#i have to fear just because of the parts i was born with

[immediatebreakfast]

It's so wild to think about how the more I realize that Jekyll literally kept digging in own grave (both as Hyde and him) in a way that only an aristocratic upper class victorian man could do.

Not caring enough about the kind of people he crosses, thinking that money can solve absolutely everything, pushing away any kind of help or comment even if it is from Utterson who is his most intimate friend. On top of Hyde thinking that he can swipe all of what he does under the smoky corners of Soho despite not doing a single thing to mask his actual socioeconomical status.

Utterson only started to "chase" Hyde when he did a crime that was completely unrelated to Jekyll. Moreover, the way both lawyer and police follow his trail is thanks to the very group of people that is completely overlooked by upper class nobility: the service workers. Both the poor maid, and the old housekeeper directed the eyes of the law exactly where it needed to be since Hyde probably never considered that service workers can not only see the actions of the upper class, but that they will gladly talk about them. Whenever it's out of pure fear like the maid, or pure karmic satisfaction like the housekeeper.

Then, Jekyll gives a fucking written letter with the worst timing possible in order to try, and cover Hyde's tracks. I just can't with this even when I know that I have the insight because I'm not part of the narrative, nor have the same cultural ideals of the late victorian england, but god... Utterson literally told Jekyll that he was willingly to overlook his connection to a murderer if he truly promised him to be done with the whole circus.

“You seem pretty sure of him,” said he; “and for your sake, I hope you may be right. If it came to a trial, your name might appear.”

Right here! Right here everything would have stopped legally wise! But, Jekyll is paranoid, and well... It seemed that he underestimated Utterson's competence, and the intellegence of the people surrounding Utterson. Now our poor lawyer truly understood that he can't trust Jekyll anymore.

This whole conflict was born out of a series of mistakes, paranoia, and serious arrogance from both Jekyll and Hyde in the wild wild game of truly caring for both your presentation and your actions. This book may be about identity, morality, and addiction, but never doubt that the very clear social and economical privilige that Jekyll holds was his own weird undoing.

[redpill-tfs]

Red Wave Rapture

Inspired by the work of @transform4u and his #RedWaveRapture series

Logan slouched on the couch, idly scrolling through his phone. His uncle, Don, stood in the doorway, a familiar expression of exasperation and disappointment on his face.

"Look at you," Don said, shaking his head. "Eighteen years old, just graduated, and doing... nothing."

"I’m figuring things out," Logan muttered, not looking up from his screen.

"Yeah? Figuring out how to waste your life?" Don retorted, stepping into the living room. "You don’t have a job, you don’t have a plan, and frankly, you don’t have any direction. You’re living in my house, eating my food, and playing activist online. That’s not going to cut it, Logan."

Logan groaned and put his phone down. "Here we go again. You’re mad because I’m not living up to your big, conservative expectations."

Don’s face hardened. "Let’s get one thing straight: I’ve tried to be patient with you, but your whole ‘I’m gay and proud’ thing? I don’t get it. Never have, never will. And this whole aimless, rebellious phase of yours isn’t helping anything."

Logan glared at him. "My ‘phase’ isn’t going anywhere. You can be disappointed all you want, but I’m not changing who I am."

Don smirked. "You’re right; I can’t change who you are. But maybe discipline can. Let’s make a bet. You’ve got one month to find a job and stick with it. If you can’t, you’re enrolling in the police academy. Maybe some structure and pride in something bigger than yourself will do you good."

Logan rolled his eyes. "Yeah, like I’d ever wear one of those uniforms. Deal. But when I win, you’re going to drop this whole cop thing and let me live my life."

"Fine," Don said, offering his hand. Logan shook it, determined to prove him wrong.

Four weeks later, Logan sat in the passenger seat of Don’s car, his arms crossed as they pulled into the police academy parking lot.

"Guess what?" Don said, his tone smug. "You didn’t get a job, so now it’s time to face the music."

"This is stupid," Logan muttered. "I don’t belong here."

"You belong somewhere, and right now, that’s here," Don said firmly. "Who knows? Maybe you’ll surprise yourself."

The academy’s orientation was every bit as rigid and overwhelming as Logan had feared. The other recruits were clean-cut, driven, and eager to prove themselves, while Logan stuck out like a sore thumb in his skinny jeans and rainbow wristband.

By mid-afternoon, the recruits were herded into a dimly lit auditorium. A commanding instructor addressed the room.

"Recruits," he began, "this is the beginning of your journey. The video you’re about to watch is a core part of your orientation. It’s called Red Wave Rapture, and it will help you understand what it means to be one of us."

Logan stifled a groan as the lights dimmed and the projector flickered to life.

The video began innocuously enough��majestic images of American landscapes, stirring orchestral music, and a deep, commanding narrator’s voice.

"Strength. Honor. Duty," the voice intoned. "These are the values that define us as officers. These are the pillars upon which our nation stands."

Logan smirked at the blatant patriotism but found himself strangely unable to look away. The imagery shifted to officers walking proudly through their communities, citizens cheering them on.

The narrator’s voice seemed to grow louder, more insistent. "You were born for this. To protect. To serve. To stand as a beacon of integrity and strength in a world that needs heroes."

Logan’s smirk faltered. A strange warmth spread through his chest, and his breathing slowed as the words seemed to penetrate his mind.

"Let go of doubt," the voice continued. "Let go of weakness. Embrace your destiny."

Logan’s gaze fixed on the screen as the images and words washed over him. The rainbow wristband on his arm caught his eye, and for the first time, it felt out of place.

"You are no longer an individual," the narrator declared. "You are part of the Red Wave, united by duty and honor."

Logan felt a strange, undeniable pull, as though the words were reshaping him from the inside out.

The images on the screen shifted to young recruits stepping into their uniforms, their expressions proud and confident. Logan could almost see himself in their place, wearing the uniform, standing tall, and exuding pride.

"Rise," the narrator commanded. "Rise and become who you were always meant to be."

Logan’s body tensed as a surge of energy coursed through him. His thoughts swirled, and his resistance crumbled under the relentless rhythm of the narrator’s voice.

When the lights came back on, Logan blinked, disoriented. He glanced down at his wristband, removed it without a second thought, and slipped it into his pocket.

By the end of the day, Logan had changed in ways that startled even him. He volunteered for every exercise, pushed himself harder than he ever thought possible, and began forming bonds with his fellow recruits.

That evening, Don met him at home with a curious look.

"How was your first day?" Don asked, sipping his coffee.

Logan’s posture was straighter, his expression more serious. "It was... eye-opening. I think I was wrong about this place. It’s exactly what I needed."

Don raised an eyebrow, pleasantly surprised. "Well, I’ll be damned. Maybe there’s hope for you after all."

Logan hesitated, then added, "And, uh... about the other stuff. You were right about that, too. It doesn’t really fit who I’m becoming." He took his rainbow wristband and threw it in the trashcan.

Don’s face broke into a grin. "Now that’s what I like to hear."

Over the following weeks, Logan’s transformation continued. He excelled in his training, adopted a clean-cut appearance, and fully embraced the academy’s values. His once vibrant and outspoken personality gave way to a disciplined, no-nonsense demeanor.

More than that, his priorities had shifted entirely. He no longer identified with his old self, instead finding pride and purpose in his role as a recruit. His previous liberal and rebellious views seemed laughable now, relics of a misguided youth.

Graduation day arrived quickly, and Logan stood tall in his new uniform, his badge gleaming on his chest. Don stood in the audience, beaming with pride.

After the ceremony, Don pulled him aside.

"Look at you," he said, shaking his head in amazement. "You’re everything I hoped you’d become."

Logan smiled, his stance confident and assured. "Thanks, Uncle Don. I couldn’t have done it without you."

"And I wouldn’t want it any other way," Don replied, clapping him on the shoulder.

Logan posed for a photo in front of a big American flag, standing proudly in his uniform. As Don looked at the image, he felt a deep sense of satisfaction.

His nephew was no longer the aimless, defiant gay boy he had taken in. He was now a man of discipline, duty, and conservatism—a man Don could be proud to call family.

And for Logan, the uniform didn’t just represent his new role. It represented his transformation, a testament to the strength and pride he had discovered within himself.

[everlastingdreams]

The Weeping Monk x Fem!Reader : Forged Of Fire Chapter 29

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Story Summary: Raised under the tiranny of your own family, and forced to steal to earn your keep, you struggle to survive. Born from a Fey mother, and a Manblood father who wanted only sons, you are forced to hide your Fey side. When you are ordered to steal from Father Carden by your half-brother, Cassian, your life spirals out of control and you find yourself at the mercy of the Weeping Monk. The life you knew changes drastically when Cassian betrays you in the cruelest of ways. A trade is made, a promise is broken, and a debt must be paid.

Chapter Title: Shattered

Notes: /

Warnings: Angst. Hurt. Trauma bonding. Intrafamily violence. Depression. Self-harm. Suicidal thoughts. Violence. Torture. Gore. Pining. Trauma. Self-Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc. Lima/Stockholm syndrom-ish. Childhood trauma.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forced Marriage. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn. Found Familly-ish. Comfort. Fluff. !SMUT and SPICE!

Word count of this fic: +250K

Chapter:  29/47

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As the hours passed riding through the forest, Gawain and Lancelot explained how they met. The sellswords had taken Percival onto the carriage that had brought you to Morrowstead as well, but they had pushed him out of the carriage in a random village. Lancelot had searched for hours and found him in the presence of the Green Knight who had been searching for Percival for quite some time. At first the meeting between the men had not been very comfortable, but after Percival told about everything that had happened the knight gave Lancelot a slice of his trust that had been earned by saving the boy. Not one word you spoke, finding comfort in hearing the three of them speak instead.

Gawain was discussing a plan with Lancelot. “Gramaire should still be safe for us. It will take us perhaps a day or two to reach it. We should avoid the common roads for now, the Trinity Guard will be searching for us all.”

Lancelot nodded. “We ride until evening now. Then find us a place to rest.”

They looked in your direction but you avoided meeting their eyes, some peace and quiet was all you needed to process what had happened and they could tell.

Gawain turned his eyes back to Lancelot. “You must understand, Lancelot, that when we do arrive in Gramaire my friends will not react well to your arrival. I will speak for your good intentions, but I make no promises. Until now you have only shown them to fear you, you’ve killed our people. What you do with the chance I give you will be what defines you now. Will you be our greatest enemy, or our greatest warrior?”

Lancelot swallowed hard and was quiet for a few seconds. “I swore to Percival that I would help the Fey, it is a vow I intend to keep.”

Gawain sounded uncertain, but hopeful, “Good. Now all we must hope for is that my friends will believe it when I tell them that.”

Lancelot knew how small the odds were. “If I am shunned away, then I will be content if only Percival and her will have sanctuary there.”

For the first time in hours, you spoke, “If you think you can just abandon me, you’re mistaken.”

Lancelot turned to look at you over his shoulder. “The possibility of them welcoming me is small, or dare I say non-existent. But there is no reason for you to be send away, it would be-”

It came out sharper than you intended, because you were feeling tired, “Stop it, Lancelot. I choose not to stay in a place where you are not welcome.”

Gawain send Lancelot a curious look, which the Ash Man pretended not to see. The knight couldn’t help but notice how the former Weeping Monk was so quick to surrender to you.

The knight got too curious to hold back the question burning in him. “Lancelot told me that you were half-Fey, Ash Folk, is that true?”

You gave a nod. “My father, Aldith, was Manblood. My mother, Iridessa, was Ash Folk. I didn’t know of my Fey heritage until I fell as a child and saw the marks beneath my eyes appear in a puddle of rain.”

Gawain was quick to understand the situation you had been in. “Did you hide it?”

“I had to.” you said. “You’ve seen what happened when Aldith knew of what I am.”

Gawain spoke to Lancelot. “Father Carden wanted her because she was, like you, Ash Folk?”

“Yes. She is the only one I have seen since I was a boy.” Lancelot said.

The knight hummed. “That fire in the forest. Was that you or her? You know what that was, do you not?”

“I know.” Lancelot fidgeted with the reins. “I believe I caused the fire.”

“You did.” you blurted out.

The Ash Man shook his head a little at the comment. “I had no control over it. It never happened before. I thought only she could create Fey Fire.”

“Can you do it again?” Percival was enthusiastic about it.

You let your thoughts slip out quietly. “Someone may have to hit me again for that…”

Lancelot’s fidgeting got worse, so he placed a hand on the pommel of his sword instead.

“Your connection to the Hidden strengthened when you sought help in helping her.” Gawain stated at seeing Lancelot’s reaction.

The Ash Man appeared a bit self-conscious. “I heard them reach out for me. I just did not expect for the fire to happen, it ran through my veins and into existence.”

“The Old Gods will aid the Fey.” Gawain said. “What baffles me is that they seem to be strongly connected to you and her.”

“They helped Nimue!” Percival pointed out.

Gawain tensed up, his expression of sorrow alarmed the boy who had looked back at him just then. The knight knew that what he had heard about Nimue would break the boy’s heart, much like it had broken his own.

  ~“Percival… I have something difficult to tell you.”~

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  Hours had passed and only one time during the whole ride had you taken a pause to eat some fruits that Gawain had with him in his horse’s saddlebag. During that long pause, Gawain took Percival aside and told the boy that his friend, Nimue, had not survived an attack by the waterfall at Uther’s camp. You sat with the boy as he went through very different stages of grief. Disbelief, anger, but the worst was the sorrow that came upon him. The boy spilled his heart out, speaking of Nimue the Fey queen who was branded the Wolf-Blood Witch by the Church and how she had fought so hard to protect the Fey. Lancelot was able to hear who this girl was that he had been commanded to find and kill, a girl and not the monster or witch they claimed her to be. A girl who was brave and kind, a girl who had wielded the Sword of Power to protect her people. Trading her life for safe passage for the Fey, away from these lands. After hearing all Percival and Gawain said about her, you found yourself mourning her too.

Lancelot was uncomfortable, ridden with guilt. Gawain could tell and had taken him aside to talk, but you could not hear what was said between them. Whatever had been said between them, it must have helped Lancelot handle what troubled him. It took hours before Percival was calm enough again to continue traveling, his eyes were red from crying and his nose still often dripped. The boy was very quiet during the next hours that had passed.

When the evening sun could barely be seen through the dark clouds, and rain threatened to soak your clothes, the search for shelter for the night began and it was Gawain who spotted a cave. The entrance of it was large enough for the horses to enter as well, the cave was not very deep, but it was enough to keep the horses and yourselves out of the rain.

Gawain searched and found a thick branch to use as a torch to take into the cave, he held it out to Lancelot. “Could you light it?”

Lancelot shook his head. “I have no control over-”

“You have a flint.” Gawain clarified.

Once Lancelot had lit the torch with the flint, Gawain headed into the cave. The three of you followed with the horses. The entrance was wide and perfect for the horses to shelter in, then the cave narrowed to the size where a person could still pass through. That short dark path led into an larger open space. Lancelot used his sword to make a small hole into the ground for Gawain to stick the torch in. The flame of the torch gave the cave a warm and cozy feeling. Percival plopped down against the rock wall near the torch, hugging his knees to his chest while watching the fire. You went to sit beside the boy but feared saying the wrong thing in the attempt to console him, you let your actions speak for themselves and rubbed over his back in a soothing manner.

Percival took in a deep breath. “I don’t want to miss her, I want her to be alive again.”

You swallowed hard. “I know, Percival. It does not feel right or fair, and it isn’t. Nimue sounded like she was an impressive woman.”

The boy nodded. “She was my friend…”

Tears began to brim in his eyes again and you wrapped your arms around him, letting him lean into the embrace. Lancelot and Gawain saw the boy engulfed in grief, their eyes filled with sorrow at the sight. Minutes passed before Percival’s tears stopped flowing, the strong emotions were tiring him out. He still sat against the wall, but now he had put his head down on your shoulder to rest. Gawain and Lancelot had taken seat at the opposite side of the torch, hoping to get some rest tonight.

“Do you believe this cave is something the paladins would easily find?” Gawain voiced his concern out loud to Lancelot.

For Lancelot, the answer was simple. “No. And I know quite certain that they are not eager to search the woods in the rain at night. Nights of rain always made them reluctant to perform their duties. Father had to reprimand them often because of it.”

“Do you think Father Carden wants you back?” Percival suddenly asked.

“I do not know.” Lancelot said. “Perhaps.”

The boy clearly worried about it, the death of his friend had wounded him. “I don’t want him to take you away.”

Lancelot was quick to reassure the boy, understanding where this fear was coming from in the boy’s grief. “He will not.”

Gawain had a certain look in his eyes that Lancelot had managed to see before the knight could hide it.

He believed that the knight did not trust that he would not go back to Father Carden. “Is there a problem?”

“No.” Gawain had a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes and he shook his head.

Lancelot disliked the blatant lie. He tilted his head in the direction of you and Percival, clearly insulted. “Do you believe I will return to Father? That I would betray them?”

Gawain had been more than a little reluctant to even speak of what he knew about the priest to him. “Father Carden is death, Lancelot…I am sorry. He died in Uther’s camp when he attacked it with the paladins.”

Your eyes snapped to Lancelot, watching how his expression changed to doubt. But when Gawain dropped his gaze to the ground in sympathy, Lancelot knew the knight was speaking the truth and he tensed up completely. The eyes of the Ash Man were void of life, a certain hollowness had taken over in them. Gawain tried to explain to him what had happened, how Father Carden had intended to murder Nimue but the odds had turned against him. Lancelot shot up to his feet whilst Gawain was mid-sentence, he moved through the narrow passageway in the cave that led to where the horses were. You were already up on your feet after seeing the reaction and fixed your eyes on his shadowy form, he had gone to Goliath and took something out of the saddle bag. He almost stormed out of the cave. You ran after him and hoped it’s wasn’t what you thought it was.

          The rain washed out the moon’s light. By the time you had spotted him marching between the trees you had to run to reach him. Did he even notice that you had followed him out of the cave? It didn’t appear to be the case. How he was able to walk so fast without slipping on the muddy ground was a mystery to you, you slipped a few times and were barely able to prevent a fall.

“Lancelot! Wait!” you shouted out while using a tree to regain your footing.

“Go back!” his reply was as fierce and rough as the thunder that followed seconds after it. He didn’t even look behind him to see if you had listened.

There was not a chance, not one damn possibility, that you were going to ignore that he had just walked out with the scourge that was wrapped in that rag. You finally reached him and nearly slipped again on the ground. But this time you were able to grab a hold on his arm to keep yourself steady and to keep him from trying to avoid the confrontation. You tried to grab the scourge from his hand, your fingers held on to the rag around it when he moved it back to signal for you not to take it from him.

His tone was sharp, bordering on anger, “Go back to the cave!”

When he tried to move, you grabbed a firm hold on the leather of the jerkin at his chest. “You promised me you wouldn’t use it anymore!”

Immediately he began to pry your fingers from the leather, even trying to force your wrists away. But you held on, knowing that if you let go he would return bleeding.

“Let go!” his voice rang loud into your ears.

You hated how you flinched, and raised your voice to match his, “I would rather bleed to stop you, than see you bleed again!” It had halted him. “I won’t let you do this to yourself, I will get that scourge out of your hands even if it means getting my wrists broken for it!”

His hand had been around your wrist, trying to get you to loosen your grip. His eyes fell to how he was holding it, his hold loosened. He shook his head, unable to voice what he was feeling and experiencing.

Again you reached for the scourge, the rag was soaked from the rain. “I beg you, don’t.”

He kept his gaze on the grass but let you pluck the scourge from his fingers, and you threw it into a bush. Now that you were more confident that he would not submit himself to flagellation, you gently brushed your hands along his arms in slow movements.

“Just breathe.” you hoped it was calming him, even if just a little.

He stood motionless, his eyes a million worlds away as they blinked only when a drop of rain hit them. There was no eye-contact, he did not want for you to see the sheer agony that had filled his eyes. You kneaded at his arms softly, soothing the tense muscles in them while stepping closer. Slowly, you closed the distance and brought your arms around him. Doing so made you aware of how much he was trembling, he was overcome by grief, it felt like trying to keep a thunderstorm from breaking out of it’s bounds.

You spoke against his shoulder. “Allow me to help you, tell me how and I will. I wish I could spare you from this pain.”

He felt his chest tighten and release, over and over again. The scent of you filling his lungs, colliding with his grief, the power it had over his being was unmeasurable.

You heard him inhale, slow and deep, and knew he was taking in your scent. Just hearing him try and calm himself by breathing better was a relief.

“Please…” he spoke so quietly and brought an arm around your form to keep you close.

You knew that what he did not say was ‘help’, ‘please, help’. Asking for aid when being in one’s most vulnerable state was not easy, and certainly not for him. After years of having to hide his suffering, showing it was a frightening ordeal.

You rubbed a hand over his back in soothing circles, feeling how he touched his head to the side of yours. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

That reassurance made him bring you in closer, making the embrace an intimate affair neither had expected.

“What he has done to me… I…” He took a deep breath, his voice broke, “It’s not right… I shouldn’t…”

He was mourning a man, a Father, who was seen as a monster to the Fey and all those who were unfortunate enough to have opposed him. It felt wrong, so very wrong, and selfish to weep for Father in the arms of a Fey. He was alone in bearing this grief, no one could understand and he could not expect it of them. And it was what made it unbearable.

You would not let him deny himself the chance to grieve. “You loved him, grieving him is what you must do, you have a right to grieve as much as anyone else.”

His emotions were merciless waves crashing into each other, constantly overtaking one another. The only certain thing that stood as a beacon between them was you and the comfort you brought him. And when he dared to meet your eyes, he could no longer go without the sight of them, no one had ever looked at him in such a manner before. With pure compassion, and the clear will to see into his thoughts, your eyes remained on his.

Seeing the heavens in his eyes rain down their sorrow was something you never wished to see again. You reached up and cupped his cheek, wiping some tears from where they ran over his ashen ones. “I am so sorry, Lancelot. You don’t deserve this pain.”

“I do.” He blamed himself for this. By leaving Father’s side he had not been there to prevent his death.

It was the worst thing to hear. “Don’t. Please, don’t. I know you believe that to be true, but it’s not. I know it’s not.”

He lifted his head back, trying to see the sky through the rain, he had not stopped shaking since he had stepped out of the cave. After a few seconds of letting the rain wash away the evidence of his suffering, he dropped his gaze unto you again. There were tears brimming in the corner of your eyes, and you were losing the fight against them, seeing him suffer like this was cutting into your heart.

You made your tone stronger, filling it with conviction. “You served him loyally, faithfully, you gave him everything. You don’t deserve this suffering. You never did.”

He suddenly cupped your cheek in the palm of his hand, a small startled gasp escaped you at the unexpected action. Reading his eyes was impossible, there was so much happening inside of them all at once. There was a soft light caress of his knuckles along the side of your chin. His hand glided down to the side of your neck, and it was that which gave him the control to do what he did next.

You blinked, that was all, and he had brought his lips to yours to steal a brief meeting between them. It happened so fast that it took you completely off-guard. The aim of it was impressive, there was no rough collision, you had landed into the clouds that were his lips. The meeting was brief and forward, his mouth parted from yours again. Rain dripped from his face and onto yours, his gaze was still locked in on your lips. You were trying to say something, to bring out any form of words but struggled to do so. He tilted his head to inhale your scent just below your ear, while your mind was slow to process what was happening. Then he brought his lips to yours again, letting them linger. You were too stunned by it to move at all. His lips were soft and light against your own. You did not push him away, fearing he would seek to punish himself with the scourge after all. The kiss was not anticipated, nor was the feeling that went from your head to your toes in response to it. And even with your previous experience, it still felt so very new and unlike anything else felt before. You felt the kiss throughout your whole body, your head was airy, your legs unsteady.

This was against the vow he had always wished to uphold, it wasn’t like him to do this. You knew that it was him reacting to the grief, finding something to bury it with if even just for a brief moment. You couldn’t let him do this, reciprocating would be taking advantage of his suffering state of mind. And that lack of response was what ultimately made him stop and break away, even if it was just an inch. He was trying so hard to read your eyes but you doubted he could see much beyond the grief now.

By cupping his face in your hands and putting your thumbs upon his lips, you kept your own free from them, a clear signal. “You don’t want this, Lancelot. I fear you are not thinking clear now.”

He kept a hand on the side of your neck, stroking his thumb along the bottom of your jaw, shaking his head very shallowly. You released your hold on his face.

“Forgive me…” His breath shook violently. His thumb stroked where your marks would be if they showed themselves. He rested his forehead against yours. “Please, forgive me…”

He would not survive it if his impulsive action had ruined it all again. Why could he not control himself better? Why did he keep making these mistakes? Why could he not do better? Why?

You hushed his concern, voice as sweet as possible, he was troubled enough as it was, “It’s alright, there is nothing to forgive.”

His fingers were still cradling your head like it was precious to him, he spoke against your temple, “I will never harm you. I’d never…”. He shook his head, disappointed in himself.

“I know.” You nodded. “I trust you.” Your hand came up to rest near where his heart was. “Come back to the cave with me, you’ll catch a cold in this weather. Please…”

He shook his head again. Was he embarrassed, or simply too overcome by it all that he could not think clearly?

You took his hand in yours. “I’m taking you with me.” It was a bold thing to say and try, but when you began to slowly walk, he let himself be taken along. It wasn’t until the entrance of the cave came into sight that he made you halt, you could see two shadowy figures waiting in the cave for you to return.

He pulled at your hand to bring you closer. “What I did, how I behaved towards you-”

There was no need for an apology. “Don’t. I know you’d never mean to cause me harm. I understand why it happened.” You pulled at his hand as well. “Now come with me. Out of this rain, Ash Man.”

That light demanding tone worked wonders on him, almost did he smile. You held his hand firmly, walking him into the cave were Percival and Gawain were waiting. Percival looked at Lancelot only once and flung his arms around the stunned man. Nothing was said between them as Lancelot brought a hand to the back of Percival’s head in a protective manner, nothing needed to be said. The grief was silent, like a poison invading their veins and the only way to survive it was to share it.

“I am sorry, Lancelot. I should have told you earlier, but I did not know how.” Gawain was somewhat uneasy. “You have my deepest sympathy.”

Lancelot only nodded, he was rubbing over Percival’s shoulder blade as if it was instinctive. It was surprising to see how well he did with children, even Gawain had not expected to see it.

Something caught Gawain’s attention when looking at you. “Are you bleeding?”

You frowned, then noticed the stain at the bottom of your sleeve. “I… I think so.”

Percival turned to look, as did Lancelot. You took of your wet jacket and handed it to Gawain to hold, blood had stained your sleeve a little but most of it had just run down to your wrist.

“One of the stitches on my arm may have torn.” You rolled up the sleeve to see.

Gawain went to the saddlebag of his horse. “I have what you need to bandage it.”

“Do you always travel so prepared?” you wondered out loud.

“I find it important to travel without having to be concerned if I’d bleed out from a cut.” Gawain deadpanned. He took out some rags, needle and thread, then looked at Lancelot. “You and the boy should rest. I’ll help her with her arm.”

Lancelot was not given the chance to protest, Gawain simply took you gently by the arm and led you towards the space where the torch still burned. It’s flames offered the well-needed light to work on your arm, and as you sat by the fire and let Gawain help you, Lancelot put his cloak down by the fire to dry. Percival sat down against the wall again, and Lancelot took place right beside him.

“You smell like a wet dog.” Percival blurted out to him.

Silence dropped in the cave, it lasted for two counts before Lancelot chuckled. The boy’s blunt remark was an oddly welcome distraction, even you and Gawain had stifled a quiet chuckle.

“Shall I sit further away?” Lancelot asked the boy, not sounding very serious about it.

“No.” Percival said and pulled out his knife from where it was hidden in the pocket of his jacket, the boy began to fidget with the knife a little to entertain himself.

You stared at Percival. “Percival… is that the knife that I put into that sellsword’s eye?”

Percival shrugged his shoulders. “What? I pulled it out and wiped it off. It’s my knife.”

Lancelot arched a brow, processing what he was hearing. Even Gawain had stopped in the midst of wrapping a fresh bandage around your arm.

“You pulled it from his eye?” Lancelot found himself asking.

“Yes.” Percival said.

“And what did that do to his eye?” Lancelot could not stop himself from wondering out loud, envisioning the possible gruesome outcome of the boy’s decision.

Percival winced at the memory and avoided looking at him. No one said a word, all were envisioning what must have happened.

Gawain cleared his throat. “All done. Try not to use that arm too much until the wound is closed again.” He rolled down your sleeve and patted your shoulder comfortingly. “You did well, not a single complaint.”

Lancelot watched the interaction in silence, you became aware of it quite fast because the Hidden’s whispers were drawing your attention his way instead of Gawain’s. One brief glance, one could claim it as ‘accidental’, and you had noticed it. Perhaps it was him still trying to determine whether or not to trust the knight, or perhaps the reason for his watchful eyes was of a different sort… perhaps that kiss did come from a place within him that he was sworn to forsake.

You placed your jacket near the torch, hoping that it would dry a bit in the night from the warmth the flames brought into the cave, then went to sit against the wall to sleep.

Gawain took place against the wall as well to rest for the night. “At dawn, we continue our journey. We should be at Gramaire the day after.” He saw Lancelot tense up. “Do not be afraid, Ash Man, I will be there to welcome you. And you have two more Feys who will speak of your refound goodwill towards the Fey.”

Lancelot nodded, looking down at Percival who was leaning against him and drifting of to sleep. “We shall see.”

The Green Knight had more faith in the matter than he did. After all his crimes against the Fey, he held not much hope to be forgiven or welcomed. The only welcome he expected was a blade through his chest.

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  You had fallen asleep faster than you thought possible, the events of the previous night had tired all those present in the cave. Minutes before dawn, you were gently nudged awake by Lancelot.

“I need to speak with you.” he whispered, not willing to wake the others.

You mumbled something incoherent, but it clearly showed how reluctant you were to leave the hard ground you called a bed. That lasted until you vaguely heard him say ‘please’. You got up from the ground, still drowsy from sleep, and followed him towards the entrance of the cave. The rain had stopped and it was palpably warmer, he stopped just where the cave still covered the ground, his restless hands were folded together behind his back. You stopped at his side, waiting for him to speak.

He took a deep breath. “About last night…”

Was this what was still troubling him? You hoped it had not been a part of what must have kept him from resting properly, he looked tired. “We do not have to talk about it.”

He thought differently, this was a matter that could not wait and risk festering. “We do. I prefer for us to speak of it and make certain that all is well between us.”

“All is well.” you said.

“I kissed you.” He turned to face you, his expression serious. “I had hoped we could speak without reservation as we did in the inn.”

You clasped your hands together to ease that sudden nervousness in you, he could be very forward and sometimes you envied it. “I don’t really know what to say about what happened.”

“I have upset you?” his eyes narrowed just a little, as if he hoped to read the answer in yours.

By taking a deep breath, you tried to be forward about it too. “No. The only thing that did upset me was seeing you storm off with that scourge.”

He seemed to accept that answer after studying your expression. “I must confess that I am grateful for how you have handled my…” He tried to find the right way to describe the state he had been in, “Madness.”

“Lancelot.” You shook your head at how harsh he was to himself. “It is not madness, you are grieving.”

Remorse was tearing into him. “What I did last night borders on madness.”

You hoped to finally make him understand that you were not angry or upset by jesting about it, “Are you saying that kissing me is a sign of madness?”

“I-… no, of course not-…” he stammered apologetically.

You could no longer hide your grin and looked towards the trees, biting the inside of your cheek to scold yourself for it.

He let out a deep sigh at realizing you were toying with his mind, mumbling, “You are maddening.”

“Says the one married to me.” you fired back.

It caused him to smile, a genuine small smile that reached his eyes and he snapped them to the trees. “I have not told Gawain of our marital status.”

“Why not?” you wondered.

“I thought you would prefer that I did not.” he said. “You have always let it be known that this arrangement was not by your will, I wish to give you the freedom to choose to ignore it’s existence or not.”

You hummed pensively. “Thank you… that was considerate.”

He gave a nod. “But I stand by what I said of how I will treat this arrangement. If there is anything you need, I will provide it, whether it be safety or other matters.” His eyes locked on you, another nod. “I am here for you. At your side.”

It felt like too much to accept, but this was how he was raised, to be devoted to those important to him. And after living with people who couldn’t care less about you, it was a welcome difference. You reached out and took his hand in yours with a light hold.

He took a step closer. “I once believed that it was my fate to die by the blade that would threaten to strike Father, that it was my duty to sacrifice my life for his. I do not know who or what I am now, not yet.” He swallowed hard, bringing a hand over yours. “I chose this path, I betrayed Father, of that I am guilty. What plagues me, is that even with this knowledge, I would still choose this path.”

You gave his hand a squeeze. “Often the right choice, is the hardest to make. And you made the right one.”

He nodded, believing it to be true. “I know I did. This…” he moved your interlocked hands up a little, “-proves that I have. You and Percival have been more than courteous to me, you’ve accepted me whilst the world sees me as a monster.”

“You are no monster.” you reassured him. “Monsters do not have a conscience.”

He hummed quietly, seeming to accept your view on this.

You remembered something. “Hey uhm, back at the inn you told me you wanted to speak to me about a personal matter. Do you recall? I’m here to listen.”

“I cannot recall.” he answered evasively. “It is not important.”

Your eyes squinted at him, a cheeky smile danced on your lips. “If you cannot recall, then how do you know it’s not important?”

He was quiet for a moment, eyes fixed on your hands. A sound from inside the cave alerted you that someone else was starting to wake. By the lack of much noise, you figured it had to be Gawain. You released your hold on Lancelot’s hand but he simply took hold of yours to keep the connection.

“You have truly forgiven me for last night?” he quietly asked.

“I have. And consider yourself fortunate that that often arrogant mouth of yours is quick to learn such a sinful skill.” You gave a playful smirk, teasing him, “I did not expect that of you.”

Was that a compliment? He had already forgotten the insult laced into it.

That cheeky comment had made him flustered. “I-”

“Were you able to rest last night?” You reached out, placing a hand on his upper arm.

“Not much.” he admitted.

Absentmindedly you kneaded at his arm. “Do you fear you must hide your grief?”

He gave a small nod. “I must.”

“Not from me.” You rubbed his arm.

The way you spoke so gentle now, so soft and sweet, almost quiet enough to be whispering. The moment felt serene to him, offering him more rest in his mind than sleep had done.

Slowly he reached out to cup your neck, and even slower he leaned in, as if you were a bird ready to take flight at an unexpected movement from him. You sensed his intent. He halted a second, waited, then put his lips to your temple. The kiss was one thing, but he lingered. You blinked rapidly, feeling a surge of restlessness warm your chest, a fluttering that caused you to smile. The feeling was overwhelming and you turned your head down and to the side, the shy smile on your lips was enough for him to see that he had done no harm or wrong with it.

You dared to look at him through your lashes, aware how flustered you had to look. “What was that for?”

Other than seeing that rare timid smile that caused your eyes to glister and caused his heart’s pace to quicken?

Slowly he straightened his back again, folding his hands behind it. “For the grace you have shown me once more.”

You still felt the rush going through your chest. “You are my husband, of course I will try to help you carry these burdens.”

His expression changed instantly and you realized why. You had not addressed him in such a way since you fled the paladin camp. He did not comment on it, a smile formed on his lips as he looked to the ground.

You stammered, “I… I mean…”

Gawain walked up, yawning. “Good morrow. Preparing for the journey?”

You send Lancelot a look, then returned to where Percival was still asleep to go and wake him. Gawain had to speak Lancelot’s name twice before the Ash Man remembered he was even standing there.

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[maxdibert]

Hi, me again👋

How are you?❤

I was wondering what you thought about the relationship between Severus and Voldemort. The way Severus should not even be in the DEs, let alone in the inner circle sitting on Voldemort's right because of his blood and social status. Grayback is also part of them, but they treat him like filth for his blood and werewolf condition. All the while, Severus is Voldy's N1. advisor.

Also, the way he keeps bending his own rules and principles to accommodate Severus, have him fit in and even keep him above the purebloods. Voldemort, who does not do favours, agrees not to murder Lily, a muggle-born witch, a memeber of the OotP and Harry's mother, because Severus asked him not to. How that plea becomes the Dark Lord's doom later.

The way Narcissa asks for Severus' help instead of Bella's or Lucius' when they are both purebloods in the inner circle, swimming in money. She knows, if there's anyone that can "handle" Voldemort and save Draco it's Severus.

And lastly, how Voldemort does not want to kill Severus, how he says he regrets it. That does not happen with any other of his victims.

And I don't mean this relationship as romantic either, just as two people, one the master and the other- the servant.

That's all,

Have a nice day❤

Hellooo <3

I really don’t think it’s such a big deal. Voldemort is a natural manipulator and knows how to exploit people’s fears, weaknesses, and needs to his advantage. It’s clear that he probably heard about Severus’s abilities—most likely from his long-time associate, Lucius Malfoy—and became interested in having a talented recruit among his followers. I wouldn’t be surprised if he saw Severus’s lack of resources and his disdain for Muggles (due to his association with his father) as an opportunity to manipulate and radicalize him, enabling Voldemort to exploit his talents as he pleased.

We often view villains as irrational, but through Tom Riddle’s memories, we know that Voldemort wasn’t just a crazed supremacist. He was always intelligent and cunning, using his charm to seduce and manipulate people for his own benefit. The fact that Severus was a half-blood was irrelevant—if anything, his status made him easier to manipulate. Voldemort valued talent, and Severus had plenty of it, so it seems perfectly logical that Voldemort prioritized his abilities over his blood status.

Severus turned out to be a very useful member—why not do him a favor? I’ve always thought that Voldemort viewed the matter of Lily as a youthful, lust-driven whim. Something like, “Fine, let him keep his little Mudblood toy if it means he keeps doing such a good job.” People often overthink this, but to me, giving him a “small gift” to keep him “happy” and working better is a common strategy used by those in power to control their subordinates. Voldemort’s mistake was failing to realize the depth of Severus’s feelings or to investigate why Lily, specifically, mattered so much to him. If he had done so, instead of assuming it was just a passing fancy, the story might have turned out differently.

On another note, I don’t think Narcissa went to Severus because she saw him as a role model. She approached him because Lucius had fallen from grace, making him an unsuitable option, and because she knew that:

Bellatrix would never go against the Dark Lord’s orders, let alone stop Draco’s “initiation,” which she saw as an honor, and

Severus was Draco’s professor, and since Draco’s mission was to kill Dumbledore, the only person who could realistically monitor Draco 24/7 and step in if necessary was Severus.

I also think Voldemort appreciated Severus as a highly capable and talented individual. I believe he liked him more than some of his other followers because, unlike a spoiled pureblood brat, Severus had risen from humble beginnings and earned his place through ambition and skill—qualities Voldemort valued because he had done the same. Beyond that—and it’s not a minor point, considering most of his followers, except perhaps Bellatrix and maybe Barty, meant little to him—I don’t think there was much more to their relationship. Voldemort valued Severus in the same way a hunter values one of their best weapons: an incredibly effective, rare, and valuable tool that is almost impossible to replace. He appreciated Severus because he was useful, but that’s about it. At least, that’s how I see it.

[fistfuloflightning]

Ohhhh I have lots, @alita-blue! But where to start??

This whole idea came from the mental image of a 4yo Yanli holding bby Wangji and declaring him ‘the prettiest doll she’s ever had’—she babies him a little differently from how she does jc, bc lwj is more of a delicate child in more ways than one and she hovers a bit more. But they grow up incredibly close and once wwx is adopted they’re one of the closest sibling groups in the jianghu.

Hope Limit doesn’t mind me quoting them because this stuff is gold:

And Lan Zhan, Jiang Zhan? Ah, he would make his parents sooo happy, but that family dynamic would probably make him so sad, parents that constantly clash and all that, it's getting to his inherent melancholic core. He'd be so fun with his two new siblings though, yanli loves little brothers, wwx enjoys a good match for training, and just imagine how nice the whole wandering cultivator flair of Yunmeng Jiang would be if lwj grew up embracing that, he does that so well already, I feel, wandering off and hunting evil. I always think he would be a happier person at Lotus Pier, together with jc though, so I do wonder how he'd be there all by himself, growing up in a lively atmosphere with the emotional struggle of his parents tearing each other apart for him and his siblings to hear and witness. he might be a bit more feared among the other disciples, textbook example student that he is, sticking to rules, not joining them when they run around half naked in summer, eating watermelons, bc he has to study and train and make his parents proud. I wonder if wwx would still enjoy to tease him? or is it something he grows tired of after a few years.

I feel like wwx and lwj’s relationship as siblings would be similar to wwx and wen ning’s. Wwx acts as shy lwj’s mouthpiece throughout childhood since he doesn’t really say much, which infuriates Madam Yu on multiple levels. Instead of ‘incompetent’ jc, she bestows her dubious attention on ‘cowardly’ lwj, as she sees it, unable to speak for himself. And sometimes wwx dives in to save from social situations he’s in due to his position as the Jiang heir. But he’s stubborn as well and doesn’t bend for injustices, especially when he sees how his mother treats his brother. This also probably gets him in trouble when at Cloud Recesses for the lectures—the Wall of Discipline is all well and good, but there’s some rules on there that he simply does not agree with because it obstructs true justice. LQR likes him well enough, but not his soft rebelliousness which is why he’s more than a little concern when Jiang Zhan begins hanging out with Lan Cheng.

And Lan Cheng… something about him going through Cloud Recesses’ version of anger management just speaks to me lol. Both their personalities remain the same, but Limit and I agreed jc’s anger would remain but be wonderfully repressed and due to the pressure of the Lan discipline, it would find a way to leak out every so often. He’d be the scary Lan. His parents’ conflict would wear similar but not identical paths in his psyche and I feel he would be incredibly protective of his mother, or at least be more vocal about the injustice of her imprisonment. His father… I think he would do everything in his power to have Qingheng-Jun look at him with favor, not understand why the man ignores him, then continue to throw himself at his own cultivation and training thinking he’s not doing enough. QHJ and JFM are similar enough in this aspect that I don’t see JC’s relationship with his father changing from one au to another.

More of my rambles from that convo:

I guess a large part of JC’s change of character comes from him not having to compete against an interloper, so to speak, for his place in the family (since wwx was treated as his replacement). As Lan Cheng, born knowing lxc is the heir and future leader and not him, and I think that might be less stress on him mentally (but that’s not including his parents issues…) He’s pretty independent and outspoken in canon so I see lxc not hovering or thinking he needs to protect his younger brother to the extent he did lwj. In fact, knowing from birth he is not the heir might be less stress in that aspect, less emphasis on trying to reach impossible expectations and striving to be perfect. But his need for positive parental support might push him more than other motivators. And yes!!! I love the idea that he’s closest to LQR! Their personalities seem very similar/kindred spirits. He’d still have his anger, but he’ll have to channel that into his training I suppose. He’s definitely the type of Lan to radiate an aura of pure rage with an obvious (thin) mask of serenity which terrifies most anyone.

He’s not nearly as much a protege as lwj was ao that might make him struggle a bit and frustrate him endlessly, esp when he has to see lxc do that same task effortlessly. He probably bonds with LQR over being the less impressive second born son and over the years his uncle tries teaching him ways of getting around that.

lqr’s biggest hang up might be lwj’s soft rebelliousness, though how much of that is just sheer stubbornness 🤷🏻‍♀️ he might not be vocal but you KNOW there are some rules he doesn’t agree with/think are arbitrary to the true righteous path and isn’t afraid of pointing them out. Maybe LQR doesn’t like him giving Lan Cheng dangerous ideas and questioning Cloud Recesses’ way of life? Like the rule about no pets (wwx probably still gave Jiang Zhan a pet rabbit when they were kids lol) and I honestly would love to see jc with a dog again, which is yet another reason for wwx to try (and fail) to keep his brother away from the scary anger-repressed Lan 😂

On that note, have some little fluff Limit added about Lan Cheng’s little note cloud puppy:

I’m sure I have more stewing in my brain, but this is what I currently have unless @limitbreaker23 has more to add?

Lan Wanyin, from a Zhancheng role swap cooked up with @limitbreaker23 💕

[monamipencil]

Hi, Lola. I’m an Indian woman, and I want to express my heartfelt gratitude for bringing this matter to light. People often don’t realize what it’s truly like to be a woman in India. While being a woman anywhere in the world comes with its challenges, what’s happening in India is especially heartbreaking and deeply concerning. This isn’t just a new issue—it’s something that has plagued our society for years. A similar tragedy occurred 12 years ago, and unfortunately, we are witnessing history repeat itself.

In India, every single day, an average of 90 women are sexually assaulted. That’s just the reported number, and we know that many cases never even make it to the authorities. The reality is likely far worse. Recently, in the state where I live, a horrific incident occurred involving the sexual assault of a 3-year-old girl. This wasn’t an isolated case; around the same time, a nurse was also assaulted, and even a medical student who was protesting became a victim. These incidents are just a few among countless others, each one more horrific and gut-wrenching than the last.

What’s even more troubling is how ingrained these issues are in our culture. From a very young age, Indian girls are taught to behave, to dress “properly,” and to conform to a narrow set of societal expectations. We are constantly reminded to uphold our family's honor, often at the expense of our own freedom and safety. There’s a saying in our culture, “bhale ghar ki larkiyan ye sab nai karti hain,” which translates to “girls from good households don’t do such things.” This phrase is used to enforce restrictive norms on girls, placing the burden of maintaining "honor" entirely on our shoulders, while boys are rarely held to the same standards.

This double standard is not only unfair, but it also perpetuates a culture of silence and shame around sexual violence. Boys are often not taught the same responsibility or respect for others. Instead, they grow up in a society that normalizes the objectification and devaluation of women. It’s not uncommon to hear boys, some as young as 12, making casual jokes about sexual violence and dismissing it as "dark humor." These jokes may seem harmless to them, but they contribute to a culture that trivializes serious issues and further normalizes the mistreatment of women.

What’s worse is that this normalization of violence and disrespect creates an environment where women are blamed for the crimes committed against them. We are constantly told to dress modestly, to not go out at night, to avoid certain places, and to always be on guard—as if it’s our responsibility to prevent assault. Meanwhile, the focus should be on educating boys and men, instilling in them the importance of consent, respect, and equality.

This issue is deeply rooted in our society, and it’s going to take a collective effort to bring about real change. Thank you again for using your platform to bring this critical issue to our attention. Your efforts to raise awareness and spark conversations are incredibly important. It’s through voices like yours that we can hope to create a future where women can live without fear, where respect and equality are the norms, not the exceptions.

hello, please do not thank me for this. i think every human should do this and spread awareness. and i cannot bear that this is happening even after 78 years of independence. i dont know how many nirbhaya, moumitha or ashifa it will take for the government to finally take action. the fact there are people who make jokes out of this situation is beyond me.

shame on them really. and thank you so much for sending this message. you covered each pivotal point, and i admire that you can put your anger into words. thank you.

[hydrangeyes]

I really do love how the fandom has their ship but man do I wanna see a bit more of the rivals to codependent to lovers route more

[noircheols]

NERDING OUT !!!

(1) this is a reference to the song when the sun hits by slowdive. the song tells the story of the singer feeling nervous about burning through his current lover, and that their romance will fizzle out, despite how much he loves her. he loves her and is in awe of her, wanting to hold and cherish her. her beauty, after all this time, still manages to burn him. a core theme in the song is loss, with the singer saying "don't loose me." loss is a feeling that practically consumes seokmin after the reader passes. however, loss isn't necessarily an emotion that seokmin experiences in the start of the story, with it's tone as light and airy, like he's walking on clouds and on top of the world. seokmin is victorious, because he has achieved peace. he's an accomplished hero and the love of his life is marrying him. however, once the reader dies suddenly his life is defined by loss, with loss being one of the reasons he travels back to the underworld. the lyric in specific (which i highlighted) could be interpreted as a reference to catholicism, to mother mary in specific. in the original, she is "clothed with the sun," and in catholicism especially, she is a venerated queen of heaven. i chose this line in specific simply because i feel like that is how seokmin view's the reader and their love, wrapped in sunlight and greater than all the living things on their planet, sm so that he defies the laws of nature for them.

(2) a reference to a book i just read, called circe by madelline miller! her other book the song of achilles is super popular, but this one really caught my eye simply because i adore the complexity of her writing and just how lush her style feels. long story short i keep on returning to the novel whenever i'm in need of getting out of a reading slump. it re-imagines the story of circe (obviously) the daughter of an ocean nymph named "perses" and the titan of the sun, helios. much of the story focuses on her forging her own story, away from deterministic notions of what she can and cannot be. this is emphasized even at the start, where circe is born and explains her life as a nymph and struggles to fit in with her court, who engage in shallow, self-contentious politics. circe's youth is filled with her trailing behind her father and her younger brother, aeëtes (the keeper of the golden silk and father of medea), powerful male figures who do not recognize her skills. witchcraft gives circe the strength to rise above determinisim, allowing her to take on an entirely new entity between goddess and mortal and blur the lines between them. witchcraft is something the gods themselves fear, and it empowers her to choose her own destiny. the reader in this story defies the typical fate for nymphs, entering a marriage where they are viewed as an equal. seokmin as well believes that his individual identity as a champion of apollo exempts him from having his fate be determined. however, something special about the myth of orpheus and eurydice is that it highlights the nature of determinism, that their ends are pre-determined and death will find them.

(3) heraclitus of ephesus (l.c. 500 BCE) was a greek pre-socratic scholar, being known as the "dark scholar" by his contemporaries because his works are so difficult to understand. nevertheless, his ideas influenced the works of plato and aristotle. a common theme in his writings were and understanding of the nature of life and the purpose of human life (arguing that it was only the philosopher who was awake). his central claim is that "life is flux" (panta rhei), or, where nothing in life is permanent, because the very nature of existence is change. change is not just a part of life, but is in fact life itself. opposites would clash continously and create and destroy. “the way up and the way down are one and the same. living and dead, waking and sleeping, young and old, are the same.” these things are the 'same' in that they are all subject to change, arise from one change to vanish into another and all things, constantly, are in flux and are, in that regard, the same. (straight from worldhistory.org) in a way, wonwoo predicts the immense change that was to befall seokmin, when the reader dies in such a random and sudden way. even so, there is no way of knowing whether their marriage would be a happy one. even seokmin's fate is not provided with a definitive answer, leaving him hanging in the underworld and his story up to the reader's interpretation. even the memory of the reader which seokmin clings onto at the end might change. it might distort over time as he ages and his memory deteriorates, or maybe he will forget it. their ending is quite literally changing constantly.

(3) the pineios river is an actual river in greece, in the region of thessaly. the pineois river was named after the god peneus (cant stop laughing, im so immature), one of the three thousand rivers (or potamoi, gods and goddesses of rivers and streams on earth in greek mythology), and a child of oceanus and tethys. before the greek dark ages, thessaly was known as aeolia, and is appeared such in homer's odyssey. it's a mythical island, BUT please for your sake keep thessaly and aeolia seperate... my head hurts trying to explain the time and logistics about it.

(4) hubris is an iconic element of greek mythology. hubris, in greek tragedy, is exessive pride toward of defiance of the gods, leading to nemesis. "nemesis" comes from "nemein", meaning "give what is due." seokmin is (no brainer) equally as vain as he is in love with you. he has every right to be, and stands out from the crowd as an invididual. seokmin's vanity is expressed through his fear of death, as a consistent theme within the story is how in death everybody is treated fairly. he believes he shouldn't be judged as another brick in the wall, because he is more than that and has skills that challenge those of apollo. individuality is a huge theme in greek mythology. old greek and roman stories played an important role in renaissance culture, with artists like raphael and titian reimagining ancient narratives and adapting them to fit christian themes. the concept of indivudalism blossomed through a renewed focus on human potential and self-expression, with ordinary people having the ability to challenge the gods. orpheus goes as far as to challenge the laws of nature, but ultimately, his quest is fruitless.

(5) if you notice, throughout the story jun and minghao refer to seokmin as "mortal." on the one hand, you have jun viewing mortals as inseperable from each other. as immortal beings, they have witnessed so many humans pass them by that it's hard to tell when one is born and another dies. they lump them all under the title of "mortal". jun however is entitled to individuality as a deity. jun has seperate roles from the rest of the gods, and makes it clear to seokmin that he should not be conflated with them.

(6) a small wink at the plot, where the shipment number for the reader is hex code of a shade of aqua. aqua in colourology means compassion which transcends between the physical and metaphysical. seokmin's compassion and love drives him to rescue the reader from the underworld.

(7) a reference to plato! according to phaedrus in plato's symposium, plato represents orpheus as a coward. rather than naturally dying and following through on a guarantee of reuniting with eurydice, he chooses to mock hades and attempts to get her back alive. he fails as his love was not sincere.

(8) a reference to the opera of orfeo ed euridice composed by christoph willibald gluck, first performed at the burgtheater in vienna on october 5, 1762. in gluck's opera, orfeo (orpheus) is instructed to ignore euridice (eurydice). euridice becomes distraught until finally, her husband turns around to her. in this story, i reference a variation of interpretations (which i will go into later!) as seokmin walks, we see the reader's speech italicized. it could be interpreted as seokmin imagining what they would be saying, but also reader struggling to reach to seokmin as seokmin is forbidden to talk to them, and has no way of knowing if they really are behind them (magical logistics... ask minghao).

(9 - YELLOW) in many interpretations, orpheus can be interpreted as prideful of his skills. so prideful, in fact, that he believes his skills can rise above the underworld's laws, hence why he decides to turn around because he believes he can rise above the consequences. other interpretations however believe that orpheus turns around because he doubts his own abilities.

(10 - CYAN) another interpretation of the story is that its an allegory for grief, where we cannot stop looking back at the past.

(11 - YELLOW) in many interpretations, the myth is used to convey the message that death cannot be reversed and that it is everybody's final home, highlighting the harshness of death. in this way, eurydice's death seems inevitable.

(12 - CYAN) another virtue that can be taken from the myth is to never doubt the god's and their blessings. definitely not one i agree with, simply because the gods (to me) are conceited and too absorbed in their own power... butttt i suppose that moral applies to people like me who doubt a ton lols.

(13 - YELLOW) the interpretation i chose for this story was that orpheus had heard eurydice stumble (in some way) and out of too much care for her, recklessly abandoning any convictions. to me, this was something that could humanize seokmin beyond all the vanity he posesses, that at the end of the day, the thing he cares most about is his love. sure, triumphing and bringing the reader back would add another feather to his cap, but at the expense of everything he's worked for, seokmin chooses the safety of his love.

(14 - CYAN) this line is a direct reference to the poet virgil! you may know him from the aeniad :3 the most well-known version of the story is from him, with the story serving as an attempt of art crossing the realm of living and dead. the ending is definitely more gruesome (read at your own discretion).

(15 - YELLOW) this is a nod to feminist re-examinations of the myth. some scholars noticed that many re-tellings of the myth were male centred, barely giving any attention to eurydice, who only dies at the start (i'm guilty of this, i fear.) many have not asked what is it eurydice has wanted, and so many have re-imagined her as yearning to be free from orpheus, to be an individual. death gives eurydice a second chance at freedom, away from orpheus. she may have been forcefully brought to walk behind orpheus by hades and persephone. orpheus turning back could be a recognition that eurydice would be happier here.

(16 - CYAN) a portrait of a lady on fire talks about the myth of orpheus and eurydice! rather than choosing to grow old with eurydice and witness her die slowly and grow weaker, orpheus chooses to turn around to willingly preserve her youth.

(17 - YELLOW) seokmin doesn't know for certain whether their love would really survive the millions of trials and tribulations along their way. sure, he loves you more than anything, but that isn't a guarantee. if he were successful, what would have happened? in some interpretations, orpheus leaves the underworld with a blissful memory of love with eurydice, and can look back on them knowing he loved her.

(18 - CYAN) once again, a reference to the feminist re-interpretations of the myth. this time, a reference to those that paint orpheus unfavourably. he turns back not because of love, but rather knowing the burden of being married. having a wife will distract him from producing music and travelling the world, basically being held back by a ball and chain. however, having a dead wife would be a source of inspiration for his music.

(19 - LIME) references to please stay by lucy daus. it's a sentimental ballad that had me crying my eyes out. this song holds such a special space in my heart, because it was probably the only thing keeping me alive when i was at my worst and embracing a self-destructive streak. the speaker is basically in conversation with a loved one who is suicidal, and looks back on ordinary mundane things we only acknowledge when a loved one may disappear. life is something we all take for granted.

i'm so gagged if anybody actually read all my yapping...

˗ˏˋ  AS THE SUN HITS ; l. seokmin ´ˎ˗

she'll be waiting, with her cool things, and her heaven. (7.6k+)

⋆ SYNOPSIS. ― you were his muse, the motivation behind every note he strummed on his lyre, and every verse he sang. but now the air that would rush through his lungs as he'd sing could only be pried from your cold dead hands.

⋆ INFO. ― angst, fluff, ancient greece!au, historical fantasy!au, greek mythology!au, hurt no comfort

⋆ PAIRING. ― orpheus!dokyeom x eurydice!reader

⋆ PRNS. ― they / them

⋆ CW. ― MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, blood, seokmin can carry the reader, seokmin is afraid of dying cus of hubris, hades!minghao and persephone!jun take on gender fluid-esque forms for my sake (dont question it), mentions of starving, s3xu4l 4ssault mention (verbal), alcohol, food, kissing, pet names (my love, darling), possible historical/mythological inaccuracies, mentions of a beheading, mentions of poisoning, mentions of vomitting, light smut mention (if u blink u probs won't notice)

⋆ 💬.  ― special thanks to @seokmn for proof-reading!! inspired by a post which quite literally stated "orpheus seokmin x eurydice reader" BUT I LOST IT I WANT TO CRYYY. basically op wanted somebody to write something along those premises so i done just that (not shocked if somebody else got to it first tbh...) IF SO THIS WAS NOT COPIED FROM ANYBODY INTENTIONALLY THIS CAME OUT OF MY TINY BRAIN. i forgot who the original poster is but if anybody figures it out PLEASE TELL ME IMMIDIETALLY !!! this idea isnt mine i just wanted to bring it to life :(

Seokmin's favourite pastime was to have you running your hands through his hair. He loved the way your fingers gently brushed through his scalp, as you coaxed him with sweet nothings after a long day. It's what kept Seokmin going, his knees buckling as the musician climbed the hill to your cottage. Every day followed a very specific routine, you would be diligently looking over your garden, and he would wrap his arms around your waist from behind. It was your voice that renewed his love for music. Every word you spoke perfectly pieced together like a song. The way the corners of your mouth curled into a cheeky smile, the shape reminiscent of his lyre. Everything about you sounded right. It's why you made so much sense as his fiance.

Domestic life, despite his rich imagination, was something Seokmin never envisioned. He had travelled across the globe, seeing all that grew upon Gaia's skin. Kings had discovered his talent from messengers, and out of curiosity, invited him to perform. Everybody that heard his voice was bewitched, with rumours spreading that he was Apollo, the God of the Sun and Music taking on a mortal disguise! For his performances, Seokmin had been offered sparkling gems from the King of the Sea, pearlescent ivory from foreign lands in the South, and olive oil that flowed like honey from the finest of orchards. But Seokmin believed the best gift he had received was the gift of song. The gift of your song. With your song came his most stunning melodies. Melodies which tell the story of a wandering bard’s love for a valley nymph, an auloniad. The bard had only hoped the auloniad would notice him. Fortunately, Seokmin could conclude that the bard had a happy ending, because he was living it.

"You've been working too hard, Minnie."  you giggled as you gently tucked a flower behind his ear. You two sat quietly on your shared bed. Seokmin felt his body sink deeper into the linen with how gentle you were, treating him like he was made from the finest glass. Even with his eyes closed, could feel the warmth of your gaze. "You should tell the King to give you a day off, spend it with me, no?" you winked at the man, whose head rested on your lap. A blissful smile rested on his features. He looked angelic with the way the sunset cast its glow upon him.

"My love, he's invited to our wedding tomorrow! I can't afford to accidentally disrespect him. You know how these things work. There are too many stories of courtesans being beheaded; you don't want your fiance dead just before the fun starts!" he laughed. "Wait— are you planning on getting rid of me!?" his eyes looked like they were about to fall out of his sockets.

"Well, your big brother Wonwoo has been looking so good after becoming a scholar in Athens. It would help if you were out of the picture," you smirked, eager to see your fiance's reaction. Seokmin scoffed loudly, getting up from your lap.

"I'll kill Wonwoo before he can even see you!" Seokmin jokingly yelled before tackling you into the bed to be tickled mercilessly. You squealed "stop" repeatedly as your laugh filled the small house. Seokmin was pleased with your reaction, and finally released you from his grasp. He was hovering on top of you, hair falling in front of his eyes. You wanted every day to be like this. You wanted to see that same hair of his turn white and his face aged with time. You wanted to drown in his neverending love. Marriage would finally make you one being, an entity that shares a future and a past, and two breaths walking.

"I can't wait for us to get married tomorrow," Seokmin sighed, as he reached for your hand to kiss. You smiled as his lips brushed against your knuckles. You had heard from fellow nymphs that marriage was a poison that seeped into your bones, immobilizing you and keeping you trapped in a moment. Nymphs were born to be nothing more than bargain pieces, their names alone meaning "bride". However, you begged to differ.

When it came to Seokmin, you felt free. Never did you feel that you were inferior. Waking up next to him peacefully sleeping, as he spooned you. His soft pleas for you to "stay in bed a little longer". When he'd come home from a long day of performances and litter your face with the sweetest kisses, where he would thank you for "being his muse". Looking into his eyes after a long day felt like staring into the wide skies in the valleys you would live in.

You couldn't wait for tomorrow to come.

"You look good," Wonwoo chuckled as he placed a wreath of gold leaves on his younger brother's head. Seokmin took a good look at himself in the mirror, the gold illuminating the spark in his eyes. It was Wonwoo's wedding gift he brought with him from Athens. His brother supposedly enlisted the best of the best goldsmiths with the very little money he had left to his name to make the stunning crown. The gold metal felt heavy on Seokmin's head, but your love was something he would proudly wear.

It was the day of your wedding. Seokmin had invited his human friends he had met on his adventures, and you invited nymphs of every kind. It was still early in the morning, much before the ceremony would commence in the evening (a personal touch Seokmin included; he remembered how you would get up in the middle of the night to stargaze). Still, the garden was bustling with life. He could hear the joyous hollering of well-wishers from outside his thin house walls.

"Look at you, getting married before me." Wonwoo teased. "I thought you were going to die in a tavern as a spinster— thank the Gods that you found [Name] before you met your fate drunk in a random street."

"Please, I'm not THAT miserable." Seokmin pouted at his brother's remarks. Seokmin's chest heaved. He wanted to see you, he wanted to kiss the bridge of your nose and tell him he was honoured to be your companion in life. He wanted to lift your veil off your face and see your doll-like eyes stare into his.

"Do you think..." Seokmin began to trail off. "Do you think they will love me forever? I know I will love them forever, but what if they become too good for me?"

"Well, Heraclitus had famously stated 'you cannot step into the same river twice' with his Doctrine of Flux—"

"Please don't go all scholar on me! I'm going to my wedding, not to school,"

"All I'm saying is, love never remains constant. It's a dynamic entity, but then again, you and [Name] are pretty dynamic too. You match each other perfectly, it's like Aphrodite blessed you. Although, my little brother has always been loved by the Gods." Wonwoo smoothly explained.

Like Aphrodite blessed me.

Seokmin gave himself a proud smile in the mirror before putting on the rest of his wedding garments.

Brushing the blackened ash of incense over your lashes, you grinned satisfied with your reflection in your hand mirror. You didn't previously imagine marriage or starting a family because you had heard so many stories from fellow nymphs of their nightmare affairs. But once again, Seokmin was different. He had the sincerest of emotions for you, and you for him.

You took a good look outside of your window, inhaling the fresh air. The air was particularly sweet today, maybe it was from the plethora of figs and wine available. Or, maybe it was because your heart swelled so much with excitement from the wedding all your senses were being overshadowed. The cottage you and Seokmin resided in was looking exceptional today, with the bouquets of wildflowers and candles. The cottage was a gift bestowed to you and Seokmin by the King of Aeolia, who adored Seokmin's music. The orchards were bountiful, the fruit plump and sweet. The garden was your favourite place, as you were previously a follower of the nomadic forest deity, Pan. You remember vividly how you first met Seokmin.

You were stringing flowers up from the Earth when you heard a scream ripple through your valley. You chuckled softly to yourself. Humans. Still, there were many stories of them searching for greatness, ignorant to the fact that they were designated to ultimately become the dirt they walk on. Your previous lover, a minor God of trickery, would boast about his status and the inferiority of humankind. You’d laugh at his stories of luring humans to their death, but you were aware that nymphs were just as weak— if not weaker, than humans. Really, nymphs and humans were two different sides of the same coin— two entities that were used by the Gods as playthings to pass their time as immortals. However, a key difference was that humans spent their time locked away in their big marble palaces and scriptures, and nymphs would be imprisoned by the freedom of the wilderness.

What would a human be doing out here in auloniad territory?

You tracked down the origin of the sound, finding yourself deep in the forest. "STAY BACK!" the man shrieked. You peeked behind a willow tree, its long branches acting as a disguise, and you cracked a wicked smile. The man, clutching his lyre, was cornered to the back of a tree by a boar. The beast snarled, showing off its sharpened and bloodied teeth. Boars, to auloniads, were like what puppies were to humans. If this were any other human, you would have allowed the beast to have its way. But something about this man, with his big doe eyes and perfectly sculpted face made him seem... different. He held an aura— no, a glow, that made you interfere.

"Alright, Sherman, please don't eat the nice guest." you stepped out from your hiding spot, cooing at the beast. The boar stopped its hunt once it heard your voice. It trotted over to you, for you to cup its face. "Aren't you just adorable!" you gushed, ruffling with its fur.

Seokmin's eyes fell onto you, fear evaporating from his body. You were... magnificent. He had seen beautiful people before, when he was entertaining royalty. Princes and princesses would throw themselves on him, begging to take him to bed. But you were beautiful like the waterfalls he'd see on his journeys, birds chirping signalling a new day, the rocky steppes of mountainous terrains in Crete.

"His name is Sherman?" Seokmin began to laugh.

"Her." you giggled, as the beast revelled in your affection. Seokmin began to laugh to himself, wondering how the same vicious boar, who had chased him from across the forest, could resemble the same characteristics as a harmless puppy under the right touch.  You released Sherman, letting her go to run off into the wild. 

"Thank you for saving me," Seokmin spoke up, drinking in the nymph's beauty. You laughed— goodness, how could somebody be so charming? "Next time when you come into this neck of the woods, I'd advise you to not play any instruments. Boars are extremely sensitive to noise. Rather, go to the Pineios River to practice." you advised. "What were you playing, anyways?" being a nymph, curiosity bested you. It’s not always you get a human in your hand.

"Oh, just this old thing!" Seokmin brought a rather strange thing from his dilapidated satchel, a gold tubular instrument.

“And… what is it?”

“A salpinx! Its pretty loud though, soldiers use this in battles. Maybe this thing is why Sherman wanted to kill me…” Seokmin thought out loud. You giggled at the human's cuteness. He was endearing, like a fawn.

“Well, I should get going now, back to doing absolutely nothing.” you chuckled. As you began trekking up the forest, you heard Seokmin call out to you.

“Wait!— Why don’t I play something for tomorrow, just the two of us? At the Pineios River!” Seokmin offered.

He was composed when it came to playing in front of giant cyclops to convince them to let him live, at weddings of huge political significance, impressing the Goddess of Arts and Crafts, and setting wild lions to sleep with gentle lullabies. But to have you in his audience was the most nerve-wracking thing to him. To feel your eyes bore deep into him was… tantalizing. To be the object of your attention, as you spend your days together lazing in each other's company. He had never felt stage fright before. But that only motivated him to perform the best he could.

Grinning, you turned your head around. “I’d love to.”

He knew at that moment he wanted to marry you, and that feeling only grew stronger every time he played for you.

The festivities were in full swing. Guests took it upon themselves to feast on the multiple honey-flavoured sweets prepared and the platter of goat's cheese with cucumbers and figs. There was an overwhelming amount of wine available to wash it down. "Eat it all up and vomit it all out" was the Ancient world's favourite way to pass the time. Amongst all their excitement, Seokmin was oddly quiet.

"You aren't eating anything," Wonwoo observed, eyeing his brother's untouched plate.

"Something feels wrong," Seokmin responded, voice hushed so only his brother could hear.

"How?" Wonwoo asked before going for a second lamb rib.

“It feels like… my life is going to change tonight.” Seokmin solemnly spoke. “I mean— aside from the fact I’m literally getting MARRIED. But, I don’t know, something is telling me I should check in on [Name].”

"Maybe you’re just experiencing pre-wedding anxiety. It's common.” Wonwoo explained. Wonwoo was Seokmin’s polar opposite, in that he viewed convoluted situations as simple problems with logical answers. Wonwoo was reasonable, a characteristic all scholars possessed. Growing up, in difficult situations, it was Wonwoo’s brain that triumphed over Seokmin’s heart. “I'm sure [Name] is alright, they have all their friends. Just trust me on this and eat your food." Seokmin gave a weak nod before picking up a fig to eat.

Seokmin wishes he had listened to his heart before it was too late.

By evening, Seokmin was expected to have wed you already. By now, you would be dancing to his lyre with a careless smile with the stars smiling down on your union. But as Seokmin searched tirelessly for you, he could hear the stars laughing wickedly.

“My love?!!” Seokmin called out for his love. "Please, answer me!" Seokmin's eyes frantically scanned over the almost endless rolling hills. He felt like he was staring into the ocean. At first glance, the ocean was inviting and almost harmless, but the danger was in its infinite grasp over the world. But Seokmin would claw through the waves if it meant he could be with you.

"No sign of them here!" one of his wedding guests shouted.

"Over here!" one of your nymph friends called out, waving at him. Seokmin ran over to see what was happening, and his heart sank. You lay peacefully on the tall grass, as though you were just in a deep sleep. The earth was waiting for you to finally return to its arms. It had yearned for your return ever since you left the valley to travel alongside Seokmin. Now that you have returned to it, Seokmin knew better than anybody it wouldn't let you go. 

"We were all just dancing, like we normally did and—" another nymph choked on her tears, rolling down her cheeks at the same tempo of the beads of blood rolling down your ankle and staining the lush bed of grass underneath. "We were startled by an entourage of hunters, threatening us with all sorts of crude things, because that's all nymphs are good for. But [Name] wouldn't take any of it, and soon enough, it delved into an argument— and the huntsman just shoved them so hard that they stumbled onto a stupid venomous snake."

Rage.

There had never been a moment where Seokmin felt so much rage.

What was even more bitter was that your blood was trickling into the Pineios River, the same place he had given his first performance to you. The sounds of the water gently crashing against the shore did nothing to soothe him. His world, you, had just stopped. But the rest of the world still flooded past your body, reminding him that he was just another pebble in the riverbed that was life. The river, which was supposed to be a natural monument to your love, was now stained by your death. You had deliberately chosen to get married by the Pineios River and to have your cottage here, because this is where time would stand still for you and him.

"Where are those hunters?" Seokmin questioned, as he scooped you into his arms. It hurt him that you were so perfect. Even in your final moments, you chose to remain generous and protect the people you love most. How he wished you could have been more selfish.

"They ran off into the woods, laughing to themselves..." another responded.

Seokmin's fingers clung to your figure, hoping to feel your blood rush. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to bring you back and finalize his vows with you. He was supposed to carry you into your shared cottage as blushing newlyweds, staring up at the ceiling together because that was your favourite thing to do. But here he was, carrying your cold lifeless body. That same body which he spooned to sleep. Just moments ago, he woke you up with a kiss on the forehead. How did moments seem so distant?

Burying his face in your chest, Seokmin sobbed. Maybe he could hear your heart beat once more? Maybe you could feel his warmth, and then you would regain your spark and miraculously come back to life. Your eyes would flutter open, and you could spend your last moments with him in the sweet bliss of domesticity. Seokmin thought that if he wailed loudly enough, the Gods would hear his pleas and give him his greatest love. His big brother's words, "Beloved by the gods," echoed in his mind, ringing painfully in his memories.

No human could ever be loved by a god. Not the same way he loved you, at least.

He loved you. And that's what was going to be his undoing.

It had been days since the wedding. Seokmin hadn't been eating regularly. Some twisted part in his mind lashed at him for not being there to protect you. He should have been the last thing you saw. He should have held you so as you shut your eyes and left this world he could have been able to say goodbye. He wishes he could have been able to say goodbye. Or maybe, he wouldn't need to say goodbye, because he would keep you away from those hunters and you would have never tripped. It doesn't matter now, because while your breath was faltering and your heart slowed he was feasting without a care in the world.

Seokmin also stopped sleeping. It's grown to hurt him too much. Every time he would close his eyes to rest, he hoped that when he woke up, it was all a part of a cruel trick his mind was playing on him. But it never was. It then grew to become him trying to sleep forever, so that time would pass by seamlessly and he would shrivel and find himself in the Underworld with you. But it would never work. It was because he was selfish. He would wake up in the middle of the night, his chest heaving and gasping for air. As much as he was terrified of losing you, perhaps most importantly, he nursed a fear of dying. He was a coward who turned his back on death, the only time humans are treated equally. But he was not like the rest, he was a jewel amongst the rock garden of humanity, and you were supposed to adore him. He was vain, but any artist with self-respect was. Why should he be treated the same as other humans, when he was a hero of far-off kingdoms and Apollo's champion?

Rather than disappointing himself, he took to roaming the gardens you tended to so ardently. "I'm still a nymph, after all! I’m good with plants" your voice rang clearly in his head like a bell.

Staring mindlessly at the flowerbed, meddling with the strings of his lyre, singing to himself. All he could think about was how spring was treading forth on its heels, bringing flowers in their bloom. But when you died, you left him none of the bright colours that dotted your shared world. Maybe, he could catch the Goddess of Spring, Persephone, and beg her to convince her husband to bring you back to him. The Goddess of Spring, or as he likes to appear to humans, Jun.

Seokmin knelt before the once flourishing bed of flowers, singing once more. Louder. With more strength. Maybe Apollo won't fail him, and will take his golden chariot mounted by swans to pluck you back from Hades and return you back home. You would emerge from the shining beams of sunlight, and you will both laugh about this cruel dream. If Apollo could gift him his lyre, surely he could gift him his love?

Seokmin's eyes fluttered, feeling those restless nights catching up on him. His exhaustion made him mistake the dirt as a gigantic pillow. Seokmin's shoulders sank, as he lowered his head. Maybe the dirt will consume him and crush him into a fine dust that will leave nothing but his soul, free to travel between worlds and free to reunite with you. But— then he would be gone. He would be nothing more than the dirt people stepped on. He could no longer hear the music of the world he loved so much.

"No!" Seokmin shook himself awake. His eyes slowly enlarged. That once large brown pillow suddenly had flowers sprouting out of its barren surface. Soft pink blooms with thin twig-like stems, native to the craggy stony steppes of Aeolia, called evia. Your favourite flowers. There was only one possible explanation of how this could have happened.

A figure walked towards the bard, long pastel pink silk trailing to the ground and flowers from every part of the world woven into his hair. Jun. The manifestation of the Goddess of Spring.

"A nymph was sobbing in the Underworld about you, mortal." his voice echoed.

"How did you find me?" Seokmin bowed in front of the Goddess, making sure to keep his eyes glued to the ground.

"Please, enough of these formalities! I'm not going to drag you down to the Underworld." Jun chuckled, finding Seokmin amusing. The Goddess of Spring was much kinder than his husband, that's for sure. Although, that didn't mean they didn't share the same sense of gallows humour. It makes the Ancients let out a sigh of relief that it wasn't Hades allowed to crawl the service and take all who frustrated him back underneath the Earth's crust to never be seen again. "As one finds all champions of Apollo, find where the sun shines brightest and where the music sounds sweetest."

"What are you doing here, then?"

Jun merely laughed at that question. "What gall you have, mortal! Asking why spring goes where it wishes?" Jun stopped laughing, catching his breath.

"Normally, I don't care about the dead. That's Minghao's job. It's so glum, don't you think? Listening to whining brats isn't really my forte, thank goodness he's so patient." Minghao was the chosen mortal name of Hades, the malevolent ruler of the Underworld, waiting for the fall of every being from the shadows. “Patient” was certainly one way to describe him.

"But this one was special. Wailing as loud as possible so Apollo could hear them, but alas! His home is high up in the sky, he's too brilliant for us! Minghao told me that this was the soon-to-be spouse of Apollo's champion. Naturally, I was curious about them, since they had managed to capture the attention of one who is in Apollo's favour."

"I'm honoured to have caught your attention, but..." Seokmin paused, wondering what to say. "Will you please bring them back?"

"Bring out your hands, mortal." Jun sighed, reaching down to pick up an evia. Reluctantly, Seokmin laid his palm flat. "Minghao always explains to me that mortality is chained to time. The second a mortal is born, the clock never stops ticking. Second after second" Jun tears off a petal. "day after day." and another. "Year by year." and another. "Your darling was already dying. Until finally—" SNAP! Jun rips the stem in half. "The clock stopped." Jun brushed off the broken flower into Seokmin's palm. "Now if you excuse me, my curiosity has been satiated."

"Forgive me for my intrusion, but you're immortal. I don't think you should be explaining how death works to me." Seokmin spoke up without thinking. What had gotten into him!? Why was he challenging a goddess!? Guilt sunk into him. "I'm so sorry! I— I was speaking without thinking!" Seokmin got on all fours. Jun once again laughed.

"Mortal, do you think I'm enraged? On the contrary, I'm amused!" Jun smiled, kneeling to grab Seokmin's chin and make him look into his eyes, bright like flowers emerging from the cold winter snow. "I'm nothing like those old hags on Olympus! I like your attitude. I was worried that Apollo favoured idiots, but I'm glad he finally chose somebody with a mouth!"

"I— Really??" Seokmin was at a loss for words, getting back up on his feet. "All I ask is, I have a word with Hades. I'm sure he will understand my plight."

"Are you saying you want to challenge him?"

"I mean, you are his bride. You have his affections, surely he will listen to you!" Seokmin pleaded. "Please, I need to see [Name]. Every day has been worthless for me. Food has no taste, music has no rhythm." Seokmin stumbled on his words, his mouth clogged by the emotions plaguing his heart.

"You do understand, mortal, that the dead is not my kingdom. Once we head to the Underworld, I won't be able to protect you." Jun explained. Seokmin sighed, weighing the options.

"I've travelled oceans and fought monsters, talking with the King of the Underworld seems like nothing if I can have [Name] back," Seokmin answered.

Jun wryly smiled, his eyes mischievously glinting with the opportunity to witness a game, as he began his long walk back home. "Well, onwards we go then. It's a long way back." Seokmin firmly nodded, picking up his lyre, as that was all he'd need. "Seriously? That's all?" Jun quirked an eyebrow. Seokmin nodded. Jun scoffed. Maybe all of Apollo's favourites were idiots.

Finally done climbing up the stony steps, Seokmin arrived at the large entrance of Hades's palace. Dark obsidian columns with silver accents and a large door handle of bone, except large bouquets crawling down its walls (courtesy of Jun).

"Let's go over some basics before you meet him, alright?" Jun turned to Seokmin. "Number one, don't touch anything! Otherwise, you're stuck here for good. Instead, let me open this door for you." Jun leaned against the cool frame of the door. "Number two, Hades isn't nearly as cruel as you mortals make him out to be. He's actually quite fair, as death should be."

"Death wasn't fair to my love." he huffed, letting his true feelings show. Jun knew this feeling of resentment toward Minghao wasn't uncommon. So many mortals beg for his forgiveness, to make their deaths as seamless as the flow of time. But even then mortals resent death for taking their loved ones away.

"That's what they all say." Jun rolled his eyes. "Third, play by his rules. Minghao normally finds you mortals championed by the arrogant Gods of Olympus to be so prideful, so it'll be refreshing to see something opposite of that, and you'll be in his graces." Seokmin's ears perked at the last bit. Could he wager immortality, then? Could he have you and him enjoying the future without the fear of it ending?  "Number four, and most importantly. It's easier to get into the Underworld than to leave it."

"Alright so no touching, Hades is nice, listen to him, and it's hard to leave." Seokmin recounted.

"Exactly!" Jun gave a thumbs-up before the gates opened for him.  "Now put your game face on, Champion of Apollo." Seokmin quietly followed after Jun, his eyes glazing over the palace. Each wall held engraving of different stories, all stories which shared an ending in the Underworld. The final destination for all.

"Hao!" Jun called. "I brought you somebody!"

"Leave them at the front desk, the clerk will sort them out!" Minghao replied, his voice booming. Seokmin covered his ears, he forgot how loud the voices of Gods appeared to regular people. Jun opened the last gate, and into the throneroom. Seokmin's jaw dropped. He could only imagine being back at the cottage with you, composing a song of Hades and rescuing you. The large throne perched upon stairs of what looked like sizzling magma. Seokmin gulped looking at the throne, composed of skeletons, all of them belonging to those who had mocked the King of the Underworld. Most importantly, was the very king that sat comfortably on his throne. Seokmin imagined the king to be hot-tempered, like the fires which scorched wrong-doers. But it was very much the opposite. Cold. Cold like a corpse when it stops breathing.

"I bring to you, a Champion of Apollo! This is the one we were talking about earlier, the fiance of the nymph." Jun turned to Seokmin, signalling for him to follow.

"Um, uh— greetings, your... awfulness? I would say highness, but we are at the lowest part of the Earth. Would your lowness work better?" Seokmin mumbled, awkwardly, kneeling in front of Hades.

"Isn't this exciting!" Jun forced a smile, mentally face-palming.

"He isn't dead." Minghao finally spoke, a chill piercing through the room. "Stand, mortal. I want to look at the one who dares challenge me." Minghao stepped down from his throne as Seokmin's legs struggled to stand up without wobbling. Jun sighed, knowing this was where his power over Minghao ended. As Jun walked up to his own throne adorned in flowers, he turned to Seokmin and mouthed "Good luck."

"Mortal, you dare mock me? Using my bride as a bargaining piece, breaching my palace, and all while your heart still beats?" Minghao threatened, analyzing the man in front of him. Minghao was perfect. Perfect in the way all Gods are. But he was impressed with Seokmin, that even compared to a God he was able to stand proud. "It makes sense that you caught Apollo's attention, but I detest the Gods of Olympus. They keep me underground, send me humanity’s worst, and expect my generosity." he scoffed.

"I— I only have one wish for you." Seokmin finally spoke. Minghao raised a brow. "I suspect it has something to do with shipment #50A194. The auloniad." Minghao thought out loud.

"You assign numbers to everybody who comes here?"

"People die every day, I have to keep track somehow." the God casually shrugged. "They were nothing like other nymphs. Normally, nymphs are relieved to come to my arms, as humans and gods alike toy with them. But this one was upset. This one says you have shown them something special, something that makes my kingdom pale in comparison. I wonder what it is." Seokmin's answer of “music” hung in the air.

"All I ask from you is that you return my love to me." Seokmin blurted. A beat of silence. Seokmin felt the air around him suffocate him, his body growing numb. Another beat of silence.

Minghao stepped closer to Seokmin. "Are you afraid of dying, mortal?" Seokmin froze.

"W-what?" he tried playing it off, but Minghao knew the living just as well as the dead, and the racing of his heart gave him away.

"You champions are all the same. You lead fruitful lives, you find great loves and great riches. But you all are terrified of the end." Minghao smoothly explained. "Just because the sun bends in your favour, doesn't mean death will. You are a coward, is what you are. A coward that fears his end! You will not do what is natural and wait for death to find you. No, instead you will mock death. You will find death, and you will demand it give you what you deserve. Your love for [Name] is not true!"

"OK ENOUGH!" Seokmin roared back, tears dripping down his face. "I love [Name]. More than anything. You can call me a coward, I don't care." Seokmin spoke. From the corner of his eyes, he could see a satisfied Jun enjoying his performance. His vision began to obscure with tears falling once more from his eyes. "Yes, I'm scared of dying. I hate the idea of it. I know it is everybody's fate, but the journey has to be completed alone. I cannot bear the idea of being alone. I cannot bear the idea of being without [Name]." Seokmin looked at the god, gaze unfaltering and filled with rage, the same that filled him on the day of your death. 

"Fine. I admit, I empathize with your cause." Minghao reluctantly sighed. "I shall retrieve your love, and dress them in the finest of Underworld garments and jewels so you can have a wedding ceremony even better than the last." "Really?" Seokmin blinked.

"There is an exit out of the Underworld only Jun and I know, you two can hike up it and will be back home in the blink of an eye. However, I have a condition"

"Anything!" Seokmin grinned, already imagining how he would hold you the second you two reunite. You two will exchange stories of brushing with the Underworld and the sights. He’ll tell you about his encounter with Persephone and her husband, and you will tell him about your trip across the River Styx. 

"You by any means cannot turn around. Not even go as far as to check on the nymph that will be right behind you. You will only have one chance. If you fail, you shall be separated from each other in eternity." Minghao sternly spoke. Seokmin's smile dropped as quickly as it quirked up. "You are forbidden from communicating to them, as well as touching them. You will also be unable to hear them."

"But, how will I know they are with me!?" "Not my problem." Minghao sighed. "This is the most you're getting from me. Now, shoo." Rolling his eyes, Minghao made his way back to his throne. "The next time I see you, you better be dead. If not, I'll make sure of it."

Seokmin waved goodbye to the kind Goddess of Spring and bowed to Hades to signal his respects to the Underworld. He took a deep breath in, looking up at the glittering light seeping through the cracks. The only exit out of here, and his ticket to freedom. He could imagine the sweetness of your lips kissing him. Your voice sighs in relief that he came to rescue you from oblivion. Standing in his way was a long, steep and rocky path, its width shrinking the closer it was to the exit.

"My love, how I missed you!" you grinned. "You can't believe how abysmal it is here! God, it felt so lonely, I just– I couldn't stop crying."

As he gently stepped forward, he could feel the loose soil underneath him shift and slip. Normally, he would have no concern. You're an auloniad, for crying out loud. Rocky terrain dotted with grass is your home. But the snake bite that pierced your ankle was bound to compromise your movement. He figured he'd just move slowly, for your sake.

"Ah, I fear my leg still hurts from the bite. Could you go a little slowly?"

As Seokmin carefully climbed the rugged steps, a thought popped into his head. Hades did not specify that he was forbidden from singing to himself. It just happened to be a coincidence that you overheard him. Humming to himself (and maybe to you, as well) he strummed the strings of his lyre.

"My favourite song!" you gushed. "Do you remember the first time you performed for me, at the Pineios River? Goodness, you just get better every single day!"

Normally, his song would penetrate through the deepest of depths, and his voice would triumph above all. But it all felt hollow like the darkness of those depths was consuming him whole and slowly pushing him back into the Underworld. He wished, so desperately, to know you were listening. Seokmin couldn't hear your steps or your breathing. It was haunting, how you weren't here on this long climb, yet he could vividly remember you. Grief is strange. How you must restrain yourself from looking back on memories of loved ones corrupted by their death.

"Please, turn around so I can get a good look at you. Don't you think I deserve that, at least?"

Maybe he was doomed. How could he know that Hades wasn't mocking him? The light which had guided Persephone to him and the passion which motivated him was being waned.

"Seokmin, why are you ignoring me?" your voice grew softer. "Is it something I said? Have I upset you? Please, just answer me already. You're making me nervous." You reached out for his hand, but he moved it away.

Feeling the chill of a cold wind brush past his palm, Seokmin moved it closer to his chest, hoping the Underworld hadn’t drained him of his life. When will he get to hold your hand again?

Knees buckling, he let out a sigh of relief that he was finally halfway up, already smiling knowing Apollo was waiting for him with the way the light grew even brighter.

"Darling, please, just talk to me. Say something." you huffed. "Why can't you just turn around!?" You hobbled on your ankle, trying to keep up with your lover, watching him disappear as he moved closer to the light. "I don't understand, what is wrong with you!? Please, just turn around already!" Your eyes began welling with tears, raising your voice as much as possible.

As Seokmin treaded higher up, he noticed the crack enlarge just enough so that he could pop his head through. He let out a long sigh of relief, as cold sweat dripped down his forehead, his knees stinging from exhaustion. What would be the first thing he would do with you on the Overworld? Roll in the grass? Breathe in the fresh air? Hoist you up and listen to your heart beating in your chest? Seokmin tries to think, but the Underworld is unforgiving. The air felt thick and heavy, gravity dragging him down as he tried to tear himself away from its clutches, taunting him that your death was inevitable and that he would soon be ensnared in the Underworld’s net. It casts doubt upon him. Does his music have the strength to pierce through the darkest of moments as he prides himself on? Was his passion enough? Was Hades and Persephone lying to him? The Gods are not exactly above toying with mortals, as that is their favourite pastime. Doubt settled in his mind. 

Seokmin shook his head. He must stay firm. He mustn’t listen to the doubt in his mind and push through. He feared death. He feared the cold wind brushing behind his back, echoing how his story would end. Cold. Dark. Alone. He needed you back with him. He needed your body’s warmth, your light. He needed to die in your arms.

The grating sound of a rock falling off the ledge and into the abyss below obstructed Seokmin’s train of thought, realizing the sound could mean only one thing. “I got you!” he snapped his head back. Seokmin’s jaw dropped, realizing the horrible mistake he had made. “You finally turned around.” you weakly huffed, tears sparkling in the dark. Minghao had kept his word. You were otherworldly. Contrasting against the darkness, you were a bright star, shrouded in a bright white glow. Your beauty only made him even more upset, as his eyes grew wide with the realization he had squandered his last chance. This was easily a pardonable offence, if the spirits knew how to pardon. In their long-spent immortality, never could they empathize with Seokmin’s plight. 

“I… thought.” Seokmin slowly blinked, tears dripping down his face. Breathing heavily, he tried to calm himself down. He thought you had fallen, and your body would crash against the ground like a fallen star. It wasn’t that his love for you was small, but that it was too much. It was overflowing and reckless, just like the nature of youth. He couldn’t resist turning around to help you, especially with the knowledge of your snakebite. The same stupid thing that sent you here. You frowned, heart hurting at the sight of your lover in disarray. Stepping forward, you cupped his face, your touch still lingering with the frost of the Underworld. “Darling, what’s wrong?” You tried to make eye contact with him.

“I’m sorry.” he choked on his sobs. “I wasn’t supposed to turn around… but I just got so nervous, I thought you fell,” Seokmin confessed. “I’m an idiot. I failed you. I’m so… so… stupid. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.” Seokmin screwed his eyes shut, unable to muster the strength to look at what would happen to you now that he failed. Minghao hadn’t specified what would happen if he had failed. Would he send furies to tear you apart? Would he force him to drink poison?  

“No! You’re not an idiot. Don’t be so cruel.” swiping your thumb against his cheek and wiping away his tears. “You’re so brave, coming all the way to rescue me… all because you love me. You failed… because you love me. I’m happy knowing that.” You smiled, knowing the bitter end that was to come to you. They needed to kill you twice for him to let you go. But you had to be strong, for his sake. He was strong enough to challenge the Underworld, the unforgiving end. He was strong enough to face death, his greatest fear, challenging its irreversibility. He was strong enough to defy the laws of nature. The least you could do was comfort him. “I’m so… proud of you.” your touch felt feather light against the heavy mortal flesh weighing him down. “Please… just look at me.”

“But, you’ll be gone!” Seokmin wailed. “I… I’m not strong enough for this! I can’t go on!” 

“You are strong enough. So open your eyes.” your words gently coaxed him. Seokmin inhaled one last time, bracing himself for the horror he was about to witness. As his eyes fluttered open, you were gone as quickly as you had appeared before him. There was no dramatic murder, just a hazy glow left in where you were standing before him. That was how mortality worked, in the eyes of Gods. Mortals come and go on this Earth, in the span of a blink. Mortality, which feels like entering a room and just finding the exit. Mortality, which weighed Seokmin down, and held you in its clutches. It was a signal to him that it was time to wake up from the dream that was you. It was time for him to grow up and to accept mourning the loss of his muse. Falling to his knees, Seokmin sobbed, the noise drowned by the hollow abyss of the Underworld. His voice, which set him apart as a champion of Apollo, was indistinct from the rest of the wailing of the Underworld. 

Maybe you will have a greater fate than him. You will drink from the River Lethe, whose waters flowed through the God of Sleep's cave, causing one to forget the mortal world. Sure, it meant you would forget the blisses and joys you shared above the surface, but it also meant you would forget the pain and sadness. You would wake up, yawning as you ponder the strange figure in your dream named "Seokmin". You would be reborn and would carve a path through the foreign wilderness of the underworld. You would be trapped in a moment, a distant memory of a time of idealistic, passionate, youthful bliss. You would be free. Like you were destined to be. Free from mortal anguish. Free from him. Your skin could never wrinkle, your hair couldn't gray, and your health wouldn't deplete.

Who knows what would have happened if you had returned to him in the mortal realm. Would the love between you dry up? Would your love only be immortalized in a contract, and not in real life? Maybe life will ravage your happy marriage and shred the love that once existed. You would part ways and leave him behind, as you could never truly be his. When would be the last time in your unhappy married life you tell him "I love you"? Would he bar the door when you got sick of him and tried to leave? Would he welcome your newfound hatred of him and show you the way out?

The memory of you would be his prized possession, something to draw inspiration for his music, to know he had the pleasure of experiencing such a love, and to wonder the many possibilities if he were successful in bringing you back. He was fine if you could just stay. It didn't matter if you only stayed in his memory and never talked to him again. But please, stay.

thank you so much for reading — @noircheols do not copy or translate ♧ mlist

[joyful-downer]

I see. Today is panic, dysphoria and social anxiety day.

[lcec0ldheart]

i like how as time goes on frost and citrine are gradually becoming more normal (ish, they’re still weirdos ofc) while violet stays weird because she’s just like that.

[cherrygirlfriend]

touchy subject III pairing: reader x exfiancé!rafe synopsis: seeing your ex-fiancé after four years. warnings: angst and comfort. fluff. mentions of miscarriage/stillbirth and DUI. wc: 2.7k part 3 and the last part of touchy subject! click here for part 1, click here for part 2 i really liked writing for them and honestly i'm considering occasionally writing blurbs for them and what their relationship would shape into, lmk if you'd be interested!!

seeing you in front of that store felt like it might've killed rafe. the first face he fell in love with, the woman who'd left him with nothing but scars and an engagement ring. somehow, he still managed to stay alive.

but hearing you say his name in the soft voice he hadn't heard in over four years, the same one that you used to tell him you loved him every single night before your body went slack in his arms, that might have been the final blow.

"what are you doing here?" you managed to mutter, your hand instinctively going to your locket, squeezing it in your hand, and the gesture didn't go unnoticed by rafe.

"what's this?" rafe asked as the two of you laid in bed, his finger tracing the patterns on the heart-shaped locket resting on your chest, the one you'd worn around your neck for as long as he'd known you.

"this?" you asked, opening the locket, displaying two pictures; one of them was of you when you were a little girl, standing between your parents with a wide, toothy grin on your face, and the other was a picture of you and rafe, taken at midsummers. "i got this from my mom. it's a family heirloom of sorts. when she's born," you looked down at your stomach, "we've gotta get a picture taken of us three so i can put it here."

he let out a small chuckle, "i'm honored that you want me in your heart."

"i think you're always going to be in my heart," you rolled your eyes, "whether i want it or not."

"i'm here to see you. i thought that'd be obvious." rafe said without an ounce of emotion in his voice, the sound causing a shiver to run down your spine. grieving your daughter on what would've been her fifth birthday wasn't a moment you exactly wanted your ex to witness, but this was still rafe. the man you loved for so long, the only man you ever loved, the one you were going to marry, and this was still the house that was supposed to be your home.

so you stepped aside, pulling your cardigan closed as a way to close yourself off from the man as you walked further into the house, not daring yourself to look back at him, fearing the urge that still remained in your chest to just pull him close to you and be in his arms.

you heard the door close, pressing your eyes shut as you stood in front of the fireplace, your arms crossed in front of your chest as if defending yourself, the man's footsteps echoing in the room, "it's cold in here."

"the radiator's broken."

"can you just, at least look at me, or something?"

"do i have to?" you chuckled humorlessly, and when you felt his hand on your shoulder, it felt like the room got ten degrees colder, the man slowly turning you around to face him, and when you refused to look up at him, focusing on the baby blue sweater he was wearing, he brought his hand to your chin, gently lifting it up, just like he did every time he was about to kiss you.

"we need to talk."

if someone was to ask you what would be the most uncomfortable situation you had ever been in, this would be among the top 3, right after you got the 'birds and the bees' talk and the time you said your goodbyes to the same man now sitting beside you, the space between you two big enough to fit another person.

"why did you come back?" rafe asks, without even sparing you a glance. you decide to do the same, your gaze staying on the fire crackling in front of you.

"i don't know. a part of me thinks it's because i missed home."

"and the other part?"

missed us. missed her. "missed my mom, i guess."

your mother had driven you home from the hospital, insisting that she'd stay with you for the next few days; you still hadn't seen rafe. you couldn't face him, couldn't face the guilt you carried around for being the reason your daughter would be coming home in an urn.

she'd gone to the store for groceries, leaving you to sit on the couch you and rafe had picked out, staring at the engagement picture that hung above the fireplace.

you didn't know how it started, how every single vase ended up as nothing but shards of glass on the floor, how the coffee table had ended up as planks of wood, how your fists were bruised from beating them against the walls, your knees bloody from when you'd collapsed on the ground amongst all the glass.

"do you know what day it is?" rafe asked with a weak voice, and you could hear him try to swallow down the emotion crawling up his throat.

his question made you want to let out a small, humorless laugh. you don't know how you could ever forget. "of course." the day i killed her.

rafe stood up, running his hand over his chin before trailing over the short strands of hair on his head, "why did you do it?" he looked to you. "why did you leave?"

"i had no reason to stay." you say emotionlessly, your fingers intertwined as you kept your eyes on them as if you were praying.

"you had me. you would've had me if you just let me be there."

"rafe, i killed our daughter."

"what-"

"i'm the reason our daughter isn't here. i'm the reason she doesn't exist. i'm the reason that today isn't only her fifth birthday, but also the fifth anniversary of her death."

rafe kneeled down in front of you, his hands cupping your cheeks, not caring if it made you uncomfortable, or that this was the first time he'd properly touched you in over four years, the only thing that mattered to him was that you listened.

"you did not kill our daughter."

"i did."

"no." he scoffed, "you aren't the reason she's dead. the reason is the drunken asshole who drove at you. you loved her with your entire being, with everything you had, even before she was born. you would've been the most amazing mother in the world. don't you dare blame yourself for something you had zero control over."

"i shouldn't have driven in that weather. i knew it was gonna be raining, that the roads would be slippery-"

"no." rafe said sternly, "look at me."

your eyes moved to look into rafe's steel-blue ones, shimmering with unshed tears, his jaw clenched, and only then did you realize that he was cupping your face in his hands, his touch somehow managing to make you feel warm even in the cold apartment.

"i won't have you blame yourself for something you had no fuckin' control over. evelyn was so wanted, by both of us. she would've been so loved. we would've done anything to protect her, and to keep her safe. if any fucker even thought about hurting her, i would've made sure they'd regret ever being born. but you are not to blame for her not being here."

rafe's hands moved from your cheeks to your hands, the man instead taking your clenched fists into his, letting out a small sniffle, and when he pressed his eyes closed and let out a sigh, a tear rolled down his cheek.

"yeah, you could've not driven in the rain. but i should've been the one to drive you to your mom's, you were eight months along, an insane man would make you drive yourself, or i should've made sure you got home before it was dark, or i should've picked you up myself. there are so many things we could've done differently, but that doesn't mean that either of us is to blame for it."

"i spent so long blaming myself for what happened, but not even for a moment did i blame you. you did everything to keep her safe, and i know it, and i'm sure that she knows it too. you loved her more than anything, and i won't let some drunk driving idiot make you feel like you did anything wrong."

slowly, you opened your fists, half-moon prints on the palms on your hands caused by your nails, and without even realizing, tears had been rolling down your eyes the entire time that rafe had been speaking, the man standing up and pressing a kiss on your forehead that felt like it burnt and would leave a mark that'd be there forever, before he settled down next to you.

a strand of hair was stuck on your cheek, almost glued on there by the tears you shed, the blonde man tugging it behind your ear, his eyes still on you, his hands still cupping yours.

"i don't blame you for what happened, nor do i blame you for pushing me away. but i wish you would've let me in, to be there for you, instead of leaving. so we could've grieved her together."

"i think we should break up, rafe."

"what?" rafe turned to look at you; this wasn't what he had been expecting to hear after two months of silence, "if this is about the baby-"

"i can't do it anymore." you closed your eyes, letting a tear run down your cheek, "i need to leave. start over."

you turned your head to look at him, his words feeling like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders, and even though you tried to find it, there was nothing in his eyes that said that he was lying.

"you don't blame me for any of it?"

your voice was weak and feeble, as if a part of you was expecting him to tell you that he did, but when he pulled you into his embrace, he told you the truth in the best way he knew how to: without saying a single word.

you didn't know how long you had been in rafe's arms; it felt like hours, while also feeling like the moment had lasted mere seconds, like you two lived in your own bubble. it felt like the last four years hadn't happened, like you had never left.

but when he pulled away from the embrace and looked down at his watch, letting out a sigh, you knew what was coming. the bubble burst.

"i should probably get going." rafe let out an exasperated sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose before starting to get up off the couch, stretching his long limbs.

"yeah, yeah." you said softly, clearing your throat, trying to act like nothing had happened, like you hadn't gone through every memory you shared while he was just holding you to comfort you, "your girlfriend's probably waiting for you."

rafe stopped in his tracks, turning to look down at you, "girlfriend?"

"shit," you chuckle softly, fidgeting with your hands and chewing on your lower lip, "i guess she's your fiancée, now."

he sat down on the couch next to you while you simply avoided his gaze, not wanting him to read everything you were feeling like he so often seemed to do, but your attempt was unsuccessful, the man bringing his hand to your chin and gently turning your head so you were forced to look at him, his brows slightly furrowed while he looked at you pointedly.

"what girlfriend, or fiancée?"

you didn't know if rafe was acting stupid, or if he was genuinely confused, but you could still remember the woman with him at the jewelry store, the woman who had managed to make him smile, whose back rafe placed his hand on.

"you know," you clear your throat, taking his hand off your chin and turning your head away from him, not wanting him to see the tears brimming in your eyes as you thought about him waiting at the aisle for another woman, "the woman at the jewelry store."

rafe let out a soft laugh, and when you turned your head, facing him, he was nearly keeling over in laughter, his head in his hands.

"what?"

"that-" rafe said inbetween laughs, "that wasn't my girlfriend."

"what?" you mumbled softly, your brows furrowing, "what do you mean, rafe?"

"sorry-" he continued laughing for a while only to be stopped by a soft smack you delivered to his shoulder, before the man took a deep breath, looking at you with a small smile gracing his lips, a sight that still got your heart to flutter, "that wasn't my girlfriend, or my fiancée."

"then... who was she?"

"that was," rafe let out another chuckle as if you had said something foolish, taking one of your hands in his and intertwining your fingers, "wheezie's girlfriend."

you tried processing the words that had left his lips, but no matter what, they didn't seem to make since. "why were you in a jewelry store together? wheezie's only like-"

"wheezie's nineteen." rafe shook his head, "her girlfriend, lucy, asked me to help her pick out a ring. sarah was supposed to go with her, but she had some preschool stuff to deal with relating to jack, so i got stuck with that duty…"

"isn't nineteen a bit... young?"

"it is. but you remember how young we were when we got engaged? or sarah?" a fond smile took over rafe's lips as he turned to look at the fire that was slowly burning out, letting the next words out in a hushed tone. "guess it runs in the family."

"guess so." you say, biting down on your lip, turning to look at the fire with him, your cheeks warm as you felt like an idiot for your assumption.

"i still haven't moved on." rafe said, letting out a breath, "i don't know if i can. i don't think i even want to." you turned to look back at one another at the same time, both of you seeing the same melancholy in the other one's eyes, "there's no one i would ever want to be with other than you."

you took a deep breath, his words ringing through your head as you looked at him, a damp trail running down his cheek was still visible from the tears he had shed, and you took a deep breath, making a decision that you knew would impact the rest of your life.

"me neither, rafe."

you brought your hand to his cheek and felt the tear he had shed under your touch, pulling his face to meet yours until your lips clashed, feeling the exact same that it did four years ago, making you wonder how you ever let it go.

SIX MONTHS LATER...

you laid on a blanket in the middle of a field of sunflowers, your arms crossed behind your head and your eyes pressed closed, letting the sun beam down your face, warming you up as your bare feet were being tickled by blades of grass.

your daydreaming was interrupted by the sound of footsteps, and you opened one of your eyes to see rafe stumble through the long flowers into the small clearing you'd found, a small chuckle leaving your lips.

"don't laugh at me." he scolded, shaking his head as he landed on the blanket next to you, letting out a soft grunt.

"why not?" you asked, sticking your tongue out at him, your boyfriend gasping in feigned offence, about to quip back at you, only to be stopped by the small, chaste peck you pressed on his lips, even the small display of affection managing to leave him speechless.

as he settled down next to you, you smiled while looking up at the sky, white clouds covering a part of the beautiful icy blue nothingness that was so much like rafe's eyes, your thoughts on her. you took rafe's hand in yours, keeping your eyes trained up while you let yourselves just exist together.

"you're always going to be in my heart, evelyn louise cameron." you said softly as you traced the patterns on your locket, rafe turning his head to look at you, a somber expression on his face as he pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"yeah, she will. and neither of us will ever forget her."

[trans-androgyne]

It is not “coddling” to refrain from telling people “I hate you for the way you were born.”

When I say it hurts the feminist cause to consider men our enemy rather than just patriarchy itself, accusations of “coddling” are a common response I get. I am not asking anyone to put men’s feelings over calling them out for misogyny they enact and perpetuate. I am talking about expressing sentiments in public or to men directly that you despise them for existing at all.

It’s one thing to be traumatized by sexism and vent your feelings about men amongst friends. But normalizing this as a part of mainstream feminism, making it so men have to see these sentiments when they engage with feminist content, drives them away from our movement. You can say men driven away by being openly hated never were going to be feminists in the first place, but I staunchly disagree. It says nothing about one’s views on oppression to not want to be around people who say they consider you an irredeemable monster no matter how hard you try to support them.

This is not about men’s feelings. I do feel that people should care about those too, including because as a transmasc I am extremely aware that seeing these sentiments harms trans men, such as preventing them from being out and transitioning for fear of being hated by those around them. But this is about what is effective in breaking down the structure of sexism. Excluding half the population from being our allies matters. Cis men should be able to use their privilege to shoulder some of the work of fighting sexism. How will they learn how to do so if we ostracize them?

Note: This is not saying that men who see women hating them and respond by becoming MRAs and whatnot are totally fine or women’s fault. It’s just that it is difficult for men to be vocal feminists when people base their feminism off of hating men.

[ak319]

Yan Regent Consort x fem reader

Headcanon

(Warnings: This story contains matriarchal themes, fem dom such as mpreg, fem dominated world, role reversal, and BXG pairing! Yes, it's a boy x girl, so don't interact if you are not comfortable!!)

Xu Junlai was a boy who held different roles in the eyes of others, son to some, friend to some, an object of admiration or envy to others. He was born into a family of five sons and two daughters. His mother, Xu Huang, served as a minister in the court, while his father, Xu... well, he wasn’t married into the Xu family, he was merely a concubine of Junlai’s mother. Because of this, Junlai never received familial love, not from his step-siblings and not even from his mother, who was always either too busy or uninterested in family matters. Her absence from his life gave his brothers free rein to treat him as they pleased.

His oldest sibling was his sister, Xu Tai, whom everyone feared. She didn’t particularly dote on him, but she maintained order in the household whenever she returned from her training and service in the army. Xu Tai had high ambitions for the country, aspiring one day to become a commander or much better a General. His other sister, Xu Ai, was studying to be a scholar; she was a year older than Junlai, who himself was the second youngest in the family.

Junlai had long learned that if he didn’t stand up for himself and speak for himself, he would live a life of misery and eventually die alone, perhaps with no one to mourn his passing. So, he did speak for himself when necessary. A hard life had forced him into this role. It wasn’t as if anyone liked him before, or that he had earned any respect, so what was there to lose?

He had passions that he quietly pursued, calligraphy, reading books, sneakily borrowing them from Tai’s library at the estate and, most importantly, dancing. Yet he was made fun of, and ridiculed for his interests.

“Your father was a prostitute, and you doing this seems to scream that you are on the same path. You disgrace,” his stepfather, Xu Fen, sneered. But his words never truly hurt Junlai.

“But your sons are learning such skills too. Are they on the same path?”

“THEY ARE NOT! They are doing that so that when the time arises, they will be presented to the court for the new Empress and her harem. That is where their skills will shine; being a Xu, that is inevitable. You, however…”

“Mother may not have married my father, but she openly acknowledged that I have been granted the name Xu.”

“So? What are you--oh--so you want to enter the court? That might be the funniest thing I’ve heard this week. Part of the reason your presence here is sometimes bearable. Have you seen yourself? There is nothing graceful about you, such venomous features, that blank face, eyes like a devil’s. You are someone any woman would avoid, not bed.” Fen’s cackles echoed in the distance as Junlai stood in the garden, his usual blank expression firmly in place.

The court? But he didn’t desire any of that. That was a life of hell. As if my life is better now... Harem or no harem, at least he could demonstrate his skills and take a jab at his useless brothers. Perhaps that was the most thrilling part of it all. There was absolutely no chance that an Empress or even the Emperor Dowager would allow the son of a prostitute to enter the harem.

So, Junlai practised night after night, in the empty hall that felt both sacred and suffocating. The flickering candles cast shadows that danced like ghosts on the walls, whispering secrets of long-forgotten elegance. The sound of anklets chimed like distant bells, while the rustle of silken fabric filled the air, wrapping around him like a lover’s embrace. In the dim light, his body became a fluid extension of art, each movement imbued with a haunting beauty that could draw anyone into his graceful orbit. And perhaps, just perhaps, the voice that emerged from his lips was powerful enough to ensnare even the coldest of hearts.

But one fateful night, when he miraculously received permission from his mother to join the ceremony, everything changed. Three of his brothers discovered him lost in his usual routine, an ethereal vision in the half-light. As always, he expected their laughter, their scorn, but no... that night, the hall, once a sanctuary, transformed into a chamber of horrors.

Instead of melodies, the air was filled with his screams as they pinned him down, the laughter of his brothers echoing like a dark symphony. They poured scalding water over his feet, the pain searing through him, brutal and unrelenting--just a week before the ceremony.

═════ ◈ ═════

The day of the ceremony arrived, and you, the new Empress, had only been on the throne for a year after successfully defeating your sisters for the throne. However you were overwhelmed by the throng of men entering your court, you sat in silence, your mind already planning the next day's work while subtly noting the movements and behaviours of your court members.

The musical festivities began, likely your father's favorite part, as it allowed him to exert his influence over the affairs of the men. You had little energy to deal with such trivialities, and the classification of men in this way unsettled you. Your mother was deeply involved in it all, and you loathed the thought of it.

"Those are the sons of the Xu family, good-looking, aren't they?" your father remarked, his voice dripping with expectation. Your head snapped to his direction, and for a fleeting moment, you glanced at the display before you.

“Um, yes,” you replied, your tone devoid of enthusiasm.

Your father internally rolled his eyes at your lacklustre response. You might have bedded a few men and have a son with one of the concubines, but it was clear you weren’t taking any of them seriously. 'This idiot daughter of mine, clearly not worried about not having an heir still. By now your mother would have had three-'

"They came for you, so at least enjoy it a bit. If you prefer any changes, the music, the dance-"

"It's fine, Father. It's fine."

You granted your approval to Xu Huang in the end, an honest minister in your eyes, someone even your mother trusted. Her daughter, Tai, was a formidable warrior, perhaps the first to impress you with her skills.

As dinner commenced, no one anticipated the doors to swing open once more. A lone figure stepped into the hall, drawing everyone's attention, including yours. He was slender, his long hair tousled—surprisingly beautiful even in such disarray. Those eyes of his, empty yet hauntingly deep, bore into yours with an intensity that both intrigued and unsettled you.

His walk was seductive yet exuded an aura of defeat and determination. Silence enveloped the hall, a palpable tension as he stood in the centre, commanding attention. That’s when you noticed his feet, bare and crimson. You were certain that if you looked closer, you would see the dark stains of blood marring his skin.

It felt as though the entire court was holding its breath, waiting for you to question him. Just then, you caught the whisper of Xu Huang, “Son…” from her seat a few feet away.

Her son?

"Are you... Xu’s son?" you inquired, your curiosity piqued.

He nodded.

“Um--your Majesty, he was sick, so he couldn't perform earlier, although his name was registered on the list by me…” Xu Huang explained, her voice steady yet tinged with concern. You responded with a curt nod, your mind racing.

“If you are sick, then you shouldn’t be here,” you asserted, a protective instinct rising within you. You were certain the sickness plagued his feet. There was no way you would allow him to dance under such conditions.

“I want to dance,” he replied, his voice challenging and unwavering.

The spark in his tone caught you off guard. What an odd boy...

“Very well. Then do. I would like to see you dance,” you commanded, a blend of intrigue fluttering in your chest

“Your Majes-” Xu Huang began, but your glare silenced her immediately.

“Begin.”

As the sounds of the pipa and hulusi filled the hall, an almost electric hush fell over the audience. Everyone shifted their attention from their meals to the boy dancing, his presence so captivating that even your father, Wang Hua, sat bewildered. A simmering anger brewed within him as he grappled with his own intrigue. Are you seriously interested in him?

Though Hua possessed some knowledge about the boy, witnessing the fluidity and artistry of his dance made those thoughts melt away. Junlai moved as if in a trance, each motion a hauntingly beautiful expression that stirred something deep within you. The performance was mesmerizing, drawing you into a world that felt both ethereal and painfully real.

The only glimmer of envy and fury came from Junlai’s own brother and step-father, their faces twisted in disdain as they seethed at the spectacle before them. Even the blood that dripped from Junlai’s feet onto the glass-like floor seemed to only heighten their ire. They couldn’t maintain your gaze for even a moment, while Junlai seemed to command the room effortlessly, as if reigning over it with merely a flick of his wrist.

As the final echoes of Junlai’s performance faded, your ears, now deprived of the boy’s beautiful voice, were met once again with a profound silence that enveloped the hall.

Junlai stood with his gaze cast down, a picture of humility, while you rose from the podium, taking slow, deliberate steps toward him. A ripple of anticipation swept through the crowd, their eyes wide with curiosity about what would unfold next. To your surprise, the boy barely flinched as you stood before him, towering over his slight frame.

“Name?” you inquired, your voice steady.

“Junlai,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

“And who did this to you...?” You leaned closer, searching his eyes for the truth.

His neutral gaze met yours, and you sensed a flicker of vulnerability beneath his composed exterior.

“People... whom I would rather not talk about on such a glorious day... a day for you, my Majesty.” He lowered himself in a respectful bow, his head tilting downward, yet his posture remained defiantly graceful.

“Is that so...?” you mused, glancing at Naun, your attendant, who stood discreetly behind a pillar to your left. She nodded subtly, understanding the unspoken command in your gaze.

This boy not only is now part of your harem but...your choice for the night.

You were resolute, you would not entertain the other sons of the Xu family. What need had you for them? Junlai’s dance eclipsed all of theirs combined, a testament to his raw talent and spirit. You were not greedy, you simply sought the best. And he was not only the best but also intriguingly peculiar, a captivating boy you were eager to indulge in and explore further.

As you crawled on top of him, Junlai had been cleaned and prepared for your gaze, yet a small part of you missed his disheveled appearance, the wild, untamed beauty that spoke of his struggles. You soothed yourself with the reminder that he would soon return to that captivating state.

“When I asked you about the culprits, you didn’t name them. You don’t want me to punish them?” you murmured, your fingers brushing gently against his cheek, relishing the softness of his skin as he leaned into your rough hand.

“But you already have... by choosing me,” he replied, a hint of defiance in his voice. You couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound deep and rich. “You are... something, you know. I have never encountered a boy like you... but I always wanted to.”

“I never wanted this... to be in the bed of an empress, in her harem, but here I am…” His words hung in the air, laced with a surprising confidence. Something about you made him bold enough to voice such thoughts. You didn’t seem as cold and cruel as the whispers suggested, those comparisons to your mother fading in the warmth of his gaze.

Your deep chuckle reverberated against his neck, sending shivers coursing through his body. “Oh, how lucky I am then. More fortunate than any empress, for having caught you.” You pulled away slightly to meet his eyes, searching for the flicker of fear, but finding only intrigue. “Being in a harem means being mine, and I take care of what I own.”

“Do you fear me, Junlai?” you asked, your voice a sultry whisper that sent shivers down his spine. “You should...."

His heart raced at the challenge in your tone. “I don’t fear you, your Majesty. I only fear what I might become under your rule,” he replied, daring to meet your intense gaze.

“Ah, but isn’t that the thrill of it all?” You leaned in closer, your lips brushing tantalizingly against his ear as you spoke. A gasp left his plump lips as you nibbled on it.

Junlai’s breath quickened as your gaze pierced into him, as if you were seeing not just the boy he was but the depths of his soul. The air thickened with an intoxicating blend of fear and desire. He could feel the heat radiating from your body, enveloping him in a cocoon of both safety and peril.

Your fingers danced down his arm, tracing delicate patterns that ignited his skin, setting his nerves alight. Junlai's breath hitched as he felt the heat of your body press against him, a heady mix of power and vulnerability.

“Do you see how beautifully broken you are?” you continued, your voice low and mesmerizing.

Junlai felt the walls around his heart tremble, caught in the magnetic pull of your words. “What do you want from me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, the challenge now tinged with uncertainty.

“Everything.” Your lips curled into a wicked smile, a promise of the chaos to come. “I want your loyalty, your obedience, and most importantly, your heart. I will not only keep you in my harem, I will make you my most cherished treasure.”

As you leaned closer again, your lips tantalizingly brushing against his, he could feel the weight of your intentions, his robe being done deftly by your rough fingers. “Now, are you ready to dance for me?” you asked, your eyes glinting with mischief and hunger."

Junlai nodded, a flicker of excitement igniting within him. At that moment, he was no longer just a boy marked by pain, he was a dancer, ready to twirl and leap into the unknown, to be claimed by you.

═════ ◈ ═════

Junlai sat in the veranda, gazing out at the distant mountains with a forlorn expression, his slender fingers tapping absently on the polished wooden rail. Though the quarters designated for the favored concubine were lavish, adorned with silks and priceless porcelain, the space felt hollow without you. If only he could give you a daughter, the coveted title of consort would be his. The thought flitted through his mind like an unreachable dream. And yet, as the days stretched into months, it was your absence that gnawed at him, leaving him restless and aching.

God, when would you return from the campaign? Two months had passed, each day heavier than the last. He endured the whispers, and the scorn from the other concubines who mocked him for his damaged feet, but he bore it all without flinching. He knew you valued him for his skill, his grace, the things that went beyond mere perfection. You had appointed the empire's finest healers to tend to him, a silent reassurance that he still held a place in your heart.

Even the Emperor Dowager, shrewd and discerning, seemed to favour him, perhaps because he respected his daughter's choices or was mesmerized by his art. Either way, his endorsement granted him a measure of safety within the harem’s hostile world. And yet, safety was far from his mind. He spent sleepless nights worrying about you, imagining the dangers you might face, each possible harm a dagger in his chest. His own safety meant nothing if you were not there, by his side, safe and triumphant. He danced in the empty hall , every night, all night even. His gaze at the marble wall at the end, imagining you sitting in your throne watching his performance. Every word, every step a testimony for your longing. If anyone else saw him at night , they would be scared for their life.

A boy dancing as if he was possessed.

What had he become? Another lovesick boy, a fool just like his father, infatuated, aching, lost to his devotion. He had once vowed never to become so vulnerable, and yet here he was, the intensity of his love binding him more than duty or obligation ever could. He used to revel in this power, at first motivated by pride, even defiance, to show his brothers that he had won something they could never touch. But now, with every beat of his heart, every drop of his blood, he was wholly, helplessly, irrevocably yours.

Although not long ago, one significant shift rippled through the palace, Xu Tai, the skilled warrior whose loyalty you trusted, was now appointed as General. Junlai took comfort in this news. His sister's allegiance was unwavering, and her impressive abilities spoke for themselves. You chose her for her skill and integrity, qualities Junlai respected, and even admired from afar. He knew that with Tai at the helm, your interests, and your life, were in capable hands.

He hadn’t anticipated finding peace in such a development, yet knowing Tai held this position gave him a strange sense of relief. However when he just received a letter from Tai herself, that sense of relief seemed to diminish.

You had been poisoned by an arrow at the battlefield. Thankfully the physician present did their best to take it out but it was unknown if you would come back alive. The news was also sent to the Emperor and eventually spread over the harem and then the country.

The news struck the palace like a tempest. Word spread first as whispers in dimly lit corridors, then as gasps behind silken fans, until eventually, the rumours became cries of despair from every corner of the empire. The Empress has been poisoned, they said, her life teetering on the edge. The harem held its breath, the concubines offering quiet prayers. Yet amidst them all, Junlai felt as though his entire world had shattered.

Days passed in agonizing limbo, and Junlai clung to any scrap of information he could gather. The air in his chambers grew thick with dread, the whispers of the other concubines like needles against his skin. Would she return? Could she survive this? He tried to still his racing heart, to banish the wretched possibilities that plagued him day and night, but his mind clung stubbornly to images of your pale face, the way you looked as he’d last seen you, strong, assured, untouchable.

But now, you were mortal. Wounded. Vulnerable.

He’d never felt so powerless. Each night he would sit in the garden, his injured feet barely feeling the cold stone beneath them as he gazed at the stars, praying fervently for your safety. Let her come back to me, he whispered into the darkness. Take my health, my strength, take anything you want, but let her live.

The news of the looming threat reached the palace in the dead of night, casting a shadow over an already grief-stricken palace. The Chief Minister summoned her closest advisors including Xu Huang, the walls of the council chamber echoing with grave voices as they strategized. The Wei Dynasty had betrayed them, their forces striking not only on the battlefield but now threatening the heart of the empire, taking advantage of your absence. This insidious plot was spearheaded by the rebel leader Guo Wang, a lecherous woman of ruthless ambition and bloodthirsty intent. Her name alone sent ripples of fear through the court, her reputation for savagery preceding her.

The capital was left vulnerable in a way it hadn’t been for years. With Tai, your most loyal and capable General, at your side on the battlefield, and your position as Empress left temporarily vacant, the capital was guarded only by lesser warriors and the remaining commanders, a force barely sufficient for an ambush of this scale.

Junlai’s despair deepened. He had kept his composure in the wake of your injury, holding fast to the hope that you would return to him. But now the looming threat to the capital turned that sorrow into fear and fury. He knew what would come if Guo Wang breached the palace walls, the carnage that woman would wreak upon all in her path. The court, the innocents of the capital, and, he shuddered, the vulnerable harem.

He understood now what his sister had never fully articulated, the key to victory was not in repeating the old ways, but in disrupting the enemy's expectations. And Guo Wang’s forces? They would be expecting the standard defences. They would expect the palace to hide behind walls, women in armour standing guard at every gate. That was their mistake. Junlai knew better. But being a man and more so a mere consort was something that Junlai couldn't change. Nobody would listen to him. Two weeks left before the Guo reaches them even if Tai had sent for backup to the capital, it would have taken them a bit longer to get here.

No, he would not let this slide. The audacity to kill you , trying to take you AWAY FROM HIM!?. He will fucking lay corpses upon corpses of these disgusting pieces of filth. He will BURN EVERYTHING TO THE GROUND!

"I will not rest until I see you fall, Guo Wang..."

═════ ◈ ═════

"Mother, please. Trust me. You have to listen-"

"Your only job is to stay here, in the harem, and bear her children! Leave the military and court decisions to the court and the Empress."

Xu Huang froze, his chest tightening at the cold dismissal. His mother, ever so pragmatic, always intent on keeping him within the narrow boundaries of what was deemed acceptable for someone of his position. But tonight, he couldn’t bear it anymore. The years of suffocating silence, the weight of expectations that had been placed on him, all of it came crashing down in a wave of defiance.

"BUT I AM DOING THIS FOR THE EMPRESS!" His voice rang out, sharp and unforgiving. Xu Huang recoiled as if struck, the shock of his outburst still fresh in the air. But his fury only seemed to fuel him further. "Her Majesty’s court, her harem... I will not let some barbarian come in and tear it all apart. And don’t forget it, Mother!" He took a step forward, his voice thick with venom, his eyes burning with a passion he hadn’t allowed himself to show before. The tears were a mask, barely held together by his pride.

"I WILL protect her, and I WILL protect this dynasty."

He let his words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of their implications. He stood taller now, a dangerous glint in his eye, as he moved closer, letting the venomous truth seep into every syllable. "As for bearing children, oh sure, I will. But I won’t do it for you. I’ll do it for ME. For MY future. I’ll be elevated, not you. You will always remain a slave to the system, while I may one day be a part of the Wang dynasty. And you know what that could mean." His voice dropped to a low, almost mocking tone. "How do you think Tai became the General? If I can place someone on the board, I can just as easily toss them out."

There was a flicker of uncertainty in Xu Huang’s eyes at the mention of Tai, but it was quickly masked. He knew the truth, he had no such influence, but the bluff was enough. It was enough to make his mother tremble. The stoic, unflinching woman who had held him back his entire life now looked unsure, her hands gripping the edge of the table as if seeking something to steady herself.

"What are you proposing?" Her voice, cold as ever, betrayed the slight quiver in her tone. She had heard his words, but was she truly willing to listen?

Junlai smirked, the edge of triumph curling at the corners of his lips. "Now, we are talking."

═════ ◈ ═════

Junlai had always been more than just a skilled dancer; his mind was a sharp, calculating instrument that never ceased its relentless pursuit of efficiency and innovation. While the others focused on traditional warfare, the old strategies, sieging, ambushing, and brute force, Junlai saw only limitations. What he needed was an advantage that would catch their enemies off guard, something that no one had considered. The answer, as it often was, lay in nature.

Birds.

The idea came to him one evening while he watched the flock of crows circling above the harem. Their wings cutting through the air with precision, their effortless movement, a pattern of chaos within perfect order. It wasn't just the birds that caught his attention, but the fact that they held the power to burn.

In the markets, there had been whispers of incendiary techniques used by distant lands, fire-starting mechanisms using birds trained to carry torches. The court dismissed this concept as superstition, yet to Junlai, it was a brilliant, unrecognised weapon.

Junlai would need to launch the birds at night when the enemy's defences were at their weakest. The element of surprise would be vital, he knew that as soon as the birds were released, they would need to fly directly to their targets, avoiding the natural predators and the dangers of interception. So he had the women train them, following his instructions.

He took advantage of the dark sky, the birds’ natural night-flying abilities, to send them directly into the heart of Guo Wang’s camp. The wind, as if in cooperation with his plan, would be at their backs, ensuring that the fires would spread faster.

The moment the birds were released, the chaos began.

As the trained crows took flight, their wings slicing through the air like silent messengers of destruction, the fire lit up, first softly, then raging. Guo Wang's forces had no warning, no time to react. They watched in horror as the embers from above ignited their tents, their supplies, and worst of all, their weapons.

The women who had been enlisted as fighters, strong in their defiance but unprepared for such an assault, panicked as the fire spread, consuming their weapons and armour. Their leaders scrambled, but the flames had already done the work. The camp was ablaze, confusion and terror rippling through the ranks. The birds had burned their half camp, crippled their supply chain, and taken away the one thing they held most precious, control.

Thus, it made it easier for the soldiers to attack Guo's forces and easily win. Junlai watched with pride as he saw Guo's head impaled and being paraded around inside the castle's walls. A perfect homecoming gift for you. A gift to prove that he was not just a man in your harem, but someone who would do anything to ensure your reign remained unchallenged. Which made him again fall into a pit of worry for your return.

"Her Majesty has returned!" one of the attendants announced, her voice echoing down the hall.

Junlai stood in the corridor of the harem, his heart pounding in his chest. He had not realized how much he had missed you until the news arrived, that you were finally returning from the battlefield, victorious, but at a terrible cost. The victory meant nothing if it came at the cost of your well-being.

He watched from the shadows with along with other concubines as you entered, your face a bit pale but overall with no less than a sturdy and imperial aura. Your steps echoed in the hall as you greeted your father, your son and for a fleeting moment, met his gaze.

His mind was torn between wanting to rush to you and knowing that you would hate such an open display. So, he waited, watching, every fibre of his being aching to be near you.

And you called him finally, after two painful days.

"I... Your Majesty," Junlai's voice cracked slightly, betraying his calm facade. He couldn't hide the flood of emotions that coursed through him, the concern, the longing, the worry. He took another step closer, his voice low, "You came back... but how long will it take until you're truly well again?"

You always held yourself in such high regard, and the idea of being seen as anything less than the Empress was a bitter pill to swallow.

"I am better," you said, your tone firm, but Junlai could see the exhaustion etched into your features. "The battle was won, and my soldiers did well. That's enough for me."

Junlai stood in front of you now, so close that he could reach out and touch you if he dared. His gaze softened even further, and for a moment, the two of you simply stood there, him staring into your eyes, his heart heavy with the thoughts he didn’t dare speak aloud. Then he was finally graced with your embrace causing him to breakdown.

"Whatever it takes. Just... don’t push yourself too hard. You need rest." He whispered getting his act together.

You gestured for him to sat beside you on the bed. "I heard from Father...about what you did." He gulped, his form of being just...a boy in love under your gaze.

"I... I just... couldn't-- I had to! I did it all in fear of what might... happen..." You raised his chin.

"You didn't do it for love, then?"

"Of course I did! I did it for you only!" He grasped your hand against his cheek, his eyes filling with tears, his voice breaking at every word. "You... have no idea... what... torture it was for me to live after knowing that happened to you... my Queen. It was worse than death itself."

A hint of a smile graced your lips. "I am proud of you. I am... proud of my choice too..." You gazed lovingly at his face and wiped his tears, pulling his frail body to your chest. "Tai told me you... always had an interest in warfare... sneaked in to read her books."

His heart stopped. His sister... knew? All this time... she did? Yet she...

"Um... I--- yes." His whole body shivered when your deep chuckle traveled to every cell in his body.

"I have made a... decision."

His hands fisted your tunic in anticipation. "You will be the Regent consort here when I am away. You will manage the harem, manage the safety of the capital, it's people. Charities and all."

Junlai’s heart skipped a beat. His initial instinct was to deny, to say that it was nothing, that he just did his duty and wanted nothing more than to be a mere slave to your love. But the way you spoke to him with a glint of respect, of something more than just duty, it made him pause.

You saw him. Truly saw him.

He swallowed hard, trying to suppress the trembling in his hands, the heat in his chest. Regent consort. The title echoed in his mind like a promise, like a dream he had never dared to imagine. No man had ever had it...it didn't even exist until now. He would be the first man in history to have that. He will be known by every generation to come..

"But--but I... I don't deserve it," he stammered, the weight of your approval sinking into him. "I am... only a concubine, someone who had no right to such a role. You shouldn't place such responsibility on me."

You leaned closer, your fingers brushing against his cheek in a tender gesture, lifting his gaze with a gentle but firm pressure. "You don’t need to deserve it, Junlai," you said softly, your voice carrying the weight of your conviction. "You have already proven your loyalty, your cunning, and your heart."

You emphasized with a small but significant shift in tone, "You are my mind in the harem. You will ensure that my absence does not shake the foundations of this dynasty. You will stand guard over the people, the capital... everything I’ve worked for."

Junlai’s hands clenched tighter around your tunic as he processed the weight of your words. The enormity of the role, the responsibility, it was almost too much. But the way you spoke, the way you believed in him, gave him a strength he didn’t know he had.

"Are you afraid?" you asked, your voice soft but direct, your eyes locked onto his with an intensity that made his knees weak.

He paused, feeling a swirl of emotions churn in his chest. Fear. Desire. Ambition. Hope. They all mixed together until he couldn’t tell where one feeling ended and another began. But he was honest with you, always. "Yes," he said simply. "I am afraid. But if it means standing by your side... I will do whatever it takes."

You smiled at him, a slow, dangerous smile that made his breath catch in his throat. "Good," you said, leaning in closer, your voice dropping to a low murmur and pulled him in for a gentle kiss.

He had never imagined that the harem would become more than just a gilded cage. He had never imagined that he would be the one trusted to hold the reins when you were away. But now, it felt like everything was changing.

He looked up at you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt, any hesitation. But there was none. Only a quiet confidence that he knew, deep down, was meant for him.

"I won’t let you down," he whispered, his voice steady with determination, even as the weight of his new role settled over him like a mantle. "I will protect everything you’ve built, Empress. And I will make sure that no one dares challenge your rule."

You let out a satisfied sigh, your fingers trailing down the length of his arm as you leaned back, taking in the sight of him, your trusted consort, your mind in the harem.

His eyes softened, and for the first time since the battle, since everything had changed, he felt a flicker of peace settle in his chest. There was no going back now. But for the first time, he didn’t want to. He had you. And that was all that mattered.

Junlai leaned into you then, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath steadying as he let himself savor the moment, the moment where everything shifted, where he was no longer just a boy in your harem but the one who would protect everything you held dear.

Though, he mustn't forget one last thing~~

═════ ◈ ═════

"Ju-nlai?" Xu Fen stammered, his face twisting into an expression of disbelief. The boy, no, the boy, who once knelt before him, who had suffered beneath his cruelty, now stood in front of him as a figure that exuded nothing but cold authority. The sight rattled Fen to his core.

Junlai’s gaze locked onto him, dead and distant, as though he were staring through him. “I came to meet my brothers,” he said, his voice as calm as the still waters of a lake, but carrying the weight of a storm hidden just beneath the surface.

“Oh really? Why is that?” Fen’s words dripped with thinly veiled disdain, though his insides were anything but calm. He took a cautious step backward, uncertain of what Junlai intended. The boy had always been an afterthought, a lesser player in the family’s schemes. But that had changed, and Fen knew it.

Junlai’s eyes flickered over the room, moving like cold knives, and finally settled on the women standing behind him. His gaze was hollow, merciless. “Are you going to bring them out, or...?" His words trailed off, but the implication was clear. He wasn’t asking, he was commanding. His tone had a chilling finality, as though the fate of everyone in that room rested solely in his hands now.

Fen felt the air constrict around him, the tension thickening with each passing second. He swallowed hard, unable to hide his discomfort. With a reluctant sigh and a sour expression, he turned on his heel and went to summon the others, though it pained him to do so. He knew it was futile to resist. The man who stood in his mansion now was not the boy he had once controlled but something far more dangerous.

Minutes passed, each one dragging as Fen stood nervously, but when the Xu brothers arrived, they entered with a mixture of curiosity and defiance. They were offended, of course, by Junlai’s sudden appearance, but there was a deeper undercurrent of fear in their eyes

"Same as always..." Junlai murmured to himself, but his smile, if it could even be called that, was something else entirely. It was a sharp, knowing grin, filled with something dangerous. His voice rose, becoming almost melodic in its dark amusement. "Which is going to make it more fun!"

For the first time in the Xu household, the black sheep of the family, Junlai, let out a laugh, but it was no ordinary laugh. It was a hollow, manic laugh that seemed to echo off the walls. The sound was unsettling, almost inhuman, a reminder of the twisted journey that had led him to this moment.

Junlai’s eyes never left them as he spoke again, his voice low and chilling. “You see… I’ve come to remind you what happens when you think you can break me. You’ve burned me before… but now, I’m going to return the favour.”

Fen’s heart skipped a beat. He had always thought he could control Junlai, keep him beneath his bootheel. He had been wrong.

“Now, I think it’s time for you to understand what it feels like.”

It took one subtle gesture from Junlai and the guards moved quickly, and efficiently, grabbing the Xu brothers and laying them down on the floor. Their hands were bound, their legs spread wide, and Junlai’s eyes glinted with a dangerous gleam as he stepped closer, his boots making a soft but deliberate thud with each step. The room seemed to grow colder.

"No--p-please...forgive them...NO! I BEG YOU!" Fen's voice mixed with his son's pleas as well which earned him a slap from Junlai. That was all it took to reduce them to sobs and whimpers.

"Shut your fucking mouth, whore. And watch." He dug his hands into Fen's hair and steadied him beside himself. "Look, how cute they look." He giggled.

The guard poured more water onto the brothers' feet, the boiling liquid now bubbling and splashing as it engulfed their limbs. The screams grew louder, desperate. One of the brothers jerked against his restraints, his body writhing in pain, but there was nowhere to go. Fen could hear their flesh sizzling, the sound of raw skin peeling and blistering under the scalding heat. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. He had put them through this once before. Now it was his turn to witness the consequences. God, he always loved fire and its power. In fact, he began to see himself in it. Agile, dangerous, unyielding and most importantly, passionate when it came to you.

Fen watched, trembling, as the heat of the water burned into the skin of his sons. Junlai stood tall, his form casting a long shadow over the brothers writhing in pain, and spoke in a voice that resonated with unrelenting authority: “Let this be a reminder, boys." As he turned to leave, his guards following behind him, the sound of his laughter lingered in the air, a dark, triumphant melody that filled the hearts of those who heard it with dread.

Now is the turn of some concubines who have been acting up recently in your absence. Surely, they won't mind a little visit, right?

"Everyone stresses out your father soo much, don't they?" He cooed , caressing his flat abdomen as he settled in the carriage.

Nevertheless, it's all entertainment for him.

[bunnis-monsters]

The mating bond of a prince

Yandere!Demon Prince x Fem!Reader

Bunni’s Monstertober Event

Oct 17th

Oct 16

Oct 18

summary:

warning: dubcon, kind of angsty, breeding, mating, marking, possessive and obsessive behavior

a/n: I wanna do more with this concept, but here’s a snippet for monstertober because I’m behind ><

Demons were said to be cruel creatures incapable of love or empathy, soulless beings that fed on fear and misery… and for the most part, that was true.

But what humans didn’t know about demons was one simple fact. There is only one person that they will ever love and care for…

Their mate.

Every demon was born into the world with one thought in their mind.

To find their mate.

Soon, other thoughts would pop up from time to time. They had to eat to continue the search for their mate, tear down humans cities to help their species thrive so their mate would have a comfortable place to live once they found them.

If they didn’t fight to end human civilization, where would their mates live and raise young? Taking their beloved back to hell with them was out of the question!

This was how the demon king managed to help demon numbers increase and keep his army growing. If each demon was born with the urge to procreate and create a good nesting ground for their mate, they could be easily controlled.

He just hadn’t expected his son, the prince of hell to be bound to a human.

The prince had recently conquered a small village. As he went about killing the men, his entire body began to throb.

In the distance, he smelled something that had his head spinning. One of the small cottages was on fire, that heavenly scent coming from inside.

He felt his body being pulled towards it, so he completely ignored the humans attempting to kill him and walked towards the cottage.

Breaking down the door was easy, but being enveloped in your overwhelming scent made it hard to think.

The second he saw you, injured and barely confused as a fellow demon stood over your fragile, human body, he felt something he had never felt before.

Protective.

Within seconds he was shirking your body, his claw drenched in the demons blood from ripping his throat out. Why was he doing this? You were just some human woman, but his soul was bound to you.

He couldn’t let you die.

When you woke up, you were somewhere strange… some sort of contraption beeped next to you, the beeps increasing in frequency as you sat up and looked around… only to spot a demon by your bed.

All you felt was pure terror.

You stared at the creature whose specifies was responsible for the deaths of so many of your friends and family, who killed innocents in cold blood. Tears streamed down your face as you tried to speak.

“Please… let me go…”

But when the prince looked into your eyes for the first time, his body felt like it had been set on fire.

He loved you, and you were his mate.

Not once in his life had he ever looked upon another creature with such fondness and care. The prince made his way to your bed, kneeling by your side and taking your hand.

“My love… oh, my darling do not fear… here you are safe, you’ll be treasured for all eternity…”

He kissed the back of your hand, your gut burning with anger and shame. This thing had taken you as some sort of… bride?

“W-what about my family?”

The words finally came out after a few days in the hospital. In this time, you learned that demon society was far ahead of the human one, with machines that could monitor your heart rate and medicines that kept you from being in pain.

It was… comfortable.

He looked up at you, his eyes dark and cold. “What about them? They are humans, they will be culled like the rest.”

You clutched your blanket in your fists, your eyes welling up with tears. Something about you crying made his chest ache, and the prince reached out to caress your cheek.

“Why do you cry? Are you not comfortable?”

The demon could not comprehend your feelings towards your loved ones. He simply saw them as pests that needed to be eradicated, and could only feel love for you, his mate.

“They’re my family, I love them!”

Your sudden exclamation had him raising an eyebrow, his tail twitching. Were they really that important?

The prince knew that every human from your village was already dead, there was no way your family had survived. But to placate his mate, he wrapped his tail around you, using his soft black wings to encircle you and bring you close.

“I’ll have my men escort them somewhere safe. You may not see them, but they will live.”

This lie made you relax, and you settled into his arms. You felt like you could finally rest, and slept like a baby for the first time since you had been taken away.

The prince wanted to take things slow, but news that his mate had turned out to be a human woman spread through the kingdom until it reached his father.

He was called in to meet with the King, who was displeased, but mildly amused.

“I hear you’ve taken on a human mate, my son. You know how the royal court will react.”

The prince nodded, standing tall and confident in front of his father. “I am prepared to defend my mate to my dying breath, as would any demon.”

“That’s all well and good, but a human mate is an eyesore. You should hurry up and get her pregnant, there will be less danger once an heir is produced.”

Everyone knew that demon blood was powerful, being the dominant trait in every pairing. Once she was pregnant with the heir to the throne, not a single creature would dare to touch her.

It had only been a week since you had been home from the hospital, staying with the demon prince when suddenly approached you.

“My love…”

His lips peppered across your neck, hands holding onto your waist before sliding to your hips. “I wanted to wait… to give you time to adjust…”

You froze when his tail moved between your legs, rubbing against your clothed cunt. “But this is the only way to keep you safe… please, don’t be afraid… I’ll be gentle.”

The pieces slowly came together as his tail played with your cunt, rubbing against your panties before slipping under them and toying with your clit.

His hand was on your belly, eyes darting between your face and thighs. The way he moved his hand around your stomach…

He was going to breed you.

You squirmed for a bit, letting out an uncomfortable whine, but settled down when his clawed hand danced across your chest, groping one of your breasts as his face buried itself into your neck.

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be, love… this life is comfortable, isn’t it? I can give you a life of peace and safety, where you don’t have to fear war or pain. You’ll be taken care of.”

The very thought of some human male touching his lover made a growl rumble in his chest. You’d be staying with him, that wasn’t an option… but he wanted it to be something you chose yourself.

It felt sinful feeling wet from the demon playing with your fat pussy. His fingers pumped in and out of your as the tip of his tail continued to stimulate your clit, your juices flowing down your thighs.

He said your family was safe… was it so bad to let this demon take you as his mate? You were tired of long nights full of screams from people running from demons, of days without a proper meal as you rationed your supplies so you wouldn’t have to leave your home.

Couldn’t you live a comfortable life? You’ve suffered enough…

So you let him pin you down, watching as his fat cock rubbed against your leg. You had never seen a man naked before, so you were unsure if the size was normal… but you knew it had to be bigger than average.

His wings fluttered as his cock rested against your thigh. It nudges you, his tail lifting from your cunt to your tits, playing with them.

“I love you… more than you could ever imagine. You never have to want for anything again. I’ll give you everything…”

The pain of him taking your virginity made you cry out, your nails digging into his forearm. It didn’t hurt him at all, and he simply cooed, his wings soft as he dried his best to comfort you.

“Shh… shh… oh, my love I know it hurts. It won’t be for long…”

His lips pressed against your forehead, sweat already beading down. It wasn’t easy trying to take something so large inside of you for the first time…

The second you eased into it a bit, he pulled back out and slammed into you. He hadn’t meant to be rough, but he had struggled to control his urge to breed you from the second he realized you were his mate.

“I love you…” he murmured, gripping your hips as he fucked you, his teeth lightly gracing your neck. He wanted to cover you in bites and hickeys, claiming you completely.

He wasn’t done with you until your belly bulged with his cum. You smelled so much like him that he was a sappy mess.

You were exhausted, sore, and in need of a bath… but your demon mate curled around you protectively, kissing all over your body.

Within a month you were confirmed to be pregnant, and were moved into the palace as a princess.

You’d live a life of comfort… but were practically betraying your species by baring the future demon prince.

The current demon prince would soon be king, and you his queen.

An honor and the biggest shame.

———————

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat

[lilislegacy]

look. either you agree with me or you don’t - either way it doesn’t matter - but i truly think that at some point - after time, a lot of heavy conversations, some yelling, and crying, and a whole lot of honesty and apologies from her parents - annabeth and her family would work things out and become semi-close. which means eventually percy would be on good terms with them too.

that said, you cannot convince me otherwise that at some point, probably soon after moving to new rome, percy gets into a screaming match with mr. and mrs. chase about how they treated annabeth. and he absolutely blows out the pipes of every house within a mile radius.

not because annabeth needs him to fight her battles. not because percy thinks he has to fight annabeth’s battles. but because he can’t even begin to grasp how someone could treat a child - their own child - like they treated annabeth. the man who was raised by sally jackson cannot even begin to fathom how they blamed their child for the danger that followed her, and then gaslit her when she went to them for help. he can’t even begin to understand how they put her brothers before her, because now that he has his own little sister, his mom has never been more clear about how much she loves him.

he’s gonna lose his shit.

(“what kind of father doesn’t do everything in his power to protect this child?” “it doesn’t matter that you didn’t sign up for it. it’s your fucking job.” “what kind of monster encourages her husband to turn his back on his 5 year old daughter?” “yeah you didn’t choose to have a child, but she didn’t choose to be born!” “what? did you hear that demigods don’t have long lifespans and were just waiting for her funeral so you could get on with your lives?” “what kind of parents make it clear to their daughter that their new babies are the priority? that she’s a danger to them? that they are more important?” “would you fall into hell to save her?… if your immediate answer isn’t yes, then making you a father was the dumbest thing athena ever did.” “she was a scared little kid. you were supposed to protect her.”)

the minute they try to defend themselves, the chases are getting soaked. and part of that is from peeing their pants with fear becasue we all know how terrifying percy is when he’s angry. and nothing makes him angrier than someone who’s hurt the girl, the woman, who is his entire world.

you cannot convince me otherwise. don’t even try.

[chosok-amo]

SLIPPING THROUGH MY FINGERS: GOJO SATORU, GETO SUGURU

“suguru, help!” he sounds, pathetic. gojo satoru is a pathetic man when it comes to you. “ . . . there are so many kisses to have, soul and bone for you to crash and swear that how stars are born, so please. . ., believe me, you have to believe me,” he cries, holding your hands, begging for you to love him— love him enough to stay.

warning : age-up! satosugu, depressed! fem x reader, drug mention, trauma mention, suicide, self-harm, death mention, drowning, blood, heavy angst.

w/c : 6,2k | [☆] MASTERLIST

𝜗𝜚 . . . . i had to stop so often writing this because i can't stop crying and think that i shouldn't continue because it hurts me so bad that i have to take a cold shower and think about my life. and honestly, i wasn't supposed to write the last part but yeah..

A MINUTES AFTER YOU TRY TO KILL YOURSELF

it was too quiet. . .

gojo satoru never screams so loud in his entire life, so loud. . . the world shaking beneath his feet, ready to swallow him whole and rotten. so loud . . . he sure he can no longer hear. he ran, slipping on his way until he broke his knee on the puddle of the red, transparent liquid that spill from the bath-up.

the starling sigh, you were there. . .

“no, no, no, baby— no.”

the water, tinged with a haunting crimson, surged and overflowed, cascading into the bathroom with relentless force. it climbed steadily up gojo's legs, as if the liquid itself sought to ensnare him, to drag him down into its suffocating embrace, or just. . . mock him.

a dark mockery that seemed to whisper that it alone held the power to drown him, to swallow your trembling breaths and the last echoes of your voice. it wasn’t him, or geto suguru who was to be your executioner, but the merciless water, eager to claim your final, stutter breath.

“i-i —sorry, i’m sorry..” you stammered.

your voice stammered between choke, barely a murmur beneath the frothy waves, struggled to be heard amidst the tumult. your eyes, devoid of warmth, reflected a chilling detachment. the coldness in your gaze was almost tangible, a stark contrast to the chaotic, drowning world around you.

“suguru, help!” he sounds, pathetic.

gojo, even on the verge of your death is still so gentle, as if he's afraid you are going to die than you already are. dropping on his knees as he tries to pull your warm bodies out of the bath-up.

gojo shook his head, a soft whisper escaping from his trembling lips, “shhh, it's alright baby, it's alright, you're alright,” his mumble, each word a fragile promise against the storm of his own emotions— words and voice shaking, his bones and soul shivering. his strong arm wraps around your body, pulling you closer to his chest, feeling everything, even as his flesh trembling.

tears cascaded from the corner of your eyes, tracing silken paths down your skin, while his embrace, though trembling, sought to cradle and calm you, a sanctuary against the turbulence of your anguish.

“suguru, please help!” again, this time he shouted.

geto runs upon hearing the horror howling, and his purple irises about to peel from his face and his lungs lose air— ragged gasps, as if each inhale were stolen from him. the scene before him struck with a painful clarity: you nestled within gojo’s embrace, your body wracked with distress.

foaming at the mouth, you appeared trapped in a tormenting grip of anguish, while the open scars on your wrist bled stories of suffering and desperation. in that moment, the sight was both heart-wrenching and surreal, a vivid tableau of fear and pain, painted across the canvas of his deepest fears.

“i'm sorry— i-i'm so sorry,” you whisper between choking gasps as geto kneels beside you and your body shaking. tears cascade uncontrollably, each dropping a shimmering testament to a sudden, overwhelming regret. it is as though a profound realization has swept over you, too late to mend the wounds that have been inflicted.

the regret feels like a bitter aftertaste of the sorrow you can no longer escape. the eyes of those around you, trembling with the weight of their own anguish, are bloodshot and haunting, mirroring the crimson that flows from your wrist. in that agonizing moment, the world feels irrevocably broken, and the fleeting desire to be alive seems like a distant, unreachable dream.

they burst from the bathroom, gojo's arms wrapped tightly around you as he dashes through the chaos. your lifeless feet and hands dangle, a heavy, haunting reminder of the blood seeping steadily onto the floor. each drop forms a macabre trail, like the relentless shadow of death that clings to you, a grim companion refusing to let go.

the crimson stains splatter and pool in your wake, an anguished testament to the finality that now seems inevitable— each red stain on the ground is a haunting reminder, a stark declaration. as they run, the blood's mournful descent weaves a sorrowful narrative of moments slipping away, each drop a poignant echo of what might have been, a stark and unyielding declaration that time has run out, that it is too late.

and suddenly, everything feels like a slow motion.

6 HOUR AFTER YOU TRY TO KILL YOURSELF

the doctor spoke with a grave tone, his words laced with concern. “it appears,” he began, looking at gojo who's just sitting there with his eyes focusing on the floor, meanwhile geto standing beside him. “that she intentionally tried to overdose. we've had to act swiftly to pump the substances from her body, working to counteract the severe effects of her actions.”

geto's hand gently gripping on gojo's shoulder as they listen. his expression was one of solemn seriousness, reflecting the urgency and gravity of the situation. “we've done everything we can to stabilize her, but it's crucial that you two understand the seriousness of what she has done. this was a life-threatening situation, and we're only beginning to address the underlying issues that led to this crisis.”

the doctor continued, his voice carrying a mix of relief and concern. “fortunately, the cut on her wrist wasn't too deep,” he said, his eyes scanning the notes before them. “it seems that the severity of the injury was somewhat mitigated by her weakened state from the drugs. if she had been stronger, the outcome might have been different.”

his tone softened, acknowledging the fragile balance between the danger of the overdose and the mitigating effects of your physical condition. “we've managed to address the immediate threats, but it's crucial to understand that this is a serious wake-up call. we need to work on her recovery and the emotional struggles that led to this moment.”

if she had been stronger, the outcome might have been different,’ the words echoed repeatedly, hauntingly through the air, like a broken record stuck on a painful refrain. once, twice, three times, they reverberated through their minds, each repetition a stark reminder of how close they came to losing you, how dangerously close the edge of despair was.

even the notion of ‘almost’ carried a weight too immense to bear, a heavy presence that pressed down on their hearts. the silence that followed was thick with unspoken guilt and anguish; none of them could find the words to bridge the chasm of their shared grief. they avoided each other's gaze, unable to escape the silent blame that hung heavy between them, a suffocating testament to their collective sense of failure.

gojo stared at his hands through the thin veil of his blindfold, his fingers trembling as they traced the dried blood staining his pale skin. the sight of it was a brutal reminder of you. with a strained effort, he clenched his hands tightly, hoping to meld the dried blood with his own, as if to erase the haunting evidence of what had transpired— his last hope trying to be with you.

each breath felt like a desperate gasp, a small gap forming between his lips as he struggled to draw in air. the sensation of suffocation gripped him, a relentless pressure squeezing his chest, making each inhale a battle. despite his efforts, the air seemed insufficient, leaving him feeling as though he were on the precipice of life, teetering on the brink of an abyss that threatened to swallow him whole.

geto felt an overwhelming tide of guilt and anguish, a heavy weight pressing down on his heart. the scene that unfolded before him replayed in his mind like a relentless, agonizing loop, hunting him down like he is some kind of a fucking prey. he was haunted by the sight of your suffering, the image of your blood-streaked hands and the anguished cries that pierced the air. each moment of his own reflection, seeing the remnants of your blood on his skin and his white shirt, deepened his torment.

the sense of responsibility gnawed at him, a constant reminder of how close he came to losing you. he felt suffocated by a profound sorrow and helplessness, as if the very air around him was too thick, leaving him gasping for breath— like the death itself pointing its ugly fucking finger to his face and laugh at him, at them.

what a fucking pathetic man’ the death must be said.

the weight of the situation settled heavily on his shoulders, and the silence between him and his companions only amplified his inner turmoil. the unspoken blame and the aching realization that he couldn't undo what had happened created a chasm of despair within him, making each moment feel like an eternity of unbearable remorse.

both of them are buried in profound sea of grief, guilt, shame because a thousand moments with you that they take for granted— shame, for thinking, assume that there would be a thousand more. is it too selfish to be here?’ they thought.

that curse must be laughing at them, the higher-ups, everyone— pointing their finger from all directions. look at them, ’ they thought, those two who called themselves the strongest can even save a single soul,’ again they must be laughing, let alone a soul who is to be called the love of their life.

but nobody knows, none, not even a single soul that, oh, how your presence evokes such selflessness in them— even amid their silent, tormented reflections. they are consumed by an incessant questioning of the selfishness of their own sorrow, wondering if it is wrong to cling to their grief while you teeter on the precipice of loss.

the haunting thought persists, a cruel reminder of time's fragile nature and the profound depth of their remorse. in their heartache, they are acutely aware of the contrast between their own suffering and the delicate balance of your existence, each moment of their anguish a poignant testament to the sorrow they feel for having taken so much for granted.

is it okay to feel sad? ’ they thought.

even the very sensation of sadness and grief feels like an indulgence they do not deserve. i can't even protect her, what rights do i fucking deserve to be sad?’ they thought. to them, these emotions seem an opulent luxury, an extravagant gift they are not entitled to. in their hearts, the depth of their sorrow feels almost excessive, a poignant reminder of how their suffering pales in comparison to the magnitude of the almost loss they face.

each wave of grief feels like a grand, unwelcome opulence, an unjust reward for the pain they have caused and the moments they have squandered. the luxury of their sadness seems a cruel irony, a stark contrast to the profound emptiness of the reality they must now confront.

people passing by in front of them, throwing them a glance or two. seeing their red eyes and tears-stain cheeks, blood in their hands, in shirts, in pants, in their soul, laid bare. everyone wants to give them both a pat on the back, telling them that they are good at handling grief; howling, crying, and blaming each other. that's the proper way to handle grief.

18 HOUR AFTER YOU TRY TO KILL YOURSELF

your hands are warm, a stark contrast to the pallor of your pink lips, which have lost their vibrant hue, your eyes open still so retain their gentle softness, a quiet testament to the grace you still hold.

as you lie upon the hospital bed, draped in the drab, floral-patterned gown that clings to you, it feels woefully inadequate. the gown, mundane and worn, seems too insipid and shabby to encompass your beauty, too faded and forlorn.

“i'm sorry. . .” you mumble.

you can’t bring yourself to look at them as they sit beside your bed, their eyes red and swollen from sleepless nights, their uniforms crumpled and disheveled, their hair falling in untamed disarray. their faces have lost their vibrant hue, a stark contrast to their usual vitality.

gojo satoru’s once-brilliant blue eyes, which used to shimmer with an unyielding light, now seem dull and lifeless, even when the golden sunlight spills over them. the sunlight, which once might have enhanced the beauty of his gaze with its warm orange tones, now only serves to highlight the emptiness that has replaced his once-sparkling eyes— it's dull, it's dull, it is fucking dull.

geto suguru's strikingly handsome face is graced with a smile, tender and achingly gentle, as though he is pouring all his effort into offering you a sliver of solace. his lips tremble with a subtle quiver, betraying the deep sadness that lingers beneath his calm exterior. his once-vibrant purple irises have dimmed, their former brilliance faded to a shadow of their former selves.

you fear that they might darken further, losing their hue altogether, slipping into a void of despair where even color seems to vanish. the sight of his sorrowful eyes, so devoid of their usual spark, reflects a profound sadness that pierces the heart, a silent testament to the emotional toll of the moment.

oh, what i have done. . .’ you thought.

“don't, please don't,” gojo pleads, his voice trembling as he clasps your unharmed hand with a desperate grip. his blindfold has been removed, revealing eyes that are filled with raw, unfiltered emotion as he gazes at you. beside him, geto's hand rests gently at the back of your head, his touch tender and soothing. he caresses your hair with a featherlight motion, his thumb brushing softly over your scalp.

“we are so sorry for taking you for granted,” he murmurs, the words heavy with regret and sorrow. “we are sorry for offering you only a lukewarm love, when you deserved a love that was fierce and all-consuming, a love that burned brightly and fiercely. i'm sorry,” his voice wavers, each word an echo of their deep remorse, as they both grapple with the weight of their unspoken apologies and the profound realization of what they failed to give you.

they do not seek to question why your soul bleeds, nor do they dare to unravel the dark tapestry of your pain. the blood, flowing with a steady, silent, and disturbingly deliberate pace, engulfs you in its relentless embrace. it seeps into every corner of your being, a somber tide that threatens to consume you entirely.

they find themselves unable to confront this harrowing reality, their hearts too burdened to bear the weight of such a painful inquiry. the sight of your suffering leaves them paralyzed, unable to utter the questions that linger in their minds, as they grapple with the profound helplessness of watching you slowly succumb to the encroaching shadows.

“i love you, baby,” gojo whispers, “i'm sorry that you're in so much pain so to think death is the only salvation,” he stopped for a second, cocooning your hand with his large one before resting his cheek against. “i'm sorry i didn't notice your rage for the world and too busy loving you. does my love scare you, love? that's why you decided to leave, hm?” his voice shaking, lips quivering.

“if you are angry, stab me a little so you can feel better, make it hurt, i don't care. a little suffering would be worth it if it's by your hands, by your pretty little hands,” he murmured against your skin, his breath a warm whisper that sent shivers across your body. each word was a soft plea, wrapped in a tone that trembled with both desperation and tenderness.

his trembling lips pressed gently against your hand, each kissing a fleeting starburst of warmth against your cool skin. him— no they, stood ready to endure your pain, inviting you to inflict upon them the hurt you felt.

they stand poised to let you sink your teeth into them, to delve into their very flesh. to let you open them up, laid bare and vulnerable, just to offer you a chance to heal. just so they can love you a little too much, starving even— like a flesh begging to be knitting together over a wound. ruin me, ruin us, and we will let you.

“i love you, i love you, i love you,” he gave you stars in each between. they fucking love you like a rotten dog. “believe me when i said this. . . there are so many kisses to have, soul and bone for you to crash and swear that how stars are born, so please. . ., believe me, you have to believe me,” he cries, holding your hands, begging for you to love him— love him enough to stay, “we love you.”

he finally said we’ geto thought.

at first glance, people might assume that geto suguru’s love for you surpasses that of gojo satoru, that his love is somehow greater. yet, the truth remains that it has always been gojo satoru who harbors the most profound and boundless love for you from the very beginning. his love is vast, immense, and utterly astonishing, stretching beyond the horizons of understanding.

gojo’s devotion is a vast expanse, a love so deep and wide that it seems to defy the very limits of emotion. even geto suguru, who himself is capable of immense love, finds himself awestruck and somewhat intimidated by the sheer magnitude of gojo’s feelings. no one can truly grasp the depth of gojo’s love—not even gojo himself—such is the overwhelming, almost incomprehensible nature of his heart’s boundless devotion to you.

and sometimes it scares the shit out of geto.

but maybe, just maybe, they have a little too much love for you more than for each other, even more than for themselves— as if you make a space in their ribs, and call it home country.

30 HOUR AFTER YOU TRY TO KILL YOURSELF

geto stirred from a restless sleep, his head resting gently against your hospital bed, nestled close to your side. as he slowly opened his eyes, he was met with the soft, gentle sight of you gazing at him, a faint, tender smile gracing your lips. the serene moment, bathed in the quiet of the hospital room, brought a flicker of warmth to his weary heart, a small but profound comfort amid the lingering shadows of their shared sorrow.

“hey sunshine,” geto whispered in a hoarse croak, reaching a hand to brush your hair away from your face, “how long have you been awake?”

“long enough to notice the dark circles under your eyes and the tear stains on your cheeks,” you replied softly, your fingers brushing gently against his cheek, your thumb tenderly caressing the worn skin. geto hummed, his hand capturing yours and guiding your palm to his lips, where he planted a gentle kiss.

the touch of your skin was like a salve, soothing the ache in his weary soul. he chuckled weakly. his eyes were tired and his skin pale, but your touch made him feel alive. “you’re too observant for your own good,” he teased, his lips curving into a weary smile.

geto shifted in his chair, wincing slightly as his body protested the movement. he settled into a more comfortable position, still holding your hand in his, his thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of your knuckles.

he studied your face, taking in every detail, from the delicate flutter of your eyelashes to the subtle flush in your cheeks. the sight of you, even in this vulnerable state, filled his heart with a mixture of tenderness and protectiveness.

“how are you feeling?” he asked, his voice low and gentle, his gaze fixed on your face. he knew it was a question he had asked before, but he couldn’t help himself. he needed to hear you speak, hear your voice, just to reassure himself that you were still with him.

“like shit,” you answer.

your hand is still gently cupping his cheek, thumb running low across his skin in a loving manner. at your blunt response, geto's lip curled into a soft smile. even in your weakened state, you still had a defiant spark.

he leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly as he savored the sensation. “i thought we agreed no profanity,” he teased, his voice laced with affectionate humor, opening his eyes to meet your gaze. he turned his head slightly, his lips brushing against the palm of your hand in a tender kiss.

“you’ve always been a bad influence on me,” he murmured against your skin, his breath warm and ticklish. he chuckled softly, his eyes softening as he studied your face.

he took a moment to compose his words, his expression growing serious. “there was a moment,” he began, his voice a hoarse whisper, “a moment when i thought i lost you.”

your smile faltered, and your eyes softened with concern as you listened to the gravity in his voice. you reached up to gently touch his cheek again, your thumb brushing away the remnants of his sadness.

“i’m here now,” you whispered, your voice steady but filled with warmth. “you haven’t lost me.” you looked deeply into his eyes, trying to convey with your gaze the depth of your presence and the promise of your unwavering support. “and i’m not going anywhere,” you added softly, hoping to soothe the lingering fear in his heart.

his hand covers yours, holding it against his cheek as he closes his eyes, relishing in your soothing touch. for a moment, he just allows himself to bask in your presence, letting the warmth and comfort wash over him.

“i was afraid i wouldn’t get to hear you say that,” he murmured, his voice growing thicker with emotion. he opened his eyes, the raw vulnerability in his gaze bared to you, his heart laid bare.

your heart ached at the sight of his vulnerability. you gently squeezed his hand, your voice trembling with sincerity as you spoke. “i’m so sorry,” you said softly, your eyes filled with compassion.

geto’s thumb traced gentle, small circles on the back of your hand. “you have nothing to apologize for,” he assured you, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. “it was my responsibility to keep you safe, and i failed.”

the guilt and regret in his voice were palpable, the weight of his self-imposed responsibility clear. he lowered his gaze, wrestling with emotions that were etched deeply into every line of his weary face.

he lifted your hand from his cheek, bringing it to his lips and pressing a lingering kiss against your knuckles, his gaze never leaving yours. “i just need you to know how much you mean to me,” he added, his voice cracking slightly. his grip on your hand tightened, as if he was holding onto you for dear life.

geto’s lips continued to brush against your knuckles as he spoke, soft and gentle. his eyes held yours captive, the depth of his affection bared for you to see.

“you are my everything,” he confessed, his voice hoarse with the weight of his honesty. “the thought of losing you, of living in a world where you don’t exist…” he trailed off, a pained expression crossing his features. he was torn between the love that engulfed his heart and the fear that threatened to consume him.

geto drew in a shaky breath, composing himself as best he could. he lifted his gaze from your hand, meeting your eyes once again. his expression held a mixture of love and devotion, but also a hint of desperation.

“i need you to know that no matter what, i will do everything in my power to protect you,” he vowed, his voice steady despite the turbulent emotions raging within him. “not just because it’s my duty, but because i love you more than i thought it was possible to love someone.”

you met his gaze with a warm, reassuring smile, the depth of your gratitude shining through. “thank you,” you said softly, your voice imbued with genuine appreciation. your smile was a reflection of the profound comfort and reassurance you felt, a silent promise to stand together through whatever lay ahead.

geto’s eyes softened at your smile, a flicker of relief passing over his weary face. he squeezed your hand gently, his touch both appreciative and protective.

he studied your face for a moment, his gaze lingering on each contour, each freckle and line, as if to further commit them to memory. “don’t scare me like that again,” he murmured, mostly in jest, but with an underlying current of seriousness.

gojo entered the room, his expression a mix of relief and lingering concern as he carried a bag of your belongings. upon seeing the tender moment between you and geto, his eyes softened, though they carried a hint of the exhaustion and worry that had shadowed him. he set the bag down and approached, took a sit at the edge on the other side of your bed, his voice catching slightly as he spoke.

“don’t scare me like that again too,” he said, his tone gentle but tinged with the weight of his emotions. his gaze met yours with a blend of earnestness and relief. “i know suguru’s been holding on tight, but i’ve been right here, too. seeing you like this... it’s been hard on all of us. please, don't leave us.” his words were a heartfelt plea, an echo of the concern and love he carried for you, a testament to the depth of his feelings and the strength of his devotion.

geto’s grip on your hand tightened momentarily at the sound of gojo’s voice, his eyes darting towards his best friend. he could hear the exhaustion and worry that laced gojo’s words and knew all-too-well the weight of the responsibility they shared.

he turned his gaze back to you, his expression a mix of worry and relief. his thumb resumed its gentle, soothing circles on the back of your hand. “yeah,” he said in agreement, his voice gruff with emotion. “please, don’t scare us like that again.”

gojo’s presence brought with it a sense of familiarity, a comfort that was both grounding and reassuring. he reached out and placed a gentle hand on your arm, his touch a silent expression of his affection and concern.

he studied your face, his eyes tracing every contour, every line, as if to commit the sight to memory. “how are you feeling?” he asked, his voice softer now, though still tinged with worry. “i wanna say like shit but suguru said no profanity,” you puff a little chuckle.

geto gives a little scoff at your comment, his expression laced with a mixture of annoyance and affection. he rolls his eyes playfully and mutters, “you’re such a bad influence.”

gojo’s lips curled into a small smirk before he turned his gaze back to you, the lines around his eyes creasing with a mix of amusement and relief. “can’t have you talking like that,” he teased, his words light but carrying a hint of genuine concern.

gojo studying your face carefully before speaking ever so softly, “well, apart from the obviously crappy mood geto’s been in, you look good. your color is better.” he noticed a faint crimson crushed on your cheeks, a little pink on your lips.

he reached his hand out to smooth a strand of hair away from your forehead, his touch light and tender. his gaze wandered from your face to where geto still held your hand, his eyes reflecting a subtle hint of appreciation.

geto watched gojo's gentle touch, his grip on your hand unconsciously tightening a little bit in response. his expression was a mixture of protectiveness and vulnerability, his eyes betraying the fear and worry that still tugged at his heart.

he took the moment to observe the soft interplay of emotions between you and gojo, the easy familiarity and the deep bond that existed between you all. he could sense the weight of gojo's concern as he studied your face, the care and attention in his touch.

gojo's voice was soft as he continued, his gaze still fixed on your face. “so, how are you feeling, for real?” he asked, his tone a gentle echo of geto's earlier question. “any pain? any discomfort?”

geto looked at you, his eyes silently pleading for you to be honest. he was hanging off your every word, each response a small insight into your well-being.

you took a deep breath, feeling the weight of their concern pressing down on you. meeting gojo’s gentle gaze and then turning to geto’s silent plea, you spoke with a mixture of remorse and honesty. “i’m sorry,” you began, your voice trembling slightly. “i’m sorry for how i handled things. i know i should have talked to you both, but i didn’t—i tried to take matters into my own hands without thinking it through first.”

your eyes reflected a deep sense of shame and regret as you continued. “i actually feel like absolute shit right now, and i’m ashamed of myself for thinking i could find a quick solution without considering the impact it would have on you both.” you looked at them, hoping your words conveyed the depth of your remorse and the sincerity of your apology, wanting them to understand that your actions were not a reflection of your feelings for them, but rather a moment of misguided desperation.

gojo's expression softened with understanding, his eyes filled with compassion. he knew the weight of your words, the regret and shame that clung to them. he reached his hand back to your arm, his touch gentle and reassuring.

geto's gaze was a mix of surprise and relief as he processed your apology. his hand around yours tightened slightly, his thumb tracing reassuring circles on your skin. “it's okay,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. “we all have moments of weakness. what matters is that you're here, safe and alive.”

you felt a wave of gratitude wash over you at their responses, their understanding and compassion a balm to your wounded spirit. “thank you,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion. “thank you for not being angry with me and for not questioning me right away. i know i made a terrible mistake, and i’m grateful you’re here, supporting me instead of condemning me.”

geto's grip on your hand tightened slightly, his eyes filled with a complex mixture of emotions— relief, love, and a hint of lingering fear. he shook his head gently, a reassuring smile on his lips.

gojo chuckled softly, his eyes filled with a mixture of compassion and playfulness. “we can save the anger and lecturing for when you’re not looking so terrible,” he joked, a wry smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “and trust me, baby, i had a lot of choice colorful words for you when the right time comes,” he lean in to kiss your forehead, “but right now, we just trying to be here for you.”

geto nodded in agreement, his grip on your hand still tight. he couldn’t help but roll his eyes a bit at gojo's playfulness, but there was a hint of fondness beneath the feigned annoyance.

he leaned in, reaching out with his other hand to gently brush a strand of hair off your forehead. “you are a stubborn, reckless, and stubborn pain in the ass,” he scolded lightly, his tone a soft but affectionate mix.

gojo chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners with humor. he settled himself closer, his hand still resting lightly on your arm. “he's right, you know,” he chimed in, his smile wide. “you're very good at pushing our buttons and getting under our skin.”

geto's lips curled into a small smile, his expression a mixture of feigned anger and affection. “and you're even better at making us worry,” he added, his tone light but underlined with the gravity of their concern. “but we care about you more than anything,” he added, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “so you better not do something like that again, you hear me?” his voice held a hint of authority, but mostly it was filled with love and concern.

geto's smile grew a bit wider, his eyes crinkling endearingly at the corners. “yeah,” he said, his voice firm. “you better listen. we don’t need anymore of these near-death experiences from you.”

gojo chimed in enthusiastically, leaning in a bit closer. “yeah, cause let me tell you, i can’t handle any more gray hairs than i already have.”

geto's grip on your hand tightened again, his expression a mix of sternness and vulnerability. he looked at you intently, his gaze locking with yours. “he's right,” he echoed, his voice firm but filled with warmth and care. “no more reckless decisions. no more putting yourself in danger. you hear us, my love?”

gojo nodded in agreement, his expression serious but eyes softened with concern. he added, “yeah, we can't keep having our hearts in our throats like this. it's not good for our health, you know.” geto's hand caressed your arm gently, a silent plea for your understanding. “we just want you safe and sound. that’s all we ask.”

a hint of vulnerability flashed across geto's face, his expression betraying the weight of his words. he locked eyes with you, his gaze filled with a mixture of pleading and sincerity.

“we just want to know that you're safe,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “that you're not recklessly endangering yourself anymore.”

gojo leaned in closer, his hand resting on your arm lightly. “we can't bear the thought of something happening to you again,” he chimed in, his tone carrying an undercurrent of worry.

they continued to exchange tender words and earnest pleas, their voices overlapping in a chorus of concern and affection. each spoke fervently about their love and the lengths they would go to ensure your safety and happiness. their words, though filled with their own fears and frustrations, were underscored by a deep, unwavering care for you.

as you watched them, a soft smile touched your lips. their earnest devotion, their refusal to let you face this alone, filled you with a profound sense of comfort and gratitude. you could see their love in every gesture and hear it in every word, and it warmed your heart. despite the gravity of the situation, their caring presence made you feel cherished and supported, giving you strength even in the midst of your own turmoil.

after a few moments of their heartfelt declarations, the room fell into a short silence, the weight of their words lingering in the air.

gojo ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of nervous energy. “and just so you know, suguru here basically took a week off work to sit by your bedside like a damn watchdog, he even almost made the rainbow dragon eat gakuganji because that fucker won't let him leave.” geto, caught off guard by the sudden revelation, flushed faintly and shot a glare at gojo.

geto, taken aback, shot a sharp look at gojo before retort, “you clearly about to hollow purple the higher-ups and the entire school because they won't let you stay here with her.” gojo's expression darkened for a moment, “you know i would do it in a heartbeat, if i could.” geto's grip on your hand tightened, his gaze still fixed on gojo. “i know you would. and i'd be right there with you.”

gojo and geto turned their attention back to you when they heard your soft chuckling, their expressions a mix of relief and amusement at hearing you laugh.

gojo chuckled as well, “you find that funny, huh?” he said, a smile tugging at his lips. geto rolled his eyes a bit, but his own smile betrayed his true feelings. he couldn't stay serious when you laughed. “just the thought of us going rogue and taking down the entire school system for you is amusing, i guess,” he said, his tone laced with sarcasm.

you hummed in satisfaction, “they are shit anyway.” a gentle smile lingering on your pale lips.

gojo chuckled warmly, his eyes sparkling at your comment. “ah, and there’s that signature wit of yours coming back.”

geto, still feigning annoyance but struggling to hide a grin, shook his head slightly. “still as blunt and unfiltered as ever,” he said, his eyes soft.

you glances at both of them, the comforting silence lingering between you, and with a tender smile, you mouthed softly, “i love you.” your cheeks flushed a delicate crimson beneath your pale complexion as you kissed their cheek.

gojo and geto exchanged a brief glance at your sweet words and soft kisses, their hearts swelling with warmth and love. gojo's hand reached out to stroke your hair, his touch gentle and loving. “we love you too,” he said softly.

geto's smile widened as he placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. “always,” he breathed, his voice filled with tenderness.

the thought of you coming back to them is warm.

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