#memory of survival my beloved <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[arolesbianism]

I'm brainstorming some more from the top au scenes and I've decided it'd be funny if even though Odile never learns to access to menues to equip them she still obtains memories throughout the game without realizing because Loop never pops up to tell her like they do with Siffrin. Just Loop and Siffrin at the favor tree chatting when suddenly time rewinds and Loop is like stardust wtf? Until a few moments later the new memory pops up and they go oh. Odile. What The Fuck.

[red-winter-is-coming]

Some silles :33

In order:

Recluse - Absol - Bluebonnet

Artificial Vanilla - Zorua - Thorns

Healer - Alolan Raichu - Milkweed

Vanilla - Jirachi - Daffodils

Lamb - Mareep - Baby's Breath

[nexus-nebulae]

love watching weather science videos but like. why am i 1000x more interested in tornadoes over hurricanes. they're both spinning air

[bellbery]

— [P1] The Heart That Remained (Vander x f!Reader)

Summary: A monster, once a beloved protector, now haunts the tunnels of Zaun. The creature is revealed to be Vander, twisted by pain and rage, leaving his daughters Vi and Jinx to grapple with the truth. As a battle unfolds, past memories and present dangers clash, forcing a choice between saving Vander’s humanity or ending his torment. Love, guilt, and hope intertwine in this intense, emotional confrontation.

Word Count: 5.2k (im a jerk for angst)

Content/Warning: Angst to Fluff, less mention y/n until the ending, a bit bloody?, AND VERY ANGSTY

🖋️ Author’s Note: AS I PROMISED I WOULD MAKE A ANGSTY FIC ABOUT VANDER, and i promise you its worth the while i did my best to put into detail of the character’s personality and the places. It took me 3 days and i’m very happy how it turned out! Before yall read this maybe someone you haven’t watched S2, there will be spoilers obv— and i recommend yall listen to Dead Island Trailer Theme song while reading this cause personally it juST MATCHED THE SCENE IT- i hope yall enjoy my writing this is my 2nd fic! Please comment your feedback and simply support me by like and reblogs! Thank you very much yall!<3

After the chaos of the Piltover Council meeting, guilt gnawed at you like a relentless, suffocating force. Deep down, you knew Jinx—Vander’s daughter—was the cause of the devastation that had torn through the heart of the city. You couldn’t escape the weight of the promises you’d made long ago: to protect Vi and Powder when they were still just children. Those vows now felt like shattered glass, each piece embedded in your soul. You had failed them. And now, hidden behind the mask of an investigator, you carried your shame like a cloak. It was the only armor that allowed you to survive, to push down the searing ache that never seemed to go away. Months passed, and you thought you had found your rhythm in the cold, distant monotony of your work. Then Ambessa hired you. The aftermath of the beast’s rampage in the prison—the blood, the carnage—shattered that fragile peace. It was the most grotesque thing you’d ever seen. The nightmare still burned in your memory, its horrors etched into your mind like permanent scars. The beast, its monstrous presence a cruel reminder of the violence lurking in every shadow, had torn through the fragile walls of your life, dredging up the dangerous ties to the past you couldn’t outrun.

“How could this beast come out of nowhere?” You whispered, the question hanging in the air like a death sentence. Ambessa’s gaze locked onto you, icy and unyielding. The weight of her authority pressed down on you, suffocating. She leaned forward, her voice low, controlled—laced with quiet menace. “You’re asking the wrong question,” she said, her words like a blade. “It doesn’t matter how it got here. What matters is that it’s here now. And we don’t have the luxury of waiting for answers. We deal with it. We don’t waste time wondering why or how—it’s already cost us too much.” She paused, her eyes narrowing, a flicker of impatience cutting through her otherwise steady demeanor. “If you want to stay in this game, you’ll find out who—or what—created this monster. And you’ll do it fast. Before it costs us more.” You nod, the weight of Ambessa’s words settling heavily in your chest. Without a second thought, you move past the cells, your gaze flicking over them with practiced detachment. You push down the swirling thoughts threatening to overwhelm you, focusing on the task at hand. But as you walk, something pulls your attention—a cell, its door locked with an unnerving sense of finality. Something about it doesn’t sit right, a tension building in your gut.

Before you can step closer to investigate, the soft, rhythmic chime of the elevator cuts through the silence. The doors slide open, and out steps Commander Caitlyn Kiramman, her posture rigid, her face set in the same steely expression you’ve come to recognize. She doesn’t glance at you immediately, but when she does, her eyes flicker with a mixture of curiosity and caution. “Commander,” you murmur, your voice steady but carrying the weight of the unspoken. You can’t help but wonder if she’s here to speak of the very thing that’s been gnawing at your thoughts—the beast, the violence, the past that refuses to stay buried. “How is your investigation?” Caitlyn’s voice was steady, her usual sternness masking the exhaustion you knew she carried. Her sharp blue eyes flicked over you, searching for any hint of progress. You hesitated, your gaze drifting back to the closed cell. “It’s… ongoing,” you replied, the words clipped, as your unease bubbled beneath the surface. She followed your line of sight, noticing your fixation. Without waiting for an invitation, Caitlyn strode past you, her footsteps purposeful, echoing in the silence as she approached the cell. “What is it about this one?” she asked, her tone even, though her curiosity was evident. You didn’t answer immediately, the heaviness in your chest growing. “It’s locked,” you said finally, the words feeling too small for the weight of your unease. “But it’s too quiet. Too… deliberate.” Caitlyn reached out, resting her hand lightly on the cold metal bars. “Let’s open it,” she said decisively, her command leaving no room for argument. The tension in her voice betrayed her own unease, though her face remained calm and unreadable.

As the cell door creaked open, the air grew heavy with an acrid, chemical tang. There, sitting upright in the dim light, was a figure that made your breath hitch—Dr. Reveck. His sunken, hollow eyes locked onto yours, recognition flashing briefly across his face. Then came the cold, calculating glare of someone who had already weighed and dismissed your worth. “You’re persistent,” he murmured, his voice low and rasping, as though it hadn’t been used in days. “But persistence doesn’t make you immune to mistakes.” His lips twitched, a ghost of a smile that never reached his eyes. “What are you here for? To make another mistake?” Before you could respond, Caitlyn’s sharp footsteps echoed through the corridor, her tone cutting the tension. “Dr. Reveck,” she began, her words laced with authority, “you’re going to answer for what you’ve done. Whatever experiments you’ve been running—whatever monsters you’ve unleashed—it ends now.” Reveck’s expression didn’t waver, though his gaze shifted to Caitlyn with a disconcerting calm. “Answers,” he said, almost mockingly. “The only people who demand them are those too weak to seek the truth themselves.” The sudden clang of metal doors opening at the end of the hall signaled Ambessa’s arrival. Her towering figure filled the space, the weight of her presence silencing any retort Caitlyn might have had. Her eyes swept the scene before resting on Reveck. “This is the man responsible?” she asked, her voice an authoritative rumble. Reveck tilted his head slightly, observing Ambessa with a detached curiosity. “And you are?” he asked, his tone clinical, as though dissecting her existence. Ambessa took a step closer, her imposing frame making the cramped cell feel even smaller. “I’m the one deciding whether you’re worth keeping alive,” she said, her voice unwavering. “And right now, you’re not making a good case.”

The tension in the room was palpable, your pulse pounding in your ears as you stood frozen, caught between these forces of will. Caitlyn glanced at you, her expression tight, as if silently willing you to act or speak. Dr. Reveck finally turned back to you, his gaze sharper now, as though seeing past your mask of authority to the pain you’d been carrying. “Tell me,” he said softly, almost conversationally, “are you here to find answers, or are you just running from your own failures?” Before you could answer Dr. Reveck’s cutting remark, the sharp clink of handcuffs broke the silence. Caitlyn had stepped forward, her features stern as she clasped the restraints over Reveck’s thin wrists. “You’ll answer for your crimes,” she said coldly. “But your cooperation might still buy you a sliver of mercy.” Reveck barely flinched, his pale eyes darting between Caitlyn and Ambessa as if calculating the odds of survival. He let out a low, humorless chuckle. “Mercy,” he echoed, his voice dripping with disdain. “A curious word coming from Piltover’s enforcers. Tell me, Commander Kiramman—how does mercy reconcile with the blood already on your hands?” Caitlyn’s jaw tightened, but before she could reply, Ambessa’s voice rumbled from behind her. “Enough.” Her tone brooked no argument as she stepped into the cell, her towering figure filling the cramped space. “Your investigation isn’t finished here,” she said, her eyes locking onto yours with a commanding weight. “You’ve uncovered the man, but not the monster.”

Reveck’s lips curled faintly, a reaction as subtle as it was unsettling. “The beast,” he murmured, as though savoring the word. “You think you’re hunting it, but it’s already closer than you realize. Closer than any of you would dare admit.” Ambessa ignored him, her gaze still fixed on you. “Find it,” she said firmly. “Before this trail goes cold and more lives are lost.”

Reveck’s smile widened slightly, his voice taking on a cryptic edge. “And when you find it,” he said, his tone almost taunting, “you might not like what you uncover.” The weight of his words hung heavy in the air as you exchanged a brief, tense glance with Caitlyn. Without another word, Ambessa turned and walked toward the cell door, her presence commanding the attention of everyone in the room. Caitlyn followed, her hand lingering on her holstered weapon as if still on edge. You stayed behind for a moment longer, your gaze locked with Reveck’s, searching for something in his unflinching expression—a hint of truth, or maybe just an answer you weren’t ready to face.

You stepped out of the cell, the cold air biting against your skin. The echo of Ambessa’s commanding words and Reveck’s cryptic warnings swirled in your head, mixing with Caitlyn’s sharp presence. Every step away from the cell felt heavier, the pressure of what you’d just witnessed settling into the pit of your stomach. Reveck’s words wouldn’t leave you. “You think you’re hunting it, but it’s already closer than you realize.” They repeated in your mind like a haunting refrain, twisting your thoughts into knots. What did he mean? And why did it feel like there was more truth in his taunts than anyone cared to admit? The sterile prison corridor seemed darker now, its shadows crawling up the walls like something alive. A prickle of unease traced up your spine. For a moment, you paused, glancing back at the dim outline of the cell. It felt as though something—or someone—was watching. The air was too quiet, heavy with an unsaid warning. You shook your head and looked down, trying to steady your breaths, but your heart stopped cold. There, lying on the cold, stone floor just ahead of you, was a strand of blue hair. It glimmered faintly in the pale light, its color unmistakable. Powder. Your knees threatened to buckle, but you forced yourself to stay upright. A rush of memories flooded back—her laughter, her wide, curious eyes, the promises you made to her and Vi. And then the explosion, the chaos, and everything that came after. Your breathing quickened as you knelt down and gingerly picked up the strand, its texture soft but alien, almost too delicate for something so steeped in blood and tragedy. How did it get here? And why now?

The corridor seemed to stretch endlessly before you, the walls pressing in tighter. Your pulse thundered in your ears as a hundred questions screamed in your mind, all vying for answers. But one thought rose above them all, clear and sharp as a knife:

She was here.

And if she was here, then what had you missed? What was waiting just beyond the next shadow? You clutched the strand tighter, a knot of fear and determination tightening in your chest. You couldn’t let this go. Not now. Not after everything. With trembling hands and racing thoughts, you turned and walked toward the exit, but every step away from that cell felt like stepping deeper into the unknown.

You pulled your coat tighter around you, the cool night air biting at your skin. Your feet moved again, this time carrying you toward Zaun. If there was even the faintest chance she was there, you had to follow it. Whether you were ready or not, the path ahead was clear. You had to find her. And this time, you couldn’t fail. You had been at it for hours—no, days—piecing together fragments of evidence that felt more like whispers in the dark. Each lead took you deeper into Zaun’s underbelly: a blood trail smeared across cracked pavement, scorch marks that didn’t belong, and the eerie testimonies of those too afraid to say much at all. The closer you got, the more everything started pointing to one place. You’d seen the tunnel marked on old maps of Zaun—a forgotten artery deep within the district, barely mentioned anymore except in hushed tones. Something had happened there, something people were afraid to talk about. Standing at its mouth now, you could feel the weight of the place pressing on you like a physical force. The green chemfog swirled thickly, the heavy air carrying a stench of rust, decay, and something faintly metallic. It was quiet, unnervingly so, the usual hum of Zaun’s machinery conspicuously absent. You stepped forward cautiously, every instinct screaming at you to turn back. But the faintest trace of blood along the ground caught your attention, leading you further in. Whatever had been here—or was still here—wasn’t human. And yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just a hunt for a monster. This was something personal, a shadow from your past reaching out to drag you back. As you stood at the edge of the tunnel, Dr. Reveck’s voice echoed in your mind, his words heavy with warning.

“You think you’re hunting it, but it’s already closer than you realize.”

The memory of his cold, detached tone sent a shiver down your spine. You tried to brush it off, focus on the task at hand. But it wasn’t easy. There was something about the way he’d looked at you, almost pitying, that gnawed at your resolve.

“You might not like what you uncover.”

The blood trail led further into the shadows, growing thicker, fresher. Each step you took seemed to confirm the truth of his cryptic warning. This wasn’t just a trail—it was a trap, a path carved by something that knew you’d follow. Despite yourself, fear clawed at the edges of your mind. You gripped your weapon tightly, the sound of your own breathing loud in the suffocating silence. If Dr. Reveck was right, if it was closer than you realized, then maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t the beast you were hunting anymore. Your heart pounded in your chest as you ventured deeper into the tunnel, every nerve on edge. The oppressive darkness seemed alive, pressing down on you as if the walls themselves wanted to swallow you whole. Then, breaking through the suffocating silence, you heard it—a voice. A familiar cry echoed through the hollow passage, carrying a name you hadn’t heard in years.

“Powder.”

Your breath hitched, and without thinking, your feet carried you toward the sound. The cry was raw, desperate, and unmistakable. It clawed at the memories you’d buried deep—days spent in the smog-filled streets of Zaun, promises whispered in the dead of night. You turned a corner, and there they were. The sight stopped you cold. Vi was locked in a brutal struggle, her movements sharp and relentless as she fought the towering monstrosity before her. Jinx—no, Powder—was nearby, her chaotic energy radiating even in the chaos, her laughter twisted with something between joy and pain. The beast, its hulking form both animal and something far worse, loomed over them. You stood frozen for a moment, unable to reconcile the scene before you. The two sisters you had sworn to protect were here, together again, fighting a nightmare brought to life. This wasn’t just a fight—it was their fight. But as the beast’s roar shook the walls of the tunnel, you knew you couldn’t just stand there. Not this time. You swung your electro-baton again, sending a crack of electricity through the beast’s thick hide. It staggered back, growling low, but you were ready to strike again. Then, a voice you hadn’t heard in what felt like ages cut through the chaos, sharp and frantic.

“Y/N?”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you turned, breath catching. There, standing in front of you with wide, shocked eyes, was Jinx. But it wasn’t just her surprise that caught your attention—it was the frantic energy radiating from her as her gaze flickered between you and the monster. Before you could even process the situation, Vi’s voice rang out, filled with desperation. “Get out of the way!” she yelled, her eyes locking onto the beast just as it made a move in your direction. The words barely registered before you heard the guttural growl of the creature, its monstrous form lunging toward you, faster than you could react. Your instincts kicked in just in time as you dove to the side, pushing Jinx out of the way and out of the path of the beast. In the chaos of the moment, you felt a sharp pang in your chest—Jinx’s face, twisted with a mixture of fear and resolve, flashed in your mind for just a second. She wasn’t ready to lose him again. But the situation was slipping further from control, and you couldn’t afford to wait any longer. Before you could strike, a hand shot out, gripping your arm with surprising strength. You whirled around, heart pounding, only to find Powder standing there. Her eyes were wide, frantic, pleading. “Stop!” she cried, her voice desperate, barely above a whisper. But it was enough to freeze you in place, your pulse hammering in your ears. The world seemed to slow as Powder’s frantic cry echoed in your mind.

“It’s Vander.”

For a moment, you couldn’t breathe. The name hung in the air, shattering everything you thought you knew. Your heart pounded against your ribs, memories of Vander flooding your mind—his hands, strong yet tender, holding you close during the darkest times. His laugh, the warmth he exuded when the world around you seemed so cold. He had been your everything. You had loved him with every fiber of your being. But this thing, this beast, it was not the man you had known. This creature, with its bloodshot eyes and twisted form, was not Vander. It couldn’t be. Your hands shook as you tightened your grip on the electro-baton, but it felt wrong—so wrong. The memories of him, so vivid and painful, clashed with the grotesque beast standing before you. You felt sick to your stomach, a wave of guilt crashing over you. You had failed him. Failed to save him. And now, you couldn’t even bring yourself to end the nightmare he had become. Your breath hitched as Powder stepped forward, desperation in her voice. “Please, Y/N, stop. I know it’s him. I can feel him in there. I won’t let you hurt him again.” Her words were a plea, a fragile hope in the storm. But your heart twisted with doubt. You could still hear the screams, the way the beast had ravaged everything in its path. And yet… something in Powder’s eyes, something in her raw desperation, made you falter.

The beast—Vander—lurched forward, its eyes locking onto you with an intensity that nearly paralyzed you. Every memory you had ever shared with him felt like it was being ripped from your chest.“Vander,” you whispered, the word slipping from your lips before you could stop it. The weight of it crushed you. You had spent so many years believing that Vander was lost, that the man you loved was gone. But here he was, in some twisted form, and it was as if everything you had been through had led you to this moment. Powder’s voice trembled as she pleaded once more. “Please, Y/N. Trust me. It’s him. Don’t hurt him. He’s still in there.” The battle inside you was unbearable. Every part of you screamed to fight, to destroy the beast before it could hurt anyone else. But Powder’s face—the vulnerability, the fear—held you in place. Your heart ached for her, for the girl who had once been Powder, the girl who had believed so deeply in the man who had been Vander. And for a long moment, you did nothing. Your body, your mind, were paralyzed by the weight of it all.

You wanted to believe her, wanted to believe that Vander was still there somewhere beneath that monstrous exterior. You swallowed hard, the tears threatening to break free. Slowly, shakily, you lowered the electro-baton, letting it fall to your side. It felt like an eternity, the weight of the decision heavier than any battle you had ever fought. The beast—Vander—let out a low growl, and for a split second, it seemed to hesitate, its glowing eyes softening. And then, before you could process what was happening, it lunged. In a split-second, you shoved Vi out of the way, your body reacting faster than your mind could follow. You felt the beast’s claws rake across your shoulder, pain searing through your skin. The world blurred for a moment, your vision flickering as you stumbled backward, feeling weaker by the second. And then, amidst the chaos, the word tore from your chest.

“Vander…”

The sound of his name was a raw, guttural cry, one that echoed through the tunnels, through your soul. The pain hit you harder than any wound could. Vander, that name, those memories—they tore you apart. You had vowed to protect Vi and Powder, to keep them safe from the horrors of the world, yet here you stood, helpless. The love you had for him, for both of them, never faded. But now? Now you wondered if you'd failed them all. Could you ever undo the damage, or was it too late to save any of them? This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t be this. But here he was, and you couldn’t turn away. Not now. Not after everything.

As the beast—the twisted, monstrous form of Vander—pins you to the ground, his massive claw digs into your shoulder, a searing pain that nearly overwhelms you. Your body is trembling, pinned beneath his weight, but you find the strength to cry out. “Vander!” The word escapes your lips like a prayer, a cry full of pain, longing, and grief. For a fleeting moment, the ferocity in his bloodshot eyes falters. There’s a flicker of something, a split-second recognition that makes your heart ache with hope, even as your breath hitches in terror. The claws dig deeper, and for a second, you wonder if it’s all over. The beast’s heavy breaths rattle through your chest, but you can’t stop. This has to be the moment. This has to reach him. With what strength you have left, you lift your free hand and place it gently on his massive claw, the very one that could end your life. You speak the words that have haunted your thoughts, words full of both love and desperate sorrow, knowing they might be the last you ever speak to him.

“It’s me... your sunshine.”

The words hang in the air, fragile and raw, and for a heartbeat, time seems to stop. The beast’s gaze flickers—just for a moment—as if the sound of your voice stirs something deep within him. There’s a trembling hesitation in his claw, as if he’s hearing something buried beneath the rage and the pain, something that reminds him of who he was. In the chaos of your heart, you realize your words are more than a plea. They’re a lifeline thrown into a sea of darkness, hoping that some part of Vander will catch it. For a heartbeat, you feel the world shift, the crushing weight of the beast’s form loosening as something human flickers in the depths of his eyes. His growls soften, his body stills, as if struggling against the flood of memories. Then, as if through a fog, his voice—gravelly, strained, broken—rumbles from the depths of his throat, just a whisper but heavy with a history that neither of you could erase.

“Y/N…?”

The name feels like a weight lifted off your chest, like the first breath after drowning. His voice is there, faint, but real. Vander is still in there. You can feel it—the man you loved, the one who had promised to always protect you, the one who had once held you close during the darkest nights, is right here in front of you. Tears blur your vision, and your body trembles, caught between the raw pain, the disbelief, and a flood of emotions you never thought you’d face again. With a trembling breath, you whisper, “It’s me, Vander… it’s your Y/N…” In that moment, his once ferocious red eyes flicker. A slow shift begins, and your heart seizes in your chest as you see something break through the fog—a glimmer of blue and green cutting through the fire. For a single, fleeting second, you see Vander there, in his eyes. The man you loved. The protector who had once carried you through the worst storms. It’s real. He’s still in there. The grip around you tightens, not with violence, but with a deep, consuming desperation. His body trembles with something far greater than rage—something more human. His chest releases a low, guttural breath, the growl that once shook the air now softened, trembling with the weight of all that he has become, all he’s lost.

He’s no longer the man you remember, not entirely. But he’s not the beast either. No longer fully consumed by it. It’s somewhere in between, and in that space, you cling to him like you’ve never clung to anything before. You feel his hands, so monstrous and terrifying in their size, holding you close— holding you. He pulls you in with a desperation that makes your chest ache, his form trembling as if he’s afraid you might slip away again, as if this might all vanish in an instant. The sheer weight of him, the warmth of his touch, releases everything you’ve buried deep inside—the fear, the questions, the pain, the grief. Every memory of him, of what you lost, surfaces and consumes you. Your sobs come, raw and uncontrollable. The sound fills the air between you, as you let go of everything you’ve carried alone all this time. And in the grip of this agony, in the midst of your sobbing breaths, you feel Vander—the man who once loved you—is still fighting to hold onto you, still fighting to be the protector he once was. His arms, still massive, still deadly, are now filled with tenderness. He doesn’t need to speak, not yet. His embrace says everything. He’s still here, he’s still fighting, and he hasn’t forgotten you. In that moment, you realize that the beast, the rage, the monstrous form—none of it can take away who he was, who he still is to you. Tears blur your vision even more, but you no longer try to stop them. You let them fall freely, because in the midst of the devastation, the pain, and the years you spent wondering if this day would ever come, you know— he’s here. Not just in body, but in soul. And you’ll hold on to him, no matter what form he takes. You’ll fight for him, just as he fought for you.

As Vander’s gaze shifts toward Powder and Vi, his monstrous form trembles slightly, and the flicker of recognition in his eyes softens further. Despite the beast he has become, there's a tenderness in the way he moves, his massive arm opening wide, offering a place for them to find solace in his embrace. The look in their eyes is a mix of agony and hope, the weight of everything they've endured written across their faces. It’s clear they’re torn between fear of what he’s become and the desire to believe that the father they once knew is still inside.

Without a word, you reach out, your voice quiet but full of emotion.

“Go to him. He’s still your father. He’s still here with us.”

The words are simple, but they carry the weight of years of grief, the ache of a lost family and the hope of its fragile restoration. Powder’s eyes fill with tears, and Vi, standing beside her, slowly steps forward. The two of them move together, drawn toward Vander’s open arms, like a long-buried longing finally being met. They collapse into his embrace, and the world around you seems to pause. Vander, in his monstrous form, holds them close, his massive arms gentle yet desperate, as though he’s afraid they might disappear if he holds them too loosely. The pain, the fear, all of it melts away in this moment, replaced by something simple—love. He’s still their father, still the protector who had raised them. Even now, with all the darkness and the destruction surrounding them, Vander is here, alive, and for this moment, whole.

And you stand back, watching them hold each other. The tears in your own eyes sting as you witness the reunion, knowing that, despite everything, the heart of the man you loved is still present. He is their father— your Vander—and for that, you are thankful.

[9-1-1-buddie]

Mind you I am not good at regulating my emotions at all. On that note:

This truly has to be the stupidest thing Tim Minear has ever done.

He said something about this being a thin branch he is balancing on. Yeah well, I think it's not holding the weight of your big head, buddy.

1. He pissed off the general audience aka wine moms and the Buddie shippers, basically the only two audience groups this show had (I don't know and care about the Bommy shippers and if they care about anybody other than LFJ).

2. You really wanna tell me, that you didn't think anybody would care that you are filming BOBBY'S casket out in the open street? In a time where everybody is so chronically online, in a country where everybody is always filming everything in the open street, in a city KNOWN for film making. Really?

3. You kill off the most beloved character in such an unnecessarily cruel and brutal way. Wanting to live again for the first time, isolated from his family, Athena watching yet another husband of hers die, Buck losing one of the most important people in his life, Eddie not being there for any of it and hearing from all of this through A PHONE CALL that will probably happen OF SCREEN. Chimney will possibly never recover from the immense guilt he is feeling, in addition to the immense guilt he is ALREADY feeling with Kevin. He will name his son after Bobby and be reminded of it every single day. Athena now has to continue living in a house, that Bobby will never have lived in. Alone. Because she lost her home with every single memory of Bobby and her kids in a fire.

4. You fumbled Bucks sexuality arc so immensely and you KEEP bringing back a deeply bigoted side character who had ZERO onscreen redemption, as his love interest, making him witness all of this, while Eddie is still nowhere to be seen. And don't get me started on that absolutely boring helicopter chase, where I had to watch Temu steer to the left so many times I almost punched myself in the face.

5. I don't know how Bobby could somehow survive this, should this be a stunt and Bobby not actually be dead, because he bled to death due to organ failure, infected with a highly contagious and lethal virus, that has no cure. There is not even a miracle that could make you survive that. I don't think my anger would subside, should Bobby miraculously survive it.

That was by far the worst choice this show has done, and they gave Buck a biological child he couldn't keep, brought Tommy Kinard back as a love interest, and brushed off SA by a therapist.

You know, you could've just not renewed the show, Tim. You didn't need to run it into the ground.

[xtreme-shipper]

Just Don't Give Up

Azriel (ACOTAR) x FReader (Human)

WC: 1.5K (Oneshot)

Summary: When it all becomes too much to keep going, our favorite Shadowsinger shows up just in time.

Warnings: Mentions of (and attempt at) suicide, angsty, I think, canon divergent, not proofread, lol, hurt/comfort, English is not my first language. Let me know if I should add anything <3

N/A: Hi! This is my first ACOTAR fanfic, so constructive criticism is really appreciated :) It's been a while since I've written fanfiction, but recently, I've been obsessed with Az, so here we are.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The night sky was blinding in the best way possible. Another year had passed, and you could see from the distance how your friends were celebrating another Starfall, a drunken joy filling the air, their voices full of excitement. The preparations started early this year, and the night court went all the way in, with concerts throughout the city and free drinks for all its citizens. You could tell the party would go on until sunrise and wondered, not for the first time tonight, why weren’t you down there with them?

“Is everything alright?” Az had asked you earlier that day. You nodded, smiling brightly at him.

“Just had a long night.” He nodded, not fully convinced, but he didn’t push the subject, which you were grateful for. You didn’t need to ruin the mood because of your problems.

 Nightmares from under the mountain still plagued your sleep, making it almost impossible to get any rest, and it was starting to show. The things that you had to see while not being able to do anything haunted your every second.

You didn't expect to survive when you escaped from the human lands, but Rhys found you not long after you crossed the border. He wanted you to turn around, warning you that Prythian wasn’t safe, but the alternative—going back to town—was not an option; anything would be better than that, even certain death. So you stubbornly refused to, claiming you knew how to take care of yourself. The problem was that one of Amarantha’s minions watched the interaction and wanted you for its own entertainment, so Rhys had to pretend that he had taken a liking to you and wanted you as his pet.

Word got to Amarantha, and she wasn’t particularly happy with her plaything taking a liking to someone else, so she punished him while you watched, unable to do anything. Useless.

After that first time, Amarantha decided it was a fun idea to have his “beloved” pet watch the suffering she had caused. So, every time you did anything she deemed disrespectful (which was basically everything), a torture session would take place. You couldn’t help but think that if you had just stayed where you belonged, Rhys wouldn’t have suffered as much as he did. It was your fault, even when he insisted that it wasn’t.

Shaking your head, you try to get rid of the memories.

You turn your eyes to the stars, the same ones you prayed to every night. Always the same wish without any answer from them and wonder, like you so often do, whether you should still be here.

The inner circle had never treated you as less or excluded you from anything. They were your support when no one else would lend a helping hand, and with the years, they became your family, yet even now, you still feel like an outsider. You weren’t Illyrian like Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel. Heck, you weren’t even Fae to begin with. You ended up being in the way most of the time.

You took your jacket off, letting the cold breeze hug your bare arms, where scars of silent battles painted them. A shiver ran down your spine as you stepped closer to the edge of the building.

In the human lands, your family never cared for you, and even when you left, no one mourned your “death”. Here in Velaris, you had people looking out for you, yet you felt like you didn’t quite fit in.

Would they notice? Would they care if you just… disappeared? Fae's lives were so endless that compared to them, humans’ existence must seem… insignificant.

Another step. You had slipped from the party when it all became too much. Your feet were moving on their own accord. Another shiver, another step. They would probably mourn for a while but then move on. You could stop the nightmares and the pain, and they could move on; Rhys wouldn’t have a living reminder of every time he was abused and had to endure the shame. Or when he was beaten, and you had to patch him up with your scarce medical knowledge.

Az and Cass could stop pretending that you didn’t cause their brother more suffering. That your recklessness didn’t make things worse. That they didn’t believe you weren’t brave enough to help him.

You are standing on the border of the building now, eyes fixed on the stars above, “Please,” you whispered. “Please.” You weren’t sure what you were asking for any more. Relieve from the pain, the guilt? Maybe you didn’t need an answer from the stars to fulfill that. You could hear the music all the way up here, a serene tune drowning the rest of the noise. You start walking on the edge, arms stretched wide to give yourself a bit more balance. One step, then another.

Letting go… should you… just one step…

A cold grip settles on your ankle and another on your wrist, pulling you carefully away from the border while a sad smile paints your lips.

You were used to Az’s shadows clinging to you from time to time, so you welcomed the touch but didn’t budge. You knew their master was standing a couple of steps behind you. “You know, you aren’t very sneaky for a spymaster.”

“I was looking for you.” His voice wasn’t more than a whisper. “I was worried since you left so early.”

“I’m fine” was all you said. A lie you had perfected over time.

He led out a humorless laugh. “You don’t seem fine.” You hear his steps, careful but loud, so you know he is getting closer. “Can you please step away, Sunshine?” You tense at the use of your nickname. So familiar by now, yet so unfitting.

“It’s fine, Az. I’m just admiring the night sky.” You can feel him right behind, you know. “It’s a beautiful sight.”

“Y/N… why are you here?” You knew he meant at the rooftop, but your mind couldn’t help going to a darker place.

You take a moment to answer, weighing your options. After a couple of silent minutes, you decide to be honest. “Did you know…” You pause for a second to try to stabilize your breathing. “That I was not only responsible for treating the High Lord's wounds? I was also tasked to inflict them.” You choke at your words, your throat feeling like it's closing, and it’s getting hard to breathe, but you push the words out anyway. “I am responsible for every scar that never fully healed, for every messed-up nightmare he has at night. I can still feel the way his muscles tensed every time I inflicted pain.” The world was spinning before your eyes, and the words were coming out in short breaths. You were gasping for air, struggling to get any inside your lungs, but still, the words wouldn’t stop coming out of your mouth.

“I’m the reason he suffered. If I hadn’t been there that day, or maybe if I had put up with my life at the… maybe he wouldn’t… he saw his… and I couldn’t… anything…” you close your eyes again. “How am I supposed to live here and accept all his help and love whe—”

A strong hand grabs you by your waist, interrupting your words and yanking you away from your doom. “It wasn’t your fault.” Az’s whisper came breathless, and his arms, though firmly hugging you, were shaking.

Tears were running down your face, staining his shirt. A protective wing wrapped around you, offering shelter. Giving you a protection you didn’t deserve. “I need the guilt to stop, Az. I’m a broken reminder of his pain, and selfishly, I can’t take it anymore.” You felt so tiny, so… shattered, fragments of yourself falling to the floor with every tear shed. He was silent for a moment, trying to hold you together while you crumbled.

Then his words reach your ears. “He once told me you remind him of his sister, you know?” One of his hands starts caressing your hair while the other firmly supports you against his body. “That your bad jokes to lighten the dreary mood and your constant presence were some of the things that kept him from giving up. That thanks to you, he was able to survive long enough to find his mate.” A loud sob shakes your entire body, hands fisting his shirt as you grab onto him for dear life. “Do you know why I call you ‘Sunshine’?” Az pauses, so you shake your head in response. “Rhys had been suffering long before you got there, and when he told us how you gave him hope, even when you yourself were silently breaking apart, how you would sing to him and brighten the mood with your warm voice, I knew. I knew you were like the sun he had been deprived of for so long. You saved my brother in the way that mattered the most. You were his light, and ever since you started living with us, you became my light, too.”

You were speechless at his words; raising your head from his chest, you looked into those beautiful hazel eyes and found nothing but tenderness. “You are my light, and I’m sorry it took so long for me to say it, Sunshine.” He places a kiss on your forehead. “I won’t say it will be easy, but I promise to be here with you. We will get through this. I promise, ok?” You nod as his grip tightens. “Just don’t give up, Sunshine.”

[morganas-pendragons]

disbelief | elrond peredhel

gif by goodsirs

this is the hurt/comfort elrond fic I promised. enjoy!

summary: you and elrond mourn. Elrond asks something of you.

please let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future elrond or celebrimbor fics! this one may get a part 2 because the ideas are FLOWING!

tagging: @celebrimbormylove

SPOILERS FOR 2x08

You know your place is not in the heat of battle. Your gifting has always been music, the lithe fingers of a violinist meant to create beauty within the confines of Lindon's hold. You have made your peace with that.

it does not get any easier when you find out that The High King is having Elrond lead the Elven army to Eregion. Eregion, which is under siege, with Lord Celebrimbor right at the center.

Your heart aches. Celebrimbor is one of Elrond's most beloved kin, and you dread what he may find upon arriving at Eregion.

"He is best suited for this role, and you know it," Gil-Galad remarks as he strides across his study, leaving you to linger by the door as you nervously fiddle with your hands. It is the first time you and Elrond will be apart since your confession of feelings. It is not surprising you are apprehensive to watch him leave. "I do not make promises idly. If I promise that I will return him to you. You do trust my word, do you not?"

"I do, High King."

There's little you can say to Elrond when you meet him at the gate at dawn, still dressed in your nightrobes and tugging messily on your loose hair. It is a nervous habit that you have kept for quite some time that Elrond has tried to break you of by offering to braid your hair every night before you sleep.

You let him. If anything, you are always going to let Elrond treat you with that gentle love he only reserves for you. With those tender touches that cradle you as if you are his most precious, with those eyes that always seek out your own as if he finds respite within your gaze.

As if he finds the ability to embrace the Half-Elven he has hated for so much of his life.

"Meleth nin." Elrond's voice breaks through your reverie as he approaches to cradle your hands in his own. Your aspect softens as you shift closer to press your forehead to his. "You did not need to come see me off. The sun has barely risen over the hills."

"I wish to say goodbye to my beloved," You reply quietly. Reaching into your robes, you produce a handkerchief with your initials pressed into the corner and curl his fingers around it. You'd carefully doused it in the perfume you often wear since your first date in the gardens. "And to tell you to come home to me."

Elrond lifts the handkerchief to his nose and inhales deeply. It is a pleasant scent. One that provokes intimate memories bathed in light.

It is more than enough to keep him fighting.

"I will come home to you." His words are a declaration, a promise written between you both that is sealed with a handkerchief and a kiss shadowed by twilight as you part. "Until then, namárië, my love."

You are left alone at Lindon's gates to watch him depart with the rest of the Elvish army and Gil-Galad. He has specifically asked you to tend to the others who remain while they are both gone, claiming that your ability to create beauty amid such darkness and death was commendable.

The Elves would need it if they were to survive Sauron.

***

The word reaches you through one of the couriers that stumble through Lindon's tree line, bloodied and bruised but carrying a hastily scribbled note from the High King.

Eregion lost. Celebrimbor slain. Return to us with whoever remains in Lindon to this location.. protected by the 3 Rings of Power.

You hold your breath as you scan through the rest of the note.

Elrond is alive.

Relief floods through your body as you scramble back through the gates and begin calling orders to the healers and remaining survivors who remained behind to begin packing their belongings to travel. The group you lead is few, but many of them are in good spirits and are ready to tend to the wounded who fought bravely on the front lines of battle against Sauron.

You're halfway to Gil-Galad's disclosed location when you realize that he's said Celebrimbor has been slain. "Oh, Celebrimbor," You whisper, running the backs of your hands across your eyes as tears blur your vision. You had great respect and a deep admiration for the Elven Smith. He was one of the only elves you'd ever come across who could really understand the depth of your passion for the arts. "Be peaceful, my friend."

Elrond was surely beside himself with grief. You had to find him, and you had to find him soon.

Your party ventured into the cliffs of Gil-Galad's newest sanctuary, guarded by what Elven royal guards remained who guided you toward the waterfall where a makeshift medical tent sat proudly against the rays of sun that fell upon it.

Galadriel is the first to greet you. "It is good to see you, old friend," She greeted, wincing as you pulled your hand away from her shoulder like you had been burned. "I apologize. I was wounded in battle with Sauron."

"You were what-"

She shakes her head and motions to the smaller tent behind the main one. "I know that you have little in the gift of healing, but Elrond could use your care. I had him moved to the secondary tent for more privacy. He is.." Galadriel bowed her head and exhaled quietly. It was only then in that moment that you remember how old she really is. "Wracked with grief over Lord Celebrimbor."

Ah.

"Will you communicate to the King that I have arrived with the remainder of the survivors and healers from Lindon?" You ask. Galadriel complies, murmuring her goodbyes under her breath as you remove your belongings just beside the medical tent and begin your trek up through the center aisle to enter the one Elrond occupies.

You're nearly knocked off your feet by the smell. You have been spared violence and despair for most of your life. To be witness to such devastation brought upon by the hands of Sauron, and to your Elven kin, stirs an anger deep in your belly that you've never felt before. It hurts. It aches.

He sees you before you see him.

"My love?"

Your eyes flicker through the gap in the tent to find a head of matted, bloodied curls and red-rimmed, sunken eyes staring back at you. Elrond looks exactly like Galadriel has described him to look. He looks like the picture of grief.

That ache in your heart festers at the sight of him as you rush forward, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling yourself up and into his embrace. Elrond grasps you with all the force of a man desperately trying to anchor himself to the world when he'd so easily rather disappear.

"Elrond," You whisper. It is your assurance to know that he is here by that whispered repetition of his name, by feeling the warmth of his skin and the press of metal against your body as he clings to you. "My love-"

"Celebrimbor. Sauron, he-" Elrond snarls quietly into your shoulder as you begin to fumble with removing his armor. You have done it enough times now that the practice is coming more easily. "He took Celebrimbor and killed him. My father said his life was supposed to be in my hands. I tried.. I tried so hard to save his works, but the Uruk burned it and Celebrimbor is dead-"

You can hear the shame he directs at himself as you remove his armor and set it to the side. Elrond has so often taken the weight of other people's responsibilities and expectations upon himself. He wants to be remembered for something other than being Elros' brother, for being the Half-Elven who resides in Lindon. Many of the full-blooded elves have held disdain and contempt against him for something completely out of his control.

He could not control this. Could not control Celebrimbor's decisions or Sauron's actions.

"I mourn Celebrimbor with you, Elrond." You said. You move to step away and grasp the rag and water basin beside you, but Elrond's grip on your body makes it difficult to move. You pause in your place and turn to face him once again, surprised to find his eyes hidden from you and face cast toward the floor. His fingers shake where they lay against your body. "Elrond?"

"His legacy went up in smoke. The Nine are gone, Feanör's statue desecrated, his prints and his works ashes. We don't even have a body to bury. How do we honor him?" His voice breaks as Elrond, for the first time in all the time you have known him, admits defeat. "How do I honor him when I failed?"

You manage to reach far enough to grasp the wet rag between your fingers and turn to face him as you drag it over the stained skin on his face. Elrond's silent tears track down clean, softened skin, and you wipe those away with your thumbs as they come.

"What if we have a funeral?" You suggest. "I will play at it, but I think you need to orchestrate and speak. Galadriel and the King would be grateful for it as well. We all loved Celebrimbor. As did I. He was one of few who could appreciate my artistry as I could his. Let his grave mark the new beginning we have here. Let that be the way to honor him."

Elrond doesn't break the silence for several minutes. He simply allows himself to bask in being alive, in you being alive here with him in this little tent far away from the war and from Sauron. You could build a life here. A home.

That is what he wants to do.

He does not dare speak until you are finished and washing the rag used to clean his arms and face. "I would very much like to do that with your assistance, nin mel. You are the only one I know who could create such beautiful things out of such darkness and travesty."

You playfully roll your eyes and tap the end of his nose with your finger. "You humor me, Commander." You muse. Elrond lets you go long enough to watch as you move his armor to the corner of the room and motion to the tub of hot water the healers had prepared while you were cleaning him. "Now humor me more and get in the bath. You smell foul."

Elrond's laughter is a balm to the ache in your heart. You too will miss Celebrimbor dearly, but you cannot afford the luxury of grief when he is so deeply engrossed in his own.

"Humor me. I have a request, aside from the funeral."

"That sounds more like a demand." You tease. "Go on."

"Remain here with me when the rest of Lindon's elves return home. Build our home here. With me. Build Imladris. Help me honor Celebrimbor."

The shock of his statement sends the objects in your arms clattering to the floor. He wants to do what?

[onlyswan]

jk releasing 3d on my birthday has been the greatest bday gift ever. ITS BEEN ON REPLAY NONSTOP 😋😋😋😋😋😋🤞🤞

what do you think oc’s thoughts and reactions were when they first listened to it??😭😭😭i need to know, art

summary: in which jungkook is crazy about you, and he sings songs about it.

> idol!jungkook x reader, est. relationship / fluff, suggestive / word count: 0.5k

> content/warnings: allusions to phone s*x and well… s*x, finally found the perfect time for oc piercing reveal :P

> in which masterlist!

note: BELATED HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY LINA BELOVED 💕💕💕you’re a source of light in my life and i’m so grateful for your existence <3 i hope all your wishes come true <333 lol surprise. i got bored this morning so here’s a baby drabble for u 🫶🏼 (i did say i’m taking a break from writing in oct and it’s sept 30 today so…)

—

jungkook pauses 3D at the 3:20 mark before the song can start playing again on loop, and then he looks at you with an excited grin painted on his face.

“so, what do you think?!”

you remain quiet under the weight of his tattooed arm swung around your shoulders, fiddling with his fingers as you always do when you can’t seem to sit still. it’s a contrast to the wide-eyed gasps and bright giggles elicited from you when his sultry singing voice filled all the empty corners of your shared apartment.

“mhmm…? why is my baby quiet all of a sudden?” he chuckles, nose nudging your cheek before he plants a kiss on the soft flesh.

“you were thinking of me?”

your eyes finally meet, and the curious sparkle he sees in yours makes his heart uncontrollably race inside his ribcage.

damn, he’s whipped.

“uh-uh. are you serious?”

you feign innocence, eyes going wider, surprised at his reaction.

“oh, don’t act all cute!” he exclaims, leaning back to watch an amused smile gradually form on your lips. “who else calls me in the middle of rehearsals and whines because they’re feeling needy? at three in the morning! three! huh? tell me!”

“oh my god, shut up! when will you stop bringing that up?!” you lightly punch his thigh, ashamed of your shamelessness when your yearning for your boyfriend reaches an all-time high. now that you’re being spoiled rotten with physical affection, you can no longer fathom how you used to survive it before, being distant from him for months on end. “that’s more you!”

he blinks at you, contemplating for a moment as he combs through his collection of hazy memories. “you mean, during rehearsals or at three in the morning?”

you only raise an eyebrow in response, and the corners of his eyes crinkle as he bursts into a fit of giggles. uh-oh, this is what you must look like when you scold him for being frisky over the phone while you’re out in public, forcing you to bring the brightness of your phone all the way down or to hastily plug in your earphones.

the truth is he wants to kiss you more when you get a little mean, though he refuses to say it out loud because he knows that you won’t ever stop using it against him the same way you purposely wear red when you want to test his self-control.

“alright, so i’m crazy about you, and i even sing songs about it. sue me!”

you intertwine your fingers together, concealing a smile by planting a chaste kiss on the purple heart permanently inked on the back of his hand. “i’d rather touch you.”

at that, his hooded gaze travels down south where your crop top couldn’t reach, watching your stomach unsteadily rise and fall, and the butterfly-shaped jewelry that pierces your belly button seems to flutter its wings with every breath you take.

his teeth tugs at his bottom lip before his tongue sweeps over it, a cheeky smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“would you mind if i touch you first?”

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

[mafuyussweater]

My Favorite Bingqiu (Bingyuan) fics

Be sure to read tags!

Leave kudos and comments for the authors!

Enjoy ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ (to be added to as a read more)

lowly disciple's self insert fanfic system by:

Allpiesforourown

Mature • canon divergence

Airplane and Cucumber-bro figure out they are transmigrators earlier on. Shen Qingqius disciples are STICKY. Luo Binghe writes self insert fanfic about his Shizun.

☆彡

Sweet Dreams Are Made of This by: Prudabaga

Explicit • Canon Divergence (fix-it?)

Shen Qingqiu can't help that his dreams all seem to revolve around sleeping with the protagonist. It doesn't make him gay. He hardly has a choice even if he really does enjoy them.. anyone would!

☆彡

Tie Up the Broken Threads of That Old Dream by: Ehann

Mature • Canon Divergence (fix-it)

Shen Qingqiu self detonates and causes the system to go haywire. He wakes up in the past with no system at all and finds Luo Binghe fresh out of the Abyss. He is determined to make things right this time.

☆彡

Remnants of Gold by: Wemmye

Teen+ • Canon Divergence? (No Transmigrators)

Su Xiyan still takes the poison but somehow she manages to survive. Her and Binghe grow up as farmers and she helps her son hide his demon side with a jade pendant. She really doesn't trust cultivators but Shen Yuan, one of the two peak lords of Qing Jings peak, convinces her to let Luo Binghe learn cultivation from him.

☆彡

Tarnished Gold by: Prim_The_Amazing

Mature • Canon Divergence (in a major way)

Shen Yuan transmigrates into the body of Gongyi Xiao and meets a post Abyss Luo Bingge who wants to take his place as Head Disciple.

☆彡

The Divide Between Autumn and Spring by: sareyen

Mature • AU

Shen Yuan transmigrates into a disciple of Qing Jing who shares his same name. He is out of his depth when he realizes this body has a damaged core and also that he is well before canon PIDW with all of the future peak lords being just young teens! He manages to make lots of friends, becomes a beloved head disciple, and saves a few people too.

(This is angsty y'all but oml this is a MASTERPIECE -with a happy end dw)

☆彡

If Marriage Was an Olympic Sport by: anatheme

Explicit • Wife Plot (set during the Abyss arc)

Shen Qingqiu accidentally sets of a "wife hunt" that requires 12 participants to hunt down the "wife". He has from sunrise to sunset to run for his life to avoid being forced into marriage.

☆彡

safe and stranded by: anatheme

Mature• Modern era-ish (fix-it)

Shen Qingqiu self detonation causes the system to glitch and it sends him (and Binghe) to his old life and he has 3 days to experience living in the modern world again before he will be sent back to his body that was fall towards his death.

☆彡

picture you by: wnter_autumn

Explicit • Modern Au

Shen Yuan sleeps with his friend Luo Binghe and freaks out about it because he is straight... right?

☆彡

dreaming you the same sun in a different place by: JRaylin441

Explicit • Reverse Transmigration

Shen Qingqiu disappears and Luo Binghe gets a notification from the System offering a side quest called In Another Life that requires him to find his husband in his original body in the modern world. Unfortunately his husband has no memory of living in PIDW!

☆彡

Stealing Sun From the Flowers by: CherrieBabie

Explicit • Canon Divergence

Shen Yuan wakes up in his mushroom body with no memory of ever being Shen Qingqiu and no access to a system so he thinks he lucked out! Unfortunately as he is roaming around as a rogue cultivator he gets captured in the Huan Hua territory and meets Luo Binghe himself who is really upset that this guy looks really similar to his dead Shizun.

☆彡

Being a 30-Year-Old Virgin Made Shen Yuan a Wizard! By: stormsonjupiter

Explicit • Cherry Magic Au

The Cherry Magic we all love but make it Bingyuan!

☆彡

if you don't have your own boyfriend, rented is fine by: nyoomerr

Mature • Modern Au

Luo Bingge searches for his own nice Shizun and ends up in the modern world with Shen Yuan who is kind of rude and only looks a little bit like Shen Qingqiu.

Shen Yuan thinks Bingge is a poor cosplayer and asks to hire him as his pretend boyfriend to show appreciation for the real authentic cosplay.. that's all!

☆彡

Life is (not) a Hallmark Movie by: mellicindi

Teen+ • Modern Au

Shen Yuan watches this one ASMR cooking channel and finds the video needing some improvements but the guys voice is really really nice! Then he ends up at his friend Shang Qingyuan apartment and sees a familiar countertop...

☆彡

Tell Me Your Heart Doesn't Race for a Hurricane or a Burning Building by: Bluethursday

Explicit • Modern (stalker Au)

Shen Yuan opens his door to a handsome stranger who says "Hi, are you Shen Yuan? I'm Luo Binghe, your new live-in caretaker"

☆彡

Mightier than Waves by: bedesbummie

Explicit • Modern Au (kinda stalker ish)

Shen Yuan goes to pick up his sisters backpack from the rec center and when no one seems to be coming to help him, he searches for an employee and runs into shirtless and overly handsome Luo Binghe. After that day he can't help but find himself back at the rec center to get another glimpse of Binghe. Under the guise of wanting to improve his physical health.

☆彡

a thousand jars by:tagteamme

Explicit • Post Canon

Shen Qinghua finds himself feeling incredibly jealous. There is porn. That's the fic (it's so good)

☆彡

Starstruck by: Camorra

Explicit • Modern Au (musicians)

Shen Yuan, who is known for making videos playing bass in accompaniment to Luo Binghe's songs, gets a message from someone saying they could get him in touch with famous musician Luo Binghe. At first he doesn't believe it but then he receives a photo of his bandmates taking a selfie and decides to not let this opportunity slip by.

☆彡

Halasana by: The Feels Whale (miscella)

Explicit • Modern Au (yoga)

Luo Binghe (known slut) makes a bet with his coworker Sha Hualing that he will stop sleeping with his hot clients to prove he doesn't /need/ sex. And then it all goes to shit when Shen Yuan comes waltzing in for their one-on-one session.

☆彡

# KissingTheHomiesGoodnight by: knothim

Explicit • Modern Au

Shen Yuans "no homo" mental gymnastics his way into messing around with Luo Binghe using the dumbest logic only he could come up with.

☆彡

A Little Bit To The Left by: miixz

Teen+ • Canon Divergence

A system error sends Shen Yuan to transmigrate into a random canon fodder Bai Zhan Peak disciple named Shi Yuan instead of Shen Qingqiu.

☆彡

We Are Not Wise by: Boomchick, Suzoomie

Teen+ • Canon Divergence (Utena inspired soul swords)

Shen Yuan transmigrates into a version of PIDW where cultivators form swords made of their very own souls. He is just a child when he runs into the middle of Shen Qingqiu battling a demonic creature and in order to protect them both Shen Qingqiu makes very horrible/controversial decision to pull Shen Yuans sword out of his body.

This is how Shen Yuan finds himself dragged to Qing Jing peak in order to keep his silence.

☆彡

when the glass shatters (which me do you see?) by: Quirmzi

Gen • Post Canon (de-aging)

Shen Qingqiu encounters trouble on a night hunt and ends up back in his (Shen Yuans!!) body at 6 years old. He has no idea who anyone is or why they can't get him his parents but thankfully at least Shang Qinghua understands him.

(All the peak lords (except one) gushes over how cute Shen Yuan is)

☆彡

A Transmigrator and a Time Traveler Walk Into the Bamboo House by: VeryCharismaticDragon

Teen+ • Time Travel (fix-it)

Over a year after Shen Qingqius death, Luo Binghe seeks out Shang Qinghua for another way to bring back the love of his life. All he needs to do is find a special mirror that brings you to the day you first met your soulmate. When he wakes up at 14 he is a bit confused but as more pieces of the puzzle are revealed, he learns the love of his life is way more complex than he ever expected.

☆彡

The Moon's Beloved Shadow by: mofumofu

Explicit • Canon Divergence

There is a well kept secret between the peak lords on Cang Qiong mountain. Two Shens run Qing Jing peak but only one has ever been seen outside of their bamboo house. Shen Yuan is very confused to wake up in the body of the Shen Twin who was never talked about in PIDW. With no knowledge of the past, he navigates an overly protective, doting Shen Jiu.

☆彡

Uprooted by: lethean

Mature • Canon Divergence

This world of PIDW is very different from the one Shen Yuan knew. He wakes up in the body of a character he can't remember but soon learns it's a minor villain that was possibly framed and woefully misunderstood. He just barely escapes an early death and finds himself being saved by none other than Shen Qingqiu and Yue Qingyuan themselves.

☆彡

Notes on the changing of a narrative by: HanaSheralHaminail

Explicit • Canon Divergence

The system demands Shen Qingqiu must fatally wound Luo Binghe before pushing him into the Abyss. The consequences for not complying are fatale. At least he can try and help Luo Binghe make it through with a little more knowledge on just what dangers he will encounter and hope it doesn't hurt too much.

☆彡

i just wanna be your shadow by: bibliomaniac

Explicit • Modern Au (inspired by the manhua "I Want To Be A Big Baddie")

Luo Binghe can read people's thoughts which means he doesn't trust most people. It used to be just his mom who he trusted but since arriving at the Shen estate, he met an interesting boy who was supposed to be Shen Qingqiu but his thoughts (and system?) reveal he is actually a boy named Shen Yuan who seems to be forced into becoming Luo Binghe's biggest bully.

(This is a freak4freak bingqiu! They are creepy and obsessed with each other fr. Shen Yuan likes seeing people in pain even though he feels disgusted with himself about it and Luo Binghe is an incurable M)

☆彡

a dream revealed by: waitineedaname

Teen+ • Post-Canon (series)

Luo Binghe doesn't quite trust Shang Qinghua so he decides to observe how he acts in his dreams. He learns more about his Martial Uncle and coincidentally his Shizun than he thought he would.

☆彡

fall for your reflection (drown in a dream) by: nex_et_nox

Explicit • Canon Divergence

During his time post abyss incident, Shen Qingqiu gets attacked by a demonic plant that captures its victims in a dream of their perfect world; his revolves around Luo Binghe.

[mind the tags, it gets dark but ends happily]

☆彡

To Be of One Mind by: kakanoo

Teen+ • Canon Divergence

During a mission as a disciple, Luo Binghe gets cursed with the ability to read the mind of Shen Qingqiu but only when they touch. It doesn't change much for the future but it does fix things in the end.

☆彡

[stood-onthecliffside]

with the eras tour being done, i keep looking back at all the gorgeous memories formed. i smile whenever i think about my sister introducing me to taylor when i was seven, and we would dance around in our bedroom room to her songs. i remember the friendship bracelets in my black purse, a friendship bracelet given to my sister when she was outside the stadium by a girl who did not mind that she would not get one in return. i fondly remember tailgating with my sister and we were suddenly kids who made our parents connect the ipod to a speaker. saying that i am proud of taylor alison swift would be an understatement. it has been an honour to survive surprise songs, clown over everything and experience album releases with you beloveds <3 until next time :')

[jeonqkooks]

our beloved summer | jjk (07)

You made a vow to hate Jeon Jungkook ever since he packed up and left you without a single explanation, but when he shows up at your door after years of radio silence, it turns out that maybe your resolve isn’t as strong as you thought.

pairing: producer!jungkook x songwriter!reader genre/warnings: exes au, fluff, angst, eventual smut, swearing, mentions of oc's mother because we know girlie is hella traumatized, mentions of drinking, mentions of an almost physical fight, abandonment issues, jk forgets to practice safe driving for 2 seconds, and uhmmm kissing 🤫, anddd that cliffhanger? 👀 rating: 18+ (minors dni) word count: 10.8k note (1): this is the longest it has taken me to update obs and i do feel pretty guilty about that. but it's finally here now and this is one of the chapters that i'm the most nervous about posting. massive thanks to @daechwitatamic and @/wintaerbaer (edited 2024: crossed out but not removed bc even tho she plagiarized obs afterward, she did beta this for me so i guess i still gotta give her that lmfao) for beta-ing this for me or else i would've screamed cried thrown up and scrapped the whole thing, and to @jeonwiixard for being a wonderful cheerleader as i was writing this, and to everyone in my beloved obs discord server for always being so sweet and kind and putting a smile on my smile every day since the server was created. also to my sunshine ☀︎ for introducing me to the song mentioned below bc HELLO is it not just one of the most obs coded songs ever. love you all my babies <3

series masterpost / playlist ; moodboards ; taglist join our OBS discord server ✨

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

Somewhere in the multiverse There's a me and you that works We never fuck it up We're out there still in love Somewhere in the multiverse Maybe that's enough

multiverse - Maya Manuele ft. PEMRBOKE

Sometimes, whenever you look up at the moon at night, you wonder if Jungkook is doing the same thing.

Even when you fall out of love with someone, it still hurts. It hurts because you once loved them so much it felt like the sky would collapse if you couldn’t be with them. It hurts because the love wasn’t taken from you, but rather it started slipping away on its own, more and more each day until you realize you’re holding onto nothing when there once was everything.

You can’t say that you’re too familiar with that kind of hurt though. You’ve never fallen out of love before.

You don’t think Jungkook is too familiar with it either, at least not when he left you.

You wonder if he thinks about you from time to time and gets sad. You think he does, because you know that he loved you. Something ended for him too. The memories that you shared were his memories too.

You hope that it’s painful for him whenever thoughts of you cross his mind, because that would mean that he cares. That a part of him still cares.

And if he still cares, then he might come back.

Despite the front that you try to parade around, there is a part of you that will always leave your heart vacant for him, regardless of whether or not he would return. It’s a scary thought, one that you would rather avoid at all costs, one that says there will be no one that you love more than you loved Jungkook. Maybe there can’t be another person that you will love at all.

You can come back quietly, like the wind slipping through the crack I leave in the window at night; or you can announce your return resoundingly like a sudden downpour quenching the summer heat. I don’t care. I kept your side of the bed empty and warm, waiting for you to come back. Hoping that you would come home.

[08:47] Yoongi: sure you don’t want me to drive you there? [08:48] Yoongi: i can pick you up in 30 [08:52] You: positive 🤧 i told you i already booked the train. it’s only 4 hours away [08:53] You: i’ll survive, yoongs [08:55] Yoongi: did you not watch Train To Busan? [08:56] You: ? [08:57] Yoongi: what if there’s a zombie apocalypse [09:00] You: yoongi if there’s a zombie apocalypse, how is your CONVERTIBLE supposed to keep me safe [09:01] Yoongi: i’ll put the roof up [09:02] You: stop talking [09:02] You: please stop talking. [09:03] Yoongi: 😡😡😡 [09:03] You: 😇 [09:03] You: gotta get dressed now though. i’ll see u when i get back? :) [09:05] Yoongi: fine [09:06] Yoongi: safe travels. text me when you get there :)

You plop onto your bed with a sigh, glancing at the bag that’s already packed and sitting near your wardrobe, lonely. You stay like that for a while, contemplating whether or not you should bail at the very last minute.

It was not on your bingo card that you’d be here, agonizing over your ex-boyfriend’s brother’s wedding. Nope. Absolutely no one saw it coming.

For fuck’s sake, why would they invite you to a wedding? A celebration of love? It feels like you’re being forced onto a prank show, just waiting for someone to jump out and scream in your face.

You learned that the wedding was for close friends and family only, so it would be a relatively small event, which makes it even more confusing why you were also asked to join. Maybe the world is changing too rapidly and you’re just a little old-fashioned for it, but you really don’t understand why your ex-boyfriend’s family would want you there.

Taehyung and Jimin were invited too; they’re Jungkook’s best friends after all. They’re practically an extension of the family, Jungkook’s brothers by choice. But Taehyung doesn’t come back from his work trip until the day of the wedding, and Jimin… Well, he just doesn’t want to go to a Busan wedding in the middle of winter.

So why are you even going?

You could’ve declined. Said you couldn’t attend because the invitation came in so late. Made up a work trip or a family emergency. There’s a plethora of excuses you could’ve used.

Or you could’ve simply said no. That would’ve been perfectly fine too. No one would even need to ask why.

But maybe it was because his mother had customized the invite with her own handwriting in the back. You would’ve missed it if you hadn’t spent hours meticulously studying the card like someone was going to quiz you. It wasn’t anything special - just We hope to see you there - but you think you’d feel really bad to decline after she’d made the extra effort to ask you to come.

When you told Yoongi that you would be attending Jungkook’s brother’s wedding, he didn’t seem upset. Still cool as a cucumber. Although if he was bothered by the announcement, you don’t think he would’ve let it show. It did take him a minute to take it in, but then he just pecked your cheek and asked if you could bring a plus-one. You both knew that you wouldn’t even if that was an option.

Pushing your body off the bed, you drag yourself to the bathroom to splash some water on your face. Then sunscreen. Then change into the clothes you’d already picked out last night. Your train doesn’t leave for another hour and fifteen minutes, but you want to be there at least twenty minutes early just in case. This is one of your only good habits.

You rub your eyes when you finally haul yourself outside, thinking you must still be dreaming because what is Jungkook’s car doing here?

You blink a few times, expecting the vehicle to disappear in a puff of white smoke.

Spoiler alert: It doesn’t.

The car is in front of you, but the man is nowhere to be found.

You stand there dumbfoundedly, contemplating whether you should wait it out for a little bit to see if he’s actually here. He comes running up to you a couple minutes later, holding two paper cups in his hands, one of them a chai latte. A memory you’d buried long ago comes rushing to the surface. It’s too early for you to be feeling.

“Hi,” he says, his warm breath coming out in a huff of smoke in the crisp morning air.

“Hi?” you mutter dumbly when he trades the bag in your hand for the drink. There’s a moment where you’re genuinely baffled, wondering if this is a memory reel playing right before your eyes. This is your Jungkook, wearing that same old smile whenever he used to come bounding up your dorm building so you could walk to the library together, where he would hang out with you during your shift if he didn’t have classes. “What are you doing here?”

You don’t remember telling him what time your train was, so he’d probably badgered it out of Taehyung or Jimin somehow.

“I thought I could drive us there,” he says. “I texted you about it.”

Well, that explains it. You don’t bother with his dozens of messages anymore. “Oh, uhm, I already booked the train.”

This doesn’t seem to faze him at all. “Free cancellation up to 15 minutes before departure.” Jungkook grins, clearly eager despite your obvious reluctance. It’s too early for this, whatever the hell this is.

When you told him that you had RSVP’d yes to the invitation, he was surprised that you even knew about the wedding. He even seemed nervous that day.

“What if I’d already left?” you ask.

He blinks, then stammers like a confused child. It’s cute, and you have to mentally slap yourself over the head for even thinking that.

“Then I’d go after you.”

How? you scoff internally. Unrealistic.

Regardless, not even an hour ago, you were declining Yoongi’s offer to drive you there. Now, you’re standing here, in front of your ex-boyfriend, contemplating whether or not you should go with him.

“Let’s go,” he says after a minute. “We don’t wanna be stuck in traffic.”

“I haven’t said yes.” Yet. “It’s a 4-hour drive.”

You don’t have to clarify what you mean. He understands it.

You both just stare at each other for a moment, the tension suddenly thickening with every passing second. Four hours on the road. Four hours alone in a car with Jungkook. That’s about two hundred minutes more than you think you can handle.

It’s like he can see right through you. “Don’t think about it,” he says, voice dropping lower. “It’s just a weekend. Everything will still be here for you to think about when we get back.”

In your head, it translates to: All of our shit will still be here when we get back. You can keep being mad at me then.

You hope that’s not true. You hope that when you get back, the things that keep you up at night will simply cease to exist. That in the two days you’ll be gone, a genie will materialize and solve all your problems for you.

Either way, it’s probably for the best that you aren’t mean to him this weekend. You’re stuck with him for the next 48 hours or so; it’ll only stress you out even more if you channel all of your energy into tormenting him. Besides, you’re already the ex girlfriend who has no place alongside his family. You don’t want to be the dark cloud raining on everyone’s parade too.

Maybe you’d already made up your mind when you let him take the bag from you.

For the first half of the drive, you were unconscious.

It’s a useless superpower that you have, the ability to fall asleep anywhere - literally anywhere, including in the passenger seat of your ex-boyfriend’s car while he escorts you to his hometown. Melatonin gummies manufacturers hate you.

You could’ve slept the whole drive, but around the second hour mark, you were startled awake when your body jostled forward, straining against your seatbelt uncomfortably. There was an arm trying to hold you back, despite the seatbelt having done its job well.

“Fuck,” Jungkook curses before he turns toward you, worry written all over his face. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, are you okay?”

You blink, still half asleep. “I’m okay,” you say. The minivan that Jungkook almost rear-ended continues on its merry way, carrying what seems to be a family of five. “What happened?”

He sighs, his outstretched arm retreating back to his side. “I got a bit distracted, that’s all.”

You take in your surroundings then. There’s barely any other cars in sight, no tacky billboard that sticks out like a sore thumb to catch your attention. There’s just the freeway, stretching on empty for all you can see.

“By what?” you ask.

“Nothing,” he says. “Go back to sleep. I’ll wake you when we get there.”

See, you have the superpower of falling asleep anywhere and everywhere, but once you’ve been woken up, it’s not as easy to fall back asleep.

That, and the fact that you’re hungry as shit.

You open your mouth, about to say no, about to offer to drive the rest of the way if Jungkook is tired, but your stomach doesn’t let you get a word out. It growls, filling the space of the car, making you want to chuck yourself out the fucking window and run all the way back to the city. This wouldn’t have happened had you taken the train, because if you had, there would’ve been food services and no one would be subject to hearing your stomach sing like it’s chewing out a small puppy in there. Life is nothing but an endless pit of embarrassment and despair.

Your arms hold themselves tighter around your frame, practically squeezing into your abdomen as you will it to please, please, please be quiet. Jungkook stares at you, and you can tell by the teeny tiny quirk of his lips that he’s trying to bite back a smile. He’s relaxed, but there’s still something hesitant on his face. It takes him a minute before he finally throws the question out.

“Do you want to go to that guksu place that we used-” that we used to go to, “you know the place. The one that’s right off the freeway?”

The sun is out today. The sky unfolds endlessly just outside the window, coloring blue everything your eyes land on. There are strips of clouds scattered here and there, like delicate strokes of white paint on an azure canvas. Even the winter cold has to soften.You bite into your cheek. Don’t think, that’s what he had told you.

Not much about this quaint restaurant has changed. The quirky decorations are still where they used to be, the windows still the same unique stained glass that you never came across anywhere else. You remember the elderly woman who runs the place, even if she doesn’t have a single clue who you are. The golden retriever you used to fawn over every time you stopped by, sits quietly by the door and watches the cars pass by, his fur now graying as weariness begins to settle into those old bones.

You would’ve been displeased if the place had changed, because, well, you don’t like change. But then again, this familiarity is dangerous. It tricks you into thinking that everything is still the same, even you and him. Deludes you into believing that you’re still in love and that he’ll walk out of here holding your hand.

Regardless, the first spoonful has you biting back a smile.

“How is it?” Jungkook asks.

It makes you feel all warm inside, and then a little sad, nostalgic.

“Tastes just the same,” you tell him simply.

“Hmm.”

He lets you satisfy your hunger in peace. It’s the least he can do anyway.

There’s a wall near the back of the restaurant, where people could hang polaroids of themselves and cute handwritten notes. You think if you dig through the hundreds of photos scattered across the space, you might be able to find you and Jungkook there, if you two haven’t already been thrown out long ago to make room for new memories.

He pays for your food after you’re both finished, despite some protesting on your side. As you leave, you’re busy thinking that if you could have a moment to marvel at that far-back wall of memories, if you could find a photo of you and him there, you would probably sneak it into your coat pocket.

It’d be another thing to add to your pile of Jungkook memorabilia - the old clothes in the back of your closet, the stack of dusty polaroids at the bottom of your drawer. You wonder if he keeps anything of yours, maybe an old t-shirt that you forgot to take back. It’s probably unlikely, but a girl can hope.

You miss the way Jungkook glances back, thinking the exact same thing.

You survive the rest of the drive with more ease, probably because of the food. You spend most of the remaining 2 hours leaning against the window, humming to the radio, closing your eyes but not really sleeping. You even forget to be nervous about what is to come.

That is, until the car pulls up to the venue.

It’s absolutely gorgeous, and a lot bigger than you imagined - a modern beach house overlooking the waters. It’s not as extravagant as one would expect to see when they come to a wedding, but considering the small crowd in attendance, this is more than enough. You see people rush in and out of the place even from far away - planners, caterers, the bridesmaids and groomsmen, probably.

You feel a bit comforted just watching this. His family seems to be doing a lot better than before. It’s nice to know.

You barely make it out of the car before someone calls your name, and pulls you into a hug that knocks the wind out of you. Although, when you catch the scent of her hair, you instantly know who it is.

Parents usually have a scent that’s distinct to only their kids, a scent so cozy and homely that no perfume can ever mask. You can only describe your mom’s scent with a feeling, specifically the feeling of your chest tightening, tingling with a bittersweetness that you never found elsewhere. 

Strangely enough, Jungkook’s mother has always made you feel the opposite. She makes you feel relieved to be in her embrace, like she accepts you for who you are even if all you are to her, at the end of the day, is a stranger.

You hug her back awkwardly, hesitantly, in front of Jungkook’s dad, his brother Junghyun, and a girl you don’t know. You assume that she’s the bride-to-be, the main character whom this weekend revolves around. Sooji, you remember that was the name on the wedding invitation.

You get choked up suddenly, eyes turning glassy though you quickly blink it away. You’re not sure if you’ve had someone be so happy to see you. Bypassers might even think that you just found the cure for cancer.

For a second there, you wonder if your mere presence has ever made your mother this overjoyed.

You look at Jungkook for help, silently asking him to rescue you. Who else are you supposed to turn to if not him?

He understands that look. “Okay, mom,” he says, entangling her arms from you with ease, “Y/N’s tired from the drive. Let’s let her rest, yeah? I’ll show her the room.”

She ignores her son. “Honey,” she says, brushing your hair away from your face so she could see you better. “Thank you for coming.” She used to insist that you call her “mom”, or at least by her first name because “Mrs. Jeon” was too formal for someone she considered family.

You now have to opt for the latter, because “mom” isn’t an option for you anymore.

“Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Jeon,” you tell her with a smile. You’re not really sure what else to say, but it makes you a little sad just calling her that.

She opens her mouth before closing it again, seemingly about to jokingly scold you for the formality before she recognizes the bittersweet look in your eyes. She just smiles at you then. There’s not much to be done about it.

You don’t know if anyone else sees how the moment is weighed down. Probably not. Maybe it’s just you and her who share this sentiment.

Jungkook doesn’t wait for his mom anymore. Sons, typical. He wedges himself between the two of you like a bulldozer and leads you inside the house. 

Even though all you have is an overnight bag, Jungkook carries it for you all the way up to your room, which is only down the hall from his. Then he disappears pretty quickly afterward, saying something about his best man duties and putting out fires. He seems apologetic as he tells you this, but it’s not like you’re expecting him to babysit you all weekend.

You bore yourself to death in your room for a while, before you remember you have to text Yoongi to let him know you got here safely. Though, you stop short of telling him that it was Jungkook who drove you here. It’s trivial enough, right? You don’t want Yoongi to feel bad over nothing. You do, however, inform Taehyung and Jimin when you text them about it, to which Jimin only responds with a preemptively disapproving ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’

When you get too stir-crazy, you wander outside, hoping to explore the beach before it gets dark and colder. You try to stay out of everyone’s way, because a good guest is a quiet guest. You seem to be doing a good job. No one notices you, not even Jungkook’s mom but that’s because she’s the person you actively want to avoid the most. You don’t know what you’d even say to her if she gets you alone.

Everything is hectic, as one can probably imagine when it comes to wedding preparations. You haven’t had anyone close to you get married yet, so it’s safe to say that you’re pretty much clueless about all of this. You wonder what it’ll be like when your big day comes around, if you even ever get married. You haven’t thought about it in a long time. Why would you? You don’t really have a reason to think about this. It’s much easier to picture Taehyung’s or Jimin’s wedding day than your own.

Your opinion on having kids still remains the same, and you were never one of those girls who daydreamed about having a big and extravagant wedding, but it’s not such a bad idea to ponder about. You still think marriage is a scary thing - it’s one of the biggest commitments a person could ever make - but you’re not entirely opposed to getting married. 

Why are you even mulling over this? Your time might never even come.

When you round the corner to get the steps that would lead you down to the beach, you run into Sooji and a woman holding a thick binder - must be a wedding planner. You give Jungkook’s future sister-in-law an awkward smile in greeting, which she returns much more gracefully before she tells the woman that she’ll be with her in a minute.

So now you’re stuck here, about to make small talk with a person you have never met before, and will likely never see again. Great. 

“Hi,” you say, extending a hand. “I haven’t had the chance to introduce myself. I’m Y/N.”

“I’m Sooji,” she replies warmly as she shakes your hand, and you have to stop yourself from being a little weirdo and thinking about how silky her hair looks up close. “You’re Jungkook’s… friend, right?”

You purse your lips before nodding with a chuckle. The pause tells you that she knows, and you wouldn’t be surprised if she’s uncomfortable having you here. 

“I’m sorry if this is weird. You probably don’t want a complete stranger at your wedding.”

Sooji shakes her head instantly, waving her hands around to dismiss your apology. “Please, it’s totally fine. Junghyun’s mom talked to me about it before we sent out the invites. I wouldn’t have agreed if I was really bothered. Don’t worry about it, seriously.”

“Why did you agree?” you ask, trying to sound as polite as possible. “You don’t know who I am.”

“I guess I was curious.” She shrugs, before laughing lightly as she says, “I used to think you weren’t real.”

“Huh?”

“She talks about you constantly. Never in front of Jungkook, of course. But she’s really fond of you, and you probably already know that doesn’t happen very often. She really does see you like a daughter. She made you sound too good to be true.”

You’re not sure how to respond to that. His mom still thinks about you, still talks about you after all this time. You’re just his ex-girlfriend, but she considers you her family. You don’t know what to do with this information nor the way it pinches your heart.

“I-” You purse your lips, fumbling with the responses in your head. You settle on a light laugh, because Sooji can probably tell that you’re struggling with the words too. “I have to be honest. I don’t know what to say to that.”

“You don’t have to say anything. I just thought you should know that you’re still very much loved here.” She gives you a kind smile, and it looks like she wants to tell you something else but decides against it in the end. Sooji’s eyes land somewhere behind you before she points in that general direction. “I have to go take care of an issue with the flowers, but look, Jungkook is here. Why don’t you ask him to show you around?”

And then she’s already off. Overall, what a… strange interaction.

You turn around to see Jungkook standing near one of the entrances to the house. As you watch him talk to someone - a bridesmaid, you assume, or just one of the other guests - you try not to think about the fact that there’s a stirring sensation in your stomach, and that it only intensifies when she throws her head back in a pretty laugh, a perfectly manicured hand landing on his arm like he’s the most charming person she’s ever met. 

You don’t give it a name, don’t label it green in color even though you’re blue and he’s golden sunshine. You don’t acknowledge that it’s a feeling, because doing so would make it real and there are certain truths that you’d rather delude yourself into thinking are lies.

When Jungkook’s eyes catch yours and he cuts off the woman mid-sentence with a curt excuse me, you don’t acknowledge that feeling either, but it’s warm and it blooms in your chest as he makes his way to you. It’s something victorious, something that tickles your ribs.

He comes to you like you’re a destination he’s been waiting all his life to reach, and you certainly, adamantly don’t acknowledge the spectacularly dizzying feeling that swallows you whole when he places a gentle hand on your arm, his voice soft as he says, “There you are. I was looking for you.”

The familiarity, it’s catastrophic.

“I was just walking around,” you tell him. “There’s not a lot to do here. I was bored.”

“You have me,” he says. Probably not in that way, but you’d like to think that’s how he means it. “I don’t have any more fires to put out. What do you want to do now?”

You glance over your surroundings, still set on your original plans. You wanted to go alone, but you suppose you can let him accompany you. You check the time on your phone before asking, “Can we go down to the beach? I wanna see if we can catch the sunset.”

You used to do this whenever you came here to visit - walk along the beach, hand in hand, sunlight in your hair and the cool breeze holding you tight in the afterglow.

The keyword here is “used to”. Now, you have to stuff your hands in your pockets just so you don’t reach for him every time you shiver.

It’s late enough in the afternoon for you to see the moon faintly shine against a blue and orange backdrop. Sun and moon, together in the same frame. It feels symbolic somehow. You’re not really sure.

“The moon looks like an egg,” Jungkook observes astutely, taking casual strides next to you. It makes you burst into easy laughter, which makes him laugh with you too. You stop walking when you reach what you think is a good spot to watch the sky. 

“Let’s sit here for a bit,” you say. It’s not the greatest idea - sitting idly by would only make you colder - but you just want to stop and look at the sunset. Once you’re seated in the sand, you respond to his moon remark, “That’s true, y’know. NASA said so.”

“Yeah,” he says, settling down beside you, “you made me read that.”

You’d forgotten about it, and you didn’t think that he’d remember. It’s freezing cold and the moon looks like an egg, but you’re not thinking, and you feel safe. Nothing can hurt you here, or at least that’s what you’d like to tell yourself.

You wrap your arms around yourself to keep from shivering, but you still shiver anyways.

“Are you cold?” he asks.

“A little,” you admit. “I should’ve worn a thicker sweater. But it’s o-”

He doesn’t let you finish the sentence, just smoothly takes off his jacket to put it around your shoulders.

You put your hands atop his to stop him. When you touch him, there’s an electric tingle that almost makes you flinch. He feels warm, still resembling a human furnace. 

“No, you don’t have t-”

“Take the jacket, Y/N,” he says. “It’s just a jacket.”

The jacket smells like him. It only makes you want to crawl further into the warmth.

He seems more self-assured here, that’s what you notice. More like the version of himself that he used to be. Confident, sometimes borderline cocky. Annoying but oddly endearing, you came to love that about him.

His relaxed demeanor is understandable. You’re merely a visitor here, while this is his homeground. 

“I’m curious about something,” he says after a while.

“Okay.”

“What’s the deal with Wednesdays?” he asks. 

“You know how they say bad things come in threes?” You purse your lips, thinking it over, feeling something bitter in your mouth as you recall the events that led to this. “My parents got divorced on a Wednesday. I moved out of mom’s house on a Wednesday. And…” You hold your knees close to your chest as you hesitate to utter this last part, “we broke up on a Wednesday.”

You see the exact moment Jungkook mentally slaps himself, paling a couple shades as he tongues his cheek, not expecting his question to inadvertently lead back to this. It wasn’t your intention to guilt trip him. It was true that he dumped you on a Wednesday, but you don’t want the mood to turn sour, to have to mull over this again. Like he said, it will still be there for you to worry about when you get back. You’re not looking forward to returning to a shitshow, but what you’d hate even more is to tarnish the memories of this place just because you can’t keep from being vindictive for not even a weekend.

“I was born on a Wednesday too, so I guess bad things come in fours sometimes,” you continue, chuckling to yourself humorlessly.

A frown appears on his face almost instantaneously. “What is that supposed to mean?”

You shrug. Jungkook turns his body toward you, which makes you spare him a glance before you return your gaze to the horizon. His face is so serious that it’s almost funny. “Y/N,” he presses. “Why would you say that?”

“C’mon, it’s a joke. I was just being self-deprecating. Lighten up.”

“Why are you talking like that?”

“Like what? Contrary to popular belief, I don’t walk around with a thundercloud over my head all the time,” you laugh lightly. “I figured if there was a day to be nice to you, it should be today. And tomorrow, I guess.”

“This is you being nice?”

Funny how just a few weeks ago, you were fighting with him and calling him a hypocrite. Now, you’re sitting together, watching the sun set, trying not to be mean to him.

“I’m not picking a fight with you,” you say. “This is nice enough.”

“It’s not even my wedding.”

“Okay.” You glance at him again, letting words flow without a single thought. “I’ll be even nicer to you on your wedding day then.”

You don’t know where that even came from, but something aches the very second the words leave your mouth. The thought of him getting married one day makes you just nauseous, even though you always knew that it was a possibility. It might even be inevitable.

You clear your throat, waving the sullen feeling away. Your body shivers then, even after the added warmth of his jacket. Maybe you’re not shivering because of the cold anymore.

He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his eyes linger on the side of your face. The both of you keep tiptoeing around an elephant that follows you wherever you go. 

You hug your knees close to your chest, watching the blue sky melt into the golden horizon, splattered with ribbons of cotton candy clouds.

You want to scooch closer to him and have him wrap his arm around your shoulders. This isn’t the spot where you used to draw your names in the sand, enveloped in a giant heart like two lovesick kids, but wouldn’t it be nice to imagine that it is?

“I was always really happy here,” you mumble to yourself.

You were, truly. This city was your pocket of hope, your piece of peace.

Being here brings back so many memories.

It’s the same feeling you get every time you pass by somewhere you used to live. The nostalgia of walking down the same road you used to walk every day until your shoes wore out. The familiarity of your surroundings. The bittersweetness of looking into a past you cannot hold anymore, of remembering the person you were at a certain period in your life, of knowing the things you do now that you didn’t back then.

You long for things you cannot change.

Nostalgia only grows stronger with time, you can always count on that.

He hums in agreement, before admitting quietly, “I miss you.” One pulls, the other pushes. The water wavers, like it’s touched by his words, simple but earnest. You’re touched too, somewhere in your heart, where you know you should be writing someone else’s name now.

Should?

“You’re pushing it,” you say softly.

“I know.”

You look at him. Maybe it’s because you’re back in the city that holds only good memories of you two. Maybe you’re hypnotized by the way the pink and purple hues kiss his side profile, making him feel like a fever dream and not someone you loved. Maybe it’s the cold, making you yearn for any source of warmth. But instead of returning his sentiment, you say, “It’ll pass.”

He meets your eyes. There’s something pleading in his gaze. All things pass eventually. Time moves forward, people move on. Bad things will pass sooner or later. Your worst heartbreak, your most arduous trials, your saddest moments, they will all pass.

And good things… good things will have to pass too, whether you like it or not.

Your fingers twitch from where they’re still holding onto your body. You itch to reach for his hand. You don’t tell him what he wants to hear, even though here’s a part of you that wants to say it back. In a better world, you would be telling him I love you too, instead of having to suppress an I miss you too.

“All things have to pass eventually. This will too.”

[20:05] Taebear 🐻: we could go to that bar near the gallery. Y/N likes the cocktails there [20:06] Mimi 🐥: kay kay [20:06] Mimi 🐥: soooooo next friday? [20:09] Mimi 🐥: why is y/n reading our messages. shouldn’t she be at dinner [20:09] You: i approve of the bar choice [20:11] You: if you didn’t want me reading your messages, you shouldn’t have sent them to the gc [20:11] You: and if you must know, i’m skipping dinner. i’m avoiding Jungkook’s mom [20:12] Mimi 🐥: understandable. i figured you would do that [20:13] Mimi 🐥: how’s it going? are we regretting going yet? i told you to just stay home and we could binge watch the office together [20:15] You: and EYE told you that you could be a good friend and go to this wedding with me but nooooo baby doesn’t like the cold [20:16] You: you could’ve visited your parents while you’re here you know. two birds with one stone [20:18] Mimi 🐥: babes my parents stayed with me for a whole month last month. i reached my quota for family face time  [20:19] You: son and friend of the year 👏 [20:20] Mimi 🐥: 😎😎😎😘

[20:22] Taebear 🐻: hey [20:23] You: uh oh. am i in trouble? why is this not in the gc? [20:25] Taebear 🐻: lol shut up [20:26] Taebear 🐻: you okay? [20:28] You: feels like that could’ve been a perfectly good question to ask in the gc [20:29] Taebear 🐻: because it’s a serious question and we both know Jimin can’t be serious for one minute to save his life [20:32] You: why does it have to be a serious question? 🤪 [20:32] Taebear 🐻: 😕 [20:33] You: stop pouting. i’m fine [20:35] Taebear 🐻: are you? [20:36] You: i am! you don’t have to go all mama bear on me [20:39] Taebear 🐻: ha ha ha. you’re so funny [20:40] Taebear 🐻: want me to call you? [20:42] You: i said i’m fiiiiiine 🙄 [20:43] You: but also no because i told everyone i was tired and i’m pretending to be asleep in my room right now [20:43] Taebear 🐻: okay [20:43] Taebear 🐻: did you eat something at least? [20:44] You: i have a cup ramen in my room [20:45] Taebear 🐻: okay [20:46] Taebear 🐻: how was today? did JK make you wanna strangle him? [20:48] You: okay Kim Taehyung at least act like you have some faith in your friend lol [20:50] You: but mmmmmm it was ok. he was mostly behaving himself [20:51] Taebear 🐻: mostly? [20:54] You: we were down at the beach and he just told me he missed me out of the blue [20:55] You: Mimi is asking why no one is replying to him  [20:57] Taebear 🐻: i can see that [20:58] Taebear 🐻: what did you tell JK? [21:01] You: i quoted fleabag to him [21:09] Taebear 🐻: i had to google that [21:10] Taebear 🐻: i still don’t know what that means [21:11] You: i know you don’t lol. you’re adorable [21:11] You: i’ll tell you when i get back.  [21:13] You: ok bye i have to sleep early or i’ll look like ass in the morning [21:14] Taebear 🐻: oh. okay [21:15] Taebear 🐻: sleep tight. remember not to gorge yourself on booze tomorrow [21:17] You: thanks for the reminder. love you mom 🙄💕 [21:17] Taebear 🐻: :) [21:20] Taebear 🐻: you won’t look like ass btw

You clocked out right after you told Taehyung that you would. It wasn’t a peaceful sleep though. The anxiety simmering in your belly woke you up a few times throughout the night. You don’t even know why you were anxious. It’s not like you were the one who was about to walk down the aisle.

When morning finally came and you managed to untangle yourself from the surprising comfort of your familiar bed, you practically dragged your feet for the subsequent two hours, trying to get ready. As if that would actually slow down the passage of time.

You had to compartmentalize the things you needed to do in a mental checklist. Makeup. Hair. Dress. Stare at yourself in the mirror for half an hour and internally freak out while waiting for Jungkook to come get you from your room.

Now you’re sitting in the wedding hall, watching people filter into the room. It’s not even a lot of people, but you’re still overwhelmed regardless.

You feel so exposed, even though he’s the only one looking at you in this room of strangers. He’s been looking at you like that ever since he first saw you this morning, in a dress that you got just days before the wedding. You still don’t know if it’s entirely appropriate for your ex-boyfriend’s brother’s wedding - maybe a bit revealing - but it was the only one you could find on such short notice.

When you tried on the dress for Taehyung and Jimin a few days ago, Taehyung said you looked beautiful. Jimin said you looked decent, “six point five out of ten,” which translated to “pretty nice” in Jimin-lingo. That would’ve been enough if you were going to any other wedding, not one where Jungkook would also be attending.

You had wanted him to see you and regret ever leaving you.

It was a silly thought, just a tad adolescent.

You had wanted him to see you in your dress and be consumed with thoughts of you until he couldn’t even see straight. To be the only thing on his mind, you didn’t think it was a lot to ask for.

That was before he told you not to think about it and you’d been convinced to just go with the flow just for two days. It was before he actually did see you earlier today in your dress - a simple midnight blue satin cowl neck with a slit in the thigh - but you were the one rendered helpless and speechless. He had stared at you for a minute when he came to walk you down from your room, then he’d said, all breathless even though both of you were just standing there, “You’re beautiful.”

You’re beautiful, not You look beautiful.

You don’t know why, but you appreciated it.

It made your cheeks burn underneath your artificial rosy blush. Stupid, you thought to yourself when you two made your way to the main hall. Stupid for letting yourself get dizzy because of a single compliment from him.

You’re seated with his parents, which makes sense because you don’t know anybody here except for them. Well, maybe you know one of his cousins whose kid you and Jungkook used to babysit whenever their family was in the city, but you doubt that he even remembers you anymore.

When the ceremony begins, your heart instantly feels like it’s about to drop to the pit of your stomach.

You can’t lie to yourself. It stings.

It stings just sitting here next to his parents like a daughter-in-law, like a member of their family, watching his brother solidify his happy ending.

It stings that Jungkook is standing up there, looking as handsome as ever, but his eyes aren’t on the couple. They keep flickering to you no matter how much you try to pretend that they don’t.

It stings that even though you don’t think about marriage often - or maybe you just don’t allow yourself to - you can’t deny that the thought does cross your mind from time to time. Any time that you’d wander the corridors inside your head, you’d pass the doors that you keep unopened on purpose but there’s always that one door marked with a bright red X that you can never sidestep.

You watch Junghyun and Sooji with their teary smiles and shaky hands, shaky but happy. There’s a sudden clarity that this could’ve been you and him in another life. Forever is a lie, but you would’ve perjured yourself a thousand times for him. I do - you would’ve meant it.

You imagine yourself in Sooji’s place, and Jungkook, standing right on the other side, holding both your hands in his. A beautiful and radiant bride terrified of the altar. A dashing groom with a smile that could rival the sun and shoulders weighing heavier than he lets on.

It would’ve looked clumsy, but it could’ve been right.

You wonder if he’s wondering the same thing. Maybe he is. You hope he is.

When the ceremony ends with a kiss shared between the newlyweds, you wipe away the tears that well up in your eyes. The people around you do the same thing, but they’re doing it for the right reason, out of genuine joy for the happy couple. You don’t think you can say the same for yourself.

Some of the bridesmaids fawn over him. It’s reasonable, you suppose. One tends to do that in the presence of Jeon Jungkook.

You watch as they come up to him one by one to ask him to dance, watch as he politely declines until they’re all stalking away with similar pouts on their faces. You watch him until his eyes lock on you, sitting at a table near the back, nursing a glass of champagne.

He weaves himself with ease through the people making their way to the dance floor. When he’s in front of you, he holds out a hand.

“Dance with me?” he asks, his doe eyes working overtime to lure you in with their sparkles, though you’d rather stay here where you can easily go unnoticed until the night ends. “One song?”

“I don’t know how,” you say, even as you’re taking his hand and standing up.

“I showed you how, remember?”

“That was a long time ago.”

He squeezes you reassuringly. “Just follow my lead,” he says, walking the both of you to the floor. “C’mon.”

Once the music starts, your heels stomp on his feet at least three times before you start finding the beat to move along to. Muscle memory, or whatever, is bullshit. You remember absolutely nothing of what he showed you.

You’re grateful that the song is slow, because it makes it easier for you to follow the beat with your two left feet. He takes one of your hands in his, the other settling on the small of your back, guiding you to move in a steady rhythm.

You feel his mother’s eyes on the two of you, because she must be somewhere nearby, watching you like a hawk. You feel his gaze on your face while you keep yours on the knot of his tie, just trying to keep your composure and to not step on his feet with your heels.

The blur of white that you catch from the periphery of your vision makes you turn your head. Sooji and Junghyun are close by, swaying together slowly to the soft music, both of them glowing with happiness. She must sense your eyes on her, because she lifts her gaze up to meet yours. She smiles at the sight of you and Jungkook, and you smile back, because you don’t know how else to respond to that.

You don’t say it, but you do think it. Your fingers tighten around his hand ever so slightly.

Could that have been us?

If the answer is yes, then it would hurt.

If the answer is no, then it would hurt.

The point of your story is that it’s painful however you choose to look at it. There’s no other way to frame it. It’s just painful, because you’re never going to get any of it back.

You bite your lip, then turn away from the happy couple but you still don’t look at Jungkook. You look at your hand in his, and that’s when you see it.

“How’d you get that?” you ask, gently tracing the inch of slightly raised skin on his knuckles. You never noticed the scar until now.

“It was four years ago, I think? After Taehyung and I almost got into a fight, I went outside and… punched a wall,” he says, wincing as he recalls the memory.

His answer takes you aback. “You and Taehyung got into a fight?”

“Almost,” he corrects. “It was a long time ago. Didn’t they tell you?”

“No, they didn’t say anything. What happened?”

“Nothing happened.”

“If it was really nothing, you wouldn’t have punched a wall.” You frown. It makes you miss a few beats, but the song isn’t what’s important now, even if Jungkook is still trying to steer you back into the dance. “Taehyung isn’t violent. You aren’t violent.”

“I’m serious,” he says finally. “It’s nothing. We were just drunk and stupid.”

You know there must be more to it, that something must have happened or been said to trigger such a reaction from both of them. But you also know that you won’t probably get anything out of Jungkook if he doesn’t want to tell you.

You give up, for now. “Fine. If you say so.”  You’ll just have to weasel it out of Jimin later.

The song comes to an end, before another one comes on. If Jungkook remembers that he only asked for one song, maybe he’s counting his blessings that you’re still here and dancing with him, because he doesn’t mention it.

For some reason, you pull your hand away from his, only to slide up his shoulder to lock both of your hands behind his neck. He seems surprised, but he does the same around your waist.

Jungkook’s gaze flickers to your lips briefly, then back to your eyes again. You find yourself doing the same and wonder what he tastes like after all the time you’ve been apart. Is he still as sweet as you remember? You used to tease that it was because of the excessive sugar he put in everything, but you knew it was really just him. The few inches between you are so inviting that it’s practically tempting you to close the gap. You could, easily in fact. Blame it on one too many glasses of champagne later if you want.

He looks younger like this, like the boy you loved, starry eyes and dimpled smile. His shoulders are always the most comfortable resting place, the crook of his neck your long lost home. This is nice, you think, to see him again even though it feels like a fever dream. Memories of your first date, your first kiss, come to life before your eyes so realistically that you could almost touch them.

Loved? That sounds funny to you.

The people you used to be, souls wrapped in innocence, when the world was nothing but the arms of the person you loved. You reach out, and the memories quickly fade from view. The only trace they leave behind is a speck of gold on your fingertips, a memento of charming naiveté for you to tuck neatly away in the corner of your mind, but also a reminder that ah, they only exist in the locket of your heart now. Because he has changed, and you think you must have too. Life, as they say, goes on.

“We made it. Kind of. That’s crazy,” you find yourself saying.

“Did we?”

“You don’t think so?” you chuckle. “We’re in a group chat with the Kim Seokjin who spams it with bad jokes on a daily basis. I’d call that a win.”

That makes him laugh. “If you put it like that, yeah, maybe. Sure.”

Other people might be fooled, but it doesn’t sound at all convincing to you. The light doesn’t really reach his eyes. You bite the inside of your cheek, thinking of how to translate the sudden poignant turn of the moment.

“It isn’t everything you hoped it’d be?” you ask.

His shoulders rise then fall quickly in a second-long shrug. “I thought it would make me feel more… fulfilled. But it doesn’t. Not really.”

The way he says it and the way he’s looking at you makes your heart dive. You understand what he means. You’re good at what you do, and you don’t need reassurance from anyone to recognize that. But sometimes, it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. Doesn’t feel like it’s real, like it’s validated.

When you landed your first big project, even before Yoongi, you were so proud of yourself. You were bursting with excitement but you weren’t happy, and you knew what the reason was. Something was missing that couldn’t be filled, not even with all your friends’ hundreds of messages of encouragement. 

It’s beyond stupid, this feeling like your wins amount to nothing at all just because of one person. You wanted him there to celebrate every achievement with you and he wasn’t, and the milestones seemed incomplete without the presence of him. It doesn’t feel like you’ve accomplished anything because this always used to be a dream you thought you’d make come true together.

“It’s lonely,” he concludes.

It sounds like he feels the same way, like he wanted you to be there too.

He suddenly holds you tighter than you think he needs to, like he’s afraid to let go of you. You imagine that he doesn’t want to let go of you, and it makes you feel better for a second. But it doesn’t change the fact that he still did in the end. And he will have to when this ends.

What was the point of this? Why did he bring this upon yourselves when he seems to be as hurt as you are? All of this time, all of these years, lost to what? You could’ve been happy together but instead, you were both lost and miserable.

When the music stops - you lost count of how many songs it’s been - you pull away from him. He looks disappointed, maybe even a little hurt for some reason.

“I’m gonna get some air,” you say, already turning away from him.

“Y/N-”

“I need some air.” Then you’re weaving through the dancing couples despite Jungkook calling your name. How did he manage it? How did he not look back when you called out for him?

You hastily grab your coat on the way out. It’s not going to keep you warm, but that’s not something you’re even remotely concerned with.

It’s everywhere, you feel it down to your bones.

The wind wraps itself tightly around you, intertwining in your hair, slipping through the cracks of your fingers, caressing your face in a chilling touch. You greet the cold like a long lost sister, shivering violently with nostalgia. It was there for you more than your own flesh and blood.

Is that why you like the sea at night? Because it reminds you of mom?

It’s dark out here, barely anything is visible except for a lighthouse sending out light in the quiet of the night. You can’t see much, but you can certainly hear it. You’re not sure if the music is coming from inside the venue, or if it’s still ringing in your ears. It’s probably the latter; you’re too far away to be able to catch the music anyway. But regardless, the tune is quickly drowned out by the sea.

The waves crash violently against the shore like it’s out for blood. There’s a magnetic pull, as if it’s calling out for you. You want to go to it, to reach out and feel the cold outside of your body for once, but you stay there despite your legs itching to stand up and run straight ahead. Into the water and down under.

You could lie down and close your eyes for a moment. The sound of the water, as sharp and brutal as it is, nurtures a part of you somehow.

You just want to be alone. You don’t want to talk to Taehyung, or Jimin, or even Yoongi.

Oh.

Yoongi.

It’s a terrible feeling, knowing that you’re going to hurt Yoongi. Knowing that you’re going to kill this even before it has a chance to truly begin.

Truth be told, you can’t envision a future with Yoongi. There isn’t anything wrong with him, because he’s not the problem here. Yoongi is fun, he’s considerate, he keeps things light on purpose for you, until you’re ready to initiate something more serious. He’s good for you, even Taehyung thinks so.

But you can’t love Yoongi, not in the way that he wants you to. Not more than you love Jungkook.

There you go. Ruining things again.

Did you ruin Jungkook? Is that what happened?

The layers on you are no match for the sea at night. The wind hisses relentlessly, biting at any part of your skin that’s exposed.

It takes you back to that night. Almost everything does, actually.

Maybe that’s why you never even stopped to consider starting anything with anyone, because it always ends. If there’s a beginning, then there will be an inevitable ending. Love isn’t made to last and you aren’t meant to carry love with you. You’ve been abandoned twice. If it happens a third time, it’s a pattern, and then your hypothesis will only be proven. That the problem here is you.

You’d be lying if you said you haven’t wondered when it’ll finally be Taehyung’s turn to leave. He eventually will, right? That one’s gonna hurt.

Then, you’re startled when someone calls your name.

“What’s wrong?” Jungkook asks. The wind and the waves masked the sound of his footsteps walking up to you. When you turn around to face him, his eyes grow worried, almost panicked. “Why are you crying?”

You breathe out irritatedly before you hastily wipe at your cheeks. You didn’t even realize that you’d been crying. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine,” you say, though you both know it’s a lie. “I’m just tired. I’m going up to my room.”

He catches your wrist in a firm grip when you try to walk away. You wish he’d just leave you alone, but you knew he wouldn’t drop it just like that.

“I said I’m fine,” you insist.

“You were crying,” he says. “Did I do something wrong?”

He didn’t, at least not tonight.

God, you really don’t want to do this right now.

“Jungkook,” you warn. “Let go of me.”

You try to free yourself from his grip, hoping that he’ll get the hint and back off for now. Instead, he pulls you into his chest, where you struggle to escape from his hold until you realize your efforts are futile. He takes the wind’s place, wound tightly around you, so tightly that it’s nearly impossible for you to move.

You hiss out his name, but he doesn’t budge. 

“Jungkook, can you just- Fuck!”

Damn him.

You realize he’s not giving up, which in turn makes you give up struggling, hoping that if you let this be a moment, then it’ll be something that can pass.

You’re just standing there, letting him hold you, letting yourself be held by the person who broke you in the first place. This feels exactly like where you’re supposed to be - in his arms, with your face hidden in the crook of his neck, his gentle fingers stroking your hair. There’s not a lot that you could do but lean into that feeling the same way you lean into him. One foot in the sand, one foot in the past. A hand on the doorknob of time, wondering if you should look back or look forward.

You want to be alone, but that never used to apply with him.

The wind stills, the sea calms. You remain unmoving too, locked in his embrace. You feel the faint rhythm of his heart, beating faster than you think it should. If you could, you would bottle this moment up and live there forever.

I miss you, you think.

I miss you.

I miss you.

I miss you.

Then your arms are around him too. It only makes him hold you tighter, and all you can think about is how much you miss him, how painful it is to miss him, how you feel like you’re being pulled apart at the seams from the weight of missing him. 

Fuck.

Can you pretend that the last few years never happened? Is there a higher power that would allow you to go back to the night before that wretched Wednesday, when everything was still perfect? Hundreds of days of your life, can you pretend that it was just one long nightmare? When you wake up, you’ll be back in his humble apartment, tangled up together in his bed. Warm sunlight, your silken youth, and him. It was all you ever needed.

Again with the devastating familiarity. The city, the beach. His mother’s warmth that always made you reminisce about your own mother’s coldness. How Jungkook used to find you in moments like this and just stayed by your side until the dejection passed. He understood that he could never understand it the way you did.

You hear yourself sniffle, then you feel him press a kiss into your hair. Home is comforting.

Oh, you never want to leave.

You don’t want to leave, and that’s terrifying.

You allow yourself to stay there for one more second - one endless second - so you could commit to memory what it’s like to be with him. Back and forth. It’s always so easy to fall into him.

Jungkook releases you when he feels you loosen after a while, and you reluctantly meet his eyes as he tilts your head to face him.  His fingers cradling your jaw, how warm and delicate they feel on your skin.

You swallow thickly, your mind going blank. He’s the only person you see, the only one that matters. His eyes flicker south, and even then you don’t make any move to run away, despite his loose grip on your waist telling you that you can if you want to.

You told him that it would pass, and maybe for him, it will. For him, it’s the city and the moment, making him feel like he’s caught up in a page that he’s turned over a long time ago. He was fine with leaving, and he’s been fine without you. It will pass for him, as much as it hurts you to admit it.

But not for you. For you, there’s only him. There’s nobody else but him. It’s always been him, no matter how hard you try to tell yourself that there will be another person you can love as much as you love Jungkook. You might only be a page, perhaps even a chapter, in the story of his life, but he’s your entire book. He’s volume after volume after volume, until he takes up the whole shelf and leaves no room for anything else, not even for yourself.

And now here he is - at the biggest turn in your career.

He’s a bad blood cell you can’t ever get rid of.

You’ll never be able to truly let go of him. How could you? When you truly love someone, those feelings will carry on forever. They’ll always have a piece of your heart despite an ending. When you look back on a certain period in your life, you’ll think to yourself, You’ll always be a part of me. I loved you then.

But Jungkook is a force of nature. He has your whole heart.

Years and years from now, when you look back on your life, you know you’ll see him everywhere. Even when you’re old and gray, and when faces all just blur together in a mosaic of broken memories and long lost youth, you know you’ll still remember him - the person you loved, the one whom you let slip through your fingers. The great love of your life when you were young.

Sometimes, you regret that day. You can’t help feeling like it was your fault too. Maybe you should’ve tried harder to keep him. You should’ve fought harder, should’ve held onto him instead of standing there and watching him leave.

He lit the match, and you let the house burn. It takes two to tango, two to break a heart.

You’re quick to let people leave. Oh, how you wish it could be that easy to let them go too.

It isn’t until your eyes mimic the flicker of his gaze that he leans in. You meet him halfway. For the first time in years, you feel like you could breathe, truly breathe. It’s achingly slow, like neither of you can believe that this is happening. 

You sigh against his mouth when his tongue brushes your bottom lip, slips past the seal to devour you. It feels like a perfect dream. You could stay in this bubble with him forever, pretend that you’re the only two people who exist in the world and there’s nothing else, no one else, waiting for you in a city that seems so far away right now. The thought of him never left you, not even for a second. He’s always been with you everywhere you go, no matter what you do, always in the back of your mind.

He tastes like your youth, like remembrance. He kisses you like he’s still yours when deep down you know that you’re still his. The hand on your jaw is gentle but firm, and it makes you repeat a thought, I miss you.

Then a feeling, I love you.

Not then. Now.

I love you now.

I love you even when I shouldn’t. Even when it hurts. Even when you leave me. Even when you don’t love me more than I love you. If there comes a day where you love somebody else, I will still love you then. There will never be another person for me but you. My first and only love.

When he pulls away, you think it’s too quick, even though your lungs are grateful for the breath that you instantly inhale. You stare at his lips like you’re in a daze, mesmerized, wanting to chase them again. You don’t even know how you have it in yourself to utter these next words, but you hear your own voice saying them anyway.

You’re holding onto him now. Doesn’t that count?

“Let’s…” Your fingers tighten on the collar of his dress shirt. “Let’s go up to your room.”

note (2): so... what do we think?? will they?? won't they?? 😵 stay tuned for obs7.5 which will be dropping 29.09.2023! also i'm gonna pause obs muse asks for a little bit! 😬

all rights reserved © jeonqkooks. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted september 24, 2023]

[coyotelip]

☆ fic updates

realized it's been a long time since I've posted my ao3 updates on tumblr! so there's some new works (or old ones with updates) :

☆ 'that purring in my chest' (M, 3/4, 7,4k words)

that one was my jegulus one-shot, but became multi-chapteres little story! miscommunication, jealousy and black brothers relationship included ;

☆ 'my beloved ghost and me' (M, 2/?, 4,5k words)

the oldest out of this list – memory loss and canon divergence fic with regulus surviving the cave and coming back to james. mostly sad and angsty.

this thing is hard to write because I took it more seriously, but also can't understand if people like it. please, if you have some free time and want to check it, share your thoughts! it'll be helpful.

☆ 'fill the glass and drain it' (E, 4,1k words)

the most woke thing I've written so far, I believe! or just reguily having platonic sex while james observes. really enjoyed that silly smut because I love exploring regulily dynamics!

☆ 'birthday boy' (E, 1,2k words)

my first time writing trans!reg, it was a birthday gift for my dear friend ♡ in general just soft jegulus having soft sex with healthy communication about new experiments.

☆ 'too sweet (not for me)' (G, 2,4k words)

wolfstar is here! It's just very sweet little one-shot about them on their first date ♡

☆ 'prepare for trouble (make it double)' (T, 1,3k words)

my first time writing rosestarkiller poly relationships! that one is also my little gift for @bartywinter ♡ domestic and soft thing.

god, it's much more than I expected. but that's all! thanks for attention ☆

[sleepimali]

Available as a print and sticker set this month only (November 2023) on my Patreon for Professional Napper patrons and above :)<3

As a warning, this month’s lore deals pretty heavily with death and trauma, and has mentions of war (in the past).

Shadowlings and No Magic Zones lore:

If you find yourself in a place where traces of humans are slowly being reclaimed by nature, marked by a glaringly red and yellow coloured sign that says “NO MAGIC” on it, odds are you’re standing at the site of an old battleground from the Long War.

No matter where you go, if there are humans around, you can likely find a no magic zone there too. And the reason magic is disallowed in such places is because they are the dwellings of the Shadowlings, who are said to be soldiers that fell to a curse in the war, and hence harbour very negative emotions towards those who use it. Fear, anger, grief… And all explosive feelings at that. They aren’t exactly capable of rational thinking anymore, so it’s best not to upset them, especially since they tragically harbour a lot of the Wild Magic they resent so much, and can be incredibly dangerous while emotional.

Because of their experiences that live on inside them, it doesn't matter that magic has now become a good and necessary force in human society, or that magic folks and humans have both done equal amounts of good and bad.

Using magic in their presence truly can only be done at the risk of your life for most people, and the exceptions to that rule can be counted on the fingers of just one hand.

However if you do not provoke them, they are completely harmless and very gentle - loving even.

Being a Shadowling is leading an existence that hovers between life and death, unable to participate in life, but also unable to move on from it. And yet a Shadowling is not quite a ghost either.

As newly turned, most Shadowlings retain an almost human shape, but they slowly begin lose their shape and memories with the passage of time, except for a few exceptions who hold onto them as much as possible for the sake of their loved ones.

Still, they know instinctively that they were once humans and therefore tend to seek them and their warmth out as much as possible. In the absence of humans though, they feel the safest around human-made objects that have been left behind in the zone, and with each other. Shadowling are rarely alone, instead they tend to huddle together in big groups where they do their best to comfort each other and help each other hold onto their memories, and dream of the day they’ll be able to return to humanity.

For quite some time after the end of the war, those who lived on would take care of the Shadowlings and the areas in which magic was forbidden. After all, no matter how unrecognisable they had become, they were still people’s beloved family members, lovers, and friends. And if you look into their eyes, regardless of how much they have lost, you can still see and know who they were in life.

But time is ruthless to us all, and the last living generation who survived the horrors of the war has grown old and started to disappear. For some time, their descendants would take care of the no magic zones instead, but the vast majority of these places would slowly become completely abandoned with the introduction of magic in human society.

And so, the Shadowlings kept getting more and more shapeless and wispy, clinging to the traces of humanity they can find in items that were left behind and the occasional visitor.

Few people visit these days. And even fewer still are visitors who still do not have traces of magic on them or aren’t afraid of the Shadowlings.

But maybe one day, as long as there is hope, maybe one day their curse can be lifted.

And until then, the Shadowlings will find ways to keep existing and experience joy and love even with all that they have lost.

[moistvonlipwig]

🔥do you have any more for the cw's supergirl bc the last one was so so so so funny and real and true

thank youuu i had to think about this one though bc to be honest i saw this ask and the entirety of cw supergirl disappeared from my brain. but now i have remembered things to be salty about. looping in @yourlocalegotisticalqueerishere who also asked. anyway this one is not quite so funny unforchy, it's more morbid as hell?? but um i think the way the show/the superfriends handled the aftermath of crisis is genuinely really disturbing.

@sideguitars and i have talked a lot about this and i touched on it in my fic which everyone should go readies right now :3 but basically. the result of crisis is that everyone in the arrowverse (except a select few people - barry, kara, kate kane, the legends of tomorrow lady i legitimately forgot her name, j'onn, lex, ryan choi, technically the wellses who are stored instead nash (?), jennifer pierce, & lastly lena due to lex's deal with the monitor) dies. and when the world is "reset" j'onn flies around restoring a lot of the main characters' memories but not all of them. in practice, all the shows treat this less like our beloved characters have literally died and been replaced and their replacements have 'our' versions' memories in their heads as well, and much more like restoring memories effectively brings our dead versions back to life. let us proceed with the assumption that this is more or less what is happening, because that is how the shows act.

now there are 2 ways to read the morality of this action of restoring memories, which notably happens multiple times without consent from the person involved. #1 is that the new versions of these characters are people in their own right and deserve to live. through this reading, restoring 'our' versions is a violation of these people, tantamount to murder; it is overwriting their inconvenient experiences with the experiences of people our characters like better. there is no material difference, in this reading, between what j'onn does to the people whose memories he restores and what lena does to eve in s5 when she puts hope in her brain. through this reading, the superfriends are pure villains. you could imagine a superhero movie with this very plot, in fact: a sympathetic supervillain from another universe that got erased trying to replace people from this universe with people from their own.

#2 is that our versions of these characters, for whatever reason, deserve to live more than the new versions (or versions from any other earths). through this reading, it is justifiable to restore people's memories without consent, but anyone who is not restored is effectively being allowed to die, an act of criminal negligence by a band of so-called superheroes. the limits of who gets chosen to have their memories returned then become morbidly fascinating. on supergirl -- which is the only show that crisis really affects at all, frankly (besides arrow i guess but who gives a fuck), so it's kind of the only one where any of this matters -- we know for a fact that j'onn restores alex, nia, brainy, kelly, and clark and probably lois and maybe m'gann also i forget tbh. i think it is reasonable to assume he also restored james. i certainly hope he did! but we know he did not restore, say, cat grant, or andrea rojas, or william dey, or other people outside their immediate circle.

which raises questions like: why kelly? because she is alex's girlfriend of a few months? because she is james's sister? well, what about mama olsen? did they restore her memories? surely not remembering lex luthor torturing her son would change her significantly. what about alex's fake latina ex-girlfriend, maggie sawyer? does she not get her memories back, on account of being merely the ex, not the current girlfriend of supergirl's sister? and so on.

but of course the biggest crime by far is that the superfriends do not know that lex made a deal with the monitor for lena's survival and they believe she perished. and they do nothing to bring her memories back. this is despite the fact that she is unquestionably the number one person affected by the change to the universe. please consider that the biggest change to earth-prime from earth-38 is that lex luthor now never went evil, is friends with the supers, and is still in charge of luthorcorp. obviously this has a trickle-down effect on many people's lives, but i would think it obvious that the person most impacted is his little sister who he abused and manipulated for her entire life (per s4), who was left to deal with the fallout of his going evil and, oh yeah, who recently had to kill him. and now suddenly he is back in her life and has power over her and he remembers every way that she (rightfully) betrayed him. in fact i think it is not at all a stretch to say that lex's primary motivation in how he set up earth-prime was gaining more control over lena (which is why it's interesting and speaks to a lingering ember of humanity and love in lex that he lets her keep her memories at all).

and for some reason none of the superfriends are like. hey maybe lena, our former friend whose last action before her (apparent) death was helping to save three billion people at the superfriends' behest, deserves to live and know the full truth of who her brother is and what their relationship has been. alex even tries to argue that kara shouldn't tell lena about any of their history at all because then lena might be mad at kara for all the lying and that would, you know, suck for kara personally. which, like, i guess kara wanting to tell lena the truth is a step up from that load of horseshit, but again, none of you considered restoring her memories? you're just going to let her stay dead? after alex, j'onn, and kara all agreed in 5x08 that lena was not a lost cause and could still be saved? lmao. okay.

and then once they realize lena has her memories we again have the issue of like. why is it that alex and kara get to have THEIR support systems restored but lena doesn't? again. lena is the one whose life has been MOST overturned by crisis. she is the one currently under her abuser's thumb -- her abuser who is the only one who apparently bothered to consider saving her life, and who is the only non-superfriend she knows who also remembers their previous earth. which, keeping in mind that as far as she knows all the superfriends were down to kill her in 5x08 with a nuclear fucking missile, means that she has literally nowhere safe to go.

like. one of her best and most supportive friends was sam arias. and to be fair s5 seems dead set on pretending sam never existed with the exception of 5x13. but if she wanted to go to sam, it wouldn't be the same sam with knowledge of earth-38. andrea, also, isn't the same andrea. they make it a point to show us she has a different backstory. even lillian isn't the same lillian, and, i mean, lillian was indeed abusive to lena, but earth-38 lillian was more on her side than earth-prime lillian is. lena has literally no one. she has her abusive brother and her former friends who lied to her for years and tried to kill her (as far as she knows) and that's it. but alex gets her girlfriend of a few months back. and kara gets her cousin back. because what kara and alex want matters, and what lena needs does not matter. and then the superfriends are all Shocked and Appalled that lena goes back to lex. which like. i don't love that as a story beat either, but i put it to you: where the fuck else was she supposed to go?

anyway i could rant about this all day long lol but basically it points to how profoundly unconcerned the superfriends were with lena's status as lex's first and primary victim, which really undermines their later claims that they're lena's new and better family. and it also points to how little the show itself cared about the psychology of abuse victims (particularly female ones) that this was never factored into how they wrote the reconciliation between lena & the superfriends. and more broadly the whole thing suggests a frankly eerie self-centeredness on the part of the superfriends that makes all their moral posturing seem hollow. no matter which way you read the morality of restoring people's memories post-crisis, the superfriends (mostly kara, j'onn, and alex tbf) acted callously, selfishly, and without care for the very people they were supposed to protect. and, as always, lena luthor suffered for it.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

T-48 hours to Armageddon (when we watch me finish GO Season 2), I want to make a statement. and a will.

I've been getting a lot of ominous statements from the fandom. They've become increasingly concerned for my mental stability and even survival post the season two finale (thanks guys). I feel like as mascot I need to make some kind of statement, in case I do not survive the Final Fifteen. Maybe a will. Don't worry, this contains no spoilers (?) and no speculations or fanfiction about season 3. It is simply My Dramatic Outpouring of Poetic Emotion.

Firstly, @neil-gaiman, good day to you, Neil, this is the first interview (?) I have watched of yours. And I see you said "quiet, gentle and romantic" which until now I was kind of assuming was a fandom inside joke. I'm glad I know what to expect going into the second half of season two. In case I do not survive, thank you very much for this journey, you have created a masterpiece. I think I will watch Coraline in the next 48 hours since I am living on borrowed time and I do very much want to watch that before it all ends.

Secondly, to all the maggots, thank you very much for kidnapping me and dragging me into this beautiful pain with you. I do not think I will survive the Final Fifteen. I fell for Crowley and Aziraphale too deeply. But all my love to you, and I hope you will ensure my memory lives on. Take my posts and my meagre contributions, for they are yours. Maybe @1800ineedshelp, Lina, you can ask the maggot choir to sing Eleimon Aegovoskos (for those unaware, that is a hymn I wrote for Crowley) at my funeral, if my body is found and not discorporated. @queermarzipan I need you to mention my love for Drarry.

I have already put a POTC post in queue, maybe I'll add a few more so I linger painfully on this site even after my mortal remains are resigned to the stardust that Crowley once created.

Thirdly, @howmanyholesinswisscheese, please make the funeral arrangements and pay for them, thank you. You can play Someone to Stay if you like as you cry over your beloved late son (me). I hope I was your favourite (only) problem child and family disappointment.

Those who made art for me, @ivory--raven, @1800ineedshelp, @madfangirlontheloose, @arkytiorlecter, my deep thanks, let it be displayed in lieu of a photo.

Lastly, OFMD fandom, I'm sorry I entered so late. Make sure the show is renewed. Fly your gay flag high for me.

I still have two days, but I'm taking precautions because I'm very organised like that. Take my love, maggots, all of you, I couldn't tag everyone though I want to. May the nightingales sing again.

Your mascot and prophet, very, very dramatically yours,

Asmi

[gosuckseamonkeys]

Arid Melancholy - Chapter 4

Summary: Rafayel is captured and endures brutal torture at the hands of an agent of EVER Group intent on exploiting his people’s secrets.

Zayne, Xavier, Sylus and Rafayel must confront their deepest fear, losing you, and fight against an enemy whose ambition threatens their survival.

AN: Apologies in advance for the angst, I've been looking for similar heart wrenching fics on here for a while now before I decided to write my own. Then an evil little idea formed and pulled me reluctantly out of writing retirement.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4....

𓇼 ˚𓆝 ⋆｡𓆟 ⋆｡𓆞˚ 𓇼 ˚𓆝 ⋆｡𓆟 ⋆｡𓆞˚𓇼 ˚𓆝 ⋆｡𓆟 ⋆｡𓆞˚

Chapter 4 - Hallucinations

Burning. He was burning alive.

He didn’t know how long he had been in this wasteland. Hours? Days? 

Time had unraveled, leaving him trapped in an endless cycle of agony. The heat gnawed at him—relentless, merciless—devouring him from the inside out.

His fingers, bruised and raw, clawed at his own skin. He could barely feel it. The pain had dulled into something distant, something worse than suffering—emptiness.

How many of us have they left here to rot?

He couldn’t move. Every attempt sent violent nausea rolling through his gut. His limbs felt like they belonged to someone else—someone broken, someone dying.

When will it be my turn?

Rafayel’s mind fractured under the weight of memories, hallucinations bleeding into reality.

The desert consumed him. The sun overhead turned his flesh to embers, his bones to dust. The sand beneath him was a graveyard of souls, and soon, he would join them—just another forgotten grain tumbling over golden dunes.

Still, he held onto the idea of you. The only thing keeping him from slipping into the void.

My bride…

You stood before him, veiled in gold and teal. His hands—adorned in jewels, stained with blood he could never wash away—trembled as he traced his thumb across your lips.

He pulled you into a searing kiss, one that barely satisfied the flames licking at his very soul.

My queen…

Your voice shaped his name, the syllables a sacred thing. Two broken souls abandoning their kingdoms, reaching for memories as you refused to let him slip away. 

He would choose you in every life, no matter how many times fate tore you from his grasp.  

My heart…

He could almost feel your tender hands cradling his face, the softness of your lips brushing against his. He had always held himself back, terrified of scaring you away with the depth of his hunger.

Beloved���please.

His lips parted, cracked and bloodied, to whisper a single plea—broken, desperate, wrecked.

“Please… don’t leave me.”

Underwater

The colors around you are spellbinding—a symphony of deep teal, lavender, and cobalt blue swirling and pulsing as though alive. They wrap around you like a liquid aurora, undulating in hypnotic rhythms that blur the line between sea and sky. You’re weightless, floating on your back beneath the waves, suspended in a dream where the ocean itself breathes.

The water cradles you, its currents a gentle lullaby that pushes and pulls, spinning you in lazy spirals. Above, faint rays of the setting sun pierce the surface, their golden beams breaking into soft hues of violet and pink that bleed into one another. The shifting palette dances across your skin, stirring something in the deepest corners of your mind—a memory, faint and just beyond your grasp.

The light shifts again, deepening into a molten orange as the sun sinks lower. Shadows stretch and twist, and a sudden chill creeps into the water, curling around you like a warning. 

Night is coming, its approach slow but inevitable, and with it comes a sense of unease. A faint urgency hums in your chest, intangible yet insistent. There’s something you’re supposed to do, somewhere you’re supposed to be—but what?

A glimmer below catches your eye, pulling your gaze downward. Fins—sleek and iridescent. They shimmer like molten silver, moving with a grace that feels both foreign and familiar. You flex them instinctively, and the water parts as you surge forward, exhilarated by the rush of cool liquid sliding past your skin.

But the ocean has gone silent.

The ever-present symphony of life—the whisper of currents, the distant calls of unseen creatures—has vanished, leaving behind an eerie stillness. A heavy quiet presses down on you, thick and suffocating. You stop, your movements halting as a prickle of unease dances along your spine. The silence feels alive, a presence lurking just out of reach.

Then, breaking through the void, a sound.

Faint at first, it ripples through the water like an echo of sorrow—a muffled cry, distant and distorted. You pivot sharply, your pulse quickening, every fiber of your being straining to locate the source. The cry comes again, sharper this time, tugging at something deep inside.

Your gaze snaps upward to the surface, where the fading light of the setting sun casts an otherworldly glow. A voice filters down through the water, faint yet unmistakable. Someone is calling.

You hesitate.

You’re not meant to leave this world, not meant to breach the safety of the sea. But the voice pulls at you, its tone laced with grief, a pain so familiar it feels like your own. Against your better judgment, you flick your tail and propel yourself toward the light above.

The water grows brighter as you ascend, each stroke faster than the last. The voice grows clearer, louder, and more urgent, wrapping around your heart like a plea you can’t ignore.

“Please,” it whispers, the word drenched in despair.

As you break the surface, the air rushes into your lungs, sharp and searing. You gasp, your chest heaving as your body struggles to adjust. The burn is unbearable, a cruel reminder that you don’t belong here. For a moment, the instinct to retreat pulls at you, urging you to sink back into the dark, forgiving depths.

But the voice holds you fast, breaking through the roaring of the waves.

It calls again, clearer now, the desperation in its tone slicing through your pain. “Please…don’t leave me.”

The words pierce the haze of your thoughts, their familiarity anchoring you. You cling to the sound, to the raw, unyielding emotion behind it. The world tilts, the ocean dissolving into fragments of color and light as the voice becomes your only tether to reality.

Consciousness 

The first thing you felt was an ache—a deep, relentless throb in your chest. It wasn’t just pain; it was a hollow, all-consuming emptiness that seemed to seep into your bones, leaving you fragile and broken. Even that ache, though, was muffled, as if your body couldn’t bear the weight of it all.

You tried to move, but even the smallest shift sent a wave of exhaustion crashing over you. Your head was pounding, limbs heavy and useless, and even behind closed lids your eyes burned with the effort of existing.

A hand tightened around yours. The sensation was grounding, but it sent a jolt of confusion through your addled mind. Your mouth was dry—parched to the point of pain. When you tried to speak, the sound that escaped was no more than a weak whimper, the cracked remnants of your voice.

With agonizing effort, you forced your eyes open, blinking against the harsh light. The blurred world around you slowly sharpened, though it still felt like a dream you couldn’t wake from. 

Sunlight poured through the windows, casting long shadows and fiery streaks of gold across the room. Against the light stood a dark silhouette, their form hazy and indistinct, a phantom watching over you.

Turning your head to the right, you saw you had a second guardian. His silver hair was disheveled, his shoulders slumped as he clung to your hand like it was the only thing keeping him afloat. When your gaze met his, beautiful blue-gray eyes widened in shock, glistening with unshed tears.

“Get Zayne,” he choked out, his voice trembling with urgency. His warm fingers brushed against your cheek, and you instinctively leaned into the touch, desperate for the comfort it offered. “She’s awake,” he murmured, as though saying it aloud would make it real.

“You’re okay,” Xavier said softly, though his voice cracked. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

The words pierced through the haze, and you exhaled shakily, letting go of the tension you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Xavier?” Your voice was barely audible, raw and strained.

His lips twitched into a sad, fragile smile. “Yeah, honey. It’s me. Don’t try to move, alright?”

Your lips moved to respond, but they were dry and cracked, refusing to cooperate.

“Here, kitten.” The figure by the window stepped forward, his imposing form now visible in the fading sunlight. Sylus held a cup to your lips, his carmine eyes filled with worry. “Take small sips. Don’t overdo it.”

The cool water soothed the fire in your throat, and you gratefully met his gaze. “Sylus…” you rasped. “What happened?”

His hand lingered at your bedside, brushing loose strands of hair from your damp forehead. “You’ve been through hell, kitten. But you’re here now. That’s what matters.” His voice was gentle, but his jaw clenched, betraying the turmoil beneath his calm exterior. “What do you remember?”

You closed your eyes, grasping at fragmented memories that slipped through your fingers like sand. “I… we were at work…”

Xavier’s voice broke through, calm yet coaxing. “That’s good. What else, sweetheart?”

Before you could answer, the door burst open, and Zayne stormed in. His hair still damp from a rushed shower, shirt hastily thrown on, and face etched with desperation.

“Why didn’t you call me right away?” His voice strained as he stared at you, his hazel eyes brimming with worry.

“She’s only been awake for a few minutes,” Sylus said, stepping between the two of you as though to shield you from Zayne’s frantic energy.

Zayne ignored him, shoving past to kneel by your bedside. His hands trembled as he took yours, his breath shaky. “Hey…” His voice faltered, “How are you feeling? Are you… are you in pain?”

“Chest hurts,” you whispered, the admission barely audible.

“I’m sorry,” Zayne murmured. His fingers brushed over the back of your hand as though trying to anchor you—and himself. “I’ll fix it. Just give me a second.”

You watched in silence as he prepared an injection, the small syringe in his steady hands. “This will help,” he said softly as he pressed it into your IV. “You’ll feel better soon. I promise.”

“Do you remember what happened?” Zayne’s voice was gentle but urgent.

Images flashed through your mind: the warmth of a beautiful dress, the cold gleam of ivory statues, vibrant paintings. And then—purple hair, eyes like lavender and roses. 

His screams tore through your memory.

“Where’s Rafayel?” The words tumbled out in a frantic whimper, tears welling in your eyes.

The room fell silent, heavy with the weight of unspoken truths. Sylus and Xavier exchanged a glance, and Zayne’s expression darkened.

“We’re close,” Sylus finally said, his voice soft but firm. “We’ll get him back.”

Your chest tightened with panic. “What do you mean? Where is he?” You tried to sit up, but agony erupted in your chest, and Zayne’s hands pressed you firmly back into the bed. 

“I need you to relax,” Zayne said, holding you steady. “You were shot two days ago. Do you remember the exhibit?”

“They took him from me,” you choked out, tears spilling over.

“We’ll get him back,” Sylus promised again. But even as he spoke, the fear for you in his eyes betrayed him. 

Sylus placed his hand on your other shoulder, his firm grip joining Zayne’s, while Xavier stood silently at the foot of the bed, poised to intervene if necessary.

“Sweetie, I promise we’ll tell you everything as soon as we know more,” Sylus said gently. “Right now, you need to heal. Your condition—”

“They’re hurting him,” you sobbed, your voice rising in anguish. “He’s so scared… I have to find him! Please!”

Sylus glanced at Zayne, shaking his head solemnly.

“Darling, stop,” Zayne begged, cupping your face in his hands. “You’ll hurt yourself. Please don’t make me sedate you—I can’t lose you again.” His voice was broken and pleading.

“He’s right,” Xavier said quietly, his voice heavy with unspoken grief. You turned to him where he was standing at the foot of the bed. His expression was strained, his usual stoicism fracturing, revealing a vulnerability that made your heart clench.

“When I saw you at the gallery…” He hesitated, his breath hitching as he struggled to speak. His hands trembled at his sides, and his eyes—those usually steady, composed eyes—shone with a sorrow that threatened to consume him. “They had to… you were dead.”

The word fell like a stone between you, cold and unforgiving. His voice wavered on the last syllable, shaking with the weight of the memory. “They had to bring you back. I watched them do it…” His voice trailed off into a haunted whisper.

Your breath caught as his words pierced through your chest, more painful than the lingering ache from your injuries. You shook your head in protest, but the truth loomed over you, undeniable and suffocating. Tears spilled freely down your cheeks as the enormity of it all pressed you into the pillows, leaving you hollow and defeated.

“Do you trust me?” Sylus’ voice cut through the suffocating silence like a lifeline. It was steady, firm, and unyielding—a single constant in the sea of uncertainty.

You turned your head toward him, meeting his crimson gaze. It burned with intensity, his resolve like a flame that refused to be extinguished.

“Always,” you sobbed, the word barely audible over your ragged breaths.

“Then let me do what I do best.” His tone was resolute, leaving no room for doubt. His hand rested on your shoulder, the warmth of his touch grounding you in the midst of your spiraling despair. Slowly, his thumb moved in soothing circles, trying to chase away the tension knotted in your muscles. “I won’t rest until we’ve found him.”

His promise hung in the air, but it felt as fragile as glass—one wrong move, and it would shatter.

Your gaze flicked between the three men standing around you, each of them carrying their own burden of guilt, fear, and desperation. The weight of their devotion left you breathless. 

With a faint, bittersweet smile, you shook your head in disbelief, tears still streaking your face. “I never thought I’d live to see the day you all agreed on something.”

Zayne lowered himself into the chair beside you, his hazel eyes locking onto yours. The raw love in his gaze made your chest ache all over again. “For you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “I think we’d do just about anything.”

And in that moment, the truth of his words was undeniable. What terrified you most wasn’t their willingness to fight—it was the growing fear that it still wouldn’t be enough.

“Rafayel…” you whispered your lover’s name under your breath, willing your intentions into the bond that stretched between you. “Hold on, we’re coming. Don’t you dare die on me…”

Double Trouble

The twins tore down the highway in the sleek black Aston Martin, Kieran at the wheel, pushing the engine at least fifty miles over the speed limit.

“We’ll have to ditch it about five miles from the facility,” Luke muttered, eyes glued to his phone as he scrolled through the details the boss had sent that morning. “We should’ve picked something less conspicuous.”

“Does the Boss even own anything inconspicuous?” Kieran snorted, his grip tightening on the wheel as they blew past the sign for their exit. “Besides, he never lets us take the fun ones out. He said to get there fast, so… I picked something fast. We’re almost there. What are we walking into?”

Luke glanced up briefly before returning to his screen. “Looks like an abandoned agricultural processing plant that EVER Group repurposed a few years back.” He scrolled further. “Actually, scratch that—they bought out the whole damn town. Whatever they’re running, it’s big.”

“What kind of resistance?” Kieran asked, his voice shifting to something sharper as he veered onto the off-ramp.

“If it’s EVER, expect the unexpected. For an operation this size, I’d guess at least a hundred employees, maybe a fifth of them security.” Luke tilted his head toward a cluster of distant buildings. “That’s it up there. There should be an old farmhouse on the right—we’ll stash the car there and walk the rest.”

Kieran nodded, eyes locked on the road as they closed in. The farmhouse loomed ahead, a relic of a forgotten time, standing in the midst of overgrown fields. He pulled into the lot, gravel crunching beneath the tires.

“Get the barn door open,” he ordered. “I’ll tuck the car inside.”

Luke hopped out, yanking the rusted door aside. The Aston Martin purred forward into the shadows, disappearing from sight.

Kieran stepped out, checking his knives with quick, practiced movements before turning to his brother. “What time’s sunset?”

“7:15,” Luke murmured, glancing up at the darkening sky through the eyeholes of his mask. “We’ve got twenty minutes. Let’s move, stick to the fields. Boss said if we’re caught, we’ll be on our own until they come for the artist.”

“Race you?” Kieran grinned, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Luke scoffed. “You know I’m faster. Why even try?”

Without warning, Kieran swept Luke’s legs out from under him and bolted for the cornfields. “Not today you’re not!” he called over his shoulder.

Luke swore, scrambling to his feet and taking off after him.

It took them twenty minutes to reach the edge of the property, the dense fields keeping them concealed. Luke pulled out a pair of binoculars and handed them to Kieran, who scanned the buildings for an entry point.

“Blueprints show Buildings A and B are mostly office space,” Luke whispered, scrolling through the plans. “C is for material drop-offs and sorting, D is for treatment—whatever that means—E and F are storage and loading.”

“So we’re looking at D or E,” Kieran muttered, lowering the binoculars. “My money’s on E.”

“Agreed,” Luke said. “But let’s check C to be safe. A and B are probably just paper-pushers.” He glanced up as the last sliver of sunlight faded, plunging the facility into shadow. The once-busy parking lot had mostly emptied, leaving only about twenty scattered cars and a handful of trucks.

“You take C and D. I’ll handle E and F,” Kieran murmured, crouching behind the nearest vehicle.

Luke nodded. “Meet back here in thirty?”

“Race you,” Kieran whispered, flashing a sly grin before melting into the darkness.

The twins split, slipping through the shadows—silent, unseen, and very much up to no good.

Arrival

“Sir, prepare for landing,” the pilot called over his shoulder to the passengers in the back of the Cessna.

The tall man, dressed in an immaculate cream suit, moved with practiced precision, folding his documents into his briefcase before retrieving a cell phone from his breast pocket. With a flick of his thumb, he dialed a familiar number.

“Marcus, I’ll be arriving within the hour.”

A voice on the other end responded, briefing him on the status of their latest acquisition.

He listened, expression unreadable. Then, with quiet finality, he cut in. “That’s all well and good—just make sure he’s coherent by the time I arrive. I don’t like being made to wait.”

Without another word, he ended the call, lifted his tumbler, and swirled the last remnants of amber liquid before downing them in a single motion. He handed the empty glass to his assistant, who took it without question, standing rigidly at his side.

“Are we sure it’s him?” the assistant asked, his voice measured, yet slicing through the thick tension in the cabin like a blade.

The suited man reached into his briefcase, retrieving a glossy photograph. Without looking at it, he passed it over, “See for yourself.”

The image depicted a man with tangled violet hair, chained to the cold floor of one of their facilities, stripped of dignity, of power. A rare specimen.

“We won’t know for certain until I inspect him myself.”

The assistant studied the photo for a moment before tucking it away. “Understood. I’ll prepare for landing.”

A slow, satisfied smile spread across the suited man’s face. “Either way, Marcus has proven himself a valuable asset. We should consider extending his contract.”

“And the brother?” the assistant inquired.

The suited man exhaled, a low hum of amusement under his breath. “As far as we can tell, he’s out of commission. That fire Evol is formidable.”

His grin widened, sharp as the edge of a knife. “If he recovers, he recovers. The blood has already done much to restore him.” He leaned back, folding his hands over his knee. “But leverage is a powerful thing. Now Marcus has a vested interest in ensuring our operation continues. Without further infusions, there’s no guarantee his brother will survive.”

He chuckled, dark and knowing, “Desperation makes men so very… compliant.”

Brothers

Marcus sat beside Bennett, who lay motionless on a pristine white cot. Half of his face was hidden beneath layers of sterile gauze, the bandages stretching down to cover his chest and left arm. He hadn't stirred since the incident at the gallery.

The artist had inflicted third-degree burns that should have killed him. By all rights, he should be dead. And yet, ironically, the very blood the Lemurian had unwillingly sacrificed was the only thing tethering the mercenary to life.

With a measured breath, Marcus rose, retrieving another vial of the life-sustaining substance from his pocket and pressing it into the nurse’s waiting hand. “Administer this at the top of the hour.”

She nodded, tucking the vial away before slipping silently through the door. It clicked shut behind her, leaving Marcus alone with the steady, mechanical rhythm of his brother’s breathing.

He hadn’t wanted to extend his contract. Hadn’t wanted to dig himself deeper into this web of blood and power. But with Bennett’s condition, he had no choice. His brother was the only family he had left, and worse—Bennett was here because of him. Marcus had convinced him to take this job. That made his survival Marcus’ burden to bear.

Exhaling slowly, he pulled his phone from his pocket, the screen flashing with an all-too-familiar name. Their benefactor was due to arrive today, but the firm’s impatience sent an uneasy weight settling in his gut. They wanted to inspect their latest acquisition sooner than expected.

He pressed the call button, bringing the device to his ear.

“Sir,” Marcus answered, his voice carefully neutral.

A brief silence. Then—

“Understood. I’ll have him ready for you.”

Bonded

Rafayel...Hold on, we’re coming.

Rafayel’s heart lurched violently, a raw, searing jolt as the bond pulsed awake for the first time since his capture. His battered body spasmed in response, agony carving through his ribs, his muscles seizing as the mark flared to life against his mangled chest. 

It burned—not just against his flesh, but deep inside his soul, a commanding force pressing its will into his own. For a moment, it was enough to push back the numbing weight of exhaustion, flooding him with a desperate, flickering resolve.

He sucked in a ragged breath, the air sharp and stale, scraping through his lungs like broken glass. His entire being trembled as he choked out a hoarse, disbelieving whisper.

“You’re alive….”

If his body had anything left to give, he would have sobbed. Instead, all he could do was curl onto his side, hunching over the pulse of warmth within him, clinging to it as if it was the only thing tethering him to existence. 

No matter what happened to him, no matter how much more blood he spilled onto these cold, metallic floors, at least he knew you were still breathing. For now, that was enough.

He was so consumed by that fragile, fleeting relief that he didn’t hear the footfalls until it was too late. The door wrenched open with a deafening clang.

Blinding fluorescent light sliced into the darkness, searing his retinas like fire. Rafayel recoiled, his body curling in on itself as a gust of cooler air followed the figures stepping inside. The scent of steel and sweat filled his nose—gunpowder and antiseptic. Footsteps. More than one.

His stomach twisted.

Marcus entered first. Behind him, a suited man moved with calculated ease, his presence heavier than the fleet of armed guards waiting just outside the threshold.

“Turn him over. I need to see his face.” The voice was smooth, clipped, accented. Distant, like a man giving orders at a dinner party.

Rafayel barely had time to brace before a boot came down on his arm, pressing—grinding—against his shattered ribs, forcing a broken, strangled gasp from his lips. Then, with effortless cruelty, Marcus rolled him onto his back.

A whimper slipped free before he could stop it. Shame curled hot in his chest, his body betraying him in ways he could no longer control. His vision blurred, unfocused, and his gaze dragged sluggishly over the faces above him, indistinct shapes against the burning light.

“Well done, Marcus. I’m impressed.” The suited man’s voice was a serpent’s hiss, oozing satisfaction as he clapped Marcus on the shoulder. His smirk cut through the haze.

“How do you feel about—”

Don’t you dare die on me…

Pain flared.

A violent, involuntary convulsion wracked Rafayel’s body, his back arching off the ground as the bond pulsed again, brighter this time. Then reduced to a dim, flickering glow pressed through the tattered remains of his silk dress shirt—what little was left of it after the gallery showing.

The suited man froze. His eyes narrowed, calculation flashing across his features before he knelt beside Rafayel.

“What do we have here?” Fingers prodded at his sternum—cold, invasive, prying. Searching.

Weakly, Rafayel tried to shove them away. He might as well have been swatting at the tide. A sharp backhand cracked across his face, snapping his head to the side. His vision blackened for a second, a high ringing filling his ears.

Then, hands gripped the edges of his collar, tearing.

The last few buttons of his ruined shirt pinged off the floor, the tiny sounds vanishing beneath the rasp of his own ragged breathing. The mark lay exposed now, its glow fading, but unmistakable.

Silence. Then, a slow, creeping smirk.

“You’re bonded.” The words dripped with triumph. A revelation. “That makes things easier.”

Rafayel turned his face away, pressing his cheek into the cold, filthy floor, hiding the raw emotion twisting in his expression. 

He couldn’t let them see.

Couldn’t let them know what you meant to him.

Couldn’t let them see how deeply he loved.

They would rip you from him piece by piece. They would use you, break you, and then dangle whatever remained before him like a noose, waiting for the moment he begged.

He would give them anything.

His life. His people. His last, tattered fragments of dignity.

He had done it before.

What did it matter if he drowned his soul in more blood?

A hollow, rotting sickness curled up his throat. He never should have fought so hard to find you. Never should have clawed his way into your life—your heart. 

“What is that?” Marcus crouched beside him, phone in hand, snapping a picture of the mark. The sound of the shutter was a gunshot to Rafayel’s ears.

The suited man stood, brushing off his hands like he had touched something unpleasant, “Was he with someone when you found him?”

Terror clamped down on Rafayel’s lungs.

No.

No. No, no, no—

Marcus exhaled, unconcerned. “His assistant. And a woman.” He shrugged. “A hunter.”

The suited man stilled. Slowly, he turned, glancing back at Rafayel’s broken form.

“The woman. Where is she?”

Marcus’ answer was careless. “I shot her. Could be dead for all I know. Left her at the scene—I had other priorities.”

“His bonded. His mate.” The suited man tsked and shook his head. “She’s alive.” 

Then, almost amused—almost pleased—he murmured. “Find her, and he’ll beg to tell us where the colonies are.”

Marcus cursed under his breath. Dragged a hand through his hair as realization hit him like a fist.

“Bring the footage of the capture to my office.” The suited man only chuckled. He was already walking away, but just before he vanished down the hall, his voice drifted back, casual, offhanded. “I want to see her for myself.”

Rafayel’s heart stopped beating in cold realization. 

They’ll know…your Aether Core….

He was a death sentence, a curse wrapped in warm flesh and whispered promises. He should have let himself fade years ago, let the sea take him back before it was too late.

He should have left you alone, kept his distance.

He deserved to be forgotten.

It was too late for that now.

With a guttural snarl, Marcus spun and drove his fist into the wall. Rafayel flinched, but the blankness in his expression never wavered.

Inside, though—inside, he was screaming.

Anguish. Rage. Horror.

Self-loathing so sharp it could cut.

Maybe if he pushed them hard enough, they’d make a mistake. Maybe if he gave them nothing, they would break him beyond repair. Maybe—

Maybe they would end him.

It would be better than letting them use you.

Better than letting them leverage his heart against him.

“Bring him to D for treatment,” Marcus ordered, his voice tight with barely contained fury. “I’ll meet you there shortly.”

Rafayel didn’t resist when they seized his arms. Didn’t fight when they dragged him away.

His mind had already slipped into the dark, spiraling abyss of possibilities.

All he could do was hope—pray—that Zayne and the others would protect you.

Because he had already failed.

𓇼 ˚𓆝 ⋆｡𓆟 ⋆｡𓆞˚ 𓇼 ˚𓆝 ⋆｡𓆟 ⋆｡𓆞˚𓇼 ˚𓆝 ⋆｡𓆟 ⋆｡𓆞˚

Apologies for the delay, I had an extended work trip in Miami and I didn't have the chapter uploaded. I didn't feel right publishing it un-edited from my phone. I'll do my best to get the next one up over the weekend.

Cross posted on AO3 under "holywaterbucketchallenge" for those of you who prefer that platform.

Appreciate your patience! I hope it was worth the wait. As always, looking forward to your feedback :)