#if u made it this far thanks for reading!!!!

[moonstruckme]

sobbed at my work today because a higher up basically shot down all my ideas to shadow another department because my reasons weren’t good enough. wanting to learn is good enough thank u. (i have like 5 pages worth of reasons btw. in mla format…). feeling better now cuz his reputation is shit apparently but if you have time, could you write something like this with maybe sirius or remus? ur choice. pls don’t be pressured to write.

on the other note ur fics always cheer me up so thank you for your service! 🫡

I'm sorry you felt so put out lovely! Hope you're feeling a bit better now, thanks for requesting <3

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 748 words

You can tell Remus knows from the moment you get home. He sits up in his chair and watches you with sad eyes as you take off your shoes. You must be radiating defeat. 

“Hi,” he says gently. “How’d it go?” 

“We’re not doing it.” 

“Any of it?” 

You shake your head, sullen. 

Your boyfriend gives you a pitying look. “Oh, lovely. Come here.” 

You’re determined not to cry while you go. Not at Remus’ sympathetic tone, or the concerned little dent between his eyebrows, or the stapled pages of bullet points you leave sitting uselessly on the floor by your bag. You breathe slow and controlled as Remus folds you into his side and ignore the heat in your sinuses. 

He kisses your cheek, rubbing it gently with his thumb. 

“What?”

“Did you have a cry earlier?” Remus murmurs. At your questioning look, he explains, “There’s a bit of makeup on your cheek.” 

Your eyes fill up quick and hot. So much for not crying. “I thought I got it all off.” Your voice comes out a jagged squeak. You bury your face in Remus’ jumper. 

“Dovey, it’s okay. It’s hardly anything.” His hand covers your nape, thumb stroking the baby hairs at the base of your head. “What happened, hm?” 

“It was so—so embarrassing,” you sniffle. The words jolt out of you in short hiccups. “He made me feel stupid for even asking. He said none of my reasons were good enough.” 

“None of them? Did he read them all?” 

“He barely looked.” 

There’s a pause, then a small bounce underneath you. You wait for your boyfriend to respond, presumably with sympathy or some thought about how you might be more persuasive on your next attempt. It takes you a handful of seconds to register that Remus is laughing. Breathy, poorly suppressed little chuckles that shake his frame beneath you. 

You sit up to look at him, bemused and maybe a little wounded. He pulls you back in with a hand on your head. 

“Sorry. God, I’m sorry.” Remus kisses your head, still snickering. “I’m just trying to picture this man—you said he was in his forties, yeah? So a man nearly twice your age, needing to put down the low-ranking employees at his work just to make himself feel big.” 

You frown at him. “What do you mean?” 

“I just…” Remus’ tongue pokes into his cheek, a sure sign that he’s trying to keep a much larger grin at bay. “He’s so clearly jealous of you.” 

You feel your eyebrows shoot up. You sit up again, and this time Remus lets you, his hand dropping to your hip. “Of me,” you repeat. You tend to consider your boyfriend rather insightful for a man, but you think he may have finally lost it. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” Remus squeezes your side. His look softens. “I just don’t think your boss’ actions really speak to someone who’s secure and happy with himself, or with his life. He’s a rank above you at a job he’s worked far longer than you have. Meanwhile, you’re younger, and tenacious, and you clearly have all these great ideas. It seems to me like he’s threatened by you.” 

“Oh,” you murmur. “That’s quite sad, actually.” 

“Didn’t you say he was a bellend?” 

Your lips twitch. “I said my coworker said he was a bellend.” 

“Mm, even so. I can’t muster up very much sympathy for him.” Remus kisses the corner of your lips that had moved. “He made my girl cry, so.” 

Your amusement shrivels at the memory. “It really was embarrassing,” you say quietly. Remus looks into your eyes, his own warm and sweet as honey. “I mostly cried in the bathroom, but some people saw.” 

Remus wipes the dampness from your lashes with the tip of his finger. His hand coasts down the slope of your neck to your shoulder and back up again, soothing. “Everyone there knows your boss is an arse,” he tells you. “More importantly, they know you’re smart and that you work hard. I’m sure they riddled out what happened, sweetheart.” 

You press your lips together to keep from crying again. Remus tsks. 

“Even if this bloke is threatened by how good you are, you’re still all those things. It’ll pay off.” 

“You don’t have to say that,” you whisper. 

“I don’t,” Remus agrees. “It will, though. Not every boss you have will be as dense as this one, lovely. It’ll pay off eventually.”

[deansbeer]

hi!!! i had this idea in my head for a long time now, and wanted to ask if u could write ben (soldier boy) and reader being on vacation and they booked a house or smth with jacuzzi there and they end up having sex in there in the middle of the night hehe

thank u in advance!!💞

of course, sweet baby <3 thank you sooo much for sending this in! i love writing and being a slut for peepaw ☺️☺️

warnings 𓏵 ‎ ‎ ‎‎smut | jacuzzi sex | light exhibitionism |unprotected sex (use the damn rubber) | dirty talk | rough sex | mentions of implied voyeurism | semi-public sex (outdoors) | semi-public sex | dom!ben | riding (cowgirl position) | strong language.

the cabin was supposed to be a break—a week away from the chaos, the noise, the bullshit that seemed to follow both of you like a storm cloud. ben had booked it on a whim, grumbling about how even he needed a fucking vacation sometimes, and for once, you didn’t argue. the idea of spending a week in the woods, far from the madness of the city and the constant stress, sounded like heaven.

the place was perfect. small and cozy, tucked deep into the outskirts of town where the roads turned to dirt and the trees seemed to swallow the sky. the cabin had everything you needed: a fireplace, a kitchen stocked with basics, a soft bed that smelled like cedar, and best of all—a jacuzzi on the back deck, overlooking the stretch of forest that went on forever.

by the time the third night rolled around, you’d fallen into a lazy rhythm. mornings spent tangled in bed, afternoons hiking trails or lounging on the deck with beers or tequila in hand, evenings cooking together in the tiny kitchen. ben had been... softer, in his own way. still gruff, still full of snark and sarcasm, but quieter. less tense. you caught him smiling more, the kind of smile that wasn’t for show—real and unguarded, reserved just for you.

you were sprawled on the couch, flipping through some old novel you’d found on the shelf, when he came back from the kitchen with two more beers. he handed you one without a word, leaning against the armrest with that lazy confidence that always made your chest tighten. he was shirtless, the soft glow of the fire highlighting every ridge of muscle, the scars that mapped his body like a story you’d memorized.

“what’re you reading?” he asked, his voice low and rough, the faintest edge of curiosity in it.

“just some old thriller,” you said, holding up the book. “it’s not great, but it’s something.”

he grunted, taking a swig of his beer before his eyes slid toward the glass door leading to the deck. the jacuzzi was out there, bubbling quietly in the dark.

“you ever fuck in a hot tub?” he asked, casual as anything, like he was asking about the weather.

your head snapped up, heat flooding your cheeks. “what?”

“you heard me.” his lips curved into a smirk, that cocky, infuriating smirk that always made your stomach flip. “you ever fuck in a hot tub? ‘cause if not, we’re about to change that.”

“are you serious?” you asked, but you were already setting your book aside, heart pounding as he grabbed your hand and pulled you to your feet.

“dead serious, sweetheart,” he said, dragging you toward the door. “been thinkin’ about it since we got here. figured tonight’s as good a night as any.”

the cool night air hit your skin as soon as you stepped outside, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the cabin. the forest was alive with the sounds of crickets and the occasional rustle of leaves, the kind of quiet that wasn’t really quiet at all. the jacuzzi was already steaming, the water glowing faintly from the built-in lights beneath the surface.

“strip,” he ordered, his voice dropping into that commanding tone that sent a shiver down your spine.

you gave him a look, half amused, half exasperated. “You could at least ask nicely.”

“i could,” he agreed, stepping closer, his hands finding your waist. “but you like it when i don’t, don’t you?”

you didn’t answer, but the way your breath hitched when his fingers slid under your shirt was answer enough. he peeled it off in one smooth motion, his eyes darkening as they roamed over your bare skin.

“fuck, you’re fuckin’ gorgeous,” he muttered, his hands already tugging at your shorts. “gonna ruin you tonight, baby. make sure you never forget this trip.”

the words sent a rush of heat through you, and by the time you were both naked, the cool air didn’t matter anymore. he climbed into the jacuzzi first, sinking into the water with a groan that was almost obscene.

“c’mon,” he said, holding out a hand. “don’t make me wait, doll.”

you followed, sliding into the water until you were straddling his lap, the heat of the jacuzzi doing nothing to cool the fire building between you. his hands found your hips, pulling you closer until you could feel him, hard and ready beneath you.

“you’re fucking insane,” you murmured, but your voice was breathless, your body already aching for him.

“you love it,” he shot back, his lips brushing against your ear. “love how i can’t get enough of you. love how i make you feel.”

he kissed you then, rough and hungry, his hands roaming over your back, your ass, pulling you against him like he couldn’t stand even an inch of space between you. the water sloshed around you as he shifted, lining himself up and sinking into you with one smooth thrust.

“fuuuuck,” he groaned, his head falling back against the edge of the tub. “tight as ever, baby. you feel so goddamn good.”

you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as you adjusted to the stretch, the heat of him inside you. the combination of the hot water and the way he filled you was overwhelming in the best way, your body already trembling as you started to move.

he let you set the pace at first, his hands gripping your hips as you rocked against him, slow and steady. but it didn’t last long. soldier boy was never one to let you stay in control for too long.

“that’s cute,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery as he grabbed your ass, pulling you down harder. “but you know i can’t let you have all the fun.”

before you could respond, he took over, thrusting up into you with a force that had the water splashing over the edge of the tub. the sound of skin against skin mixed with the bubbling of the jacuzzi and the distant rustle of the woods, the perfect symphony of sin.

“shit,” you gasped, your hands bracing against his chest as he pounded into you, each thrust sending a shockwave of pleasure through your body. “ben—fuck, i can’t—”

“yes, you can,” he growled, his grip tightening on your hips. “you’re gonna take it, baby. every fuckin’ inch. you hear me?”

the faint sounds of the woods around you—the wind in the trees, the occasional snap of a branch. it was like the forest was watching, bearing witness to the way he was wrecking you.

“someone’s probably out there,” he said, his voice dropping to a taunting whisper. “some poor fucker sneaking through the woods, getting an eyeful. bet they wish they were me right now.”

the thought sent a thrill through you, your body clenching around him as the tension coiled tighter and tighter in your core. he felt it, grinning like the smug bastard he was.

“yeah, that’s it,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your neck. “cum for me, sweetheart. let ‘em hear you.”

you did, your orgasm washing over you like a tidal wave, your cries echoing into the night as he kept fucking you through it, dragging every last bit of pleasure from your trembling body.

“fuck, that’s my girl,” he groaned, his rhythm faltering as he chased his own release. with one last, rough thrust, he came, his hands gripping you so tightly you knew there’d be bruises in the morning.

you stayed like that for a moment, both of you catching your breath, the water calming around you. the woods were quiet again, as if the forest had been holding its breath right along with you.

“we’re definitely doing that again,” he said finally, his voice rough but satisfied.

you laughed, resting your forehead against his. “maybe next time we’ll try it indoors.”

“where’s the fun in that?” he said, smirking. “besides, i think the woods enjoyed the show.”

you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. this was what you’d come here for—a break, a chance to forget everything else and just be with him. and if the woods were watching, well... let them.

[plaidcowboy]

his camgirl

( synopsis ) — finally getting a break away from sam and away from all the hunting. he visits his favorite girls stream, yours. happy to spend all of his money on you if it meant he could relieve himself.

( warning ) — mdni, smut, camgirl, lingerie, sex toys, dean praising u thru chat, dirty talk, male masturbation, deepthroating, dacryphillia if you squint. this is a reupload from my old account.

Was Dean the type of man to indulge in something like this? Absolutely. More than anyone else he knew, Dean was aware, unapologetically so, that this was exactly his kind of thing.

He sat alone in a dimly lit motel room, the familiar creak of the mattress beneath him as he leaned back against the headboard. Sam was out, running errands or maybe chasing a lead on his own, and Dean knew he had time. Time to unwind in his own way. With one hand he began to unbutton his jeans, the other deftly maneuvering the mouse of his aging laptop until he landed on a site he knew far too well.

BecomeACamGirl.com

His preferred distraction. His favorite money sink. Hundreds of dollars funneled through fraudulent credit cards, all to indulge in moments of digital intimacy that felt far too real. He justified it easily.. if the money wasn't theirs to begin with, then why not spend it on something that made him feel something?

And then there was you.

Or rather, Sugar, your screen name, sweet and simple, but with a bite that matched your smile. You were his weakness. The way you spoke to him in chat, the way you said his name.. moaned his name.. it drove him to the brink every single time. It wasn't just lust. It was obsession, tangled with the illusion of connection.

He clicked through to your profile. You were live. Thank God.

It had been weeks since he'd had the chance. Sam had been glued to his side lately, and solo moments like these were becoming rare. But now, now he had you.

"Dean," your voice purred through the speakers, sultry and teasing. You sat on the floor of your softly lit bedroom, framed by plush carpet and shadows. Lingerie hugged your curves like a second skin. "Nice of you to join. Was starting to miss my favorite boy." You smiled, biting your bottom lip just enough to make his heart race.

Dean let out a breathless chuckle, jeans and boxers shoved down in one practiced motion. He typed with one hand, the other already gripping the base of his aching cock as he sent a $50 tip along with a message.

Dean: Missed you, sweet thing.

You glanced to the side to read it, your smile widening as you spoke. "You remember the last time you were here? Bought me something off my wishlist?" You leaned off camera for a moment.

Oh, he remembered. A white lace lingerie set.. soft, delicate, almost innocent. He'd imagined you in it for days. Then, he imagined it crumpled on his bedroom floor.

You returned, holding the set between two fingers like a promise. "Should I go put this on for you guys?" you asked, your voice light with a playful lilt. You giggled as you scrolled through the chat.

Dean didn't hesitate. His body moved on instinct, fingers flying over the keys as the tension in him built higher.

Dean: Fuck yeah.

After stepping off screen for a few moments, you return to view. Dean's white lingerie hugging your curves, your hair now loose around your shoulders. With a coy, knowing smile, you sit back down, settling gracefully as you flash a bashful grin to the camera.

"Do you like it?" you murmur, your voice soft and teasing.

Leaning back on your palms, you subtly adjust your posture, striking a few flattering poses to show off your body in all the right angles.

On the other side of the screen, Dean exhales sharply. Without hesitation, he spits into the palm of his hand and rewraps it around the base of his cock, slicking himself up slowly, his eyes never leaving the screen.

You reach off camera and return with a pastel pink dildo, bringing it into view with a lazy smile. You drizzle lube into your free hand, the bottle making a soft sound as you apply it, then start stroking the toy with practiced ease.

"God, baby... you're so big," you whisper breathlessly, eyes flicking up toward the camera, every word dipped in desire.

"Let me taste you. Please? Want you in my mouth," you plead softly, your lips forming a pout as you lean in, giving the silicone tip a slow, deliberate lick while holding eye contact with the lens.

Dean lets out a low groan, whispering as if you could actually hear him. "Yeah... you can," he mutters, nodding to himself, immersed entirely in the illusion that you're in the room with him.

His breath catches as he watches you take the toy fully into your mouth, lips stretched around the shaft until you reach the base, tears stinging your eyes. When you pull back, a glistening string of spit connects your lips to the toy, and his grip tightens reflexively as he watches the tears slowly drift down your cheeks.

Dean's imagination runs wild, wondering how your throat would feel around him. Could you handle all of him? Would you gag? Would you moan around him, would your eyes wet as you took every inch?

You moan softly, your free hand rising to cup your chest as you begin sucking on the toy once more, slow and sensual.

"Fuck, sugar," Dean groans, closing his eyes for a moment, hips jerking upward into his own hand as pleasure courses through him.

"Cum for me, baby," you whisper sweetly, pulling off the dildo and stroking it slowly, resting your cheek against it as you gaze into the camera with wide, glistening eyes.

"'m cumming, sugar... fuck," he gasps, his voice low and broken. With a series of quiet grunts, Dean finishes into his hand, his body tensing as he rides out the wave, breath stuttering in his chest.

You smile softly, reading through the flood of chat messages and generous tips rolling in. One by one, thank you notes and donations appear, until Dean's $300 tip pops up, rocketing him from second place to the coveted top spot: your highest tipper of the night.

Dean: Until next time, sweet girl.

"Thank you all for coming tonight. Thank you, Dean." you say gently, your voice dripping with satisfaction. "You were amazing. I'll see you next time, yeah? And don't forget, there's a new chat option if you ever want to talk."

Dean's eyes narrow with interest at that last line, watching as the camera clicks off and your profile reappears on screen. He grabs a towel from beside the bed, cleaning himself off as he scans the new feature you teased.

A direct message option.. private access to you, his favorite camgirl. For $20, he could talk to you directly, one on one.

He smirks.

He might just have to give that a try.

[tinybeetiny]

can u please make more ateez angst when you have time and feel like writing something that hurts. it doesn’t have to have a happy ending as long as y/n isn’t a totally pushover, it also doesn’t matter for which member or whether it’s something in the format as the “they call you clingy” fic or a traditional fic! thanks in advance and regardless of whether you take this request keep up the good work girly!

When they yell at you: OT8

Aaah now that i got all my "I Love You" fluffs done I figured i could give yall some angsty angst!!! I hope this was ever thing you wanted anon! I appreciate your kind words and i do like the whole Yn not being a total push over!!!

->Starring: OT8xReader ->Genre: Angst ->Cw: Yelling, gaslighting? maybe?, hurt no comfort, there will be NO part 2, no second chances, mean everyone except Yn... because as you should, stand for yourself pookie

Masterlist | Ateez Masterlist

Seonghwa:

It started with silence, Seonghwa’s favorite kind of armor.

He stood in the kitchen, back turned, cleaning the same glass for the third time. You leaned against the doorframe, watching him, your own chest tightening from the weight in the air.

“Are you really not going to talk to me?” you finally asked, voice barely above a whisper.

His hand froze mid-wipe. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“There’s everything to talk about, Seonghwa,” you said, stepping in. “You shut down whenever something gets too close. You’ve been distant for weeks, and I’m here trying to hold us together with what? Prayers and duct tape?”

He set the glass down with a loud clink and turned. His jaw was tight, eyes rimmed with exhaustion. “You think this is easy for me? That I’m just choosing to shut down?”

“No. I think you’re scared of confronting things that hurt. And instead of dealing with them, you pretend nothing’s wrong until we break apart in silence.”

His jaw clenched, and suddenly he slammed his fist on the counter, knocking the glass over.

“Enough,” he growled, voice low and rough. “You think your constant worrying, your endless questions, is going to ‘fix’ things… you make everything worse!”

The words crashed over you, sharper and colder than you expected.

Your breath caught. Your eyes went wide, the sting of his cruelty like a slap you hadn’t seen coming.

Seonghwa’s face instantly paled, his eyes widening as if the words echoed back at him with new, terrifying weight.

He blinked, swallowing hard.

You froze.

Your throat burned. “Say that again.”

He didn’t.

“I dare you to look me in the eye and say I made things worse by caring. By trying.”

Seonghwa dropped his gaze. The crack in his facade was starting to show, but it was too late.

“I’ve bent myself backwards for you,” you continued, voice trembling but firm. “Tried to read between the lines of your silence. Tried to understand your moods like they were a second language. But this? This is where I draw the line.”

“Y/n—”

“No,” you snapped. “You don’t get to make me the villain in your story because you’re afraid of being vulnerable. I’m not your enemy, Seonghwa. But if this is how you talk to someone who loves you, then maybe you don’t understand what love really is.”

He opened his mouth to argue but nothing came out.

You took a slow breath, grounding yourself in your own strength. “You want peace? Start by not wounding the people who are on your side.”

He reached for your hand. “Please don’t go.”

“I’m not going far,” you whispered. “But I’m not staying here just to be hurt, either. Figure out if you're going to keep pushing me away every time you're scared. Because I can’t love someone who punishes me for caring.”

You slipped your hand out of his and turned, tears pooling, but not falling, until you stepped outside and let the door close behind you.

Inside, Seonghwa stood completely still, hand outstretched, realizing far too late that he just broke the one person who never asked for anything but honesty.

Hongjoong:

The apartment was dim when you walked in, the only light coming from the cold glow of Hongjoong’s laptop screen. You kicked off your shoes quietly, careful not to disturb the fragile calm. The takeout container felt heavy in your hands, but you hoped a simple meal might bring a moment of peace.

He hadn’t noticed you yet, hunched over his desk, eyes bloodshot, the soft buzz of the headphones muffling his low muttering. The weight of exhaustion clung to him like a second skin.

You placed the food on the table gently, trying to keep your voice calm.

“Hey, I got your favorite—”

He slammed the laptop shut with a sharp clack that echoed through the small room. His gaze snapped toward you, eyes blazing with a frustration you hadn’t seen before.

“You seriously thought now was a good time to come home with takeout?” he snapped, voice sharper than ever.

You blinked, the surprise pinching your chest. “I just thought you might be hungry. You haven’t eaten all day.”

His breath hitched, but his anger poured out like a flood. “I don’t have time to eat!” he shouted, standing abruptly, the tension radiating off him like heat. “Do you even understand the pressure I’m under? No. You don't because I’m doing everything alone!”

Silence. Not the comfortable kind. The kind that burns your lungs when you try to breathe.

Your heart thudded fiercely against your ribs. “Excuse me?”

He ran a hand over his face, already pacing, voice rising with every word. “I have to produce, mix, write lyrics, manage schedules, all while you just… float around here like everything’s normal.”

You swallowed the lump tightening in your throat, trying to steady your voice. “You’re exhausted. I get that. But you don’t get to talk to me like that because you’re spiraling.”

He stopped, staring through you as if you were a ghost, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

You stepped forward, voice steady but thick with emotion. “I’ve stayed up with you on the nights you were too anxious to sleep. I’ve sat in silence with you when words failed you. I’ve tried everything to make your world a little softer when it got too loud and now I’m just… what? In your way?”

No answer. Just the frantic rhythm of his breathing.

Your voice cracked, not from weakness but the strength it took to stand tall amid the storm. “Don’t mistake my quiet support for invisibility. I see you, Hongjoong. But I will not let you erase me just to feel like you’re in control.”

The room was heavy with silence again, thick and suffocating.

You bent down to grab your keys, every movement deliberate to calm your shaking hands.

Hongjoong finally moved toward you, eyes wide with desperation. “Wait! Don’t go. I didn’t mean—”

You turned, meeting his gaze with unwavering resolve. “You did. And maybe that’s the problem.”

The door clicked softly behind you, sealing the night shut.

Hongjoong was left alone, the echo of your words hanging in the stale air, and the untouched dinner, still warm and forgotten on the table.

Yunho:

Dinner was quiet, eerily so.

You sat across from him, your plate untouched. The only sound came from Yunho’s occasional laughter as he scrolled through his phone, completely absorbed. You watched him, your chest tightening with every second that passed without a glance in your direction.

You didn’t want to ruin the night. But you also couldn’t take it anymore.

“How was your day?”

“Good” he muttered, eyes still on his screen.

“Anything new?” you asked, hoping he'd look up

"Not really?"

"Do you even want to do this?"

He sighed like it was a burden. “Y/n, don’t start right now. I’m tired.”

“I’ve been quiet for weeks, Yunho. How much longer was I supposed to keep swallowing how empty this feels?”

He finally looked up, just in time for the irritation to flash in his eyes.

And then, he snapped.

“Can you just shut up for once?”

Everything inside you went silent.

You stared at him, stunned, but only for a breath. Your heart thudded, but you didn’t flinch. Instead, you pushed back your chair and stood slowly.

Your voice came out low, deadly calm.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?”

His face shifted, regret flickering behind the anger, but it was far too late.

“I—I didn’t mean it like—”

“No. You said it. Loud and clear,” you cut him off, voice shaking with fury. “You think I’ve been nagging? You think this is me being dramatic? Try being in a relationship where your boyfriend would rather talk to his phone than look at you.”

He stepped forward. “Y/n, I didn’t mean it—”

“But you did,” you snapped, backing away. “Don’t try to twist it now. You told me to shut up for finally asking why I’m hurting. And you think you’re the one who’s tired?”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall in front of him. “I have begged for your attention in silence for weeks. I’ve sat across this table, hoping, praying, you’d notice I was breaking. But now I know why you didn’t.”

You grabbed your bag, every movement filled with controlled fire.

“You stopped caring a long time ago and maybe I should stop wasting my voice on someone who only notices when I'm about to leave.”

You turned toward the door, but paused just long enough to look back.

“I don’t care how tired you are, Yunho. You don’t get to make me small just because you can’t handle the sound of my pain.”

Then you walked out, slamming the door behind you, leaving him alone with his phone, the cold food, and the sinking weight of his own cruelty.

Yeosang:

The studio buzzed with the rhythmic sounds of footsteps and heavy breathing as the members drilled the new choreography. You stood near the edge of the room, watching Yeosang as he moved with sharp precision, but his face betrayed something deeper, frustration and exhaustion etched into every line.

He stumbled on a difficult step, swearing under his breath. The frustration bubbled over quickly.

When the group took a short break, you stepped forward, hoping to offer some comfort.

“Yeosang, you’re really killing it out there. This routine’s tough, but I believe in you.”

Your words were soft, genuine, meant to soothe the tension hanging in the air.

Instead, Yeosang’s face twisted into a scowl. He spun around, eyes flashing with something fierce and raw.

“Do you even realize what I’m dealing with?” he snapped, voice rising louder than you expected making your eyes widen. “You think your little pep talk is helping? It’s not! You have no idea what I’m going through!”

The room fell still. Your heart clenched at the sharpness in his voice, but you refused to back down.

“I’m just trying to support you,” you said calmly, meeting his glare. “I’m here because I care.”

Yeosang’s jaw tightened, fingers curling into fists at his sides. “Care? That’s easy to say when you don’t have the weight of every expectation crushing down on you. The pressure to be perfect, the constant eyes watching, the fear of messing up, I live with that every second.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, feeling the weight of his pain but also the sting of his words.

Hongjoong stepped forward cautiously. “Yeosang, it’s okay to be frustrated. We all are. But don’t take it out on—”

“Don’t,” Yeosang cut him off sharply, eyes wild. “You don’t get to tell me to calm down. Nobody understands this like I do.”

You saw the others exchange uneasy glances, unsure how to intervene without making things worse.

“I may not be on stage,” you said quietly but firmly, “but I see you. I see the pressure. And I also see how you’re pushing away the people who want to support you.”

His breathing was heavy now, chest rising and falling quickly.

“Maybe my words don’t fix anything,” you continued, voice steady despite the ache in your chest. “But lashing out doesn’t make it better either.”

Yeosang shook his head, frustration and something softer flickering behind his eyes.

“I’m trying to hold everything together. Sometimes, it feels like it’s too much.”

You took a step closer, unwavering. “And you’re not alone. But if you keep shutting people out, you’ll be fighting that battle alone.”

He looked at you then, vulnerability breaking through the anger for just a moment.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice cracking.

You shook your head gently. “Sorry isn’t enough when it’s this constant. I’m here because I want to be by your side, not because I’m willing to be treated like a problem.”

The room was silent except for the distant hum of the air conditioner and your steady breaths.

“I need space,” you said finally, voice firm. “If this is how it’s going to be, I need to step away.”

Without waiting for a response, you turned and walked toward the exit, your footsteps echoing in the quiet studio.

Behind you, Yeosang stood frozen, surrounded by his brothers, the weight of his frustration now heavier with the absence of the one person who believed in him most.

San:

The rain tapped steadily against the windows, the sound echoing through your apartment.

You stood by the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching San pace like he was walking circles around an answer he couldn’t find. His jaw was clenched, eyes dark and distant.

You had been arguing for twenty minutes, but somewhere around minute twelve, it had stopped being about the dishes, or the missed calls, or the weekend he forgot to come home.

Now, it was something else. Something ugly. Something buried too long.

“You think everything has to be about you!” he suddenly exploded, voice cutting through the silence like glass. “God, it’s exhausting!”

Your spine straightened. “Excuse me?”

“You never shut up about how you feel, how you’re hurting, how you need more time, more answers, more, whatever the hell you think I owe you.”

You blinked. Once. Twice. “You do owe me something, San. Respect. Consistency. The bare minimum of communication.” Your voice stayed level, but your heart was thudding so loud it made your ears ring. “I haven’t been asking for miracles. I’ve been asking you to show up.”

He laughed bitterly. “Show up? You mean like how you always keep score? Like every time I’m late, it’s another point on your perfect little tally board?”

“Late?” you scoffed. “Try disappearing, San. Try not answering texts for days and pretending like you’re not the one pulling away. I’ve been right here, the whole damn time, waiting for you to be honest with me.”

He shook his head like he couldn’t bear to hear it.

You stepped forward. “Say something. Say anything real for once.”

And then he did.

Something in his expression snapped. His shoulders stiffened, and when he spoke, his voice came out like venom.

“Maybe I don’t want to be here anymore.”

You froze.

The words didn’t land immediately. They echoed instead, bouncing off the walls and repeating in your mind until they sank in. Your mouth went dry.

Your voice cracked, but not with weakness, only disbelief. “You’re really going to say that to me? After everything we’ve been through?”

He looked away. Said nothing.

So you filled the silence. “You want out? Fine. But don’t you dare act like I’m the problem just because you don’t have the guts to admit you’ve already checked out.”

His eyes flashed. “You act like you're some saint for putting up with me, but you’re controlling. You act like you're always right. Like you know me better than I know myself.”

“I do know you!” you shouted. “And I know you’re scared. I know you’re pushing me away so you don’t have to feel guilty when you finally walk. But I won’t be here when you do. I won’t let you hurt me twice.”

He looked stunned for half a second. Then he masked it again.

You grabbed your keys from the table, fingers trembling, but your spine was steel.

“I loved you, San,” you said, voice trembling but firm. “And I thought you loved me too. But if this is what your love looks like, if it's yelling and silence and emotional whiplash, then I don’t want it.”

You moved to the door.

“Wait—” he started, but the word died in his throat.

You turned back one last time, your eyes shining but your chin lifted.

“I fought for us. I did. But I’m done fighting alone.”

The door clicked shut behind you before he could say another word.

And in the quiet that followed, he realized the worst thing of all

You weren’t bluffing.

You weren’t coming back.

Mingi:

The room was filled with a tension no music could drown out.

You sat on the edge of the couch, your knee bouncing anxiously while Mingi stood near the window, arms crossed, back rigid. The playlist he’d put on earlier still played in the background, some lo-fi beat that now felt too soft for the sharp air between you.

You hadn’t meant to fight tonight.

It had started with something small, an offhand comment, a flicker of disappointment you voiced gently. But with Mingi lately, even small things had begun to feel impossible. Like walking across cracked ice, hoping it didn’t break beneath you.

“I don’t get why you always shut down when I bring up something that’s bothering me,” you said, your voice soft but tired. “I’m not attacking you, Mingi. I’m not trying to corner you. I just want us to talk, like adults.”

He scoffed under his breath, his jaw clenching as he looked out the window. “It’s always something with you. Every little thing becomes a whole speech. A crisis.”

The words hit harder than he probably meant them to. You flinched, your eyes narrowing slightly.

“Is that really what you think I’m doing?” you asked quietly.

He ran a hand through his hair and began pacing, his frustration unraveling by the second. “I just… I don’t know how to do all this deep, emotional, whatever. Sometimes it feels like we’re on completely different pages. Like I’m trying to breathe and you’re handing me a rulebook.”

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest. You stood up slowly, leveling your gaze at him.

“I’m not trying to suffocate you, Mingi. I’m trying to love you. Loving someone requires talking. Feeling. Trying. It requires presence, not just being in the room but actually showing up when it counts.”

He turned on you then, eyes flashing. Voice raising “Then maybe you should find someone who actually understands you.”

The silence that followed wasn’t just quiet, it was brutal.

Your breath caught. You stared at him, frozen in place as the words settled deep into your skin like bruises blooming all at once.

He froze too, his face falling almost instantly, regret chasing the fire from his features. “Y/n, I didn’t mean that—”

You took a single step back. That was all. But it felt like an earthquake.

“No, Mingi,” you said, voice low, trembling but controlled. “You did mean it. You wanted to hurt me. And congratulations. You did.”

He stepped forward, panicked now. “No, I didn’t. I swear. I just, I didn’t know what to say. I said the wrong thing.”

You held up a hand. “Don’t insult me by pretending it just slipped out. You said the exact thing that would make me shut down. The thing you knew would hit the deepest place. And now that I’m quiet, you want to backpedal?”

His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

You weren’t done.

“You act like me needing communication makes me needy. Like I’m too sensitive. Too much. But let me ask you something, Mingi. How long did you expect me to keep giving and giving while you locked yourself behind walls and told me I was lucky just to be let in once a week?”

He blinked rapidly, his throat bobbing as he swallowed back whatever emotion was rising.

“I never asked you to give so much-” he tried.

“But you let me,” you cut in, voice sharp now. “You let me pour everything I had into us while you stayed silent and now you want to play the overwhelmed victim because I asked you to show up? I don’t need perfect, Mingi. I just needed effort.”

He stepped closer, tears in his eyes now. “I didn’t know how to handle any of it. I was scared. Of failing. Of disappointing you.”

You smiled bitterly, eyes glassy. “And instead, you chose to push me away before I could be the one to leave.”

You moved to pick up your bag. The quiet shuffle of fabric sounded deafening against the stillness of the room.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Please… just give me a second chance.”

You looked over your shoulder, voice breaking as you spoke. “I gave you so many second chances, Mingi and you spent them all convincing me my emotions were too loud.”

He reached for your hand, but you pulled away.

“I loved you. Truly. Fully. With everything I had. You’ll remember that when you're lying awake at night wishing you hadn’t made me feel like I was a burden to be tolerated instead of a person to be loved.”

You didn’t slam the door. You didn’t scream. You just walked away, quiet and resolute, leaving Mingi in the hollow silence that remained, alone with the echo of his own words and the weight of the love he’d just lost.

Wooyoung:

It started with a simple question.

“Who was that texting you at 2 a.m.?” you asked gently, sitting on the edge of the bed, fingers loosely laced in your lap, voice careful—too careful, like you already sensed the storm building beneath the surface.

Wooyoung froze mid-step, towel draped around his neck from a late-night dance session. He turned halfway toward you, tension immediately tightening his frame.

“What?”

“I just… noticed your phone going off last night,” you continued. “A few times, actually. Then you locked it and turned it face down. I’m not accusing you of anything, Wooyoung. I’m just asking.”

He scoffed, tossing the towel carelessly onto the dresser like it suddenly weighed too much.

“Unbelievable.”

Your brow furrowed. “What is?”

“You,” he snapped, his tone already too sharp. “Always doing this. You say you’re not accusing me, but your tone says otherwise. Like you’re just waiting for me to slip up.”

You stood slowly, not out of anger, but because the air between you suddenly felt brittle, like it might shatter if you stayed still. “I’m not doing anything, Wooyoung. I asked a question because I care. Because lately, it feels like you’ve been somewhere else entirely.”

He laughed bitterly, cold, joyless. “God, you don’t trust me, do you?”

Your heart stuttered.

“What?” you whispered.

He stepped back, eyes wild. “Why are we even doing this if you don’t believe in me?”

You blinked, stunned.

“Wooyoung—”

“No,” he cut you off, louder now, words like thrown knives. “You don’t trust me, so why the hell are we even doing this?”

And just like that, something inside you cracked.

Not from the words themselves, but from the way he said them. From the fact that he knew where to strike and didn’t hesitate.

You stared at him, the silence around you thick with disbelief. “Are you serious right now?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but you beat him to it, your voice no longer calm, no longer soft.

“No,” you said, firm and rising. “You do not get to spin this on me.”

Wooyoung’s expression flickered, regret starting to creep in, but it was too late.

“I asked you a question. A basic, honest question. And instead of answering, you turned it into an attack. You flipped it on me so you wouldn’t have to be accountable.”

He faltered. “I just. I'm tired of being interrogated—”

“And I’m tired of being gaslit every time I bring up something real!” you shouted, chest heaving. “I am not the villain in this story, Wooyoung. I’ve shown up for you. Every single time. Even when you were distant. Even when you wouldn’t talk. I’ve sat in silence, waited for you to open up, given you every chance because I trusted you.”

He stood there, blinking rapidly, lips parting as if to speak—then closing again.

“You think trust means never questioning anything?” you pressed, voice cracking slightly. “Trust means honesty. It means facing hard things together. But every time I try to do that, you shut down or turn it into an argument.”

You looked at him, really looked. The way his shoulders were tense, hands fidgeting at his sides. Like he wanted to reach for you, but didn’t know if he was allowed to.

“You’ve made me feel like my concern is a problem. Like I’m too much for needing clarity. For wanting to feel secure. You dodge with sarcasm, or you guilt-trip me until I’m the one apologizing.”

“I didn’t mean to—” he tried.

“You never mean to,” you interrupted, quieter now. But no less fierce. “But that doesn’t make it hurt less. That doesn’t fix the way I go to sleep every night wondering if I said something wrong just because you won’t communicate.”

He stepped toward you, voice trembling now. “Y/n, I didn’t know what to say, I panicked, I wasn’t thinking.”

“No,” you whispered, stepping back. “You were thinking. You thought saying something cruel would shut me up faster than the truth ever could.”

His face crumpled, the beginnings of tears in his eyes.

“I’m not asking you to be perfect,” you said. “I’m asking you to be real with me. I’m asking you to meet me halfway instead of making me feel crazy for feeling anything at all.”

He looked at you like he was seeing you clearly for the first time—and maybe he was.

“I have never demanded anything from you that you didn’t already promise me. Honesty. Effort. Respect.” You moved to the dresser, picking up your bag with shaking hands. “If those things feel like mistrust to you, maybe you’re not ready for real love.”

The words echoed in the space between you, and neither of you moved.

He reached out, voice barely audible. “Please… don’t leave. We can fix this.”

You paused by the door. And when you turned to face him, your eyes weren’t cold, but they were done pleading.

“You want my trust?” you said softly. “Then stop treating my heart like a threat. You want my love? Then stop using my questions as an excuse to hide.”

And then you left, quiet, firm, and entirely in control of your own worth.

Behind you, Wooyoung sank to the bed like the wind had been knocked from him, the weight of your absence louder than anything he’d said all night.

And for the first time, he realized your silence wasn’t the problem.

It was his.

Jongho:

The room felt like it was closing in.

The air was thick with tension, charged with everything neither of you had said for days. The TV still played in the background, long forgotten. A half-eaten dinner sat on the table, untouched and cold. You stood near the door, your back against it as if anchoring yourself in place.

Jongho paced like a caged animal, his fists clenched at his sides, jaw tight, shoulders trembling from holding back what was clearly boiling just beneath the surface.

“You don’t get it!” he exploded, his voice cracking on the edge of something sharp and dangerous. “You think you always know what’s best for me, like I’m some damn kid who needs saving. Like you’re the only one who cares enough to make decisions.”

You flinched at the volume, but you didn’t back down. You’d been walking on eggshells too long already.

“I’m not trying to control you,” you said, voice firm but gentle. “I’m trying to protect us. But it’s like every time I reach for you, you push me further away.”

He scoffed bitterly, throwing his hands in the air. “Protect us? No. You’re protecting yourself, from me. Every time I feel something, you want to dissect it, fix it, control it.”

Your brows drew together, hurt flashing in your eyes. “That’s not fair.”

“No,” he snapped, stepping forward. “What’s not fair is being treated like I’m some fragile project. I’m not. I’m a person. A person who doesn’t need you constantly reminding me of what I should be doing or feeling.”

“I never said you were fragile,” you whispered, but the sting in your chest begged to differ.

Jongho’s voice rose again, laced with frustration. “You don’t say it, you show it. Every time I mess up, every time I get quiet, you act like it’s your job to fix me. Maybe I’m just tired. Maybe I don’t want to be held under a microscope every time I shut down.”

“Maybe you’re scared,” you said quietly, stepping closer, refusing to be bulldozed. “Scared of being vulnerable. But pushing me away doesn’t make that fear disappear. It just makes you cruel.”

He slammed his palm against the edge of the kitchen counter, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the room. “You don’t get to tell me how to be scared! I’m trying, God, I am trying, but you don’t listen. You just push. Always pushing.”

The tears burned at your eyes, but you held your ground. “Because I’m fighting for us, Jongho. Because every time you shut down, I stay. I sit with you in the silence, I reach through your walls. But I can’t keep reaching if you keep backing up like I’m the one hurting you.”

He turned to face you fully, chest heaving. “You are hurting me.”

That cut deeper than anything else he’d said.

“I’m hurting you?” you echoed, voice barely a whisper. “By loving you? By trying to understand you?”

He didn’t answer. And that silence? That told you everything.

“I’m not trying to fix you,” you said, voice shaking but strong. “I’m trying to love you. Honestly. Patiently. But if every time I open up, you meet me with anger, then what the hell are we even doing?”

He stepped closer again, face twisted in conflict, voice lowering into something raw. “Maybe I don’t want to be loved that way. Maybe I’m tired of feeling like I’m never enough for you.”

You stared at him, stunned. Then the words came, thick with heartbreak. “You are more than enough. But I’m not enough for you. Not if I have to shrink myself just to keep you from shutting down.”

His breath caught. “Don’t say that—”

“I have to,” you interrupted, voice cracking. “Because I keep begging for the bare minimum and calling it love. And I’m done.”

Jongho’s face crumpled. “Y/n, please… don’t walk away. Not like this.”

You stared at him for a long moment. The way his chest was rising and falling, the unshed tears in his eyes, the tremble in his hands. It was everything you’d wanted to see, emotion, vulnerability, presence, but it was too late.

“I can’t keep being the only one who’s trying,” you whispered, tears finally falling. “The only one scared of losing us. If you can’t fight for me, then I have to fight for myself.”

He reached for you, his voice a desperate plea. “Don’t go.”

You stepped back, your voice steady despite everything inside you breaking. “I love you, Jongho. But I won’t lose myself just to be loved by someone who only notices me when I’m about to leave.”

You turned, grabbed your coat with trembling hands, and walked toward the door.

And this time, he didn’t stop you.

The door clicked shut behind you with quiet finality, and the echo of it hollowed out the entire room. Jongho stood there, unmoving, arms limp at his sides as the silence collapsed around him.

Only now did he understand the damage he’d done, not in the heat of yelling, but in every moment he made you feel like you weren’t enough.

And now, for the first time, you weren’t there to reassure him that he was.

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[finelinefae]

Hi my loves 🪽

I’m extremely very sorry for disappearing again. I honestly didn’t plan to and was writing something new to share but this past year has been really really hard!!

I’m going to be talking about mental health so if you want to skip this then please do!! I will just say here, thank you for every interaction you have made with my writing. It means everything to me. But most of all thank you for your patience, I love you very much and appreciate you taking the time to read my fics 🤍 thank you thank you thank you!!!

tw; mental health chit chat

Recently I was diagnosed with C-PTSD and it’s really taken a toll on my entire life. I wasn’t expecting it and I’ve been struggling to figure out how to heal and comprehending how much I need to do in order to heal. Ive been switching between sadness, anger and grief over the past few months and that’s all I ever feel lately. It’s really overwhelming and although I can put a name to the thing that’s been taking over my adult life so far, having to accept that my childhood wasn’t normal and that my pain was caused by things out of my control has been a little bit rough so to say

I don’t often share things like this to anyone but people closest to me but I think I just wanted to let you know because everyday I see people reblogging and liking and commenting and following and it doesn’t fail to make me happy. When I say it means the world I truly mean it. Writing is my whole life and amongst all the bad it has been a silver lining in my life, the thing that took me away from all the crazy and bought a pocket of good. Having you guys respond to it in such a positive way means everything to me.

I’ve been writing a lot this year to get through the days. I’ve been working on a personal project, writing my very first book, and even though I still write I can’t help but miss writing on here the most.

I hope to post something over the next couple of weeks. I haven’t written a Bambi post in a while but I plan to eventually go back into that world soon,, I know u guys are so patiently waiting for it (thank you omg) I also plan to post the series I was working on and planned to post months ago. It’s a boxing/gangleader fic and I love what I’ve written so far!!!!! In the mean time I hope to post a few soft girl Sundays to ease myself into things. 🤍

All of this will take time but I just wanted to say again how grateful I am for you and your patience and for just sticking around!! I can’t wait to start posting again (however that may look like) and I just appreciate you all very much 🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

Thank you, love you lots

All my love,

Clo xx

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Yes, that U-shaped curve is one of the main findings of Thomas Piketty’s Capital in the Twenty-First Century, the book I’m reading.

And you’re right, I made an error in my calculations! I got myself switched from the figures for the top 10% to the figures for the top 1% in the middle. I’m going to edit it and make a note, thanks for catching that!

Top 10%: Around 90% in 1910, a little over 60% in 1970-1990, 70% in 2010

Top 1%: Around 70% in 1910, low 20%s in 1970-1990, high 20%s in 2010

There are also a few different components to economic inequality – wealth inequality, which is what the above figures are for, is just one of them. Income inequality from pay and benefits is one that’s really taken off in Anglo-American countries, mostly due to skyrocketing pay of CEOs and other high-level executives and managers. In the US, for example, in 2010 the top 1% in terms of income accounted for nearly 20% of total income – higher than in 1914, and far higher than its low point of around 8% in the 1960s-1970s. Canada’s trajectory is similar to the US, though somewhat lower, with the top 1% accounting for around 12% of income in 2010.

Also, Piketty adds the caveat that some the wealth is likely unaccounted for due to tax havens, so the figures for wealth inequality are probably a lower bound for estimates.

Rilla of Ingleside Book Club – Chapter 10 (“The Troubles of Rilla”)

Lots of things I could comment on in this chapter, but the thing that’s sticking in my mind in relation to Rilla’s hat and the mentality of “doing without” on the home front is that an economics book I’m reading says that in 1914 the richest 10% of people in Britain owned around 90% of total British wealth[1]. It doesn’t give stats for Canada, but still – don’t worry, Rilla, the price of your hat is not carrying the war effort.

[1] That did go down substantially, during – and because of – first WWI and then WWII. By 1950 it was a little under 50%, in 1970 a little over 20%, and in 2010 a little under 30%.

[mail-me-a-snail]

Tell me about Vance 🫵

thank u for giving me this opportunity to introduce you to vance my love my light v(ance). it's. a long one. a very long one

vance is a gay transgender man who grew up in a corporate family. his mother n father had met while working for arasaka counterintel during the 4th corpo war and had vance and his sister maya shortly after the war ended. they owe arasaka their comfortable, safe lives; if it weren't for their loyalty to the megacorp, they'd have been crammed into some rundown megabuilding alongside a thousand other poor, working class night citizens.

a lot of things started to change for vance when he turned 15. he realized he was transgender and confided this in maya, who had suggested his first chosen name: he started going by penn when he started his education at arasaka academy.

this was also the year he received an official, albeit beginner-level, cyberdeck. it's a hard implant for someone so young, but he had expressed an interest in tech and the NET years beforehand; why not let him hold the beauty of it in the palm of his hand?

he had jumped at the opportunity. he had always wanted it; why not accept it, now that he's been told he could have it?

he began to see his small world for its interlocking machinations. began to understand the little bits of code fluttering inside every piece of tech in the city. with the cyberdeck linked up to his neural systems, night city's buzzing got louder and louder, until the ever-present drone started keeping him up at night.

it would follow him throughout all his years in the academy—right until he graduated and arrived on arasaka's doorstep at the age of 19, newly transitioned and unaware of the other, freer paths the world might've had for him.

they took the beginner deck they had given him four years prior and began building him a new one.

a new deck required new implants. some of these were necessary, at first: a black steel spine to shoulder the weight of the deck, for example.

but over time, as vance excelled at every task they had given him, and then some—arasaka began to wonder: could they make him into something beautiful, in its intricacy, something impossible?

the average netrunner looks like their profession; technosights; jumpsuits; the seams for their cyberware running through their skin.

arasaka wanted to create something different—something covert. the most innocous of people; a tech weapon the nusa government themselves would kill to have (but how little they really knew).

vance's handlers proposed this plan to vance himself, there seated in arasaka's basement; they were, in some aspects, honest about what they wanted for him. they wanted him to be dangerous. they wanted him to be good. they vowed that they would be by his side throughout the whole process, the promise as loyal as vance had decided to be the first time he put on his uniform.

so he agreed—to all of it.

they started slow.

the steel spine traded for titanium; an expansive cyberdeck with more ram capacity; pulmonary implants to keep up the processing power; other organs traded for their mechanical counterparts, to ensure their safety when vance overclocks his systems.

vance became eerily familiar with arasaka's in-house chop shop. the ripperdoc there, boone vasco, put him under the knife time and time again—each major procedure had been carefully scheduled a few years apart. but vance wasn't just arasaka's pet project; on the side, he was their assassin. their ghost, trickling through the neon-drenched gutter that is night city, slaughtering anyone that needed zeroing.

a little hack there, an iron pressed up against someone ribs here.

he flatlined some disgruntled, middle-class corpo rat, some pencil pusher, who thought all it took to delta out of the corp had been booking the fuck out of the city with little else but both his family and several canisters of CHOOH2 in tow.

as far as anyone is concerned, maybe they did make it across the border.

or maybe they could've just made it, had they been faster; smarter; had they stayed to begin with.

maybe.

vance ran ops in and out of the nusa; his file will never see the light of day, not for all the eddies in the world. there's shit on there that'd start coups; destroy what little they've all built to keep. there are just some things that will always stay between him and the corp. they owe him that much.

when he wasn't out on the field, he was chasing novice netrunners out of arasaka's intranets.

eventually he had gained enough implants that the skin on his torso and back began to run warm—too warm. these were the days where he'd run ops feverish and slow. these were the days his own systems would fail him.

letting the machines breathe out in the open would've defeated vance's entire purpose; they had to get creative.

enough of these slip ups led to an entire torso's worth of a realskinn graft. arasaka had taken the market variant and specifically modified it so that it would allow vance (and his systems) to cool down faster. it's like a mesh rather than skin, soft enough to pass as the latter, but with pores big enough to remind one of the former.

they peeled the organic skin off his back and chest and replaced them—slowly, carefully—with this unique version of realskinn.

it took vance a long time to recover; for his body to accept this skin-like facade as its own.

--

because of the nature of his work, arasaka had thought it best to keep his existence a secret from the people beneath him in the pecking order. as far as they were concerned, vance was in a class of his own—just as adam smasher is his own unit, in a sense. still arasaka's; still a product of their patronage; just with a false sense of independence and superiority above everyone else, as if they're not all wearing the same tags.

vance had found a friend in someone like him; her name was veronica. she was a weapon, too—more blatantly, however, and certainly more of a physical, immediate threat that secrecy would've been a waste of more realskinn.

they often snuck out of work when they could—they took any and all measures to ensure that they didn't look anything like what arasaka had made them into. they went to bars. concerts. they breathed with the rest of night city—for the first time in a very long time.

--

the year is 2076. vance has been in arasaka's ranks for 12 years. he is 80% realskinn and the only truly organic parts left are on his arms, legs, and face. he is still arasaka's top dog; he is still their hound, loyal on a short leash. he still hears the world as loudly as they want him to.

but one, slow night in the basement, his handlers begun to talk—not to him, but amongst themselves. they didn't know he had left a little virtual watchtower for himself in the mikoshi chamber; the one place where he wasn't allowed to be.

he had spent 12 years as their model of what the perfect netrunner should and could be: covert, dangerous, and a powerful piece of tech.

he had spent 12 years as the first in a potentially long line of others.

they could've started sooner, more efficiently; they could've rolled out 3 generations in 12 years, not just the one.

one of the techies claims trial-and-error; there had been many times where certain implants had made vance violently ill. they had had to roll back. his recovery had been a necessary delay time and time again.

another agrees: one generation for twelve, another 2 in half that time. why not stop complaining and start now, with all the information gathered thus far?

and what'll we do with him?

the techies gathered around the room didn't have to answer for vance to understand his own obsolescence.

he had given them 12 years of his life; he had given them the skin off his back; he had told himself that every time he chose arasaka, he was choosing out of his own desire to be good.

what good comes of something past its expiration date?

--

he hadn't been the only arasaka pet project to be thrown out. veronica, too, was going to have her implants traded out so that they may go to the faster, newer generation of her kind.

together, they worked fast; they pulled every string that they had had the foresight to weave around night city; they created a small team of mercs to ferry them out of arasaka HQ; among them was vance's contact, jackie welles.

not many mercs were open to going toe-to-toe with a megacorp like arasaka—but if vance scrambled all the data concerning himself and veronica from their escape, then no one would ever be the wiser. to anyone on the outside looking in, it'd just look like they were stealing equipment from a shipyard.

--

i won't go into too much detail about the escape; only that it was long, tedious, and had left its marks on the both of them—physically and mentally.

in 2076, veronica and vance disappeared from arasaka's ranks, carrying within themselves the unique, stolen implants that made them who they are.

in 2077, they were beginning to live their own lives again.

vance changed his appearance; scrubbed all traces of himself from the NET, if any at all; tried to find his footing in the city that had heard of him only in the bodies he had left behind.

he looked over his shoulder a lot, those first few weeks he had spent lying low in mama welles'. he had been averse to any and all touch; he still craved it, however. that soft affection that demanded of him nothing but to let himself have it.

the hand brushes from jackie; the way mama welles would pat his cheek or fix his hair (even if it didn't need fixing) now and again; how viktor had put his hand on vances knee after the latter had confided in him everything arasaka had done to him.

he had left his family behind. his sister.

but he had friends at the end of his corpo world, too.

moving among them, he had found something in himself that he had had never realized was there: that he has a lot of love to give, and no idea how to give it.

but he tries, anyway; that is the one act of free will arasaka can't take from him.

--

that's it from me! you can learn more by perusing vance's character tag (#vance) or! if you have any further questions I'd be more than happy to answer them :3

[hoshiina]

pairing: hoshina soushirou x gn!reader (no prns)

request: Hii im the anon who ask for the wips and i saw the blurbs you have. IM VERY MUCH HOOKED with the third ones where hoshina loves reader's smile🥹 relating to that maybe i would like to add(if you want, but feel free to do seperate if you want) soft moments with hoshina x reader who felt like she being the most pessimistic person regarding love(not anti but just felt like she doesn't deserve it) so she is on denial when hoshina make a move on her

notes: reader is usually rather energetic, talkative reader, hoshina thinks you are "beautiful" at some point, TYSM FOR THE REQ!! sorry it took so long omg

wc: 1300

Something was wrong— terribly wrong. There was no way someone would want you, let alone your vice-captain who could have anyone in the world. Not your vice-captain who did everything with such care and looked after everyone so preciously. And definitely never your vice-captain you were terribly in love with.

There must be some mistake. Or else he wouldn’t have just said what you thought he said.

“Pardon me?” you asked.

He looked a little flustered and you had never seen such an expression on him, confusing you further. “I love you,” he said again, softly. “I’d love to know if you’re in a relationship.”

The way he spoke so carefully added to how nervous it made you feel— it was so different from how he usually talked to you. Now, you were lost to say the least, because you couldn’t think of one reason why he would like you, let alone romantically. Under normal circumstances, you’d assume you were being played with or that this was a silly prank or dare, but you knew that Hoshina wasn’t one to do something so horrible. So what was happening?

“I am not…” you said, still confused, but the visible relief in his eyes made your heart tighten. Oh gosh, is he serious?

“I’m… thrilled,” he said, and he wished you goodnight and left. While you were terribly flustered to know he liked you back, there was a voice in your head that wouldn’t stop making you feel anxious. Something felt so odd to you— to be loved back. To be loved back by him. You enjoyed talking to people so you talked to him often, but never had you thought he'd think of you like that. Having a naturally talkative personality, it was true that both of you had fun talking to each other, but you had accepted that your love was unrequited ages ago. When would he have possibly fallen in love with you? The more you thought about it the more impossible it sounded. As thoughts of him circled your head, it’d be morning before you knew it.

It'd be hard for him to point out exactly when he fell in love with you, because he was in love before he knew it. Before he knew it, he'd catch himself following you with his eyes. He adored watching you work, because you made everything look exciting. Of course, he saw how you groaned at the paperwork you had to do, but he'd see how the little things would put a smile on your face.

He liked the work he did, he liked all of it quite frankly. From neutralizing kaiju all the way down to the research he had to do— rarely did he think something was a chore to do, but if you were around to laugh at something silly he found or mutter about the binders and binders of files that the 3rd division just doesn't have space for anymore, he'd start looking forward to these moments.

While he knew you were like this with everyone, he hoped that you were happiest with him. It would mean everything to him if you looked forward to doing seemingly mundane work with him too.

However, while he loved so much about you, there was one moment specifically that made him realize he wasn't moving on. His heart would be yours forever at this rate. You'd look so horribly tired after all this work, and yet, if someone needed help with anything at all, you'd still smile and ask them what's wrong. You'd find the energy and speak to them so kindly. You might not have the energy you usually had, but you'd be so happy to help. Even if they couldn't tell how exhausted you were, he could. He knew how much you did for everyone in the division, and he thought you were stunning when you did so. You were the most beautiful when you had that lovely smile on your face that seemed to light up his world.

He loved you so dearly.

You loved talking to people, so there always seemed to be something for you to talk about. A new finding you wanted to share or a terribly random thought that popped up in your head. While you naturally talked to most of the people in the division, you looked forward to talking to Hoshina the most. The way he'd always listen so intrigued at your dumbest thoughts and laugh at the smallest things you said meant more to you than one would probably think.

And if you shared your daily happenings with him, he'd share his with you too. To say you loved these moments would truly be an understatement. Nothing could possibly make you happier.

However, you knew he was like this with everyone. His laugh would always manage to keep the morale of the division up and he'd never miss potential problems in the condition of any of his officers. You knew he was a sweet person, but also the best one could ask for in a vice-captain. You weren't special— he was like this to everyone. You knew better than anyone else.

You couldn't imagine anyone falling for you, let alone the kindest person you'd ever meet in your life. Let alone the person you'd probably love for the rest of your life.

Yet, here you were, alone with him this afternoon working away through paperwork and it was quiet. Eerily quiet. He was the first to break the silence.

“I rather dislike the rain,” he said, looking out the window. “It’s been raining all day.”

You paused to look outside as well. “No, you’re right. I don’t mind the rain, but I hate how dark everything is.”

“Yeah,” he said. More silence.

“Sorry, I’m awkwardly nervous now,” he said, eyes fixed on his work. “I didn’t mean to make things… weird.”

You could tell he probably didn’t want you to, but you couldn’t help but look his way. Your eyes widened and your heart filled. You weren’t afraid to say much, but you were afraid to talk about this. However, you thought you’d be able to if you were talking to him.

“I just… can’t imagine that you’re… in love… with me,” you said, looking down at your paperwork. “Sounds too good to be true. I know... sounds unlike me, right?”

Immediately he looked up at you, shocked to say the least. You could tell he probably wanted to ask why, but he thought for a moment more.

“What… would I be able to do to show that I am?” he asked. “You’re the one I love… you always will be.”

Your eyes widened. “I just… don’t know why,” you said honestly. “Why me?”

“Because I love you,” he said. “I love a whole lot about you, but I love being with you. I enjoy spending time with you and watching you enjoy the life around you. Is that too simple?”

It took you a second to reply, but you felt a lot better. “No, not at all,” you said. “Because I feel exactly the same way.”

“You’re kidding”

“Absolutely not”

“I’m going to kill you if you’re lying,” he said.

That made you laugh. “You know I wouldn’t,” you said, and yes, he knew you wouldn’t.

“Hey, Hoshina,” you said, avoiding eye-contact. “If I get worried… will you tell me again?”

“I’d tell you until you get sick of my voice,” he said while getting up to kiss your forehead. “I love you so much.”

[twilightakiishi]

made that template for three :3 venchiya rundown!!! more in tags if u care

[gibbycat]

in my eyes, argenthill is neither strictly romantic or strictly platonic but a secret third thing. they can't be together long-term because of their paths, but they CAN be deeply devoted to each other. they recognize the others' independence but also know they can lean on them for emotional support.

they are planets whose orbits rarely cross, but when they do, it is a moment that is mutually cherished and kept close to the heart until the next moment. they are lonely people who try not to get attached as theyre frequently on the move, but the heart betrays their true desires.

anyways its about the Devotion and Yearning. to me.

[khattikeri]

maybe a controversial opinion but while i really love jiang cheng as a character he is deeply self-centered as a person. and seeing people fight tooth and nail claiming he isn't, or is just misunderstood, or that he has genuine valid reasons to be selfish when plenty of other characters make the difficult choice to forego status and opportunities for what they believe is genuinely right to do (read: wei wuxian, wen ning, wen qing, lan wangji, jiang yanli, mianmian, etc.)

it's just odd to me. especially if they're talking about the novels.

mxtx didn't give jiang cheng the name "sandu shengshou" as a quirky coincidence. there's a REASON she named him & his sword after the 3 poisons of Buddhism (specifically ignorance, greed, and hatred). it's crucial to the story that jiang cheng is NOT selfless and that wei wuxian IS.

it's important to accept that wei wuxian is, by their society's standards, not morally gray; he represents several Buddhist ideals in direct contrast of jiang cheng and multiple people attest to wei wuxian's strong moral character, which is a lot of why jiang cheng even feels bitter about him to begin with.

it's crucial, because by the end of the novel jiang cheng realizes the extent of this and begins to let go!

the twin prides thing wasn't jiang cheng wanting them to 100% mirror the twin jades. he does care about wei wuxian, but he wanted wei wuxian to stay his right hand man, in part the way wei changze was for jiang fengmian.

and if there's one thing you can notice about wei changze in the novels, it's that literally nobody talks about him. he is only ever mentioned when his cool mysterious mountain sect wife cangse-sanren is mentioned, or (even more rarely) when they discuss him as a servant to jiang fengmian. regardless of jiang fengmian's own feelings, wei changze was considered lesser to him and didn't seem to outdo him, since nobody's out there years later still waxing poetry about wei changze's skills.

it may not be the only thing jiang cheng wants out of a twin pride dynamic, but it is a big part of it. regardless of his parents' intentions in taking wei wuxian in and treating him certain ways, this twin pride right-hand man thing is what jiang cheng has felt owed since childhood. he gave up his dogs for wei wuxian, people gossip about his sect heir position with wei wuxian there... jiang cheng wants the reciprocation of what he views as personal sacrifices.

he is ignorant to the depth of what wei wuxian must've suffered for over 6 years as a malnourished orphan child on the streets. he hates how wei wuxian's intelligence, witty charm, and cultivation abilities are naturally stronger than his own. he does care about wei wuxian a lot and want them to be together as sort of-brothers, sort of-friends, sort of-young master and sect servant...

...but if it's between that unclear (yet still caring) relationship and being able to save himself just a little bit more, jiang cheng nearly always manages to clam up in the face of danger and choose the latter, which ultimately benefits himself most. maybe it's a stretch to call that sort of thing greed, but it certainly isn't selfless.

there are of course plenty of justifications for this. it's his duty as sect heir. his home and sect was severely damaged by the wen attack and subsequent war; he had to protect himself, etc.

but doesn't that prove the point?

wei wuxian may be charming, but in terms of pure social standing, he is lower and far more susceptible to being punished or placed in harm's way by people who have more power and money. to protect wei wuxian, yunmeng jiang's long-term head disciple and semi-family member, even in the face of backlash and public scrutiny would've been the selfless thing to do. this is what wei wuxian does for the wen remnants in the burial mounds.

jiang cheng does not choose this. it's not even an unreasonable choice for him to make! nobody else in the great clans is doing such a thing, stepping out of line to take on a burden that could weaken them in the long-run. wei wuxian himself doesn't hate jiang cheng for it; he lets go of these things and focuses on what good he can do in the present.

jiang cheng thinks further into the future - what would happen to him if he continued vouching for wei wuxian and taking his side? what about jiang cheng's face, his sect's face? would wei wuxian even care to reciprocate somehow? everyone expects him to cut off wei wuxian for being dangerous, for threatening his position, for...

do you see what i mean? to call jiang cheng selfless for falling in line with exactly what people expected him to do after the war is not only wrong, it's foolish.

"but they faked their falling-out!" okay. why fake it to begin with, except to protect jiang cheng and the jiang sect's own face? is that selfless? who does it ultimately serve to protect? wei wuxian canonically internalizes the idea that he stains all that he touches, including lan wangji, and agrees to the fake fight because he doesn't want to cause the jiang sect harm. regardless, it eventually slides into a true falling-out, and in the end jiang cheng is more or less unscathed reputation-wise while wei wuxian falls.

that isn't selfless. it's many things! it's respecting his clan and his ancestors, it's making a good plan for the future of his sect and cultivation... but it isn't a truly selfless in the interest of what's right rather than in the interest of duty and what's good for him and his family lineage.

that brings me to my next point: even though wei wuxian hid the truth of the golden core transfer, jiang cheng spent nearly 20 years believing that the golden core "renewal" he was given was a birthright gift of wei wuxian's from baoshan-sanren, an immortal sect teacher of wei wuxian's mother's and a martial elder to wei wuxian.

of course we all know that's a big fat lie, but jiang cheng believed that wei wuxian gave up a critical emergency use gift to him for decades! he was lied to, yes, but jiang cheng immediately agreed without even needing to be convinced. the light in his dead eyes came back with hope the moment wei wuxian even said baoshan-sanren's name. he accepted wei wuxian's offer to give that up to him and take it via identity theft without missing a beat.

with how mysterious and revered baoshan-sanren is, that's obviously not a light sacrifice to just give up to anyone, no matter how close they might be to you. pretending to be wei wuxian to take the gift could even be considered dangerous. what if she found out and got offended? could wei wuxian be hurt by that?

jiang cheng doesn't even hesitate. wei wuxian is the one who mentions that if jiang cheng doesn't pretend to be him, the immortal master could get angry and they'd both be goners. and funnily enough, the day they do go to "the mountain", jiang cheng is the one worried and suspiciously wondering if wei wuxian was lying to him or had misremembered.

of course they've both been traumatized like hell prior to this point. but still: it speaks to how broken he was at the moment as well as to his character overall.

i digress: jiang cheng "gets his golden core back" via what he believed was a gift that should've been wei wuxian's to use in serious emergencies. rather than use it for himself, wei wuxian risked his own safety and gave it to jiang cheng... and jiang cheng still ends up embittered and angry, believing that wei wuxian is arrogant and selfish.

if he truly views them as 100% brothers and equals with no caveats, why would he think that way? it's not like he needs to grovel before wei wuxian for doing that, or to reciprocate... but this is what i mean when i say jiang cheng feels he is owed things by wei wuxian. wei wuxian's actions hold a very different weight in jiang cheng's mind, and jiang cheng himself doesn't ever act the same way, except once.

is it wrong for him to feel like he is owed something? it depends. many asian cultures, including my own, feel that a person owes their family in ways that may not make sense to westerners. for example, it's considered normal for a child to owe their parents for giving birth to them, or to other caretakers for feeding, clothing, sheltering, educating them, etc.

however, something like verbally saying "thank you" or "i'm sorry" to family is considered crazy- why would you owe that? you're supposed to inconvenience your family; saying thank you or sorry is the sort of thing you say to a stranger or acquaintance. i get half-seriously lectured by my elders on this a lot even now, even though they know such phrases are just considered good manners in the US.

this muddies up the idea of wei wuxian being jiang cheng's family vs his family's charge or servant even more. jiang cheng wants wei wuxian to be close... but ultimately doesn't really choose to use what power he DOES have to protect wei wuxian. he considers himself still owed something that in his mind wei wuxian flagrantly never repays.

this isn't even getting into how despite spending a majority of his time with the yiling patriarch he never once noticed that wei wuxian stopped using any spiritual power-based cultivation. even lan wangji, who met them far more rarely, realized that something was wrong and that wei wuxian had taken some sort of spiritual damage, hence the "come with me to gusu".

of course manpain is fun and i'm not immune to the juicy idea of them reconciling and talking things out... but jiang cheng is deeply mired in his own desire to be "above" wei wuxian in multiple ways, and doesn't realize the extent of wei wuxian's actions, the intentions behind them, and the consequences wei wuxian knowingly faced for them.

to not recognize this about jiang cheng, especially in the novels, is really revisionist if you ask me. i reiterate that i really do like him a lot. he's flawed, angry, traumatized and has poor coping mechanisms, an overall fascinating character... but he is not selfless nor ideal, and i seriously draw the line at people saying he is.

wen ning shoves this all into his face at lotus pier to disastrous results. it is the reason why jiang cheng's a total mess at guanyin temple, and the reason jiang cheng ultimately doesn't tell wei wuxian about the fact that he ran towards the wens on purpose.

for that one last act of his to have really been selfless, he needs to not seek anything in return. he did it purely because it was right to do to protect someone else. if that means wei wuxian never finds out about it, so be it.

that moment that ended up causing jiang cheng irreversible harm is not a debt that wei wuxian owes him. it hurts, but no matter how bitter it is, that realization is so important to him changing in the future.

[waterfallofspace]

Anyone else not able to say 'bless you', either because it feels too personal, embarrassing, slightly erotic or a mixture of all of the above-

Buuuuuut also whenever an event interrupts the conversation, you feel so much more awkward not saying anything/commenting on it at all, and so you wish you could just... say that phrase, or have some other thing that makes sense to say to just- shrug it off???

[extraordinarilyextreme]

the element of fire plays a big role in YeQing's relationship.

for starters, let's examine the "answer" ZGQ divined for himself on Longhu-shan:

(manhua ch. 108; see also LA s1, ep. 13 & donghua s2, ep. 9)

飞蛾扑火 / the moth throws itself upon a flame. this idiom describes a self-destructive kind of conduct, where a person knowingly brings about their own doom. it represents, in other words, both a fatal and fated attraction.

from ZGQ's pov, it was—of course—laying his life on the line to comprehend one of the Eight Supremes:

(LA s1, ep. 13; see also manhua ch. 109 & donghua s2, ep. 10)

from WY's pov, it was befriending ZGQ despite knowing he harbors other intentions:

(LA s1, ep. 23; see also manhua ch. 191 & donghua s3, ep. 5)

as such, i'm not the biggest fan of how Youku tl'ed the line as "a meaningless struggle." because neither of their choices were meaningless. both of them were acting as Zhuge Liang had: 明知天理在 但是逆大势而行 / despite knowing full well that divine order and destiny exist, behaving in a manner that opposes the momentum of the times.

indeed, it could be argued that associating with each other was not in anyone's best interest. WY even remarks in Biyou Village:

"In truth, originally I could've not defeated you... No! Rather, it should be said that originally I could've not become acquainted with a scoundrel like you..." (manhua ch. 222; see also donghua s4, ep. 4)

which is what makes their relationship even more special. they were never supposed to meet—yet their meeting was inevitable. they are equals; they abide by the same principles, even if their methods are not always the same.

in the live-action adaptation in particular, 飞蛾扑火 is a lyric in 《戎断反应》, which is the song most associated with ZLH/XH (and also FSY/JZL in s1, ep. 17).

(LA s1, ep. 6)

so... make of that parallel what you will. (this is far from the only time YeQing are directly juxtaposed with other canon couples, but i'm specifically referring to the nature and context of ZLH/XH's "forbidden" relationship more than anything else.)

the element of fire also marks the progression of YeQing's relationship in other ways.

in the Longhu-shan arena, ZGQ launches a ball of fire at WY with 赤炼......

(LA s1, ep. 13; see also manhua ch. 108 & donghua s2, ep. 9)

...which is, strangely enough, the exact same spell ZGQ uses during Biyou Village arc to force WY out of danger:

(donghua s4, ep. 5; see also manhua ch. 228)

so the imagery of ZGQ and WY always being separated by [a wall of] fire is really striking to me.

significantly, fire is also the dominant element of the Zhuge family's ultimate skill, 三昧真火 / True Fire of Samadhi, which ZGQ was never able to master until he triumphed over his 心魔 (WY & the Feng-hou Qimen he possesses):

(manhua ch. 311)

so, fire has always stood in-between these two in some way. but, like moth to a flame, they will always find their way back to each other.

(i definitely think that's the direction the manhua is currently developing in at least, esp. given that ZGQ has now found peace with himself and how he regards WY.)

furthermore, in 五行 / five elements, fire signifies a pinnacle (i.e., combustion), with a decline sure to follow. pretty neat, then, that in the donghua s2 opening 《无涯》 / Limitless, WY and ZGQ are matched with the lyrics 缘起缘灭 / fate begins, fate extinguishes:

by 五行 standards, fire is also associated with the organ: heart. given that WY is ZGQ's 心魔 / lit. heart's demon, and also that (in WYLR's words) they've 推心置腹 / lit. given their heart into the other's keeping, i think that really is just more than fitting.

and—finally—fire is related to alchemy. to tempering, to refinement, and to permanent transformation. hence:

Zhuge Qing: unrestrained as the winds, ardent as a wildfire. Wang Ye is melting. He’ll never be able to go back. (from 青春归你 | my youth and yours)

YeQing inevitably altered the course of each other's lives. (but that's for a separate post～)

[sunbunnyyy]

i know i just got here, but seeing all of the laughably bad takes from both sides of the spectrum is convincing me that no, i don’t actually need to be on social media again.

[lemongogo]

[acotars]

best romantasy recs for people who know how to read