misheard him. “You want me to..?”

“Please,” He swallows thickly, cheeks ruddy and breathing ragged.

She nods her assent and leans forward again, tentatively licking a stripe between his buttocks, listening carefully for his response. His chest rises and falls rapidly as he plants both of his feet flat upon the mattress, allowing her easier access.

Encouraged by his enthusiasm, she pushes her tongue deeper, feeling every ridge of his tight ring of muscle, moving her hand against the swell of him in tandem with every drag of her tongue.

Aemond’s moans are wanton and unrestrained, were she not in the room with him she would not recognise these noises as her husband, but they spur her on. She moves her hand faster, her mouth moving sloppily against his opening. Her own arousal sits sticky between her thighs, excitement flutters wildly in her lower belly.

When she feels him begin to tremble and tense, she breaches his entrance slightly, her tongue penetrating him by a fraction, and Aemond is done for. His fists release the bedding to bury themselves in her hair, holding her against him as he bucks his hips, stomach muscles contracting with the force with which he spills his seed across his abdomen. A noise that is half grunt, half strangled moan rumbles from his chest.

His grip on her loosens and she pulls away, grinning as she smiles at the sight of him, eye heavy lidded, skin sweaty and flushed, hair in disarray around his head. He has never looked more beautiful than he does at this moment.

She reaches a hand upwards, dragging her index finger through the spend that lays glistening against his flesh, before bringing it to her lips and sucking it off with a quiet noise of satisfaction.

Aemond’s fingers card through her hair, visibly relaxed as he gazes at her. “How could I ever feel anything less than a King,” He murmurs. “When I have you as my Queen?”

[itsjustelian]

BEEFLEAF THOUGHT (Mainly He Xuan thought but fuck it he's intertwined with Shi Qingxuan and therefore all He Xuan thoughts are beefleaf thoughts)

So so so, in my readings of tgcf and the wonderful mess that is all of the internet thoughts on it I've come to the personal conclusion that to become a supreme you have to have *big* feelings. Very big and very deep feelings.

Our big-brained, obvious example of this is Hua Cheng. Man's big feeling is devotion, love. He is absolutely besotted for Xie Lian. Would do anything for his God. We're so proud of him for it too.

But He Xuan? He's the only other real supreme we have aside from Hua Cheng (Jun Wu, I'm sorry, you're wonderful but Godhood fucks with a man) and the idea that his big feeling that turned him into a supreme was rage and hatred never sat quite right with me. It's not that hatred and rage aren't powerful enough emotions to make a supreme, and those being his emotions on the surface make him a wonderful parallel to Hua Cheng. But rage isn't really what fuels him. If it was, he'd have dissipated after the Blackwater arc. Taken his revenge and called it a day.

Yet, he sticks around. He *never* dissipates. He just sits at the bottom of the ocean for all eternity. Which doesn't sound like rage or hatred. I mean, you'd assume a calamity built on hate would continue his revenge path until all of heaven is gone and no one can have godhood because he couldn't. But he doesn't. He just... waits.

This isn't to say he wasn't angry, btw. He was absolutely angry, and he had every right to be. His desire for revenge had to come from somewhere, let alone the emotional payment to actually planning and pulling it off. I just don't think that was his greatest regret/feeling/desire at death. I mean, He Xuan had his whole life taken from him. All of it. His family, his fiancee, his passions, his work. Everything he worked towards and for got stolen from him by others. And while it's clearly very rage inducing for him (I mean he has a mental breakdown and kills everyone who's ever wronged him), the underlying feeling through it all was probably despair. He probably just wanted things to go back to how they were when his whole family was around and alive.

And this despair and longing doesn't just go away when he learns the truth of what's been done to him. He's still a person. He can't just throw away those emotions because new ones have taken center stage. But rage is a way easier feeling to work with than misery, so He Xuan defers to it. He jumps on the bandwagon of revenge against the people who wronged him once again and goes with it. And it gets him through Mt. Tonglu and up into heaven and right where he says he wants to be. Right up until he can execute his revenge. And then he just stops? And decides that he's going to be best friends with Shi Qingxuan for a few hundred years first? I'm no rage expert, but that doesn't sound very revenge like to me. Which leads very neatly into the point of this post, took me a while I know.

He Xuan's reason for sticking around is he wants to be loved.

I mean, look at it. He says he hates Shi Qingxuan's guts and wants him and his brother dead more than anything, but also spends hundreds of years hanging out with this person he hates so much when revenge is right there? He could have done it whenever. There was no logical reason I could wait to wait as long as he did. Unless he was enjoying Shi Qingxuan's companionship. And Shi Qingxuan clearly loved him (even just platonically. We love our friends in this house). And He Xuan hadn't had someone care about him that much since his death. It was probably insanely overwhelming and equally as wonderful.

And then he fucks it all by actually going through with the revenge but feelings are hard and he's clearly not great with them so oops. But but but, his great famous line during the Blackwater Arc is him telling Shi Qingxuan that they've used the wrong name. He, even if it's just subconsciously, wants Shi Qingxuan to see him as He Xuan, not Ming Yi. He, in some capacity, wants Shi Qingxuan to see and love He Xuan, not the mask he had on.

But then, after the revenge, he doesn't disappear. He straight up goes out of his way to return Shi Qingxuan's fan to them. To make something right. To return something to how it was before.

Except this time, he can't blame the people around him for the change. He can't turn his rage at the rest of the world because he's the one who ruined the only thing he wanted for himself. So he finally, *finally*, has to face this sadness and longing that's been plaguing him from the start. He got his revenge, he got all the anger out, and it still wasn't what he wanted. Because from the beginning, all he wanted was to be appreciated and loved and wanted and not have that torn away from him.

And he fucked it for himself in the end because lets be honest if he had a civil fucking conversation with Shi Qingxuan and didn't literally threaten their brothers life things would have gone SO MUCH BETTER.

Anyway, I'm crying now. If you read through my jumbled 2 AM thoughts all the way, thank you. I will edit this when it's not 3 am. and post it.

---

Editing me: wtf was I on? I don't remember half of these thoughts??? I'm posting it because somewhere in this hot mess is a point I'm trying to make, and I'm not going to deny 2 AM Elian the chance to share it.

[trippingontheescalator]

Snape Headcanons

He's bad at geography. Sure, he knows this super rare, obscure potion ingredient can only be found in this one area in Laos, but ask him to find Laos on a map he won't have a clue. There was a time he dreamed about seeing world, but he quickly realized he would never get the opportunity and so doesn't see any purpose in learning geography.

A lot of the Marauders' claims about him, like knowing curses as a first year, are exaggerated, but the one thing they're right about is Snape was very nosy. Part of it was because it was useful; knowledge is power, after all. He could trade gossip with his fellow Slytherins, or use it to keep one step ahead of the Marauders (or taunt them with it). But most of it is just his natural curiosity. He's a people watcher. He doesn't often understand people, is bad at human interaction, so he watches from a distance.

Severus knows half the first years think he's some sort of vampire and he revels in it. He knows exactly the kind of image he creates, dressing up in those long black, swishing robes, the spooky dungeons with the jars full of animal body parts. His taste is 33% Mad-Scientist-Run-Amuck, 33% Sad-Victorian-Boy-Dying-of-Tuberculosis, 33% Tacky-Post-Halloween-Discounted-Decor, and 1% Lucius's-Increasing-Despair-to-Make-Severus-Into-a-Functional-Human-Being.

In addition to potions and reading, Severus also does a lot of writing. He's been working on-and-off on a novel since he was fifteen. At this point, it's almost 500,000 words long. One of the few ways he's able to express his thoughts and feelings is through fiction. The main character was heavily based on Lily, especially in the early stages when they were still friends, but as he grew older he put more of himself into the character and now she's become the version of himself he wishes he could be. The night before he kills Dumbledore he burns the entire thing.

Severus knows the DADA position is cursed. Everyone knows it's cursed. He still asks to teach it every year because he also knows that it's the only way he can escape Hogwarts, and he's willing to risk death to do it.

His feelings for Lily have gone through the entire spectrum. At times, she was a sister to him, especially the years before Hogwarts. He used to be incredibly jealous of Petunia, wished he could be Lily's sibling and live in their house and have their parents. It became romantic as a young teenager, especially since she was the only person he felt safe enough with for his pubescent mind to fixate on and explore his budding sexuality. Later, as he became friends with the other Slytherins in his year, it was strictly platonic but nonetheless a very deep friendship. They were both trying to control the other, and Severus was especially worried that Lily would end up like Eileen if she gave into Potter's charms. After his failed apology, he grew angry and resentful and he tried very much to hate her (but he couldn't, not even after she married Potter). And then, after her death, it circled back around to brotherly. He liked to remember those early years best of all, and his devotion to a better cause after her death parallels that of Dumbledore's after Ariana died.

Look I know there's a lot of confusion about godparents, and HP didn't help by being coy about religion, but a godparent isn't a legally appointed guardian. Like, they definitely can be if the parents want that (as it appears to be the case with Sirius Black), but that's not the default. A godparent sponsors a child's baptism and is in charge of their spiritual upbringing, making sure they know their catechism, etc (hence the god part of godparent, its a Catholic/Anglican thing). And the most widespread religion in HP does seem to be Christianity with Christmas being celebrated and whatnot (though I do headcanon the purebloods have their own Druidic/Christian hybrid religion going on). With that being said-- Severus Snape is Draco's godfather. He's also Merula Snyde's godfather. And Pansy Parkinson's godfather. And, like, the godfather of 10 other kids of former Death Eaters. Severus Snape climbed the Death Eater ladder; he was one of Voldemort's favourites during the First War and these other Death Eaters were like, "Damn. I got to get on his good side. Please sponsor my child's baptism."

[aki-anikk]

Tw: angst, and That's All i think? Well maybe that they are young, not full on teenagers but kids.

Was intended for male reader but can be read as gender neutral or female too! :)

Please dm me if i can fix something.

(sorry if it came out weird, first time writing a ff)

You don't know when it started, but what you do know is that.. whenever you see him - your heart speeds up, your cheeks flush and... You just can't take your eyes off him.

Which usually resulted in you getting yelled at by him. You knew his face so well, every little wrinkle when he frowned at you, that scowl when you gave him flowers, the gritting of teeth when you talked to him with those hopeful, soft eyes.

Oh how you loved that boy. For Simon Riley, you were like a love sick puppy.

Yet he didn't seem to want it, pushing you away, ignoring you and telling you many, many rude things. Just so you would leave him alone.

But how could you? How could you do that when you saw the other side of him? How he cared for the homeless dogs, how one day he beat up some people that bullied his friends.

It didn't matter that he wasn't like that for you.

Well, he was at the begining.

At first he was nice, he talked with you and even helped you when other kids picked on you, so how could you not love him? Yet sometimes you wished you didn't, it felt like you destroyed everything between you two because of feeling this weird, this warm tickle whenever you saw his smile.

The moment when you came to him for the first time to confess your love, full of hope, with even a boquet, that you spent at least 2 hours to pick flowers for, to make it big, perfect, just for him.

But his reaction wasn't what you expected. There was suprise, confusion and then... Anger. He didn't take them, and every next time he didn't even touch them. He hated how you looked at him, he hated these sweet smiles you sent him - not even aware of doing it.

He hated you.

He had other problems to deal with, his father, school, and people who always seemed to pick on him, without even any reason. He didn't need someone to follow him around like a dog, someone who no matter how much he yelled, hurted and snapped at, would always come back. Never, not even once, looking at him with anything else but affection.

One time he couldn't bear it anymore. He walked back from school after being teased by his classmates about you and he was going back to a home where his hell would continue.

He felt overwhelmed, needed to let it out. And who was there? You. Again.

Of course you were. You always were.

When he turned around and he saw you with yet another boquet... It was too much.

The flowers were beautiful, clearly carefully picked and put together with care to make it special, just for Simon.

Those eyes filled with Hope that maybe, just maybe he would change his mind, and this time and accept you. No matter how many times he pushed you away, you never lost hope.

He finally felt something snapping inside of him, not being able to bear it anymore. Those eyes, that smile, the confessions. He couldn't.

And for the first time he took the flowers you gave him. Your eyes widened slightly, you wanted to smile, Hug him, anything.

But everything was crushed the moment he rose his hand and threw it on the ground, stomping on your hard work. Your sign of love.

"If you love me, then don't ever come close to me again"

Those were the last words you heard from his lips. He walked away clearly angry, not even looking back. Leaving you frozen. You were just staring at the destroyed flowers as you held in your tears.

You felt a lot of things that moment. Despair, pain.... Oh you were so hurt. How could such a small heart like yours not break at this?

Your first love had just ended, before it even began.

But one thing didn't change, the feeling of care you held for him. It was engraved into your soul and would never leave it, no matter if it healed, it would leave scars.

So you left.

Just like he asked.

But not because you hated him, not because he hated you.

You did it because it was the first and only way he allowed you to show his love for him.

'if you love me, then don't ever come close to me again'

So you didn't come back, and this way you had shown, that you truly loved him.

Neither of you knew how to handle that pure and childish love, so it had to be finally broken.

[zhoras-bitch]

The more I think about it, the more I realise why the revelations in this chapter hit Tyril as hard as they did. Because as I was reading the chapter, sure, I understood his reactions, even though I though he was being slightly unreasonable (a dick). But if you stop to really think about it from his point of view it just becomes so much worse?

What he thought of as a literal personification of evil itself and spent his whole life hating and fighting, what he killed over is actually... okay. Not good or bad, just morally neutral. Just there. A force of nature, like gravity or something.

Moreover, what he fought in the name of, what he devoted himself too, the absolute good he believed in, is also a morally neutral entity and is for all intents and purposes the same as the 'evil'. Just in a slightly different font.

The deities he worshiped, whom he looked up to with awe, to whom he prayed in moments of despair or when looking for guidance are just... a bunch of dead (?) guys. And they weren't even particularly nice guys. They were actually kind of shitty.

Those guys did create his entire race though. Made up a bunch of dumb and actually harmful rules for them to follow that outright crippled his people (forced them to use Light only that took years of their lives, killing who knows how many elves prematurely), and groomed those people to thank them for that. To worship the ground they walked on because it stroked their egos or something.

Honestly, I feel kind of icky even typing this out. Imagine how dirty, violated and angry a person would feel if that were to happen to them.

From this point of view, his comments about elvish pride and superiority come off more as desperate attempts to cling onto what's left of his dignity and failing. He's not just disappointed in elves as a community; Tyril already kind of went over that. It's one thing to learn your family/country/community are not perfect, that the system is flawed and that there are good and bad people there just like everywhere else... And another to realise that your entire worldview, your morals, everything you ever did, everything you thought you were, every aspect of it was all a lie. And it was deliberate.

[fierrochase-falafel]

Making a case for Xie Lian's complex morality in TGCF

Finally getting over myself and getting this one out of the drafts...

Disclaimer: Any MXTX book has a very divided fandom on whether practically all the characters are "good" or not- Hua Cheng, Xie Lian, Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng, Pei Ming, Luo Binghe. I feel the way MXTX writes is such that our own interpretation of the book can grow to be the very thing we love about it. So naturally I am going to start off by saying this is my interpretation of her work- you can disagree with me, sure, and I'd love to hear other people's thoughts, but I don't think it is something worth calling me wrong over. I'm not claiming to preach the 1 true reading or even claiming to be 'correct'- this is just my interpretation. This doesn't mean I don't find value in alternate interpretations, contradictory or otherwise. Please be nice to me!! :,)

Part I: Smart, but not smart

So anyways...there's this quote in book 3, when Xie Lian reveals Ling Wen as the creator of the Brocade Immortal, where this happens:

Ling Wen crossed her arms and shook her head. “Your Highness, someone like you…sometimes you’re smart, but sometimes you’re also not very smart; sometimes you’re soft-hearted, but sometimes you’re cold-hearted, too.”

And I've always loved this quote, it's arguably one of my favourites, because it emphasises what I think is the core of the story- to ascend is human, to fall is also human. What matters is appreciating that humanity, and nobody embodies this like Xie Lian. MXTX always pits together contradictions like this throughout the story: ascension with falling, soft-hearted with cold-hearted, laughing with crying. Humanity is a series of contradictions, and Xie Lian is the epitome of that. We see him saving a child with regal presence/grace and also drunkenly yelling swear words in a ditch; we see him calmly ascend to godhood at 17 and also almost violently kill a guy for insulting his street performance. Xie Lian is a man who can be kind, calm, endearing and spirited but also vengeful, bitter, jaded and broken. He has been naive and impulsive as well as strategic and controlled.

These differences often seem to happen at the same time in him, even. Xie Lian as a prince was still relatively calm and controlled, but it didn't stop him from being naive and desperate at various points too- sometimes at the same time. His decision in the Land of the Tender (T/W- to stab himself) was arguably a sign of him losing control of his senses yet remaining just on the cusp of controlling his actions. He is holding on to his no-sex cultivation by saying the Ethics Sutra and making the impulsive decision to turn his sword on himself voluntarily but also reacting sexually to the flower demons involuntarily. He is placed in situations where he is distinctly both in and out of control at the same time! Later when he's lying in a ditch (T/W- having stabbed himself AGAIN), there's a lens to it that he's waiting for someone to be kind to him, just once. He's optimistic in giving people a chance- hopeful and altruistic on some level while also being angry and bitter at nobody having helping him yet. In present day he's still impulsive at times but also level-headed, jaded and also optimistic. Hua Cheng fully recognises this in him, and his recognition of Xie Lian's utter humanity is what makes him the one person who truly understands Xie Lian.

"Your Highness, I understand your everything. Your courage, your despair; your kindness, your pain; your resentment, your hate; your intelligence, your foolishness."- Hua Cheng

Part II: Mass murder is...a big deal

Xie Lian is nowhere near perfect, like Feng Xin tends to see him, but neither is he just pretending to be altruistic to make people like him, as Mu Qing tends to believe. Both of them have these ideas in their heads of Xie Lian being amazing or awful, when really Xie Lian has the potential to be both, and that's what makes him, ultimately, just a human above all else. And Hua Cheng gets that about him, more than anyone else, which is important. Hua Cheng loves him and believes in him not because he is inherently, fundamentally good but because of who he is entirely. Part of that 'being' for Xie Lian is trying not to indulge his worst emotions, trying to be good as much as he can, but part of that 'being' includes parts of him that can't be perceived as 'good'. See, no matter how traumatised you are, and even though I'm not judging Xie Lian for his mental state, choking some man on the street almost to death is a no-go, okay.

Xie Lian's will to keep to his principles of what is right and wrong is one thing, but TGCF stretches these boundaries over and over as we watch Xie Lian's view evolve from being a child. I don't think Xie Lian is a 'good person' because he never strays from his values, because he does. Save the common people? The people of Yong'an he intended to mass massacre were the 'common people'. And yes he tried to save them before, and yes it took very little to make him not massacre the people of Yong'an, but the fact that this was something he started at all? He himself used Fangxin to collect the souls from the battlefield- no matter how much he subconsciously wanted to believe in the worth of humanity with his self-stabbing social experiment, he created the conditions necessary to commit mass murder and that in itself is a sign that a part of him meant to go through with it. This isn't just a byproduct of his rage, a response befitting of an uncaring society, no, this is a big deal, and I don't think we can still argue Xie Lian is / has always been a beacon of virtue. Xie Lian isn't just flawed in ways that are easy to forgive, it's not just that he's inherently 'good' with flaws such as impulsivity or naivety that do not really reflect on his moral character. He is also morally flawed, in a way all humans can be but may find it hard to recognise within themselves.

To be fair to the guy, most humans don't have their kingdoms destroyed, their bodily autonomy violated and all their loved ones gone from their lives. Particularly not the first one. For trauma of such epic proportions and disasters of such epic proportions, this intense of a response to commit mass murder isn't shocking. Given his exposure to all this power through his godhood and descent, the power to commit mass murder is less massive-seeming than needing the power to save his own people from it. Given the deaths of so many Xianle inhabitants, this is almost an eye-for-an-eye response: something which some people or cultures may see as morally righteous (the Locrians in Ancient Greece were huge on this, for instance) and some see as morally wrong. However, the way I see it that does not make potential mass murder easily ethically justifiable. MXTX doesn't shy away from giving us insight into Xie Lian's vulnerable and broken mental state and reasons for attempting this, but his actions are still consequential in a huge way. Had he committed the murder; had he not been pulled up by the farmer or had he not found it in him to stop, would we view him as morally good? Could we? What if he did murder the Yong'an citizens but then realised how awful that was then, and spent the rest of his life trying to be good? It feels a bit like a cop-out to say, "well, he didn't do it so that's that", because even the idea, the intention of him doing it and the fact it almost happened raises so many questions about how much blame would be attribute to him if the people of Yong'an really were killed. Even if Xie Lian hadn't done it himself: if he failed to stop Bai Wuxiang from killing them all, for instance. If he were stabbed over and over again but his body couldn't take it, if the rest of the people of Yong'an weren't willing to stab him, and Wu Ming didn't take the bullet then what? It's not like Bai Wuxiang had any reason to go out of his way to call the spirits of Yong'an to Fangxin, for to him the biggest matter was getting Xie Lian to do it and solidify the latter's allegiance to resentment and apathy (just like himself). That would have been done by Xie Lian's hand, and how much the consequences would lay on Xie Lian's head is really difficult to think about. Even if he'd have done his utmost to stop it, but it would've happened atleast partially because of him.

Part III: Morality measured

It's interesting to consider how we measure morality as individuals- somewhere in-between intentions and consequences we diverge, and this tension is what fuels MXTX's conflicts. This is why it's so hard to assign blame in TGCF. Shi Wudu's intentions with the fate-swap were not malicious at all but the consequences for He Xuan were utterly disastrous, and that's on Shi Wudu. Quan Yizhen's intentions were never to make Yin Yu feel bad, but his obliviousness and shining talent hurt Yin Yu anyways. Of course, Yin Yu was the one who kept silent until he couldn't take it anymore, and said the worst possible thing at the worst possible time even if all he wanted was to be nice to Quan Yizhen and not project his feelings onto him. Book 3 contains an increase in these dynamics where the intentions and consequences are SO vastly incongruent that it plays with what morality means, encouraging you to ask: "Who do you believe was in the right?" "Do you think anyone here is or isn't entitled to what they want?" "Is there any way to objectively assign blame here, or are some scenarios too complicated for there to be a direct conflict of right and wrong?" So when it comes to Xie Lian, all that he could have been and all that he is, book 4 naturally stretches the limits of his heart being in paradise.

In conversations I have had or opinions I've seen on this platform and others, people's opinions on how much Xie Lian caused aspects of his own downfall range from "he did absolutely nothing wrong ever" to "he was the epitome of hubris and ignorance", the latter usually accompanied by a favourable analysis towards another character such as Mu Qing. When getting into MDZS, I was reminded of this when seeing Wei Wuxian-Jiang Cheng discourse actually, people talking about Wei Wuxian as a model of goodness who never hurt anyone unless his hand was forced (as if the Wen Chao toruture scene didn't happen) or as an irresponsible and disloyal rascal (as if he wasn't protecting defenseless people including JC's rescuers in the Burial Mounds). This sort of range can be seen with many characters in TGCF: particularly with Xie Lian, Hua Cheng and Mu Qing but you also get many for Jun Wu, He Xuan, Shi Wudu and the like. Xie Lian, as the main character, is possibly the most complicated of them all. The series is in his perspective, he recognises and regrets both his glory days and his fall from grace- the former due to his naivety and the latter due to his resentment. Since then all of the plots he has involved himself in have involved him taking on as much of the pain as physically possible for himself because his desire to help other people flourished again alongside and mingled with his shame and lasting trauma. He is ashamed of both his highest and lowest moments for not being able to offset the consequences, but while you're reading the story it feels very often like there's nothing else he could have done. Partially because (although this is debatable imo) this is somewhat from his perspective despite the 3rd person narrative, so we know what he's like before anyone else. Plus, with how book 2 plays out like a classic tragedy where his greatest strength (will to help his people despite tradition) becomes his greatest weakness, it's the age-old question of how much he can be held accountable for his kingdom's downfall or how much was completely out of his control or in the hands of fate.

One take I remember very strongly that was quite popular was about MXTX's characters being ultimately morally good characters, in which Xie Lian's character was said to not change or develop. Rather, Xie Lian has always been inherently morally good and TGCF is about the world around him not rewarding that goodness yet Xie Lian remaining good and pure-hearted all the way through no matter what, even in his darkest times. While this may be an interpretation some people have, I think it's more complicated than that. Xie Lian's morality was seemingly very clear-cut in book 2 because he had no huge reason not to be 'good'. Yeah sure, he was chastised for saving a child during the lantern festival parade, but nothing was genuinely going to happen to him. He was the crown prince! The stakes for him were never as high, and he had no reason to believe he could fail at all. When put to the test, given the fact he did set up the conditions for the immediate slaughter of Yong'an, I don't think any goodness automatically present in his character was being channelled in his decision. Morality can be as easy as "I want to always do what's right" when you have money and security, but becomes more difficult when you're consumed by grief and rage, or when you've lost everything you once had. Morality is more than an inherent aspect to one's character, and how we perceive someone's moral nature depends on their intentions, their choices, the consequences of those choices and whether they accept responsibility and accountability for the other 3 things.

Part IV: Complexity is the key

Having said all this, I hope it's clear I am NOT saying Xie Lian is an immoral character. In fact, I WOULD argue that he is a 'good' person, that is, a person who embodies what goodness would look like despite all the complications involved. What I'm saying here is that he is a good person not because he always sticks to his standards/beliefs, or even that he always believes in his own standards, but because he chooses to try to believe. In humanity, in the power of his own actions, in the kindness of strangers after he was shown kindness once himself. And this is something earned and learned, not something he had in the beginning. In the beginning it came natural to him because he had the privilege of that as Crown prince. "If something goes wrong, I'll fix it, and everyone around me will always be looking out for my best interests even if I disagree with them. Murder is wrong, following the path to ascension is the ultimate good." etc. etc. When he has to face the world as someone with nothing, those are the experiences that mould his current day understanding of why people do the things they do even if they seem completely morally wrong. Why people would stab someone knowing they would feel the pain, why people would murder someone, why they might steal or rage or drink. And in most cases, it can be hard to judge someone as completely morally wrong for doing actions deemed morally wrong if you believe intention has any bearing on morality.

Xie Lian to me is not inherently good, but someone who chooses to try to be a good person, thus arguably being a good person. And I would defend him as such on that premise, not because his righteous morals have remained static and intact throughout the novels. It isn't that he didn't choose to be good as a child, but he didn't really have to TRY because he hadn't faced the sort of crisis that shook his foundations and forced him to grow, understanding and adapting to the complexity of living in the real world. Where you fail, where falling upon hard times can force you to resort to things you once thought beneath you. Where your actions have power over your circumstances, but your circumstances also hold power over you whether you like it or not. The root of Xie Lian's compelling character, for me, is in his growth from a man with a static morality to a man with moral complexity. A belief in one's principles that accounts for its limits and recognises its flaws in the face of circumstance, and adapts accordingly. It's not like Xie Lian wanted to betray and murder the Yong'an king who was so kind to him, and to actively do that seems pretty horrible until you remember he did it to save a whole group of people, Xianle descendants. Xie Lian still blames himself for this in book 1 even though in this act he saved numerous civilians, but Hua Cheng reminds him that he made that choice for a good reason, and has faith in Xie Lian's choices.

Speaking of the devil...Hua Cheng, even though he loves all of Xie Lian, does not love him blindly or without consideration of the worst parts of himself. He would follow Xie Lian into the abyss of his mental state but still try to help Xie Lian out of the sort of guilt, back from the point of no return. One interpretation of his refusal to let Xie Lian kill Lang Ying is that he wanted Xie Lian to not have Lang Ying's blood on his hands as well. If this would affect any future cultivation or make him feel any more guilty in the future. He also tried to gently tell Xie Lian that he still has believers to calm him down when he sees the white flower. However, to Hua Cheng, whatever Xie Lian would've chosen in the end would still be a decision taken by the same Xie Lian, and Hua Cheng would follow Xie Lian no matter whether he's engaged in the worst parts of himself or not. I think it's very easy for us to assign a specified amount of goodness to a character based on just 1 thing- be it just their intentions or just their choices or just the consequences of their actions. A few sample assumptions I've seen (that do not reflect wider society or anything, these are just opinions I've seen around online): To want to save people is good, therefore Xie Lian is good. Hua Cheng has no qualms about killing 33 gods for Xie Lian, so he must be amoral. But the nature of what is good is variable- under the light of different interpretations, Xie Lian is more morally grey and Hua Cheng is more morally inclined than those assumptions would give them credit for. My point essentially is that many characters, but Xie Lian in particular, are more complicated than we sometimes give them credit for. It's also why he's so easily put up against Jun Wu- someone who is the antagonist and committed several heinous crime, but also parallels what Xie Lian at his worst could have been. If Jun Wu really did repent on everyone he damaged at the end of the novels, you can't call him a good person just based on newfound intent and he can't be so easily forgiven, but to imply alternatively that after all he's done he will always be a bad man and that's that...doesn't sit right with me either. Of course, the question of Jun Wu seems even more complicated somehow, funnily enough.

I think when I first read TGCF years back, Xie Lian is the character who showed me not to judge multidimensional characters or people on a consistent metric of goodness but rather on numerous aspects of how they live that can change over time and leaves room for circumstantial flexibility. I also think that acknowledging complexity in how we view morality in each other can allow us to gain a better understanding of what it is to be a human. And in my view, what makes Xie Lian such a well-written character is that he's nothing if not a human.

[dr-demi-bee]

Day 24--------------------Read on AO3--------------------------

Pairing: Rolan/Tav Prompt: Dude in distress A little angst a little comfort, idiots pining, poor communication, SFW

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

His torch was guttering in the eerie winds of the preternaturally still curse. Something, or some things howled and cried in the distance, echoing in the strange din. Everything smelled like rot and decay, wisps of shadow weave curled and tugged at the skin.

Rolan had known on some level it was a fool’s errand to try venturing out here alone. Exceptional wizard or no. And the Harpers in Last Light had warned him as much.

He’s been following the meandering patterns of this gods forsaken wasteland - finding the stable structures and roadways that lead to the heart of the ruins of Reithwin. In theory, that hulking shadow in the distance could be Moonrise.

Just as Rolan’s making to step onto a flimsy looking walkway there’s a screech behind him. Too close. And then another. More. His torchlight sputters and Rolan’s spinning on his heel, pulling at threads of weave with his freehand.

Magic missiles knock them backwards but they don’t stop advancing. Ignis and they only fall back slightly.

He is well and truly doomed.

Rolan will die. Cal and Lia, if they aren’t already, will die with him.

“Gods damn it!”

An arrow whizzes by and pierces through the heart of one of the shadows, making it fizzle and wail. A moment later, a barrage of magic missiles obliterates another shadow. It's hard to hear over the din, but soon there's a raging inferno of a tiefling barreling past Rolan to cut down a shadow with her great axe.

And at last, a slight, hooded figure all in black, yet glowing with some unmistakable fey magic, skids to a halt directly in front of Rolan. Back turned to him, her blades are up and ready to defend.

Another shadow charges in and in a whirl of blades the small figure decimates the wraith until it vanishes into smoke. The flurry knocks her hood back, revealing a familiar face from the Grove.

Tav.

Tav who got him into this gods forsaken mess.

Tav who haunts his every free thought when he's not in danger. 

Damnit. Of all people! Now she's in danger because of his mistakes too.

“What in the hells are you doing?” Rolan shouts.

She and her companions decimate the remaining shadow-fiends. She's not alone - Karlach is here. And moments later they're joined by Gale and Astarion. All of them glowing that same effusive light - pixie magic.

Tav huffs a breath, pulling a mask down from over her mouth.

"Right this minute, I'm saving your ass," she replies, sounding a bit winded. Her brows draw low with concern. "What were you thinking, coming out here alone?"

“Gods damn it all!” Rolan growls out. His body practically vibrates with the impotent fury of his failures. “I can do nothing right - not a damn thing!”

“Please tell me you weren’t looking for Moonrise,” Tav returns, moving back to his side. Gods the look of concern on her face feels too much like pity. He hates it. When she adds another word it stings like a slap. “Alone.”

Why would you care!

“So what if I was!” Rolan bristles. “Cal and Lia could be there!”

“Even if they are, you plan on invading a fortress inhabited by a cult - ALONE!” Tav’s ire grows in tandem with his.

But what the hells does she have to be angry about? She’s not alone. She has her friends with her! All the resources she needs! No one she loves is in danger.

“Instead I found myself cornered by shadow-fiends and in need of rescue.” His face twists as he considers it. Not only has he failed miserably at making it to moonrise to save his siblings - but now she’s in danger too.

“From you of all bloody people.” In his despair it sounds almost like a whine. No doubt it sounds as pathetic to her as it feels to him.

It must, given the way her expression curdles. He’s slighted her. Again. Good. Maybe if he pushes her away she’ll stop putting herself in danger to save him.

His own scathing words from earlier sour in his mouth. You go save the world, or your own arse, or whatever it is you do. I’ll fix this. He’d been cruel to her - again - pushed her away in his grief. When she asked to help.

“What good am I if I can’t do this...this one thing?”

“Rolan...”

“I’ve failed Cal and Lia, again.”

And you, he thinks miserably. The look of pity in her eyes is enough he wants to drown himself in wine. He brushes off her concern with a forceful wave before she can say anything more to make him feel awful. Shame curdles in his stomach.

“Be on your way,” he huffs, turning his face away. “I’ll return to Last Light... I know when I’m outmatched.”

When he turns away, Tav’s hand around his wrist stops him before he can leave. It feels like those slender fingers are clenching around his heart instead. And the look on her face when he turns back to her makes his heart stutter. Normally snarky and boisterous, she’s...kind. Concerned. Caring. What the hells for?

“We’ll save them,” Tav murmurs softly. She means it. Of course she does. And maybe she’s their only hope.

But gods damn it, why does she have to be the one in danger? Again and again, no matter how weary she looks. She just grins and puts herself on the line. Idiot.

“Why does it have to be you?” It slips free in a low murmur as his eyes lift from where her hand clutches tight to his wrist back up to her face. To those impossible eyes.

And she shrugs. “Just lucky like that, I guess.”

Rolan scoffs and groans an exaggerated sound of frustration. This impossible woman. He knows it’ll be impossible to dissuade her. And secretly he can’t bear the thought of not letting her go - to have a chance at seeing his siblings again. Even as the thought of her in peril again fills him with icy dread.

“Just-” Rolan huffs, he can’t get the words free. They rail against his pride. When he finally manages it, the words are rushed and quiet. “Just come back safely.”

Tav huffs a soft laugh like she’s surprised to hear it. “What do you care?”

“You-!” Rolan’s hands clench into fists and he nearly hisses at her in his agitation, his tail whipping. “Just do it, you dolt!”

“Fine, fine, I’ll come back safe.” Now Tav giggles in earnest. “Not sure why you care.”

She lets go of his wrist and waves off his concern. Her lips quirk up in that infuriating half-smile of hers and her eyes sparkle with a warm mirth. But she doesn’t get it. He can tell. She doesn’t get a lick of why he’d care. That he does care.

And if anything, that pisses him off even more. Gods damnit!

"Zurgan-!” Rolan swears, crossing the distance between them. His stomach does a little flip when her expression changes to one of surprise. “Fine, I'll show you -"

Rolan grasps her by her shoulders and yanks her to him, crushing his lips to hers. He can’t say it in words, but maybe this wil at least show her something. And Rolan desperately needs her to understand.

So he kisses her. Kisses her until their both gasping for air.

And when they stare at one another, chests heaving, he can see it. There’s a glimmer in her eyes. She knows. Tav mirrors the concern and the anguish in Rolan’s expression as they pull away from one another.

“Get back to Last Light - stay there and stay safe,” she murmurs. “I’ll come back to you.”

@lanafofana @waterdeep-weavemoss @12thhouse-sun

@crimson-and-lavender @feedthepheasants @spooky-lil-bee

@femmefuck @heartfluttered

[pinkdaisies9285]

Do the Fates Sing of Us?

Bob Floyd x F!Reader (Callsign: Nightingale)

Warnings: Angst with a Fluff ending, implied cheating, miscommunication trope

Word Count: 2,993

Author's Note: Hello! It's been a while since my last update but here is my next story! This one took a little longer but I wanted it to be really good. Thank you again my beta readers for reading. I hope you enjoy!

Why did you think this was a good idea? Trying to go back to the way things were before. Before you knew his warm embrace. Before you knew how he liked his coffee, sweet and not black, like most military men. Before you knew how kind his heart was.

His heart. The one thing he gave you so willingly and you broke it. Tore it to shreds, that someone will have to take the time to pick up every piece and mend it back together. Hopefully, they’ll be better to him than you were. Thinking about how much you hurt him and that you’ll never earn back his trust. This was what tore you apart, the loss of trust.

Is this what Hera felt when she realized Zeus wouldn’t ever warm her bed and heart? Feeling like you’re cursed to love a man who will never love you. Is this what all the great Greek tragedies felt like in real-time? Knowing your fate is to be one of woe and despair without your loved one?

A soft knock shook you out of the spiral you were in. Looking up, Natasha was standing in the doorway of your office.

“Hey, Tasha. What’s up?” you softly asked. You felt nervous talking to your ex’s coworker, but all your ex’s coworkers are also yours.

“Just wanted to see how you’re doing,” she replied leaning against the doorway.

This surprised you, considering you were the one who destroyed her WSO. You thought she would hate your guts. She would come to chew you out, not check up on you.

“I’m fine, I guess. I just lost the most important person in my life so I don’t know if I could feel better than fine,” you said while looking down at your desk filled with papers. The pages of patient information seemed more interesting than discussing your feelings.

“What happened, Nightingale? Like truly happened,” Natasha asked with a highly concerned expression.

What happened? One moment you were in a wonderful relationship with Bob and the next he was telling you that you weren’t worth the pain. The whole fight made you confused and angry. The anger was what destroyed you and the relationship. You had gotten so angry at Bob for accusing you of things that weren’t true that you threw it back into his face. Those words were what made the fight explode into flames. His face morphed from hurt to anger like you had never seen.

“I fucked up Tasha, that’s what happened. I said things I shouldn’t have and now he’s gone,” you lamented while looking at her. Natasha’s face showed utter pity. She knew something had happened between her WSO and her best friend, but not this.

“Well, have you tried to talk to him? Bob has always been understanding,” Natasha tried to suggest.

“I don’t think talking will fix this, Tasha. Besides you guys are leaving for five months tomorrow, it’s too late,” tears were starting to well up in your eyes. You lost something so important to you and now you have to bury the pain. He would never want you again, you said he was useless. You said that he wasn’t even close to what his fellow pilots could do. You said all his worst fears just because he had said yours.

–

He had said that you were cheating on him with another nurse at the base. That you were doing what all his past girlfriends had done, left him for someone “better.” None of this was true, the nurse he had accused you of cheating with was someone you would never go for. Apollo was a jerk who flirted with anything on two legs. He would try to make you see that he was so great at his job and that you two would be great together. Tired of his antics, you decided to play with fire.

“You’re so right, Apollo. That worthless WSO isn’t good enough for me. I should definitely be with a man like you,” you said with heavy sarcasm, which this man was known for completely missing the point.

“Really, Nightingale? Well, then–”

“No, Apollo, that’s what I would say if I were stupid enough to think a lazy idiotic man like you would actually be worth my time. So, please kindly fuck off, Apollo. You’ll never come close to Bob. Never in a million years,” you cut him off before he could become any more delusional than he was.

Little did you know that Bob had initially heard your “flirting” but didn’t stay for your rebuttal. He had come to surprise you with lunch but instead heard you call him worthless. Something he had been called before and knew he had to leave immediately.

When he confronted you later that day, he was broken and angry. He had tear stains streaking his face when he asked.

“So when were you going to tell me it was over? Huh? That you didn’t want to be with a “worthless WSO” like me?” he said this while trying not to let his anger spike. The anger was what surprised you.

“What do you mean, Bobby? Leaving you?” confusion laced your words while you had a troubled look on your face. Why would you leave him and call him worthless? Then it dawned on you.

“I heard you talking to Apollo, Nightingale. I know I’m only a WSO and not a pilot but that doesn’t mean I’m worthless. I know my value but it seems you have overlooked that,” he was shaking when he finished saying this. His voice had raised to a level you had never seen, kind of scared you.

“Bobby, what you heard wasn’t true. I said that to get him off–”

“It doesn’t matter if you didn’t mean it, Nightingale, you said it which means you meant it!” Bob yelled. He started to get a fire in his eyes that reminded you of an angry god. You had never seen him like this, hands curled into fists, eyes full of emotions, and his khaki uniform in disarray.

“Bob I didn’t realize that you were there but what I said after that was the truth,” you said with a desperate look in your eyes. This roller coaster of emotions was not what you were expecting. What could you do to make him believe you?

“Do you think I’m a joke? I’ve been through this before, Nightingale. I know I’m not worth it most of the time and I will always be the second choice. Yet, for once I thought I wasn’t but I guess I was wrong,” he shook his head while saying this.

Now you were angry. You couldn’t believe that he still thought of himself like this. You know that Bob was so much more than he thought but maybe you would never change his mind. You always had this fear that your love wouldn’t be enough for him. That you couldn’t be enough for him to realize he was the man of your dreams. You didn’t want anyone else and now you had to fight for it. This uphill battle you have fought for yourself and Bob.

“Will you stop saying that! Stop saying that you are not worth love and that you are the second choice! I get so sick and tired of you dragging yourself down!”

“But its tru–”

“No, it’s not true! You were never my second choice and you were always my only love. Bob, I’m tired. I’m tired of trying to get you to see this. I don’t know if I can do this anymore,” you said while tears were free falling down your face like a fountain of woes.

“What do you mean, Nightingale?” Bob asked with a quivering tone in his voice.

“I can’t keep trying while you’re not doing anything.”

Bob was going through a roller coaster of emotions. It was written all over his face, he knew what was going to happen.

“I think it’s best if we break up, Bob. I think we’re not happy with each other anymore and I’m tired of feeling worthless,” you said with defeat in your voice.

“So that’s it? You’re done with us?” Bob had gone back to anger once he heard these words. This wasn’t the outcome either of you had expected this conversation to go. This conversation was a house of cards that collapsed under pressure.

“Yes, Bobby, I think we need time apart if this is how we will be.”

These words were like a pair of twin daggers into both of your hearts. Twisting and jabbing the hurt deeper by the second. Bob felt like he had messed up big time when he realized you wouldn’t change your mind. Now, he had made his bed so he was going to lay in it.

“I guess then that’s it. Goodbye, Nightingale,” Bob said.

After that, he went back to his old truck and left. He didn’t put up a fight anymore and put the final nail into the coffin. All your fears had been turned into truths that rang so clearly that it shattered you completely. Now you had to live with the fact that the only man you wanted to live the rest of your life with is gone. Gone were the days filled with laughter and love. Gone were the days when you had your rock.

–

After you had cried in Natasha’s arms about the outcome of your and Bob’s relationship, you threw yourself into your work. Filing paperwork, checking on patients, and giving out stickers to the base kids who had come in for their shots. You did everything you could to forget that now you were alone and that even your best friend was not here. Natasha had also gone on the five-month mission with most of the Daggers. So, you had to figure out how to cope on your own. This wasn’t the first time you had to patch yourself back together alone.

When your grandma died, she was the only one who supported you through your entire life. Which meant no one was there for you afterward. She had been practically your mom because your own wasn’t present. She made you into the woman you are and you felt hollow once she was gone.

That was what you were feeling now, hollow. An empty husk of a person who didn’t know how to ask Death for your soul back.

For five months now, you have felt barely there. The talk with Natasha had rang through your brain for weeks now. With the end of her and Bob’s mission coming closer, you’ve had time to organize your thoughts on what to do. Which led to the final decision that you had to talk to Bob. You needed some type of closure, whether it was getting him back or not. You’ve felt like there was a ghost of Bob present all the time. Whether it was the coffee cup he always used or the faint scent of his cologne that lingered on your pillows, he was there. This made you realize you can’t settle with this specter of the man you loved. You wanted the real thing, the real Bob. So, at the three-month mark, you changed your mind about wanting closure. You wanted to try and fight for him. You wanted him back. He was your soulmate, you knew it and you’d be damned if you didn’t try to fight for him back.

With this new-found motivation, you decided to think back to how you handled the fight. You thought about how when you decided to play with fire it wasn’t a smart choice and it really destroyed the trust you had with Bob. You should’ve known better than to use the word “worthless” when you were talking about Bob. He had voiced his fears and insecurities that came from past relationships and you used it in such a way that not only reopened the wound for him but deepened it even more. You squeezed lemon juice straight into it by continuing to the farce. You felt like such a fool for thinking that your actions wouldn’t have some form of consequences.

Either way, now was the time to fight back. You knew Bob would be back at the Hard Deck the day after he came back which would be the best time to approach him. You had already texted Natasha about wanting to talk to him again and try to fix this. She had given you her full support, it was hard seeing her best friend and her WSO broken. So, you and her had made a plan to make sure he would be there and you could talk to him privately on the beach. You felt this had to go perfectly or you would lose him again.

–

The Hard Deck was packed like it always is after a deployment has ended. Officers were filling up every corner, but your only focus was finding one officer. Weaving around the men and women in khakis, you found the Dagger Squad in their regular corner near the pool table and dart board.

Your hands were sweaty and you felt out of place, something you hadn’t felt in years. Would he listen to you? Or would he simply brush you off and find a woman who was better than you? All these thoughts were running around your head that you didn’t notice you had almost made it to him.

Natasha had already acknowledged you when you walked in and was waiting for you to signal her. She knew to keep all the Daggers inside so you could sort this out. You nodded at her before you took a deep breath of courage. This was it, time to win your man back.

You approached Bob with a trembling heart but hope slowly blossomed in it. He was sitting in his regular corner and hadn’t looked up. You were trying to find the right words to say to him. Yet, your mind was a blank page standing in front of him.

“Bobby?”

Upon hearing your voice, he quickly snapped his head up. Finally, making eye contact with him made you even more nervous, what do you say now?

“Nightingale? What are you doing here?”

His voice was softer than you were expecting, there wasn’t a hard edge or malice to it. With his reply being more surprised than angry, you took that as a sign that your plan would work. Gathering more courage, you decide that it’s now or never.

“Would you mind coming outside to talk with me? Please?” your voice was soft but it slightly broke towards the end.

All Bob did was give you a small nod and gesture to the door. Leading the way, you make your way out to the beach so you can have some privacy.

Stopping so you were far from the Hard Deck, you turned around to face him. He had his hands in his pockets with a neutral expression on his face. Taking a deep breath, you began.

“Bobby, I know that I messed up. I want to talk about what happened and fix this.”

“Fix this?” he asked calmly.

“Yes, Bobby, while you were gone I was a shell of a person without you. I realized that how I handled Apollo was wrong and I should’ve been better about how I rejected him,” you said this without breathing in between your words. You wanted to make this better, and not worse.

Bob was standing there frozen and unsure what to say. His face had a multitude of emotions crossing it but there was a small glimmer of hope flickering in his eyes. This was what made you continue.

“I will say I think we should go to couples therapy if we do get back together. There are things that we both need to figure out and I know I want to do it with you. So please, Bobby, come back to me.”

By this time, you were a fountain of tears that looked like falling stars in the moonlight. You felt so desperate for this man to say something, but what you didn’t expect was to see him crying as well.

“Nightingale, I was a shell as well during my deployment. All I could think about was you and how we ended things was broken. I think we both shattered each other’s souls and left twin daggers in each other’s hearts but I want to heal with you, darling,” Bob said while wiping away your tears. He had walked up right after wiping his own and cradled your face like it was the most precious treasure in the whole world. His hands were warm and it filled the gaping wound that was left by the dagger. It trickled down slowly but surely and gave you hope.

All you could do was reply with a watery smile and lean into his hold. You knew that the road back to a strong relationship would be bumpy but worth it. Bob was your soulmate and you would do anything to make sure you and him see eye to eye. It was time that you and him shed your ghosts of the past and burn your skeletons that have been in the closet. Both of you know while staring into each other’s eyes that together you could rekindle your relationship and make it burn even brighter than before.

You leaned in and kissed him to seal your fate. A fate that no one else could change. One that was sung carefully by the proud Fates. Yet, all you could think was Fates be damned because you knew that you and Bob were not fated to fall apart. No. You were fated to sing your own destiny in harmony with him till the end of your lives. The Fates sang of a false ending that would never come.

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Masterlist

Divider Credit: @cafekitsune

[drarrypotterrenaissance]

the day you were sentenced to azkaban

When I saw this fantastic piece by @longdaytogo I couldn't stop myself from writing - look at Harry's face! Draco's tension! The hands! So, here's 1.3k words of artsy, self-indulgent angst wrapped up with a hopeful ending. If you like it, thank my betas, @wecanthavenicethingx and @starlitsilvereyes for making it so much better, and being so encouraging that I was able to share it 💜 Read on ao3, or below!

The day you were sentenced to Azkaban, you were all alone. Your father had already been taken away to a life in prison, starting with a year of solitary confinement; and your mother had been sent back to the Manor to begin her house arrest. You were on your own, stoic and pale and thin and drawn in the chair in the center of the room, darting glances around the court and staring at the floor in turn. You flinched when the Wizengamot announced your fate; five months in Azkaban, a strict parole after that. You were silent, just bowed your head and trembled, but the Wizangemot chastened you anyway, reminding you of your crimes, and outlining exactly how severe your punishment would have been if you had been a year older when you took the Mark, one of them shuffling their papers and mockingly wishing you a happy birthday a day in advance; you didn’t say anything, so I did, standing up because I couldn’t stay seated anymore and trying to protest, so tired of all the hate and vitriol that hadn’t stopped even after everything.

Hermione stopped me, of course. She pulled me back down onto the bench and she and Ron kept me there until the Wizengamot had all but filed out, trying, I’m sure, to keep me from making any more headlines or forcing the court to give me an official censure. But once the worst of them had left the room, and only a few plum-coloured hats could be seen at the door, I broke free, and reached you before the Aurors coming from the edges of the room did. You were still standing from when you were required to out of decorum for the magistrates, and your hair had fallen across your face, so I couldn’t see the look on your face, but I could still imagine it. I’d seen it on enough other faces during the previous few years, and by that point, I knew exactly what despair and fear and panicked isolation looked like.

We had both been children, caught up in a war from the first year of our lives, and I felt that youth more in that moment than any before. I was so young and powerless, you looked so small and fragile, and I wanted to cry for how tired I was from being angry all the time for all the problems that hadn’t yet been resolved. I don’t even know what I thought I was going to do, why I was approaching you in the first place - you were just all alone, standing there, and looking at you in that moment felt like looking into a mirror, because that was how I felt too, even surrounded by so many people. Everyone else seemed to have their name intertwined with someone else’s; Ron-and-Hermione, Molly-and-Arthur, Bill-and-Fleur. Ginny and I had never really been Harry-and-Ginny, we hadn’t been given the time to forge that link properly, and it fizzled out before we could solidify it; when she moved on to be Ginny-and-Neville, I was left alone as just Harry. And in that moment, when I saw you standing by yourself in the middle of the room, you were just Draco, just like me.

I didn’t go up to you because I wanted to become Harry-and-Draco (although I am so glad to be linked with you now, our names connected on every legal document and letter we sign), I just walked over to you because you were all alone and I was too, and it made sense in that moment that we should be all alone together.

I think I started trying to apologize, for not doing more to help you, for how the Wizengamot treated you, for my part in our petty, schoolboy rivalry; I think I started to tell you that it would be okay, that it would only be a few months, and the dementors were gone now and so it wouldn’t be fun, but you would be alright, but I don’t think I got any of those words out of my mouth.

You shook your head, a small no, and the sight of the tears pooling in your eyes silenced me before I could begin. You were so absolute, so determined to be proper even after everything, and you told me… you told me no. You said, “Thank you, Potter, but you’ve done more than anyone could have asked of you already.” Your lower lip trembled a bit on the last word, despite your best efforts, and I couldn’t stop myself from acting once more, despite my best efforts (although I didn’t really try my best to stop myself).

I hugged you, and you trembled like a leaf, frozen other than the little tremors that wracked your whole body. You kept your arms stiff at your sides, and I could feel you tightening your chin where it pressed into my shoulder, determined not to let your tears or defenses fall.

It took a few moments, but then you inhaled, deep and shuddery, and you grabbed onto me like we were still fleeing the Fiendfyre, and I held you back, just as tight. I saw the Aurors start moving in again, coming to take you away, and I pulled you even closer, watched them falter with uncertainty as I held you and let you cry out your tears and put yourself together again.

I didn’t cry, but I did a good deal of self-repair for myself while we stood there. You were holding me like I’d never been held before, like you needed me, like you wanted me to be there, like you cared about me and wanted to give as much comfort as you were getting. I thought, at the time, that might have been wishful thinking on my behalf, just more of my loneliness striking out at an empty void, but I was so glad to hear you tell me, later, whispering under cool linen sheets on a hot summer night that you felt the same way then. I just wanted to comfort you, and be comforted myself, in a way I hadn’t previously known.

A few moments more, and I started to think too much. I could see the Aurors moving again, and their motion in the corner of my eye made all my thoughts come back, moving too fast and looming too big to focus on them. I didn’t want to let you go, and yet I was going to have to, I would have no choice in what happened yet again. I wanted to keep giving you comfort, I wanted to let you take everything you needed, while you held me right back, and that was warm and safe and terrifying, because you were Draco Malfoy and I was Harry Potter, and I didn’t know what that meant anymore.

(I know what it means now. But we weren’t Draco-and-Harry then. There were still two more years ahead of us before we got the first letter addressed to Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy, together, and it was another ten months after Luna’s baby shower that we even talked about making that link permanent. It took us five years from that first hug in the Ministry for us to return there to sign our names on the license that made us legally Draco-and-Harry Malfoy-Potter.)

I held you, and I held you, and I held you. I didn’t figure anything out then, and I don’t think I fixed any problems in those too-short seconds either, but I felt better, even as we clung to each other tighter still in the moments when the Aurors reached us and started to gently pull us apart.

The day you were sentenced to Azkaban, I watched you walk away between crimson-robed Aurors, and I started counting down to December, when I could see you again, and when things might start to feel alright.

[bitethedustfools]

WARNING: Disturbing content here. Please read at your own risk.

Self-harm, Abortion, Murder, Imprisonment and maybe more.

I have read some yandere twst stories where they baby trapped (biologically or adoption) their SO/Yuu. I'm not sure how many of these troupe going around but I'm pretty sure that SO/Yuu always keep the baby and the yandere still wins even though they escaped.

What if we tweak that story a little bit? Make it that so SO/Yuu snapped? Became the very ugly thing that SO/Yuu hate to be. Frustrated at being helpless and chained, always moving to the strings the others controlled. They don't want to take care of a child for the sake of turning him/her to be a better person than their "beloved" because that's what their "beloved" wanted.

To keep them together. Play the role of a parent and a happy family.

They had enough.

Their "beloved" is strong and smart and cunning but the child who mostly have his features is not. Utterly defenseless in the hand of a maniac.

They killed the child.

SO/Yuu killed the child just as easily as snuffing out a candle, pouring their anger and frustration in taking a life, all for the sake of wanting to take the littlest control they have over their miserable life.

If the child is not yet birth, SO/Yuu will not hesitate to do anything to abort it, whether by falling, stabbing their stomach, poisoning. It doesn't matter if they're about to die because of this. It's about inflicting pain back to the one who did it to them in the first place. It's a about freedom. Control.

Their "beloved" will despaired over this fact, aking why SO/Yuu are doing this, screaming and crying when they finally seen the cruelty SO/Yuu are capable of even toward their own kin.

And SO/Yuu just stood there and laughing at the look of their beloved face, absolutely delighted that the person who always take joy in their misery finally cried and weak.

It's always them who cried but not anymore.

Another will be SO/Yuu being indifferent to the child.

They became the opposite of what their "beloved" wanted. They acted like the child doesn't exist, the child's cries fallen to deaf ears. Even the child's basic needs are not taken care of, leaving their "beloved" to clumsily and singlehandedly take care of him/her.

SO/Yuu aspired to become the most worthless mother and person just so their "beloved" hate them and free them. The child will have mommy/daddy issue and touchstarved and so on.

Another one will have the same setting but Yuu is resentful of the child and will told the him/her that they don't love him/her and that they never wanted him/her.

They broke the child's view of the world and told him/her that their "beloved" is not what he seems to be, slowly feeding doubt in his/her mind and questioning why his/her mommy/daddy is chained up and locked in their room.

This may or may not lead to the child leaving their "beloved" side and leave, probably after an argument or realisation, causing the dad to be distress, upset and angry over this turn of event.