#there may be endless suffering.. but at the end of the road.... there is hope..... there is yet hope...........

[windupaidoneus]

eiuihghguhgoughughhg. hopeful endings save me

[nausicaamusiclover20]

I don't know if you do angst or not, but this idea has been in my head for a long time...

James (possibly MOP or BA era) and the reader love each other very much, but at some point the reader finds out that she has an incurable disease and doesn't have much time left. James is always by her side, helping her and making her happy even in the worst of times. In the end, the reader dies, which upsets James very much, because he lost his love :( (I didn't come up with anything specific for the ending, but it's clearly VERY sad)

It may sound really strange, but I really love sad stories. For me, they are stronger and, let's say, I've always loved them because I don’t know, but they leave something inside of you compared to a happy story (obviously, this is just how I feel). That being said, I hope you like it, and yes, it's sad, but I hope you can still enjoy it. ❤

_____________________

The wind rises

Life on the road was always unpredictable. Late nights, roaring crowds, and the endless hum of the tour bus felt like chaos to some, but for us, it was magic. James and I made it magic.

I remember the first tour I joined him on, a whirlwind of lights and sound. Back then, I wasn’t sure how I’d fit into his world. But James made it clear I wasn’t just in his world—I was his world.

The happiest days were the quiet ones, tucked away in dressing rooms or backstage corners, where it was just us. He’d pick up his acoustic guitar and strum a soft tune, one he swore was inspired by me. I’d tease him about being a big, tough metal god with a soft side, and he’d laugh that deep, infectious laugh that could melt every worry I had.

But then came the day everything changed.

It happened during a break between shows. I had been feeling off—more tired than usual, some lingering aches that wouldn’t go away. James had been the one to insist I see a doctor, and I could tell by his furrowed brow that he’d been worried long before I admitted something was wrong.

The doctor’s office was sterile and cold, the hum of fluorescent lights filling the silence after the diagnosis. The doctor cleared his throat, his tone gentle but unyielding.

“Miss Hetfield” he began carefully, “you’re suffering from a rare condition—one that, unfortunately, we don’t have a cure for yet.”

I felt the words settle over me like a heavy fog. James, sitting beside me, stiffened.

“How long?” I whispered, barely able to form the words.

The doctor hesitated, his kind eyes filled with a sympathy I didn’t want to see. “It’s difficult to say. Months, perhaps longer, depending on treatment.”

James’s hand found mine, squeezing it tightly. His voice was calm, but I knew him well enough to catch the tremor beneath the surface. “What do we do now?” he asked, his jaw clenched.

The doctor explained what little could be done—pain management, options to slow progression—but I barely heard him. All I could think about was the life James and I had built, the dreams we hadn’t yet chased.

Later, when we were alone in the car, I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“I’m so sorry,” I choked out, tears spilling down my cheeks. “I didn’t want this to ruin everything.”

James pulled me into his arms, his chin resting on top of my head. “Hey, none of that,” he murmured, his voice breaking just slightly. “This doesn’t ruin us. Nothing ever could.”

He held me tightly as I cried, his strength the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely. “We’re in this together, Y/N,” he whispered. “Every step of the way. I won’t let you alone throught this.”

The doctor’s words echoed in my mind long after we left his office. “It’s a rare condition. There’s no cure… but we’ll do everything we can to keep you comfortable.”

James hadn’t let go of my hand the entire drive home. The silence between us wasn’t cold; it was heavy with unspoken fears.

When we got home, he finally broke the silence. “I’m canceling the rest of the tour.”

I shook my head quickly. “James, no. You can’t. The guys, the fans—”

“They’ll understand,” he interrupted firmly. “This isn’t up for debate, Y/N. You’re what matters.”

Despite my protests, he called Lars, Kirk, and Jason that night. They didn’t hesitate to agree, their voices filled with concern when James explained.

“We’ll pick it up later,” Lars said over the phone. “Family comes first.”

In the weeks that followed, James stayed by my side, his love a constant source of strength. I wanted to be strong for him, too, so I tried to live as normally as I could.

There were quiet mornings when we’d sit on the porch, sipping coffee and watching the sunrise. He’d bring out his guitar, strumming softly while I rested my head on his shoulder.

“Play something new,” I’d tease, and he’d grin.

“Something new, huh? How about a song for you?” he’d reply, making up silly lyrics that always ended with, “I love you, babe.”

The good days were a blessing. But the bad days came more frequently as time went on. Simple tasks became exhausting. My body grew weaker, and I could see the worry etched deeper into James’s face.

One night, as he tucked a blanket around me on the couch, I grabbed his hand. “James,” I said softly, “I think… It's time. I need more help than you can give me.”

His jaw tightened, and he nodded, his eyes glistening. “If that’s what you need, we’ll do it. But I’m staying with you, Y/N. Every step of the way.”

The transition to the hospital was bittersweet. I missed the warmth of home, but I knew it was the best place for me now. James transformed the sterile room into something comforting—photos of us together, little mementos from our life on tour, and his ever-present guitar leaning against the wall.

He practically moved in, refusing to leave my side. Every morning, he brought my favorite tea, sneaking it past the nurses. Every evening, he’d sit by my bed, playing soft melodies that felt like home.

“You don’t have to stay here all the time, you know,” I said one day, my voice faint but teasing. “The guys need you too.”

“They’ll survive,” he replied, brushing his fingers through my hair. “You’re my priority.”

It had been weeks in the hospital, each day feeling heavier than the last. James remained steadfast, refusing to leave my side. One afternoon, the doctor entered with a solemn expression.

“There’s one option we haven’t discussed yet,” he began cautiously, glancing between James and me. “It’s a surgical procedure that could potentially extend your time. However…” He hesitated, taking a deep breath. “The success rate is very low—around 30%. And even if it’s successful, recovery would be extremely challenging.”

James tensed beside me, his hand gripping mine. I could feel the weight of the decision already pressing on him.

“What are the risks?” I asked, my voice soft but steady.

The doctor explained the complications—how the surgery could fail, how it might make my final days more difficult if it didn’t work. The room fell silent when he finished.

“We’ll think about it,” James said finally, his voice tight.

The doctor’s words echoed in the stillness of the room. The surgery was a slim chance—30%. But it was all we had left.

James stood beside me, his hand gently holding mine, his touch grounding me as if I might drift away. “If you want to try, we’ll do it,” he said, his voice steady but filled with an ache that ran deeper than anything I could say.

I looked up at him, my eyes filled with a quiet resolve. "James," I whispered, a small, faint smile tugging at my lips. "Promise me one thing, no matter what happens—promise me you’ll keep living. Keep playing, keep feeling, keep loving, because… I’ll always be with you. Even when you can’t see me. “James” I whispered softly, “f ever you need to feel me closer

just call my name, and I will be the wind. This will be my sign, to make you know that I’m there—whispering in the breeze, always with you, always beside you.”

He paused, his eyes holding mine, and I saw the pain in them, but also the love—the fierce, unrelenting love that had always carried us. “I promise” he murmured, brushing a soft kiss against my forehead.

As they wheeled me into the operating room, I could barely speak above a breath, but I managed, "James, I love you."

"I love you more than you’ll ever know," he replied, his voice breaking as they took me away.

Hours passed. Time seemed to stretch endlessly, the silence thick around him as James waited. The minutes turned into hours, and with each passing second, he felt the weight of the world pressing in.When the surgeon finally appeared, his face was soft, sorrowful, and James knew before the words left his lips.

“I’m sorry,” the doctor said, his voice thick with regret. “We did everything we could, but her body couldn’t handle it. The surgery wasn’t enough.”

The words hit James like a thunderclap, a devastating blow that left him breathless and trembling. His vision blurred, and for a long, unbearable moment, the world around him ceased to exist. There was only the unbearable weight of that loss.

His legs gave out beneath him. He crumpled to the floor, no longer able to stand, as if the very foundation of the world had fractured beneath him. His hands shook violently, and he pressed them to his face, but it did nothing to stop the tears that poured relentlessly from his eyes. His body trembled with grief, with the suffocating weight of knowing he would never see her smile again, never feel her warmth in his arms.

“I—” he gasped, his breath coming in ragged sobs. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t save her.”

The doctor, knowing there was nothing more to say, placed a hand on his shoulder, but it did nothing to ease the agony. James didn’t feel the comforting weight. He felt empty. Hollow.

____

The days that followed felt like a suffocating fog. James couldn’t bear the thought of performing, of being around anyone. He had promised her he would keep going, that he would continue to live and play music, but everything felt meaningless now. There was no joy in the songs anymore, no spark in the crowd's cheers. Without her, the world seemed dull, and his soul seemed trapped in a perpetual night.

He stayed at home, surrounded by her things—her favorite books, the half-finished letters she had written but never sent, her guitar that now sat untouched in the corner. The house was empty, and yet, it was filled with her presence, haunting him at every turn. The silence between the walls felt crushing. He could still hear her voice, her laughter, the way she would hum along to the songs they shared. But she was gone. The only thing left were the memories that refused to leave him, reminders of everything he had lost.

He couldn’t bring himself to pick up his guitar. Every note seemed wrong without her. It was as if the music had died with her. Even the band, understanding the depth of his grief, respected his decision to stay home, to step back from everything.

He spent days in solitude, hours staring out the window, watching the world continue without him. How could it? How could anything continue when his world had shattered? He couldn’t even bring himself to turn on the television, to leave the house, to speak to anyone. The thought of facing the world without her made him want to crawl into a hole and never come out.

Every night, he would lie in their bed, the space beside him empty. It was too quiet. He would reach out, his hand searching for her, but there was nothing there. He could almost hear her voice in his ear, telling him to hold on, to keep going—but it wasn’t the same. The warmth of her touch, the strength of her smile, had slipped through his fingers, and no amount of time would ever bring that back.

Months had passed since her death, but the ache in James’s chest had never faded. The world had moved on, but he felt as though he was still standing at the edge of a cliff, unable to take another step. The house was colder now, emptier, even though it was filled with her memory. He couldn’t escape it, no matter how hard he tried.

One evening, just as the sun began to dip below the horizon, James found himself standing at the foot of her grave. The sky was painted in shades of orange and pink, slowly fading into purple as the night approached. The cool evening air wrapped around him, but the weight of his grief felt heavier than ever. He clutched a bouquet of sunflowers—her favorite—his fingers trembling slightly.

He knelt slowly, his knees stiff from the long walk, and lowered himself to the ground. The stillness of the evening settled around him, and for a long moment, he couldn’t speak. The silence was all-consuming, as if the world had paused to allow him a brief moment of peace—though it was a peace filled with unbearable sorrow.

“I don’t know how to keep doing this,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Every day feels like I’m walking through a world that doesn’t make sense without you in it. I... I miss you so much.”

He placed the flowers gently on the ground, his fingers brushing the cool earth as he traced the inscription on the gravestone. Her name—Y/N Hetfield—was carved into the stone, permanent and unyielding, a stark reminder of what was lost.

“I don’t know how to breathe without you beside me,” he continued, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t know how to find my way in this world without your light guiding me. I promised you I’d keep going, that I wouldn’t give up... but how can I when everything feels like it’s falling apart?”

James fell silent, his eyes blurring with tears. He let the stillness of the graveyard wash over him. The evening air was warm, but it felt heavy with the grief that had become a constant companion since her passing. For a moment, he could almost hear her voice again, a gentle echo in his mind, like a whisper in the wind.

But then, as if the wind itself were reaching out to him, he felt a soft breeze brush against his skin. It was a familiar sensation, a warmth that reminded him of the touch of her hand, the way she would stand beside him, always. The air seemed to hum with the memory of her, comforting yet heartbreaking.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “When I look up at the sky, are you there, looking down at me too?”

The wind picked up, and for a moment, it felt like her presence was all around him, like she was standing there beside him once more, wrapping him in the same warmth he had always felt from her. He closed his eyes, the tears falling freely, but this time, they were mixed with a quiet sense of comfort, as though she was still there, still watching over him.

“I’ll keep going,” he whispered again, his voice full of love and sorrow. “I’ll keep you alive in everything I do. In every song I play, in every note I sing, I’ll carry you with me. You’ll never be gone.”

James lifted his head and looked at the sky. The last remnants of daylight were fading, leaving behind a soft, dusky glow. The horizon was now a mixture of deep purples and blues, the sky giving way to the darkness of night, but still holding onto the warmth of the day. It was as if the world was saying goodbye to the sun, just as he was saying goodbye to her.

As he stood to leave, the breeze shifted again, gently brushing against his face, and in that moment, he felt her presence more than ever. It was as if her spirit was in the wind, surrounding him, telling him she was always with him. He took a deep breath, and in that breath, he felt peace—peace that her love would never fade, that she would always be a part of him, in every wind, in every note, in every moment.

“I’ll always love you,” he whispered to the wind, the words escaping him without thought, like an offering to the sky. Then, with one final glance at her grave, he walked away, his heart still aching but a little lighter, knowing that she would never truly be gone.

[mothwingwritings]

Dreaming Of World's End

Reader X Zenos Yae Galvus

Waaah it has been so long!!! I apologize for the absence! I have been working on and doing all kinds of stuff (fics included) as of late so I did one of my classic dip outs there for a moment, but I’m here! Just plunking away as usual. :)

With Dawntrail coming up I have been focusing a big chunk of my free time on trying to beat Endwalker (I am slow in all things, video games included lul) because I wanna be there with the herd with Dawntrail comes out!!! I have no idea if I am gonna make it, but I am doing the best I can to catch up!!!

That being said: Zenos brainrot propelled this fic from my brain, to my computer, to you. Was I and am I also writing a bunch of other things? Yes. Is this the only thing I could momentarily focus on writing-wise because I have been compromised by my love for this fucked up man? Also yes. I’m sorry. It’s bad. I was already obsessed with him in Stormblood and now that I am deep within the clutches of the Endwalker msq… It’s over for me guys. It was a good run, but rip to me. My WOL may be playing hard to get, but I’m sure not. Zenos if you are reading this, you can just have me.

So without further ado, here is a Zenos fic I have been working on! My love for him aside, I think Zenos is a super fun character to write for, so I really hope I did him some justice! This is a reader insert fic, but you are the Warrior of Light in it so feel free to insert your OC’s and WOL if you like! I tried to keep the reader neutral, but I will say it’s def aimed more at a female reader/character and if you are a shorter race like a Lala it will probs be a little wonky, so my apologies. Also, I am about half way? A little over half way? through the Endwalker main story, so potential spoilers up to that point. This fic takes place sometime between post Shadowbringers and the first part of Endwalker.

Nothing overly explicit, but due to the nature of this fic it is 18+ please!

Thank you so much for reading!!! <3 I truly hope you enjoyed!

WARNINGS: Unhealthy relationship (if you can even call it a relationship), intense infatuation, implied noncon, noncon mentions,  a lot of fighting and mentions of fighting, mentions of death and the end of the world, unwanted touching, Endwalker spoilers.

It was always the same dream.

Amaurot. The end times. Death, destruction, chaos. Streets tainted by endless misery, stifling woe permeating the air as people ran about frantically, picked off left and right by horrendous, nightmarish monsters. Screams pierced the air as the remaining survivors struggled in vain, desperate to escape a fate that they could not avoid.

Just as any other night, he would watch it all unfold with cold indifference. Walking through the crumbling, fire charred lanes of this shell of a once bustling city, he would take it all in at a leisurely pace, maintaining a stride no more rushed than if he were taking a pleasant stroll. His features would be void of distress or malaise, his face a blank slate as he paraded down roads lined with bodies and devastation.

Zenos could say it was because he had grown accustomed to it, have the same dream each night and the grisly scenario that laid in wait past your closed eyes was bound to no longer shock you. But that would be a lie, as this ghastly nightmare had never truthfully bothered him to begin with. He simply didn’t care, not about the dying planet, nor its inhabitants that suffered the same fate. This scene from another time, this moment from a faraway place that no longer existed, he couldn’t bring himself to feel any form of remorse for the phantoms left to wallow helplessly in this endless, hellish loop, even if his own star was on track to share the same fate.

An echo of the past was just that, to dwell on it was a fool’s errand.

But tonight, it was not the end of times that greeted him when he closed his eyes. In its place stood an immaculate hall appearing to belong to some manner of grandiose castle. Pristine and orderly, he sat upon a large throne questionably positioned in the middle of the walkway, facing so that a vast expanse of the hall was clearly within his view.

Had he been here before? It was hard to say, having been trapped by palace walls most of his life they all blurred together after a certain point. Perhaps this wasn’t even a castle, but some manner of fortress. The varying weapons displayed neatly along the surrounding walls certainly made it feel as if this was more than just a mere abode for royalty to live out their boringly opulent lives, perhaps it doubled as an armory of sorts? Every sword, spear, and battle axe looked immaculately cared for; their blades so sharp simply looking at them made you feel as if you had been sliced.

His time to dwell upon the mystery of his surroundings was quick to dissipate however, as he felt a familiar presence approach him from behind. He remained still when a delicate hand was placed upon him, crawling from his arm to slide unhurriedly across his broad shoulders. The caress occupied the entirety of his thoughts, manicured nails scratching lightly against his flesh as they raked across his back, pressing just hard enough that they left a pleasant burn in their wake.

“There you are,” a deceptively alluring voice purred in his ear. Phantom arms draped themselves loosely over his shoulders, their fingers moving to trace a swirling pattern upon his chest. Goosebumps littered his arms at the brief contact. “Were you hiding from me?”

A small smile spread across his lips. What elation merely hearing your voice caused.

Were he not already aware of it, he would recognize he was in a dream from this interaction alone. You, only you, would be welcomed to touch him this way. But even were he to offer invitation, you would never do so of your own free will. There was a mixture of pride and revulsion that kept your interactions with him void of skinship, save for the fleeting contact that occurred when you were locked in combat.

His motivations, the way he chose to experience the world, your differing values and opinions. Like night and day, they barred you from reciprocating his feelings towards you. Because of this, he was left to revel in your touch exclusively in the realm of dreams.

“On the contrary,” he hummed, “you have been the one to keep me waiting.”

A low chuckle reverberated from your chest, sending a shiver down his spine. You rose to your full height, pulling away slowly until you disconnected from him completely. Even if the contact was nothing more than an attempt at provocation, he missed your touch the moment you detached yourself.

“Well then I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me, my lord,” you enunciated his title tauntingly, the playful lilt in your voice exciting him further. He heard you take several languid steps away from him before you spoke once more. “That is, if you even have a heart that can offer forgiveness.”

Zenos rose to his feet, turning to finally face you. Your back greeted him as you stared up at the myriad of weaponry covering the back wall, the hand that was moments ago atop his chest now gracefully running across the hilt of a long sword. Your fingers lingered on the handle, moving as if you were going to grip it, but never completing the task.

Zenos smiled. You were toying with him.

“You jest,” he spoke, taking a measured step your way, “if anyone has intimate knowledge of the existence of my heart and whom it beats for, it is you.”

Your posture stiffened in acknowledgment of the insinuation, yet you refused to turn his way.

“Is that so,” your voice seemed distant, as if you were unwilling to accept the burden of the intense desire he held for you, “Forgive me, I must have misread the situation. Due to the nature of how our meetings always end, I figured you only ever wanted one thing from me, and that is my blood.”

A low chuckle rumbled from within him, his eyes crinkling in amusement. For all that you were, all the skills and knowledge that you held, you could certainly be dense.

“I desire all you have to offer,” he answered plainly, “Your fury and malice, your rage and rancor, your disdain and desire,” he continued to approach you, each step slow and deliberate as he closed in on your staunch form. “Your love and affection are no different. I want to consume your every thought, just as you consume mine. I want you to taste me in the air you breathe and feel me crawling under your skin, even when I am far removed from your presence.”

He stopped several steps away from you, keeping his distance but lingering close enough that it bordered on intrusive. He raised his hand calmly, reaching out to grab a stray lock of your hair between his fingers. He gingerly caressed the silky strands, smirking when he noted that even such slight contact caused a shudder to lurch your otherwise statuesque form.

“You can play the fool all you want, but you cannot hide the fact that the same beast that dwells in me is also within you. They call out, craving each other to the point of madness.  We need each other. This dance we share must continue in perpetuity, lest our fierce yearning for each other’s presence turn us to savages incapable of rational thought, driven to the point of committing mass, undiscriminating destruction as a means to appease ourselves.”

He smirked, placing a gentle kiss atop the tendrils in his hand, before letting it slip from his grasp completely. “And you would do anything to divert that misfortune, would you not hero?”

Your shoulders began to quiver, shaken by the threat of violence he could and would commit simply to be by your side.  An impatient sigh escaped his lips, “So come, what better way is there to quench each other’s thirst and prevent calamity than through a mutually beneficial rendezvous? Surely even someone as set in their way as you are is in agreeance.”

“I was under the assumption that you planned on battling me until the world was torn asunder, regardless of if I entertain your perversions or not,” Your voice dripped with disdain as you spat your response at him, “If that is the case, pray tell why I should not cut you down where you stand? Why must the dance continue if the outcome is all the same?”

Your words made the smile on his face grow, stretching his lips to an unnatural degree. Taking another step forward, he leaned in until his mouth grazing the shell of your ear. Placing his hands firmly atop your shoulders, he gave a tight squeeze as he responded.

“Because we share one destiny,” he pressed his cheek flush against your head, inhaling deeply before releasing it in a slow, shaky sigh, “even now as you try so hard to deny me, our fate is intertwined, my warrior. You cannot escape me, and I have no desire to escape you. The dismantling of this world as a result of our conquest is all but inevitable and I welcome it with open arms.”

“I won’t let the world crumble to ash.” Your bold declaration was spoken as if it were fact, the conviction in your voice sending a surge of wanton excitement coursing through his veins. “Say and do as you like, the future you seek will never come to pass.”

Oh, how he adored you.

“Hmm,” he hummed, “You can try and stop me, but you cannot escape what has been predestined.”

During the course of the conversation, your hand had had traveled to the base of an axe, your fingers wrapping around it to grasp the handle in a constricting hold. All of the anger that had been bubbling up reflected in the whites of your knuckles, the tremor of your hand becoming more apparent as your composure slipped further and further. The cool demeanor you initially donned had completely shifted, overridden by the immense agitation his presence was inviting.

The axe was ripped swiftly from the wall, lacking fluidity. There was no care for keeping the wall in tact or making sure all the other weapons that surrounded it stayed in their spot. You ripped it down with one great tug, bits of stone and surrounding armaments clattering noisily into a massive steel heap on the ground as you finally spun around to face him. Zenos had seconds to react as you swung down in a wide arc, the finely sharpened blade slicing easily through the decorative tiling that coated the floor, decimating the ground where he once stood.

“There we are,” Zenos growled in anticipation, sizing you up with a bloodthirsty grin, “you are a vision to behold when you let your ferocity consume you.”

You deigned to answer him, your icy countenance his only response as you straightened your posture, considering your next move.  Your distaste for him was clear as you hefted your axe from the ground, dust settling around you as it was freed with a mighty yank. Weapon in hand, you came for him in a relentless torrent, striking at him in a flurry of breakneck swings. In the ensuing madness, he grabbed the nearest weapon he could reach-a sword that was more ornate that functional, but it would serve its purpose for the time being.

The enmity increased as he reciprocated your attacks. Parrying each blow with a steady hand, he responded to your blows with calculated strikes of his own, expertly countering your aggression. The air around the two of you had become electric, charged with hostility and fervor as you hacked away at each other time and time again.

Though frantic, the assault was far from inelegant. Each swing of your axe and swipe of his blade was an orchestrated maneuver befitting the couple who performed them. It was as beautiful as it was fierce, a true force of nature. To an untrained eye the activity would appear as nothing more than a blur of chaos, annihilating all that was in its wake. But to Zenos, a man who had dedicated himself to your study, it was a sight that made his heart ache.

He was witnessing a glorious preamble, a promise forged in battle between himself and his righteous and powerful hero, the only person with whom he ever felt a true connection. This battle, amongst all of its other perks, gave him purpose.

Fighting you, he felt alive. To be the sole receiver of all your ire, your discontent, your undivided attention… it was like a dream. He realized this encounter was most likely just that, a conjuring of your presence from his sleep addled mind, a side effect of his constant ruminations of you. You already occupied each of his waking thoughts, it only made sense that having you visit in his dreams would soon follow.

Be that as it may, the knowledge that this moment lived solely in his mind did little to dissuade his desire to get lost in it, to get lost in you.  If he couldn’t have you in the waking world, his dreams would have to suffice, at least for the time being. Besides, there were things he could accomplish in his dreams that would never be plausible elsewhere, moments of intimacy he could forge that would never present a chance of happening in reality.

A particularly rough blow sent Zenos reeling. The sword knocked from his hand scattered just out of reach, his body lurching to an abrupt stop as he collided with rubble that had piled up behind him. A quick glance your way revealed a small smirk ghosting your lips, a hint of satisfaction shining through your hostility. He could see the assurance reflected in your eyes, a swell of pride over the victory you would soon be relishing.

Zenos mirrored your glee, pleased you were having as much fun as he was.

As you hoisted your axe high, thoroughly preoccupied with your pending achievement, Zenos took the moment to strike. Launching himself from the ground, he rammed his body against yours, hitting you hard and fast. The speed at which he closed the gap astounded you as much as the collision had, causing the axe to topple from your hands, skittering out of your reach. A pained grunt escaped your lips as you collided with the ground, Zenos following suit atop you. His hand cradled the back of your head as you fell, catching hold before it could crack against the stony floor. It would do no good to have you suffer injury and pass out now, not as things were about to get truly interesting.

Positioning himself atop your fallen form, his body caged you in as you lay beneath him, panting and exhausted. Splayed amongst the rubble, your confusion morphed into a look of annoyance as you realized your situation had drastically changed. Your success had been stolen from you and now the thief had you cornered, trapped right where he wanted.

“I wish you could see yourself as I see you in this moment,” Zenos spoke between his own labored breaths, pressing into you ever further as his face hovered inches from your own, “Disheveled and feral, transformed by your bloodlust, you have never been more breathtaking.”

“I’m not like you,” you retorted sharply, “I don’t revel in such acts of savagery.”

Zenos chuckled, “And yet you seemed quite delighted moments ago when you were convinced victory was within your grasp.” You frowned as his hand found purchase on your chin, gripping it in a tight pinch to keep your focus fixed his way, “But here you are now, bested and at my mercy.”

You grimaced, “I have yet to lose to you. I refuse to concede defeat.”

In response to your bold declaration, he gave a throaty, booming laugh. How was it that you always knew just what to say to drive him absolutely mad with desire?

Unable to contain himself any longer, Zenos smashed his lips to yours, capturing you in a heated and hungry kiss. Your brain took a moment to comprehend the abrupt action, but as it did you began to struggle against it, thrashing and clawing at him in an effort to create distance.  Zenos remained firm, making it clear that you had expended far more energy than he had, leaving your assault lacking the power needed to stop him. Whines of displeasure snaked from your mouth as his grip tightened on your chin, squeezing so roughly you couldn’t help but gasp in pain. Eagerly seizing the opportunity, he muscled his tongue inside of you, lapping at the inside of your mouth aggressively. He groaned as he savored the taste of you.

When a need for air arose, he pulled back slightly, staring down at you with lidded eyes. Your saliva coated his lips, giving a glossy sheen as they curled into an offputtingly tranquil smile. His hand moved from your chin to drag languidly across your cheek, the brief touch of his rough finger tips sending a shiver down your spine. Your gaze wavered the longer you stayed trapped in this awkward position, your eyes brimming with uncertainty. You seemed unsure of where to look, what to do, how to escape. In his wishful thinking, Zenos wondered if perhaps you were even unsure if you truly wanted to escape.

Amongst your numerous charms, Zenos found your enigmatic personality to be one of your most appealing. Being such a virtuous being, your motivations, ambition, and drive were all easy enough to sort out. You are Hydaelyn’s chosen, the Warrior of Light, the people’s champion, and you live up to those titles and more. You are a hero through and through, a source of salvation for those you protect and a complete nightmare for those that offer opposition. There is no doubt that you are a force to be reckoned with, no matter what the encounter or situation may be.

And what good hero is without a nemesis? It’s a role the disgraced Prince and betrayer of his kin plays well. In his illustrious life he had gone through the motions, donned many hats, played countless roles, many of which were not of his choosing. But of all his grand titles, your adversary is most certainly his favorite, the only one that gives him any sense of pride. Your existence gave him purpose, and for you alone he kept up the hunt.

But he knew it was different for you. Though cut of the same cloth and driven by destiny to engage him, your feelings did not completely align with his own. You were driven by more than barbarity, more than a duty to save your people and your planet. There was something inside of you, something that made you YOU, that he could never truly know, no matter how desperately he wanted to.

You were his greatest conundrum, a true mystery, and when you look at him as you were now with those eyes that swirled with anger, uncertainty, grief, and something yet unspoken… What was he to do but become a slave to this maddening, consuming attraction?

He gloated about being the victor, but it was clear you would always have the upper hand.

“Get off of me.”

The demand brought him back to the present, sheer determination replacing the conflicting emotions that fought for dominance within you. He could tell by the bite in your voice that your vigor was returning, and given a bit more time and provocation, the battle would gloriously resume.

“Eagar to carry on with our dance, are you?” He responded, an almost teasing lilt to his voice, “Or is it that you just can’t stand the thought of defeat at my hands?

“I already told you, you didn’t defeat me,” you glowered, your rage becoming palpable the longer his unwanted presence loomed, “I came here to end this farce and I plan to do just that.”

A beat of silence passed, followed by a sigh. Parting your lips to speak, your voice came out quieter, more desperate than it had previously.

“I wanted to keep this is civil as possible and respect your wishes as best I could, no matter how twisted they may be. But even for your own benefit, you refuse to entertain the notion of making this situation even the slightest bit amicable. You speak of such lofty things as fate and destiny, but all I am witnessing is you causing unnecessary suffering, hiding behind my name to do so.”

For a split second, another flash of uncertainty danced across your features. You bit your bottom lip in vexation, a glimmer lighting your eyes as they swept across his handsome face, “There is more to this world, more to this life, than waiting for its untimely end. To live out your days perpetuating death and blind havoc is no way to exist, it’s a tragedy. Why can’t you see that? Zenos, I-“

As if taken by surprise, you cut your own words short, silencing the previous thought that had been brewing. Zenos felt as if you looked pained, staring at him with pleading eyes, face scrunched up in frustration. Even with all the hate you carried for him, you were still trying to understand him, still clinging to the hope that maybe you could save him too.

Here, on the cusp of annihilation, you were doing all you could to fulfill the role of hero and protect the people that you loved. In order to fulfill that duty, it meant he must be defeated. There could be no other ending, the inexorable conclusion to all of this was always cold and endless death. Whether it would be all of humanities or just his own was still to be determined, but it did little to change the fact that there was no future to plan for, only a violently rapturous and melancholic end.

To be cherished by you, to feel your love as if he were one of your dearest companions… It was a thought not meant to be dwelled on, but one he found hard to completely shake from his head. How would it feel to be earnestly and unequivocally loved by you? Perhaps in another world, another time, your souls would be reborn and given another chance. A fresh beginning to grow together, an opportunity to nurture something more than the misfortune this world had thrust upon you. Maybe in some alternate telling of this tale the two of you were together and happy, with nothing but a bright future awaiting you on the horizon.

But that was simply a foolish daydream. All that he had, all he could hope for, was the here and now.

You sighed again, steeling your resolve with a shake of your head, “Never mind. You have already proven to me mere words cannot move you, so I will save my breath.”

Raising your torso as much as his hold on you would allow, your eyes bore into his, fully accepting the challenge that lay ahead. Though still restrained, there was an aura of dominance that surrounded you. It was a warning to Zenos that your binds were temporary, whether he released you willingly or otherwise was his decision, but regardless the outcome would be the same.

“If it’s the end you want, it’s the end I will bring you,” your soft words clashed with the look of malice reflected in your eyes, your breath fanning his face as your noses nearly touched. For an instant your eyes darted to his lips, and Zenos wondered if it would be you to instigate the kiss this time.

“I will fulfill my role. I will be your end and your salvation.”

Your words pierced him, the proclamation sending sparks of excitement to course through him, igniting his soul. His whole body burned for you, intense and consuming, his need for you was beginning to show itself in ways beyond his control. Pressing his hips flush between your spread legs, he made his intentions known to you, a shiver wracking his body when you released a small gasp of surprise.

Clutching the remaining shreds of his sanity, he grunted as you writhed against his growing arousal, pulling your body up towards him until he had engulfed you in a tight embrace.

“Enough time has been wasted,” he snarled into your neck, his chest rumbling as his grip on you tightened, “let us deliver a ruin unto ourselves so extraordinary, so beautiful, that naught will remain but the scattered fragments of this forsaken world.”

Loosening his grip, he pressed his lips to your forehead in a chaste, yet gentle, kiss. Your brow furrowed at his touch, shoulders tensing as you drew yourself back from him, recoiling at the small display of adoration. He found the reaction endearing, even with his intentions laid bare and and his hardened cock pressed firmly against your core, it was the smallest token of his affection that caused you to squirm.

Repugnance, hatred, scorn- whatever you felt for him in this moment, none of it mattered, none of it deterred him. He loved you, and he would make that love known in the only way he knew how, while he still had time to do so.

“This shall be my final gift to you,” he purred into your ear, his grip latching securely to your tunic. With nimble hands he started to pull, exposing yourself to him bit by bit as the fabric turned to tatters in his hands.  “Let us relish it my friend, my warrior, my beloved. Destroy me, and I shall be your devastation in kind. ”

[jikookhet]

d-day, a conversation of yoongi's artistry ❦

listen, listen, listen.

i know collectively as a fandom we speak about yoongi's artistry, however, i don't think we speak about it enough. or, at least, in a lengthened & deepened conversation. his artistry is something that consistently captivates me time and time again. everything from the concepts he portrays, the lyrics he pulls out, the cinematography he executes, & the stories he embodies to put out for us. everything from point a to b is purely & utterly insane. here, i want to focus on d-day, but first; we need to take it back. way back.

as we know, yoongi has three personas. from 2013 to 2016, it was the two personas of min yoongi, as a person, & suga, as an artist. the 'agust d' persona was officially introduced to us as of august, 2016. this persona held up quite a reputation for being 'savage', 'relentless', & 'outspoken' — & wrongfully so. to simply assume that he is savage or disrespectful for letting out all of his rightfully pent-up emotions as a result of a barrage of hate, is horrible.

"in 2016, we really described us was that we are from living hell because we were attacked by so many different areas and we didn't even know why. 'why do they hate us so much?' that was the thing we focused on. and i was full of anger." — yoongi, road to d-day.

agust d was the persona that yoongi used as a coping mechanism— for many things, really. all the hate, all the internal suffering, all the trauma. agust d was born out of nothing but pure anger & frustration, which we can see through many tracks— agust d, tony montana, daechwita, & what do you think. however, this anger & frustration weren't only directed at external figures, but also directed internally, at yoongi himself. though, it manifested as seeping pain and sadness, instead.

in many ways, agust d was an outlet for all his pent-up emotions & thoughts, yet in many ways, it was holding him back from the things he needed the most. healing & forgiveness. not from others, of course not, but rather— himself.

truthfully, the way he portrayed this was so gut-wrenching & heartbreaking. he perceives his traumas as being caused by himself— hence the self-inflicted scar on his face. his father's liver cancer, which he learnt whilst on a schedule. his mom's heart surgery; from an incredibly young age (three to four years old), yoongi blamed himself for his mother's illness as she developed it after giving birth to him. yoongi's specific memory at this age was of him in his mom's embrace & since felt guilty over him causing it, wondering— "is it right for me to be born?" (beyond the story, 2023.) the shoulder accident he had which he couldn't tell anyone, including his bandmates, at that time in fear of being let go. a torn shoulder that he dealt with for over seven years whilst working full-time, touring often, & regularly doing intense choreography.

throughout yoongi's music videos, there's a repeated motif of killing this scarred version of himself— a key symbol for his attempts to leave the past behind & live in the present. however, undertaking these attempts to do so while not healing or forgiving yourself is a dangerous path to go down. because you'd end up stuck in this endless & vicious cycle of self-torture. in this way, it's like you're continuously indulging in your pain through being unable to forgive yourself & wishing you could undo what happened, though it's out of your control.

something incredibly meaningful to me was how yoongi said d-day was the closing chapter to the agust d trilogy. that it might be hard to see him again, that as he continues to grow older & older, he gets less angry at the world & at himself. the trilogy lasting ten years with a man who's changed for those ten years right alongside it, has come to its blossoming end. a closed chapter to the pain & trauma that held him down all these years.

to those who might not know to yoongi is, or may not understand, i hope you come to the realization as to why people call min yoongi's works a piece of art. because, in his words, there is strength & pain. the kind that gut-wrenchingly bruises & burns without hesitation but offers a lifelong worth of embracement whole in return. the kind that sends crashing ripples & rumbles reverberating through one's chest but offers a delicate hand in return.

min yoongi is truly one of a kind.

[little-peril-stories]

Whumptober 2023, Day 7: “Can you hear me?”

Whumptober 2023 Masterlist

Read at your own risk! They're only snippets of a larger story, with no resolution that will be posted online anytime soon; they are being posted out of order; and the characters don't have names. Enjoy!

Contents: angst, death mention, vicious rumours

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Word count: 750 || Approx reading time: 3 mins

"Can you hear me?"

Teaser: But days had passed, and the scholar didn’t wake. Life went on, and still there was no sign of her.

"The road ahead may twist, but I will never swerve"

Nothing that was happening was real. That was the only explanation.

It was a dream, a nightmare. A figment of his overtired, overactive imagination as he struggled through his restless sleep. It was still the night of the wedding, and as he agonized over his decision—tell her you’re desperately in love with her—his wicked, treacherous brain had fabricated one of the most awful, outlandish worst-case scenarios it could conjure. He was tossing and turning in his bed right at that very moment, fitful slumber haunted by this monstrous dream.

Another explanation, he thought, less likely but still within the realm of possibility, was that he was ill. Very ill. Delirious, in fact. Food poisoning, perhaps? A vicious fever? He imagined himself in his sickbed, sweating and twitching, moaning as disease ravaged his body, incoherent ramblings on his lips, languishing in the grip of a savage fever dream.

The other idea he felt compelled to entertain: he was dead. He had never given much serious thought to what came after death, and he’d certainly not expected to find a punishment waiting for him there. Yet if he was dead, he must have done something truly heinous, because this was bordering on unbearable.

Being dead and suffering through some kind of purgatory was the least palatable option he’d come up with, yet the scholar half-hoped it was true. If he had died, the hell he was living through now was the false reality. It would eventually crumble into oblivion, blown away on the wind with his ashes, or buried in the ground with his decomposing corpse.

But days had passed, and the scholar didn’t wake. Life went on, and still there was no sign of her.

There was no sign of her, and no word from her, and each day closed with no answers and no relief.

Only questions. Only grief.

The search dwindled. Of course it did. How much time, how much money, how much energy should be devoted to one missing girl? A servant, no less? It wasn’t infinite.

By the fourth day, the endless chorus of her name, the refrain of “Where are you? Can you hear me?” was ended.

A runaway, it was decided. The most likely explanation. With no message, no body, no suspect…

Well, no suspect, save for one.

He knew what the rumours said, what vindictive whispers had been swirling through the court since the night she disappeared.

You know who was the last person to see her, right? The night of the wedding? The only one who truly knows what happened? That teacher. That strange boy, the one who used to tutor the prince. The odd, quiet one. He’s the one who did it.

She didn’t run away. She was murdered.

The scholar ignored them. He had to. He had to, or he was going to lose his senses completely.

He had to pretend he could not hear the hisses of disgust or see the accusing glares.

He had to convince his friends the rumours were wrong.

He had to find her.

The sun would set soon—a blood-read ball preparing to dip below the horizon and usher in the night. The last search party had long disbanded.

Not for him.

The castle had been searched, torn apart, a hundred times over, yielding nothing—not a lock of golden-brown hair, not a scrap of her spring-green dress, not a sprig of shimmering blossoms or even a single blue petal. No footprints, no blood trail.

The grounds…the same.

So he set off into town. It had also been searched, of course, at his insistence, and that of her friends—friends who now watched him with suspicion as if they could so easily be swayed to believe he might ever hurt her.

He shouted her name, and his was the only voice left, and it seemed unlikely that, somewhere in the dying, darkening city streets, she would be able to hear him calling for her at all.

Still, he went on.

His feet ached. His fingers went numb. His voice grew hoarse.

Still, she did not answer.

The moon was high when he finally stopped, casting a pale and eerie glow over the city’s cobblestoned paths. It shivered, precarious and distorted and unreal, in the glass-pane puddles that lined the streets. The scholar stood motionless, staring into the dark mouth of an alley, as if he could through sheer determination—sheer desperation—will a girl in a green dress to appear.

Only the darkness stared back.

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[lingshanhermit]

Ling Shan Hermit: Transforming Oneself is Equivalent to Transforming the World

Frequently, we find ourselves immersed in a state of discontent, as life unfurls in a manner starkly contrasting to our expectations. These expectations are often a by-product of deeply ingrained habits we've cultivated over time. Unhappiness sprouts when we step onto a crowded subway and fail to occupy the seat we had hoped for, when the meal we've labored over fails to garner the anticipated admiration, or when an entire day's hunt for the perfect attire ends in disappointment. Though the world has never pledged obedience to our desires, we naively harbor the belief that every event should unfold according to our preferences. When any circumstance that we have preconceived as "supposed to be" fails to manifest, a sense of discontentment is kindled. On closer inspection, one can discern a standard rooted deep within us that dictates how things must be, and it is this standard that often breeds our discontent.

Generally, we subscribe to the notion that happiness can be attained through one of two routes. One is by altering the world to mirror our idyllic vision, creating a reality where everyone behaves according to our wishes and all entities embody our definition of perfection — our perfect version. This quest, however, demands significant exertion. The world doesn't coddle our habits, and furthermore, others may harbor similar aspirations that ironically stand in contrast to our own.

This method bears inherent risks, as not everyone may resonate with your modus operandi. Therefore, when you assertively recolor the sky to match your favored palette, the consequence may merely be inflicting pain and suffering upon others.

Consider a married couple, wherein the husband derives joy from randomly tossing towels post-shower, whereas the wife believes the correct and joy-inducing practice is to neatly arrange the towels in their designated spots. Their distinct sources of happiness incite conflict, as the husband's joy morphs into the wife's displeasure. In reality, enforcing your personal standard of joy upon the world often cultivates more agony than pleasure. What most people envision as "reforming the world" is merely a longing for the Earth to revolve according to their preferred orientation.

There is, however, another path — that of altering oneself. If you pin your hopes on the first method, you may never experience true happiness in your lifetime. You embark on an endless journey, a road traveled by countless others before you. These individuals created laws, enacted regulations, all in an attempt to render the world a better place, aiming to eliminate our problems. Standing from an objective perspective, it would be unjust to claim their efforts yielded no fruit. Yet, in the present day, our issues have not dwindled; our world is not any better than it was two centuries ago. In fact, it might be more accurate to say that our problems have proliferated. The world has not become safer or more lovable due to our endeavors. Instead, it appears more turbulent and uncontrollable than ever before.

My mother once harbored ambitious attempts to transform the world. She tried to convince my father to remember to wash his face after meals before going to sleep, as she believed not doing so would soil the sheets, a rule she'd always adhered to in her family. For two decades, she embarked on a campaign of persuasion and education, punctuated by arguments and minor physical altercations. However, the end result was negligible. Recently, she realized that by simply adjusting her own mindset, the world could become immensely vast. That is, to no longer insist that washing one's face after meals is a necessity. (Truthfully, this was never a necessity, merely a habit she'd grown accustomed to.)

When you encounter failure on the first path, you can always venture down the second. Many have embarked on this alternative journey in the past, with numerous individuals finding success therein. You might perceive this as a form of self-deception, suspecting that changing oneself equates to mere compliance with the world. Indeed, some have adopted this approach. However, when Buddhism advocates self-transformation, it doesn't denote such compliance. In fact, transforming oneself does not mean you must start bearing the world's affronts in silence or bowing to its demands. Nor am I suggesting you should become worldly and cunning. Your conflicts with the world fundamentally arise from the insistence on what you perceive as reality, while others cling to their respective versions of it. We consider ourselves and the world around us as truly existing, and our understanding of the world as the sole truth. Hence, when we encounter others who share our same blind confidence, conflicts become inevitable.

Change, in essence, involves the modification of your perception of the world. Due to ignorance, the world you perceive is starkly different from reality. You believe in the tangible existence of 'I' and the products thereof. When these entities you perceive as real (your dignity, your blanket, your work, your cat) are threatened or belittled, you become enraged and distressed.

Changing the world is a highly time-consuming venture, one that requires massive investment for minimal returns. In fact, it's a project with no defined end. Not only are you unable to foresee the day of its completion, but even your grandchildren, their children, and their children's children will never witness the day when the world has been perfectly transformed. You will be perpetually on the road, forever unable to see the finish line. This is akin to running around in a circle, hoping one day to reach an endpoint. You will exhaust yourself until you collapse.

However, if you correct your erroneous view of the world, everything will be different. When you rectify your mistaken perception of the world, when you no longer let delusion lead you astray, there will be no birthplace for pain. When you cease indulging your habits and purify all your defilements, the world you see will be perfect. The reason you perceive imperfections is because you are measuring everything against your own standards—standards that are the products of ignorance. You get angry because your habits are under assault.

Changing oneself and changing the world are not two unrelated paths. If your mind changes, the world will change along with it because the world is your perception. The same person, the same object, can elicit entirely different feelings in you depending on your state of mind. For instance, if you see a couple kissing on the subway while in a great mood, you may find it a pleasant sight, even secretly blessing them. But if you've just been dumped by your boyfriend and lost faith in love, seeing them might fuel your rage. The couple on the subway hasn't changed—what has changed is your heart.

In Buddhism, there is an old teaching: We can't cover the world with carpet to facilitate our walk, but we can put on shoes. Buddhism offers the method of donning shoes, thus avoiding all harm.

First published on the Ling Shan Hermit blog on October 6, 2007.

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灵山居士：改变自己，就是改变世界　　

很多时候，我们都会觉得不快乐，生活中出现了与我们所期待的相反的东西。而你所期待的正是你长期纵容习气的结果。当你挤上地铁之后没有如愿以偿的坐上你想坐的位置，当你辛辛苦苦做好饭菜却没有如愿以偿的获得赞许，当你在街上转悠了一天没有买到合适的衣服，不快就会油然而生。虽然世界从未顺从过我们，我们却很愚蠢的觉得每件事都应该按照我们希望的那样发展。任何一个我们认为“应该”的事情没有如愿发生，我们就会心生不快。仔细观察，你会发现在你内心深处有个必需如何如何的标准，是它导致你的不快。

通常我们认为有两种途径可以让你获得快乐，一种是改变世界，让世界变成你的理想国，让每个人都按照你希望的方式去做事，让每个事物都如你所希望的那般完美——你的完美版本。这需要付出巨大的努力。因为世界并不会纵容你的习气。而且，其他人也有这样的企图。但他们的期待往往和你的正好相反。

这样的做法也同样具有危险性，因为不是每一个人都会喜欢你的方式，所以当你强行把天空涂抹成你喜欢的颜色，可能带给别人的只是痛苦和伤害。

如果一对夫妻，丈夫认为洗完澡可以自由随意的搭放毛巾是一种快乐，而妻子认为把毛巾搭在适当的位置才是正确和让她感到快乐的，那么两个人的快乐就会产生冲突，丈夫的快乐会成为妻子的不快乐。事实上，以你的快乐标准来要求世界，造成的痛苦会远远多于快乐。多数人所谓的改造世界，无非是希望地球按照自己所希望的方式旋转。

还有一条路，那就是改变你自己���如果你把希望寄托在第一条上面，可能你有生之年都无法快乐，因为你走上了一条没有终点的路，曾经有过无数的人尝试过这么做，他们制定法律，出台各种规定，试图让世界变的更美好，试图让我们的问题消失。站在公正的立场说，你不能说他们的努力毫无成果，但是时至今日我们的问题并没有变的更少，我们的世界也没有比二百年前更美好，事实上，说我们的问题与日俱增才更符合事实。世界并未因人们的努力而变的更安全更可爱，他比以往更加狂暴和不受控制。

我的母亲就曾经雄心勃勃的试图改造世界，她试图让我的父亲记得饭后洗脸再睡觉，因为她认为不这么做就会把被子弄脏，她们家一直是这个规矩。她为此进行了长达二十年的说服教育工作，也包括争吵和轻微的肢体冲突，但是最终收效甚微，最近她发现其实她只需要把自己的心态调整一下，世界就会广阔无比，那就是不再坚持饭后洗脸是必须的。（其实这本来就不是必需的，只是她习惯如此而已。）

当你在第一条路上感受失败的时候，你可以去尝试第二条路，过去有很多人这么做过，也有很多人在第二条路上获得成功。你可能会认为这近乎自我欺骗。你会认为改变自己就是让自己顺应世界。有些人确实是这么做的。但佛教所说的改变自己并非如此，事实上，改变自己并不表示你要开始对世界忍气吞声或俯首听命。我也不是在说你应该变得精明世故。你之所以和世界有冲突从根源上来说是因为你执著于那些你认为真实存在的东西，他人则执著于他认为真实存在的东西。我们认为我们是真实存在的，我们周遭的世界也是真实存在的，我们对世界的认知是唯一正确的。也是真实存在的。因此当我们遇到那些和我们有着同样盲目自信的人，冲突就不可避免。

改变，只是改变你对世界的感知而已，由于无明，你能感知的世界和真实的世界大相径庭。你认为“我”是真实存在的，“我”的衍生物也是真实存在的。当你认为这些真实存在的东西（你的面子，你的毛毯，你的作品，你的猫）受到威胁贬低的时候，你就会愤怒，你会痛苦。

改变世界是一个耗时巨大的工程，也是一个投资巨大而收效甚微的工程，事实上它也是一个完全没有了期的工程，不止是你无法看到这个工程竣工的那一天，你的孙子，你孙子的孙子，你孙子的孙子的孙子，也同样看不到世界被改造的���完美的那一天。你将永无了期的在路上，永远看不到尽头。这就象是你绕着一个圆圈跑，希望有一天可以看到终点一样。你会疲于奔命，直到倒下。

但是如果你改变了你对世界的错误看法，一切都会不同。当你纠正了你对世界的错误看法的时候，当你不再被妄想带着走，痛苦就无从产生，当你不再纵容你的习气，清除了你所有的染污，你所看到的世界会很完美。你之所以会认为有不完美存在，是因为你在用自己的标准衡量一切。而“你的标准”正是无名的结果。你会被激怒，是因为你的习惯遭受了攻击。

改变自己和改变世界并非两条不相干的道路，如果你的心改变了，世界也会随之改变。因为世界是你的认知。同样的一个人，一件物品，你在不同的心态下看到他，会有完全不同的感受，如果你是在心情极佳的状态下看见地铁里一对拥吻的情侣，你可能会觉得赏心悦目，你甚至会暗暗祝福他们，但是如果你刚刚被男朋友抛弃，你开始不相信爱情，看见他们可能会令你怒火中烧。地铁上的情侣并没有发生变化，变化的是你的心。

在佛教里，有一个古老的的教言：我们无法把世界铺上地毯以利于我们的行走，但我们可以穿上鞋。佛教的方法是让你穿上鞋，这样就可以避免一切伤害。

2007年10月6日首发于灵山居士博客

[hopingforjustice]

ㅤ ㅤ It wasn't necessary to be a great observer to notice how that conversation was touching Hachi's deepest feelings. A good thing for sure — it showed that despite all the sadness and hopelessness, there was still something deep in her heart that hoped for better days to come. Maybe she wasn't able to see it yet, but Reimi believed that this sudden outburst, even though filled with discomfort and regret, was actually her way of asking for help. ❝ I'm glad you did. ❞ Such words ended the apologies once and for all. The other girl's thought of physically moving away from her home to expel the painful memories from her mind made perfect sense. At least now she didn't have a constant reminder of everything bad that happened, having to look at her mother and sister every single day. ❝ That's a process. It may be long, but you have already taken the first step, right? You did the hardest part. ❞ Just one step ahead and you are no longer in the same place, as they say. It might seem like something small, but every healing process began with an idea, a desire, a will. It was no different with her, she remembered the day she gave up crying for help and started a plan to catch her killer.

ㅤ ㅤ Not knowing how to start was quite relatable for her. While the options were endless, it became very difficult to choose one of them. Failures would be inevitable — that could throw cold water on an already hurt soul. However, no one can be good the first time they try something, at least as a rule. ❝ Not that I want you to never talk to your family again, but you can't reconnect with them until you heal yourself. ❞ It was still too early for Hachi to worry so much about it. Of course, only she knew the immensity of her pain, it was up to others to wait only, let her follow her course at her own pace. ❝ Maybe one day you can open up to them, or just leave that past behind and build something new for yourself. You will know what to do when the time comes, trust me. ❞ The heart always knows which choice to make, at least that's what Reimi believed. It might not be very rational at first glance, or not even prudent, but if it made her feel light and delighted… Every bump in the road would have been worth it. Besides, she didn't have to walk this path all alone. Friends were there for that very reason, to share the burden on her shoulders.

ㅤ ㅤ When their eyes met once again, there was so much tenderness in Hachi's that she didn't know how to answer at first. She had no doubts about the respect and friendship that was always offered to her, but there was something of admiration that Reimi didn't consider herself worthy of. ❝ What choice did I have? ❞ A new smile curved her lips, this time with an unmistakable hint of pain. Stronger than her, even after fifteen long, lonely years. ❝ My murderer took everything from me, I couldn't let him take my heart too. ❞ The hardest thing she ever did, both in life and death. The first few days were horrible, her core completely consumed by pain and suffering, the scariest desires circulating inside her head. Revenge was all she wanted — for herself, her parents, Arnold, Rohan. It took a long time for such feelings to cool and the search for justice take its place. ❝ Nourishing others so I can find some solace, that's my way of giving meaning to my existence. ❞ There was no more life in her, but her essence remained present on the earthly plane in some way. This had to mean that there was a greater good behind all her personal tragedy.

@hopingforjustice // continued.

This isn't something she ever wanted to lay at a friend's feet--any friend, but especially not Reimi. Reimi, who has been reckoning with a fate after death that leaves her sequestered for such long stretches of time with only the dead for company. Reimi, who despite the horror of her passing and the bleakness of her surroundings still finds it in herself to be unerringly, persistently kind.

What are Hachi's problems, compared to Reimi's? What right does she have to make them another issue for her to shoulder? What's wrong with Hachi?! Why can't she just try harder, be better--or at the very least just not bother anybody with her juvenile little problems about her mom not loving her enough, or feeling like she's worse than her sister? Is it really so difficult for her to keep it to herself? To be normal about it all?

Reimi's hand at her elbow is a shock to her system, disrupting the ringing in her ears and the TV static overtaking her brain. Hachi doesn't mean to do it, but she turns as if magnetized--finds her eyes tracing the path up from that firm but delicate hand to its arm, past the shoulder, across the soft, moving curve of a jaw to the pair of eyes locked on her own. There is more care waiting in them there than she ever could have hoped to be the focus of, and her heart is struck simultaneously warm and guilty in equal measure over it.

The gesture isn't quite enough to stop the live-wire nerves and self loathing completely, but it gives Hachi something else to focus on--lips parted and wet eyes wide as Reimi's words wash over her like warm water and gentle seabreeze. She moves to protest the steadfast words her friend offers, prepares to argue that it's different--that of course she would listen to Reimi about anything, try to help her in any way she could--Reimi has real problems, after all--but Reimi follows up in such a way that Hachi has to stop the words before she can press out the syllables. Hachi's lower lip trembles, her shoulders sagging. For a long beat, she doesn't speak, just swallows around the lump at the back of her throat, overwhelmed in several different directions she can't put a proper name to just yet.

"...I'm sorry, all the same. I didn't mean to talk about all of this," she mumbles with a sniffle, her words quiet and rough around the edges. All at once she's exhausted, wrung out between the mire of her own self-worth and Reimi's compassion in the face of it. With downcast eyes and a more subdued tone, she dips head head and mumbles: "To be honest, I thought... if I took the chance to move here, that would fix everything. But my sister's not even here and I still get all these days where I feel... not enough. Like I'm doing everything wrong."

Wherever she goes, there she is. Doesn't that mean that the real problem is just... Hachi?

"...Guess it's something I need to work on. ...I don't know how you do it, Reimi." Hachi's eyes lift to meet the other girl's, her gaze beseeching and tender, earnest and unsure. Her shoulders sag. "So much--so much happened to you, and still have it in you to be... someone so special, and kind. I really... admire that."

[yandere-wishes]

Dr.Frankenstein

💀Yandere Idia Shroud x Reader

💀Summary: Idia wants to prove the world wrong. To show that there is more to life than good and bad, villains and heroes. But somewhere along the way, he falls in love with what he is trying to prove. 

💀Warnings: Dead reader, delusional tendencies, gore,

💀Edited by my beloved Peri!! @tealyjade-libran

💀 Alternative title: Dr. Frankenstein falls in love with his monster. 

Idia had known, from an all too young age that his heart was fashioned to be enraptured with misery and sympathy.  

Once before, a few thousand eons ago, Idia had been a meager child, boyish, shy and happy with life. Sitting on his mother's lap, as her thinner than bone fingers ignited themselves on his scorching hair. He'd listen as her sunken lips recited story after story from forgotten books and dead myths. content, long ago he had known the feeling of contentment. 

And yet said feeling had died so long before Idia even comprehended the narrative behind death. His joy at hearing tales about daring heroes and bewildering gods ran dry all too soon. He'd grown numb to the stories of good and evil, the same formula used over and over and over again. Good won, good prevailed; evil lost, evil vanished. It lacked logic and sense. The probability behind mindless heroes saving the day each and every time was astronomical. It couldn't happen. Yet the history of their world and his darling mother's tongue told a different tale. 

-Not only could it be done, but rather it had been done on endless occasions.-

There had, however, been one story that stood out amongst the rotten batch. An anecdote that lacked morals and didn't defy a single law of nature. One would never think that a god born would find solace in a tale of a simple human trying to play god. The only story that sunk deep into his arteries like fragile needles, swimming through his blood before pricking manically at his heart. The only story mama told with faint nostalgia and a distant voice. The spiel of a scientist, whose mind was both his greatest ally and worst foe. A man who looked at the heavens with neither admiration nor hope. A mortal who wasn't satisfied with what good and bad had to offer. Dr. Frankenstein, whose one true desire was to do what gods did, to prove that he too could accomplish what the heavens claimed a miracle. 

It was then and there among the pitch black of his parent's room that the oldest -no the only- son of the Shroud family proclaimed in a hoarse voice that cracked at each interval. That he too would be like Victor Frankenstein. That he too would live in a world of his own, a world with no room for good and evil. A world free of wretched stories that filled the minds of jovial children. And on that day, fate had the gall to listen to the claims of a brainless brat. 

Even after countless millennia, Idia Shroud had not changed, he'd only grown into the role he forged for himself some centuries ago. 

Yet nobody ever said it would be so hard to suffer the pain of a once maddening genius. The stories made it seem easy, made Frankenstein’s pain into pretty poetry that held only a fraction of the weight. Idia came to question time and time again, what it really was he was trying to suffer for. Why did he bestow upon himself the endless torment of alienation from a world that he too longed to be a part of?

Victor Frankenstein had something to prove, he longed to be a god in the most unclassic way. All the frenetic doctor wished was to shout at all mankind and the heavens above that he was the greatest. For in his suffrage he had discovered the antidote to what sets men apart from gods. That he, the overlooked boy, the forgotten pupil had -with solely his intellect- created life. 

-Idia too desired to do just that. To scream at this fairy tale world that he, the cursed heir, the villain, the monster, was superior to every prince and hero in existence.-

Somewhere along the line, in the space between todays and tomorrows, he'd somehow lost the method behind the madness he had come to cage himself within. He lost purpose, lost hope, forgot why he'd declared to earth and Olympus that he too would be a genius akin to Dr. Frankenstein. 

Idia didn't know what spark had flared his senses, what made him realize what it was he lacked from the hopeless doctor. He liked to think it had been the moment glacial fingers rinsed in fair blood and washed away gold and been stripped from his pale clammy hands. Phantom kisses had waltzed away from his burning cheek to float back into the spiral from which they had risen. 

The dead marching back to the land of the deceased.

Leaving him to crawl back into the dark pits of his self-made hell.

Only this time, he'd understand why Frankenstein had dedicated his life to seclusion. Why he'd taken gulps of anguish, rather than air. 

It was so painfully obvious, sitting in front of him on a golden throne this whole time. How in Hades' name had he been so blind? How had he forgotten?

Although admittedly his chagrin of forgetting far outweighed his elation of finally remembering. Frankenstein hadn't suffered for not, he had suffered to build, to create. His isolation wasn't of choice but rather out of necessity. 

-The monster-

 The Monster was Frankenstein's raison d'être, The final fruit of his endless labors. He had risked everything to build him and that's exactly what Idia would do too. 

Victor Frankenstein had his monster. 

Idia Shroud would have his monster.

//

It was on a dreary night that Idia beheld the accomplishment of his toils. anxiety burned through his fragile body, amounting ever so quickly to agony. Thoughts of do's and don't's flooded his body, pilling on top of each other like corpses after a genocide.

Inside the lights were just barely surviving, every few minutes they would flicker breathing in a final breath before a short death, only to be revived minutes later, spilling their artificial glow throughout the chamber. The room itself reeked of rotting flesh and something so sickly sweet, it almost made the dorm leader of the nearly deceased heave. 

Idia's eyes remain static, seemingly stitched to the thing on the metal slab of a table. The body lays limp like a porcelain doll. No, not a doll, Idia thinks, like the monster, Frankenstein’s monster before it arose from its deathly slumber. 

Outside A flash of lightning crackles through the night sky, rough sparks of electricity flow through the murky air. They jolt and dance before dying in the night's void. 

After it, the world falls still, trapped behind the iron bars of an endless minute. The once meek god feels a surge dance through his core. The levity of his dreams prancing about. He's close, all so close. A breath away and it will be done. A minute away and all the world will see that there's never been any need for good and evil. Morals are merely prejudice beaten into every living thing, a simple way to keep mortals in their place and gods ruling above them. 

The bloody needle in his hand slips through his leather-covered fingers, chimes as it hits the blood soaked ground. Idia's mind races through the odds and ends of everything. Through the fairy tale that is his life. He wonders, would they be proud of him? Would His darling dead brother whose soul now rests in a metal body, shut down and laid to rest in a forgotten corner, advocate what he's about to do? Would his mother's sickly lingula sing praise to him, retell the glory of her son's endeavors to the children of the accursed isle? Probably not, it's a bitter thought, but as true as they come. What parent or brother on this damn earth would be proud of their monster trying to fabricate an abomination? Who, in the millennia to come would look back on him and declare with pride that Idia Shroud had been a genius, one who stood above the heroes and villains and gods? Who would ever call him something better than a hero, better than a villain, better than a god? 

In hindsight, Idia likes to think he always knew what he was doing. Always knew that he wanted the world to remember him as the one who broke the rhythm that the universe had been dancing to for endless years. To show this story-obsessed world, that good, and evil were merely perceptions of broken minds. Ideologies fabricated to justify meaningless actions. 

Good could be bad.

Evil could be nice. 

But science prevailed over all else.

Idia's knees quivered as he bends down by the table, his pale blue lips hovered above his creation's stitched-up forehead. He knew it was wrong, so, so wrong. But it couldn't be helped. For some ungodly reason, as the days ticked by and he began to sew together the bag of mismatched limbs. Idia had, in some way, come to love his creation. He wouldn't call it love per se. But he did long to hold his fragile creation in his arms. To kiss their reddened lips as their torn tongue invaded his mouth. 

In the dead of night as he laid beside his still dead lover, no monster, not lover, not yet. He began to wonder, had Frankenstein fallen in love with his abomination somewhere along the road? Had fate once again played its silly little games and twisted their paths to forever meet? Did Victor Frankinstine ever wish to kiss his creation, to have them kiss him?

It may have been wrong. The storybook-bound people of this world may even call it evil. But it wouldn't be that way for long. Idia's fingers curled into his palm, the shards of his bitten-off nails dug deeper into his flesh. His chest tightened with a foreign sensation. A feeling that made cold sweat run down his thin neck. 

Using what little strength he had left, Idia pushed himself off the ground and wobbled over to his mainframe machine. He braced himself on the heavy machinery trying to regain a semblance of his balance. He could do this, he had to do this. 

His bony finger coiled around the silver leaver, the patched of rust bite into his skin. He held the power to defy everything. To make a new world. His golden pupils land on his fingers for a second. a faint memory of his mother slither back into his mind. It's murky and foggy but he remembers the way her boney fingers use to trail down his hair and arms and legs. How she traced ghosts and blood splatters on his chubby wrists, as she retold the story of the mad scientist. Comically enough she had been the reason why Idia had fabricated this self-induced prophecy and now he'd grown to be her spitting image. A carbon copy of the person who fueled his obsession with defying the laws of good and evil. 

The leaver budged forward, clicking in protest as Idia pulled it lower and lower. Outside thunder boomed through the air, louder and louder. Maybe the ancient gods knew what he was doing. Maybe this storm was their warning to him. Yelling and shrinking to get him to stop. Threatening him to give up this game he had played for so long. 

No.

Not this time. 

Idia had operated by the book, he'd done everything like Victor Frankenstein. No ancient deity or prized warrior would be able to stop him. The gods' threats were the last part of his plan, all he needed was the lightning, the stray string of electricity. Then you would come alive. You'd be his to hold, to love, to cherish. To show to the whole damn mindless world. 

A crackle shot through the air, twisting itself around the rod connected to the device and to an extension, you as well. It slated around the iron, like a wild tiger trapped in a cage. Squawking and fighting to free itself as it slid downwards. The moment it came in contact with the larger body of the machine, it roared, a deafening white noise that reverberated off the stone walls. It pierced Idia's ears, causing a thin line of blood to drool down the side of his head. The apparatus buzzed to life, bright lights filled the chamber and the wires attached to your corpse began to stir. 

The once still carcass began to jerk violently, its head and arms and feet shaking, twisting in inelegant gruesome movements. Its torso would lift from the table only to crash down once more, with a force that surely fractured a few bones. Amid the madness, the mouth of the monster began to open, popping the loose stitches around the edge of her lips. Its long tongue darted out like a snake. And though it was mostly hushed by the hissing of the loose electric bolts and the harsh rain that had started to pour outside. Idia swore he heard her whisper his name.

The fire-haired boy ran across the room, tumbling to the side of the metal table. His large arms wrapped around your tiny ones. His eyes bore into yours. Watching as your inconsistent eyes stared into his. Your face was soft and tender, painted in an innocence only worn by young children. You were his now, his perfect creation. Something began to build inside of him, a forgotten feeling. 

Contentment; this was contentment, something he hadn't felt for a long long time. 

What are gods if not humans who possess a secret no one else could obtain? With you by his side, in his arms, Idia could finally, finally triumph overall. He had made life, he had defied all else, surely now everyone could see he was superior to all else in this make-believe world. 

But the moment ended all too soon. Your eyes began to dull over, darkening with every blink until they shut permanently once more. The thumping of your borrowed heart began to slacken. Pounding slower and slower until it stilled. The patched up body came next, falling limp, dead again, floating back to the yonder of the grave. Out of his grasp, out of his life.

The world didn't stand still this time, instead, it scrambled forward at aching speed. No sooner had you taken your first breath had you taken your very last. You'd left without ever saying "hello".

Maybe in the midst of all the chaos, glorious altering chaos, he screamed, maybe he cried. Maybe it finally dawned on him why Dr. Frankenstein was merely a myth. A fable told to accursed children. Because Victor Frankenstein wasn't good or evil. He neither harbored joy nor malice. He wished only to be the best. And for so long Idia had wished the same. Searched for the same purpose in his meaningless life. 

What is a scientist if not a harbinger of grief and pain? 

Someone who devotes their life and loin, riddle and reason, in search of true purpose amongst the forces of the universe. What's a scientist if not a god in their own right. 

Had he been a god just now, Idia was left to ponder. For two glorious, astonishing, baffling moments Idia had been better than any god in existence. He had prevailed where every hero had failed. He had accomplished what villains went mad trying to achieve. He had been victorious.

Yes, Idia Shroud had fulfilled his dream. 

If only for a couple of inert moments. 

Gods were merely that, humans who had created something from the very soil they too were made of. 

And he too had done it. 

But alas in the end, maybe the legends and the myths had been true, credible good always won and evil did always vanish. Barring you had been so young, so new, you didn't even comprehend good or evil, you hadn't been alive long enough to understand what those two defining forces even were. The world didn't yet know if you were even good or evil. But it matters all so very little because you were his creation, his monstrosity, his, and Idia Shroud had always been and would always be evil, a villain in his own right. Just another gear in the predominant forces of the universe.

He'd been a fool to think he could defy the structured narrative this world had come to accept as law. 

Although, no narrative could ever change how much he had loved you, dead or alive. It wouldn't change how he had almost, almost, became Dr.Frankenstein. 

Although at the final page just before he closed the book. In the back of his mind, Idia was sure he had become the doomed doctor. 

For he too had both fallen in love with his creation and driven himself mad over it.  

[bluwails]

Ive been real inspired by @chipper-smol 's au. I find myself snickering at Ghost/feral's antic mainly because I have young siblings and in my home there is never a dull moment. Child antics are literally my life rn and I cant help but relate.

So while on a nostalgic trip i was struck with this poorly written fic. And I hope you enjoy.

No edits because we die like men!

The time for rest had asserted its hold over Hallownest again as bugs wound down from the days toils. The servants and knights had quietly excused themselves to their personal quarters and the kingsmoulds that marched dutifully down each hall had slowed to a silent pace.

The white Lady had taken in the idea to walk the palace before retiring to her personal quarters for the evening. Dryya, her most respected and loyal guard, walked quietly behind her as she stiffled a yawn much to the white lady's amusement. She had dismissed her hours ago to rest but she stubbornly stuck to her and insisted on being around to protect her on her leisurely stroll.

" Your majesty, you need not worry for me. I will-" Dryya gaped stiffling another sign of encroaching sleepiness," -be with you until you retire to your bedroom."

She still felt fascination bubble under the surface as she observed her; a warm aura seeping off of her.

As a higher being they will never need these things like rest or daily meals. But they merely adopted the actions to blend more with the society around them. Just like her dear wyrm, Things like sleep were never on the forefront of their mind. They could spend decades awake and unbothered by the need. But they made resting a habit to demonstrate that one should rest after work.

Shuffling down the halls toward her favorite veranda befor she heard an unfamiliar scuffling. It was hurried but small. Most likely a small bug.

"Behind me your majesty." Dryya hissed pulling her nail from her side her alert instantly raised. As late as it was not many would be awake, much less in the halls working so fervently.

As they turned the corner they spotted two familiar horns working quickly with a brush and bottles of ink.

It was the feral vessel.

" You cheeky Sqwib! " she screamed shocking the little vessel. Their small hand dropping the brush they'd use to vandalize the walls. "You are at it again!" Dryya huffed indignant at the vessel as she marched over, sheathing her nail, and quickly bonking them between the horns.

" Do you know how you terrified the Queen?" She growled seizing their ink colored hands. " and to top that, you dare vandalize the white palace yet again!"

"Dear knight, there is no reason to be so harsh. " the white Lady softly appealed. "The walls can be cleaned and the ink replaced but the trust from a child cannot." She calmly lectured using a branch to pet the vessel.

"You are to lenient with them my lady." She huffed releasing them. Dryya was no fan of the feral vessel. Time and time again they'd watch and suffer their pranks. Many a time her nail was stolen only for it to be returned muddy or, miraculously, bent at the tip.

She was not the only one of the five knights to have their belongings weaseled from them and returned in less then favorable conditions.

"They are just being a child Dryya." WL cooed as she slowly squatted in front of them. "Soften your heart towards them. If only for me."

The knight reluctantly huffed again as she faced away. "Praise the Queen's endless patience, you little tyrant, you are saved for now. "

The white Lady smiled warmly as she looked the small vessel over. At this time they were meant to be tucked away in bed. The schedule their father made, though strict was optimize for their healthy growth. She suspected in full that the pure vessel had curled themselves into bed without a second thought, while their sibling ran through the halls causing their daily commotion.

In all honesty, she found their outbursts charming. Each trick, prank and shenanigan they pulled continuously showed her how lively they truly were. When they'd arrived from the abyss with their sibling, she lamented at their sight. Seeing them as nothing more than walking corpses until she heard of what would honestly sound like a farce. They'd barely stepped foot into the white palace before they entered a meeting between the dreamers, with no command or reason, and unleashed the most ungodly revolting smell. Shocking and disgusting the entire gathering forcing them to vacate the room entirely.

When her wyrm ranted about them that evening on how they indignantly, stomping their tiny grub feet and blantly ignoring him, forced them to clean the entire room alongside the retainers as punishment she could not help but laugh in an odd mix of relief and joy releasing a knot in her chest she did not know she held.

Looking again to the picture on the wall it was of clearly her dear wyrm. Her giggle chimming like bells as she observed it further. It was simple and childish as but it was an accurate representation of her wyrm. His elegant crown like horns now simple zigzags, their fangs drawn large and silly, with their tongue poked out in a not very gentlemen manner. (She suspects this is how they saw their father when they ranted at them.) It was crude, hurriedly painted, and was encompassed by tiny hand marks and had all the makings of a goofy Caricature and she wished she could save it.

"I see the throws of art beckoned you from your deep sleep small one." knowing full well they did it to mess with the king again. "maybe we should have Lurien tutor you to bring out your talents?" She questioned aloud watching the vessel furiously shake their head from the corner of their eye.

"Then what brings you from bed?"

The child twisted at their fingers looking down as they snuck peeks at her face.

They signed quickly keeping their ink covered hands slightly in sight. But It obvious it was something else. It was no news to her that they held many things back from them. And the curiosity of what it could be danced in the back of her mind, but she refused to force them anymore than they'd allow.

"You know you require rest in order to grow." She purred gently as she angled her small one's mask toward her.

Their mask tilted in a way that mimicked a pouty huff. Her heart swelling at how cute they were. She could not help but poke a small amount of fun.

"So you do not wish to grow anymore?" She questioned exaggeratedly tilting her head and placing a branch to her cheek.

They seemed to freeze at the and mull the thought around in their head. To her, this was the sweetest gesture. She'd remembered when the two vessels first molted and got their bearings. Though they thought no one was watching, she caught them do a small jig in celebration of their new body. Wiggling their newly formed fingers, touching their more angled faces and observing their budding wings.

" I'd say you'd want to." She whispered calmly retrieving her handkerchief to clean them.

"How can one so small hold such large secrets?" She hummed wiping the pink ink from them.

The vessel signed, a cheeky air to them as they flexed their arms nearly rupturing her heart from cuteness alone.

"Dryya please get someone to assist in cleaning up. " with a bow Dryya reluctantly left grumbling to herself.

"Now as much as I would love for you and to stay up and get into all kinds of mischief. I would say its time for bed. " She cooed admiring their clean face.

The vessel gestured again with more emphasis.

"I see." She hmmed making a show of thinking of what to do. In reality she had an idea of what to do. Somewhere deep in her memory was a song that. She could not remember the face that sang it to her but she remembers it working nearly every time. Ushering her to sleep. "Then would you care to accompany me on the veranda?" She asked pointing to the large glass door not far behind them.

Nodding they streched their arms up towards her. Obligating the gesture she swept them up in her branches as she walked slowly to the door.

she allowed small blooms to bloom on her creating a pleasant perfume before sitting on her stool already set up outside.

The vessel signed again gesturing at themselves.

Chuckling she squeezed them close to her. "Not essentially. You are of two pale beings and void." She murred quietly; her light warming them as they sunk into her lap. "You don't really need sleep. But its good because it helps you grow." She hummed wrapping her branches around them.

They gestured wildly again wiggling their fingers above their head causing her to erupted in laughter.

"Yes." She snickered "maybe if my wyrm slept and rested more they would grow as well I will be sure to suggest it to them later." Feeling the small ones shoulders shake in signs of laughter she hugged them.

" you remind me much of him in his younger years." She thought aloud as the vessel shook their head furiously. " well the both of you refuse to sleep on time so I imagine you two are similar in that sense." She mused as the small threw a small tantrum.

"Very well, shall I sing you something to assist you to sleep?" They nodded sinking back into her lap, placing their head on her chest.

As they sat, staring out into the lush garden and flickering lumaflies below she hummed a quiet tone shutting her eyes calling upon the memory.

Her branch rubbing small circles into their child's back as her voice trilled lyrics long thought lost to her:

Lay down your head and I'll sing you a lullaby

Back to the years of loo-li lai-lay

And I'll sing you to sleep and I'll sing you tomorrow

Bless you with love for the road that you go

May you sail far to the far fields of fortune

With diamonds and pearls at your head and your feet

And may you need never to banish misfortune

May you find kindness in all that you meet

May there always be angels to watch over you

To guide you each step of the way

To guard you and keep you safe from all harm

Loo-li, loo-li, lai-lay

May you bring love and may you bring happiness

Be loved in return to the end of your days

Now fall off to sleep, I'm not meaning to keep you

I'll just sit for a while and sing loo-li, lai-lay

May there always be angels to watch over you

To guide you each step of the way

To guard you and keep you safe from all harm

Loo-li, loo-li, lai-lay, loo-li, loo-li, lai-lay

Loo-li, loo-li, loo-li, lai-lay

Loo-li, loo-li, loo-li lai-lay

Loo-li, loo-li, loo-li lai-lay

Loo-li, loo-li, loo-li lai-lay

Loo-li, lai-lay

Only the soft breathing and the feeling their body relax and their shoulders ease indicated they drifted off.

"Sweet dreams my small one."

Thanks so much for reading. In all honesty i have only played hollowknight for about a month and half and im already so invested in the fandom. (I'm still getting my butt handed to me by ogrim. Please dungy boi stop throwing sh!t at me long enough so i can hit you. You broke all my fragile charms alreday!-🥺😢) You guys are so creative and fluffy and have no problem hurting my tender sensibilities.

For those curious the song is called sleepsong by secret garden. I used to listen to it ages ago before bed.

[ficklefics]

Burden To Keep - Zemo x Reader ~ Chapter One: Saviour

Five years ago you were kidnapped by a mysterious group lead by a man only known as Critical. Five years of experiments. Five years of torture. And then in a blink of an eye, you're free. Three men, your saviours, asking you one question: where is the serum? But it could never be that easy. You join them as politics and terrorism throw you across the world, the hunters and the hunted. And through it all, there's him.

(starts towards the end of ep. 3, between Madripoor and Riga. will deviate from canon to an extent, but will likely follow the plot of the show loosely. planning for this to be a short series!)

SERIES MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

The unlikely trio of allies made their way through the compound, dead-set on their purpose. Zemo had informed Bucky and Sam about a supply of super-soldier serum, purchased from the Power Broker six months ago, being kept in this facility. They were on their way to Riga when the information came through, and a quick pit-stop wasn’t an issue if it meant possibly getting evidence that could help them.

For being owned by a client of the Power Broker, the place was poorly defended. Sam came in by the air and drew their fire long enough for Bucky and Zemo to get past the outer wall. Reuniting in the courtyard, they took out the remaining guards and shut down the emergency siren.

Now they followed the path their intel had provided through the strangely unprotected building. They came across a few men with tactical gear and weaponry but dispatched them with ease. Posts seemed abandoned as they got closer to what was marked as a storeroom on their map.

“A lot of security for a storeroom,” Sam had commented when Red Wing brought back the scans. “That’s where it will be,” Zemo assured.

A long corridor marked the final stretch. The security cameras lining it were all thankfully deactivated as Zemo lead the way.

Rounding the final corner there was a lone guard in front of a solid door. Seemingly distracted by his radio, he didn’t notice anything wrong until Bucky’s metal arm was throwing him against the wall, knocking him out cold immediately.

On closer inspection, there was a slat at waist height in the door, and a glass window layered with metal and covered from the inside. With a wrench, Bucky broke the handle, forcing his way into the room.

What they found was not a store. There were no shelves or crates. No serum.

What they did find was a makeshift bedroom. In the corner stood a woman, a bloody shard of glass held in their direction.

*

The tray of food sliding into the delivery box set into the wall woke you from sleep that morning. The breakfast was the same as it had been every day for the past five years: two slices of buttered toast, a glass of orange juice, and a dish of assorted pills. You downed those first, barely feeling them pass through your throat as the orange juice followed. The toast disappeared quickly – they would get pissed if the tray wasn’t back within ten minutes.

“Another day in paradise.” You sighed to yourself, resting back onto the bed.

A few hours later, the sound of movement outside drew your attention. Drawing the window cover up slightly, you peered out at the guards talking in hushed German. Avengers … fucked … serum … Over your time here you had managed to pick up a surprising amount of the language. One guard left, leaving the other to stand guard at the door to your room.

The Avengers. You may not have followed them closely, but it was impossible to live in the West and not know who the superheroes were. But five years after they had failed, five years after half the world turned to dust, you had no idea what to expect. It’s better than this. That much was true. If they really were Avengers, maybe they were here to rescue you.

You paced your room, unable to hear anything else other than the occasional crackle of the guard's radio. Not knowing what was happening was like having a worm under your skin. Periodically you would check the window, hoping to see something, anything other than the guard.

That didn’t take long. You were peering out just as the group rounded the corner. Suddenly, panic filled you. These men weren’t Avengers. At least not the ones you knew. And if they weren’t Avengers…

You hurried back, almost stumbling on your feet, and grabbed the water glass from the desk just to smash it against the wall. The biggest shard sliced into your skin but you barely felt the pain. Backed into a corner, terrified, you listened as they knocked out the guard and broke the handle.

This was it.

The first man into the room was tall, with dark hair. What was most notable about him though, was the arm made of black and gold metal. He stopped at the sight of you, clearly confused. Behind him stood a slightly shorter man wearing goggles and some kind of armour. They both seemed familiar somehow, but you couldn’t put a name to the faces.

“What the hell is this?” The first man muttered as the other lifted his goggles, revealing warm eyes that narrowed at you. A quiet cough sounded behind them and they moved further into the room to let a third man step in behind them. He was shorter again, but only a little. He narrowed his eyes at you.

“Ah.”

“Who are you?” You brandished the makeshift weapon. You didn’t know these men. You didn’t know if you’d be able to take all three of them. But you weren’t going down without a fight. “Why are you here?”

“Sam Wilson.” The second man stretched out a hand, seemingly trying to calm you. “I’m an Avenger.” That’s how you knew him. The Falcon. You vaguely remembered seeing him in the back of photos, never quite taking centre stage. “That answers the first question.” “We’re looking for a serum that’s supposed to be stored here.” You turned towards the man with the metal arm. “The serum…” You’re mind immediately flickered back six months.

There were only six of you left in the dorm. The prison cell you called home. Weak from exhaustion, the countless tests, the years of suffering, it was easy for them to drag you out one by one. To strap you down to a table and inject burning liquid into your veins. You screamed through the gag as your body was set alight.

“Do you know where it is?” “It’s… it’s gone. I…” Could you really tell them where it was? You didn’t know their intentions. They might kill you. It seemed to register that you were afraid, that you weren’t a threat. The men exchanged a look, a silent conversation passing between them.

“Okay. Look, my name’s Bucky. What’s yours?” He took a step forward, not so much to threaten but to test how you would respond. Your shaking hand lowered, but you didn’t drop the glass. “(Y/N). (Y/N) (Y/LN).” “What do you mean gone? Where did they move it?” “Why should I trust you?” “Look, you’re a prisoner here, right?” Sam spoke up. You nodded. “We can help. We’ve got a jet, can take you anywhere you need to go.” “But only if I help you.” “She could be bluffing. We should leave.” The man in the back said this, shifting on his feet and glancing back over his shoulder. “Shut up Zemo.” The other two snapped in unison.

You couldn’t risk being left here. No matter who these men were, they were far better than those who held you prisoner. “I’m not bluffing. The serum is gone. I’ll tell you more, but your friend is right. We need to go.” The man in question, Zemo, was examining you even more closely now. His stare sent chills through your body. It was as if he was inside your mind, pulling it apart, exposing your secrets. “He’s not our friend,” Sam interjected. “Come on.” He stretched his arm out once more, gesturing for you to join them, and you dropped the glass, skirting around the bed. “We’re getting you out of here.”

You followed without question as they lead you through the building. Despite spending so long here, you had never seen more than brief glimpses of the endless corridors. Out through a hangar, the sunlight blinded you. Five years without the sun. No time to take it in. The four of you exited through the main gate – there was no one left to stop you.

A mile or so out a truck sat waiting. It had been hastily covered in branches, which Sam and Bucky pulled away quickly while Zemo stood at your side. You could feel his eyes watching you.

Once it was clear, Sam sat in the driver’s seat and Bucky stepped gracefully into the truck bed which had benches on either side. A hand on your upper back ushered you forward and you obeyed, taking Bucky’s outstretched hand and letting him help you up. You sat beside him as Zemo joined you. He sat opposite, hands on his knees and gazing past you. The engine started with a rumble and Sam took the vehicle back onto the road. You travelled in silence, the only sound the turn of the tires on the gravel and Bucky’s occasional sighs. You kept your eyes fixed on your hands which fidgeted with the hem of your shirt. This didn’t feel real. What if it was all a dream, or, even worse, a trick? A simulation to see what you’d do, and any moment now your rescuers would reveal themselves and send you back to an even worse hell.

Bucky seemed to catch onto your anxiety, resting his warm hand on your shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze. It helped a little.

Soon enough you were arriving at an airport where a plane sat waiting. You followed the men up the stairs, Zemo and Bucky in front and Sam behind you. What you found was nothing like what you were expecting.

You had imagined a military operation, crates and weaponry, nets against the wall, functionality over everything else.

Instead, you had been shown into a luxurious jet. Spacious, with leather seats and dark wooden tables, a plush carpeted floor against your bare feet.

“Wow.” You couldn’t stop yourself from gasping. “Danke,” Zemo smirked at your reaction. “I am rather proud of it.” “This is yours?” He nodded. You chuckled, almost in disbelief. This was it. You were actually free. Once you were in the air they would never be able to touch you again. “Take a seat, (Y/N).” Sam gestured towards the chairs. “It’ll be a few hours before we get to Riga.” You’d never heard of the place, but it didn’t matter. It was far away from here.

Settling into a seat towards the back of the plane, away from the three men who sat together, you closed your eyes and breathed a sigh of relief.

Free.

CHAPTER TWO

[dreamscapestars]

The Ultimate Reylo Fanfic List

* = highly recommend (aka if you’re going to read anything off this list read this)

Canonverse AUs

***All Our Days - E - 221k - "I can listen no longer in silence."The hologram projection of his strangely handsome face is cobalt blue, flickering, and full of static. "I must speak to you, Rey. You… you pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me that I am not too late.” He groans, runs his hands through his dark, silver-streaked hair, then refocuses his gaze on the holorecorder. “I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight and a half years ago. Do not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death."Here the recording of Ben takes a deep breath, and looks down at something outside the holorecorder’s field of view. Perhaps at his hands, Rey manages to think, through the veil of shock and timid, fluttering hope. She wishes she were there with him, so she could take them in her own, and offer him the confidence to carry on.But this is only a hologram, so she must wait. Eventually, when he looks up again, his features have settled. He looks… Fierce. Determined. Self-assured."I have loved none but you," he says. - canonverse jane austen au 

trillions of molecules - T - 11k - Fake papers forged, contract signed and a navy blue jumpsuit with his name printed on the chest supplied to him, the man who called himself Solo was hired by the Felucian Transit Corporation as shuttle operator number B414. - tros fix it au 

There Shall I Be - N/A - 50k -She remembers the first and only time she saw him smile like this before and how it didn’t touch his eyes at the time and how it broke her heart.Now it fills her heart and gives her life.She shoves him back onto their blanket and climbs on top of him. She pulls off her sweater and takes him inside her again and rides him into the night. - canonverse far from the madding crowd au

*landscape with a blur of conquerors - E - 362k - "While I share your contempt for this situation in which we find ourselves, do not mistake it as apathy," he hissed through gritted teeth, dark eyes burning. "I hardly expect your disposition to sweeten, but I will be damned if I allow my future Empress to behave in a manner that reflects poorly on me and on the First Order!""If you allow?" She wrenched her arm out of his viselike grasp, batting his hand away for good measure. "I don't belong to you. I don't belong to anyone.""That might have been the case back when you were a scavenger on that pitiful scrap heap of a planet, but now?" His sardonic gaze flickered over her silk robes and the jewels woven through her elaborate braids. "Now you are the Chume'da, and the Chume'da belongs to her people. Their fate is entirely in your hands. Should you cross the line, it is they who will suffer for it. Am I making myself clear?""I hate you," she said bitterly. He sneered at her. "See? Already you are acclimatizing so well to married life." - arranged marriage au

Modern AUs

*the man, the stallion, and the wind - E - 17k - Weary and alone, Rey barrels west on the Trans-Canada Hwy in her old pickup truck. Weary and in need of a lift, Ben Solo stands by the side of the road with his thumb out, in the hopes of hitching a ride.One hell of a winter storm’s about to roll in, leaving them stranded. What ever shall they do? - hitchhiker au 

The Mechanic - E - 122k - It's a magical midsummer night, just made for following a persuasive, dangerous-looking lawyer to a hotel across the road from the party. But then reality catches up to Rey. - mafia baby au

*Soul Searching - E - 205k - Sixteen-year-old Rey finds out she’s soulmates with her English teacher -- in front of her entire class. Now the school gossips won’t leave her alone, prying for tidbits that Rey wouldn’t give them even if she had any. And she doesn’t. Because Mr. Solo is too horrified at being soulmates with an underage girl to even talk to her. - soulmate au

Mitan, Midi - E - 83k - After a French notary contacts Rey to inform her she's inherited a house in the Drôme (France), she decides from one day to the next to quit her job and move there. The house is pretty secluded, there's no service, no internet, no way to reach other people aside from the landline in the living-room.Ideal conditions, by her standards, as those theoretically should allow her to be perfectly alone. Theoretically. - french country side au

*A Treehouse Covered in Salt - E - 34k -High school senior Rey Johnson has lived next door to Ben Solo her whole life. The two could not be more different and at school, Rey wouldn't be caught dead in his presence. That doesn't stop her from sneaking out to their treehouse every night. Despite her unwillingness to be friends with Ben in the light of day, he has always been there with her in the darkness. - high school au

Initial - M - 45k - A Soulmate AU in which you are born with the initials of your soulmate marked on the nape of your neck. Easy enough, right? Except for two people who don't use their real names. - soulmate au 

Killing Me Softly - M - 32k - Rey clings to the hope that her husband will regain his memories after he survived a car crash that left him with amnesia. During her monthly visits at a medical facility with Ben, who now calls himself Kylo, she struggles to cope as he tries to make her let go of the past, and in turn, him with it. - amnesia au 

only child of the universe - E - 98k - The first time Rey meets Ben, they're carefree strangers getting high at the fair, alight and in love for a night. The second time is different. The second time is in therapy— where the asshole won't even acknowledge her. - high school au 

a place to go - E - 52k - All Rey Johnson wanted was solitude. A place to go where she could escape from the daily stressors and mayhem of her job. A place where she could enjoy some peace and some quiet. Her mentor Luke Skywalker's small cabin up north seemed like the ideal place to do just that. A week of seclusion was just what she needed.And then Ben Solo arrived. - snowed in au 

into the great laughter of mankind - E - 30k - There is something about watching Rey put her mind to task. Ben can't put a name to this something, exactly— all he knows is that it fascinates him like nothing else has in a long, long time."Dr. Solo?" She glances over at him. "What do you think?"I think I'm doomed, he wants to say but doesn't. I think the curse of the pharaohs has nothing on you. I think you are my Egypt. - archaeologist au

(now it’s) Time to Learn - M - 86k - “You’re a teacher?” Ben doesn’t look like a teacher. At least not like any teacher Rey has ever had. - teacher au

For Now - E - 8k - There are plenty of things he could say, but he doesn’t. Buying you muffins makes me excited to get out of bed in the morning. I wish I could go back in time and be the kind of person you could like. I don’t remember my life before you. ---------- When Kylo finds his soulmate, she doesn’t know, and he doesn’t tell her. - soulmate au 

Cupcake Wars - E - 36k - Entirely by accident, Rey ends up fucking someone who works for Snoke's Cupcakery. She's just blowing off steam. It doesn't mean anything at all. It certainly won't come back to bite her in the ass. - bakery au

The Food of Love - E - 60k - Rey picked up her first violin at eleven, finding a mentor in conductor and former-violinist Luke Skywalker. With the First Chair up for grabs, Rey is thrust into the spotlight as the youngest violinist to take First Chair in the NY Pops. But Kylo Ren - former violinist, former NY Pops cellist, formerly Ben Solo child prodigy - may take issue with Rey Nobody sitting in his grandfather's chair. - orchestra au 

Orion - E - 14k - Rey Niima finds herself in the Saharan desert trying to heal wounds from her life, and Ben Solo is there too, fixing himself along the way. - roadtrip au

Embers - E - 34k - All the myriad things he’d been—someone who made her laugh; the warmth on the other side of the bed; her best friend—those things, Rey had buried. Rey left Ben two years, three months, and sixteen days ago. But who's counting? - getting back together au 

Gilded - M - 11k - Everyone had two marks, one for class and another to identify a soulmate. She only had one: green rings on her finger, proof she was part of the laboring class. It made matters lonely, but never unbearable.Until she met him. He had two sets of marks—had a soulmate—and she did not. - soulmate au

flutz - E - 27k - Rey was determined to have no distractions during her first season in Senior Ladies figure skating.She swore that Olympic medalist and figure skating legend Ben Solo was not going to change that, no matter how intent he seemed on proving her wrong. - ice skater au 

oh autumn, oh teakettle, oh grace - E - 30k - "So let me get this straight," he says. "You're a dryad.""Quite so," she cheerfully replies."Like an actual—" His hand rises to make a feeble gesture at the towering elms that surround them— "tree-dwelling, speaks-with-animals, has-magical-powers, frolics-through-the-woods-in-orgiastic-pagan-frenzy dryad?"She wrinkles her delicately freckled nose. "Well, I don't know about orgiastic frenzy, that's really more of a maenad type of deal."He looks her up and down, taking in her pretty face and her slender figure in the skimpy white dress."Too bad," he mumbles. - dryad roadtrip au

A Proposal by Any Other Name - E - 188k - Rey and Finn have been A Thing for a long time now. Since she was eighteen, to be exact. When Finn leaves on a trip to Europe for six months for work, Rey finally chases after him to Dublin to do what he seems to be putting off: propose.She wants a family, after all.The universe has different ideas. Her flights are delayed, storms hit, she loses her tickets and everything seems to be going horribly. To top it off, she ends up stranded around a rather irritating man by the name of Kylo Ren. It goes about as well as you'd expect. - leap year au

endless summer afternoon - E - 63k - “My son's room is always made up,” Han had said, hitting a light switch as Rey clung to a dirty backpack in the dark hallway, “he never comes home. Warm bed might as well get some use.”Rey spared Han some of the dignity of his own longing assessment of the space that clearly hadn’t been looked at in a long time. An empty room in a quiet house. As gruff as he was, handing it off to some runaway nobody just because she was helping him rebuild a car was one of the kindest gestures she’d ever experienced, and had a hidden weight that she knew needed a respectful amount of privacy. Mysteries were often about unresolved sadness, and were usually only solved by the people who didn’t feel it.Rey is offered a place to stay: a spare bedroom once belonging to the mysterious Ben Solo. What does she do when she wakes up with him wanting his bed back? - roommates au 

Dandelion - E - 45k - Rey's an ex con and orphan, just released from jail after killing Plutt. She follows advice from her former guardian, Maz, and finds a job at Luke's coffee shop. Ben's a lawyer who lost his job and moved back to his hometown. He falls for Rey, unaware of her dark past. - coffee shop au

A Few Small Repairs - E - 69k - Ben Solo is a ruthless property developer, and Rey Johnson is the lone holdout on the block. She does not intend to give up what's hers, not for anything. (Not even for a pair of pretty eyes.) - property developer au

Unbroken - E - 7k - He found her sleeping in the stables, curled up in the stall of his newest, unbroken colt...

Lockjaw - M - 106k - Kylo finds Rey unconscious and near death on the side of a road, surrounded by twitching, wretched things looking to her for their next meal. Ever the altruist, he picks them off and takes her with him, saving her life in the process. It's no wonder that when she wakes she feels she owes him, and agrees to become his travel companion as he crosses the United States in search of safety and a new home. - zombie apoclypse au 

Everything to Prove - M - 13k - “The show,” he says. “It’s probably best if they don’t—if we don’t—”And Rey follows his line of thought at once. For all the program is one that doesn’t seem melodramatic—the height of drama in previous seasons came from someone’s cake falling over and that was about it—she does not doubt that the producers and cameramen would leap at the opportunity to make there be something out of nothing in their relationship—especially if there was something out of something.“Yeah,” she agrees. “Yeah, probably. We can pick baking stations that are…” but she doesn’t want to complete the thought. She likes baking next to Ben.“Or we can just be careful?” he suggests, sounding quite as pained by the prospect as Rey feels.“Yeah, careful. I can do careful,” Rey says at once and her lips are on his again and he’s laughing now, and she’s laughing, and she didn’t think laughter would be part of all this. She didn’t think it could be. But here she is, laughing and kissing and holding a man who, at some point, she’s going to want to beat.She does her best not to think of that now.It’s a friendly competition, after all. It’s not life and death. It’s baking. - great british bake off au 

*In Bloom - E - 13k - The flowers that bedeck her skin don’t lie—ballet dancer Rey is in love with her partner, Ben. But the years go by and his skin stays resolutely, devastatingly blank.He doesn’t love her. But when his hands are on her body, she can pretend. - ballet soulmates au

By Blood and Flame - E - 10k - Rey can’t go to her professors with this spell. She needs help, though, needs someone to do the spell with her, and she needs the best because it’s tricky. Dangerous.There’s a boy on campus. Powerful. Mysterious. He’s admired and envied, feared and loathed, depending on who’s talking, but for all everyone knows his story, no one seems to really know him. And Rey… Rey has been curious about him for… well, for longer than she wants to admit.She’s not sure if it’s good or bad luck that he’s the perfect person to help cast her spell. - magic college au

count the rings - E - 63k - “Because you’re sitting there all comfy, not looking at all bridal-” “I’ll just fetch the veil out of my backpack, shall I?” “-when you could be, you know, making a move on that fine-ass tree.” In which camping comes with unexpected consequences. - accidental marriage au

(won’t you let me) walk you home from school - E - 129k - Ben, a counselor in the upper school at the legendary Alliance Academy, keeps finding himself interacting with the lower school art teacher, Rey. He definitely doesn’t like it. - teacher au

follow in your form - E - 23k - Ben Solo wakes up paralyzed and angry about it.A story about dealing with change, holding onto hope, and finding love. - quadriplegic ben au 

*screwdriver - M -101k - Rey is a bright-eyed intern on her first campaign trail, Ben is an irritated data analyst, and how difficult can it be to get a legacy senator elected president? Apparently fucking impossible. - political au

9 pints - E - 83k - She knew next to nothing, and Google was largely unhelpful. All of her searches (“vampire sex rules” and “vampire dos and don’ts” and one very self-indulgent “average vampire cock size big?”) linked her to dated top ten lists written by anyone other than an actual vampire.Twenty minutes of frustrated scrolling eventually led her to a supernatural dating forum. The website was horribly aged, but still active. Questions were tagged, which meant that it was easy to narrow down her search. Vampire, she clicked, and Sex.--In which Rey gets suckered into shooting porn with one of Poe's pickiest vampire actors. - magical porn stars au

fine young cannibals - E - 27k - Kylo raised his head to the sky as he inhaled, his broad chest expanding even wider. His eyes fluttered shut, savoring the scent like a sumptuous meal. He grinned.“Oh,” he murmured, so softly Rey wasn’t even sure it was meant for her ears. His eyes slid to meet hers, scarlet and violent and hungry. “You brought a snack.”And then all hell broke loose.About three things, Rey is absolutely positive:First, she is totally, completely, and madly in love with her vampire boyfriend, Poe.Second, there is another vampire—an older, evil, definitely-not-hot vampire—that thirsts for her blood and wants nothing more than to kill her.And third, she is maybe not absolutely positive about either of these things. - twilight au

Epithumia - E - 46k- ἐπιθυμία, ας, ἡ: epithumia : desire, passionate longing, lust *** “No extra credit.” He made a noise that might have been a laugh. “You ask that every time.” “Well, I have to try.” Rey said, weakly. “Can you make an exception?” A lone eyebrow ascended his lofty forehead into his hairline. “Try harder, Miss Kenobi.” - college teacher/student au

Historical AUs (ranging from medieval to the early 2000s)

light carries on endlessly - M - 6k - “Traitor,” he told Cerberus gruffly not too much later, using both hands to scratch behind the hound’s many ears. What appeared to be a rat tail lay nearby on a blood-stained bit of stone. “What did I tell you about women with pretty eyes?”One wet tongue lapped at his wrist, and he sighed. “Right. Nothing.” - Hades and Persephone au 

The Witch in the Wood - E - 138k - As a knight errant of the kingdom of Alderaan, Kylo Ren has traveled the country, completing quest after perilous quest in search of redemption for the dark deeds of his past. When an evil witch captures the princess of a neighboring kingdom, Kylo reluctantly accepts the burden of rescue with the assumption that it will be a simple task.It is not. For the creature that lives in the woods is not a monster at all.Since her mentor died, Rey has lived in the witch’s tree and uses magic to maintain the balance of the forest. Her life is practical, repetitive, and simple—at least, until a wrathful knight thunders through her door and levels a sword at her throat. Yet something within the knight calls to her, a buzz beneath his skin that she recognizes.Without a doubt, he is not who he appears to be. - medieval witch au

Black Knight, White Queen - E - 53k - Luke Skywalker wrote his sister a letter on his deathbed, revealing that his ward is the orphaned heir of a family long thought extinct - and politically powerful. That letter fell into the wrong hands, and the secret of Rey's heritage is secret no more. The Emperor has managed to unite the Kingdoms, but he is old, and his son is weak. Seeking to ensure his son's claim to his throne, he sends his most trusted captain to bring the girl - willing or not - to be his son's bride. Rey is taken from her far-flung home, and plunged into a world of court intrigue, arranged marriage, political rivals, and would-be assassins - the black knight her constant companion and bodyguard. But even he, her dark shadow and protector, she cannot know whether to trust... - medieval bodyguard au 

Days to Remember - E - 42k - A man heads home after years of estrangement. What do you need from me? A woman leaves her world behind, a bird in a gilded cage. When we get to New York, I need help running away. -- I'll bring you to Boston with me. - titanic au 

*what if the storm ends - E - 61k - As a child, Rey is evacuated from London to the Yorkshire Dales during the Blitz. She spends the war in the care of the Solos on their farm, wandering the moors with their son looking for a legendary family artifact long lost. When the war is over, she returns to a city she no longer recognizes, and she writes a popular series of children's fantasy books based on her childhood in the Dales. After amassing fame and fortune with her stories, tragedy brings her back to the farm to see Ben Solo, once her greatest inspiration and now a widower. - post WWII au 

Take Me - E - 39k - Every night, at 8:30 pm, Rey and Ben get on stage and pretend to be in love with each other. At 9:15, they walk off stage and the actual fireworks begin. - 60s country singers au

I could have been wild, I could have been free (but nature played a trick on me) - M - 61k - “Did you know that I did not even learn your name until yesterday, when I married you?”His face flushed a darker red than it had at breakfast, and he attempted to defend himself with incompetent stammering, “I—I regret that. The situation, of course, would have been,” he wrung his hands together and stared at her feet, “It would have been preferable if we had known one another more. On several occasions, I did attempt to make myself known to you, but you seemed to have other preoccupations.”Rey could feel her face contorting into a sneer to spit out her barbed words, “Perhaps that was your cue not to marry me!” - regency arranged marriage au 

Patch - M - 20k - He is nineteen when he first sees her.She comes to the rink alone, laces her skates alone, strokes warm-up circles alone...He looks at her, really looks her in the eye, and he decides he likes what he sees.She may be young, but she is hungry and angry, and for now? That’s enough for him.It’s not like he has a lot of options. - 80 russian ice skaters au 

*The Great Big No - E - 165k - Kylo Ren is third generation rock royalty, a reigning brat prince starting to feel the burn of the fame he reached for with both hands. Rey is an aspiring singer on the verge of a big break, provided her A&R guy still has a job by the time she reaches LA. Their paths have crossed briefly, disappointingly, before. What happens when they collide? - 90s rock au

***go I know not whither and fetch I know not what - E - 119k - The year is 1994. The Iron Curtain has come down, the oligarchs have begun their rise to power, and Kyril Ren, a powerful member of the infamous crime syndicate Solntsevskaya Bratva, has been given a job: hunt down an estranged uncle who has been snitching to the FBI.Irena, nicknamed Rey by her adoptive father Luke, is a Krav Maga instructor in New York who has finally been able to obtain her original birth certificate from Russia. Turns out she was born in a little village named Vershinino, but if she wants to know more than that… she’s going to have to go there herself. - 90s russian mafia au 

we could plant a house, we could build a tree - E -124k - Ben takes a deep breath. “It’s—it’s a project. Conceptual art. You wouldn’t get it.”Rey presses her lips together to keep from laughing. She plans her next words quickly and carefully, determining what will get her the best reaction. “Really? Looks like you ruined a bedsheet to me.”His reaction does not disappoint. “Get out.” ** Seven-year-old Rey decides it's her duty to annoy the crap out of Ben Solo every single day she's alive. - 90s growing up together artist au

[flyingtomyneverland]

Xiao x Reader

Gender neutral reader

Genre: a lot of angst, a bit of romance

TW: major character death (xiao), mentions of blood, death, heavy injury, loss of loved ones

Word count: 6496

It rains blood-red flames, sparks full of light and hope, like little stars guiding your way. But there are thousands upon thousands of stars who will embrace you in a bizarre universe, in this endless infinity.

The noise has died away, the screams as if swallowed by an invisible force. You see through the smoke, like a ghostly fog.

A brown curtain creeping before your eyes, rattling your breath.

The grass burnt, you lie in ruins- your lazy gaze into the orange-red sky that seems to slumber you like a blanket.

Oh, how peaceful.

How peaceful this world is. For a moment you forget what has happened. You are surrounded by quietly falling meteors... like shooting stars.

In moments like these, you only slowly become aware of reality. You would give a lot to go back, to stay in those few seconds. Never to wake up again and wander from illusion to illusion that was given to you. But no, you knew you couldn't close your eyes.

For the smoke cleared involuntarily and you saw. You saw and ran and your legs collapsed helplessly beneath you. Too tired to carry you. You thought fate was just another fanatical construct of mankind, but now doubts arose in you. What if everything is determined? A red thread and no escape.

Your mouth was probably open in a scream, but no sound came out. You heard a shaky, choppy whimpering, over and over again until it ended in heart-rending sobs.

Startled, you realised that the sounds were coming from you.

Your hands tried to hold, to support the body beneath you, not to let go. Your vision blurred, hot tears mingled with the blood sticking to your head and you tasted the metallic salty taste on your tongue.

But you didn't paid attention to all that, none of it mattered.

Your fingers ran over him, the pale skin covered with scratches and burns, over the face - the face with the tender lips, the light lids, the dark hair. The face you had loved,though you knew.... though you knew.

His chest heaved and heaved, the boy's breath burned in his lungs like purgatory. And yet something held him, something made him linger a little longer, golden eyes half-open, hands weakly trying to grasp.

"Xiao...", a sweet voice then called out. "Xiao...Xiao...",he heard his name again and again. He wanted to answer, he wanted to erase the despair that resonated in the words. But he knew he couldn't. Was he helpless in the end?

The pain numbed his senses and thoughts. Pain he had never felt before, even though he had been haunted by dark hatred all these years.

But this pain was different. It tugged at him shallowly, made his head buzz through a colourful whirlpool of fireflies.

"Can you hear me?" the voice said, holding him tight, letting him slip back into the present. Something gripped his hand. Delicate fingers wrapping around his.

"You did it, Xiao. You did it."

There it was. The face he loved, loves. And though covered in cuts, it was beautiful... it's beautiful... .

So beautiful....

And his heart beats slower and slower, an inexplicable warmth fills him.

"I love you," he hears.

How he would like to return these words, but his stiff body forbids him. Never before has he been overcome by this kind of weakness, never before has it been himself. Instead, he silently feels a tear run down his cheek. He feels it being kissed away. Very gently. First on the cheek, then on the forehead. His thoughts whirl inexorably. And finally on the mouth. Tender and sweet and suddenly he remembers... he remembers the many nights on the top balcony where they had watched the stars. Thousands and thousands of lights in the black sky. He wonders, if Wangshu Inn is still standing.

He wonders why this happiness had to be taken away from him, just when he thought he would no longer be alone. A limited time, a glimmer on a long, endless road on which he was doomed. He had it close to him, he had the stars in his arms and yet that feeling had fled from him. He was not granted it, but for a short while he understood the naive joys of a mortal soul.

His curse robbed him of all reason, all emotion, or so he thought. And yet someone managed to....

Someone managed to beguile him with these strangely sweet feelings only mortals would experience. Feelings as if he could fly up to the moon, over the highest mountains of the Jueyun Karst and on into the sparkling sky.

And yet...

In the end, he could not escape. He could not fly.

There!

He sees a light!

Radiant as never before.

It blinds his eyes, but it doesn't bother him. Numbness has long since set in and he will never hear your screams again. Never will he hear your apologies, which you are murmuring over his body in a choked voice, and never will he see you collapse, hopeless and without strength. No, all this is happening in another world. In Liyue, somewhere, in this vast universe of worlds.

But here, his body seems to leave him, he feels like he's floating. At the same time, he has lost all senses, nothing more he sees, nothing more he feels, an agonising barrier between two dimensions. One gate closes silently before his eyes and no matter how much he begs, how much he screams, no one will hear him. Just as he can't hear you, you can't hear him anymore. Never again.

He wants to reach for the light, but by then it reaches him. Surrounds him.

And he hears a voice again. This time clearer than before. Deep and calm is the sound and oh- barely noticeable, a tingling in his fingertips. It carries the weight of the mighty mountains of Liyue and further.... much, much further, from distant sparkling diamonds from lands long lost, to coarse coal stones from the depths of Mondstadt. Riches of the earth, the same grace as thousands of years ago when he first heard this one particular voice...

Have mercy.

"May you rest in peace. You were chained for over 2000 years, with all your strength you served the change of countless civilisations, you served with your heart. You followed every cry for help, you heard every wish for love and you witnessed all the lights that rose to the sky, honoring what will now go on and never be seen again. Your story will be carried on with the thousand lanterns across laws of time and space, to Celestia and beyond, where your freedom will wait. Your suffering will end, your pain will fade. Let go, venerable Adeptus. Let go, Conqueror of Demons. Time marches on, it does not wait."

He named him, Xiao.

Demon.

Let go, Xiao.

Let go.

And he let go.

A new age is dawning.

The last Yaksha leaves the mortal world as the sun rises behind the horizon.

[nutty1005]

The new and starstudded “A Dream Like A Dream”, is the starting point, not the ending point, of Xiao Zhans

Original Article: https://m.thepaper.cn/newsDetail_forward_12542131 Original Author: 程辉剧场手记 The author published this in Pengpai News and shared on his Weibo Post on 6 May 2021.

Andante Cantabile, my most beloved music by Tchaikovsky, came from his String Quartet No. 1 in D major, every time it would painfully touch my heart, poet Xi Murong also used this to caption a melancholic poem. I thought, using it to sum up Lai Shengchuan’s representative work, “A Dream Like A Dream”, would be most apt.

“A Dream Like A Dream” lasts for 8 hours, this is something rare in Chinese theaters. Using the doctor as the first person, Patient No. 5 recalled and narrated in his narration, a surreal stage arrangement, emotions, life, fate, culture and societal upheaval, bringing tears to fog up your eyes. After 9 years of continued changes in the crew, Yanghua Theater brought in a new version with actors such as Xu Qing, Feng Xianzhen, Ge Xinyi, Xiao Zhan, Yan Nan, Zhang Liang, Huang Lu, Kong Wei, etc. The new version rivaled the quality of its predecessors, but yet bestowed a new presentation and expression.

A unique city was the backdrop for its first showing and the chance fate of the characters within the play allowed us to truly understand the nature of impermanence. In the play, there was an important term called “self-exchange”, which was said to come from an ancient practice from South Asia, by “breathing” with the others, so as to gift health and happiness, and remove his pain and misfortune. “A Dream Like A Dream” was a play that spoke of the search for the meaning of life, did it also deliberately “self-exchange” with the audience then? Once we understood the concept of “self-exchange”, we could also see that it was also a request to communicate with the reserved hearts of the contemporary person.

The fates of Gu Xianglan and Patient No. 5 were the two main timelines in “A Dream Like A Dream”, and the other timelines served to supplement or trigger the former. Patient No. 5’s motive came from “searching”, Gu Xianglan’s came from “chasing”. The chaser is the key to enlightening the searcher, the searcher became the resolution for the chaser, although they had different obsessions in their lives, they both came together in the end. Gu Xianglan’s deathbed confession to Patient No. 5 was not simply just an apology in her dazed state, but also her most unforgettable, wonderful and romantic memories of love; Patient No. 5, with his concern, consideration and inquiries, was like the listener from heaven, the guiding light to aid the soul in letting go of her regrets.

The 2021 Yanghua version of “A Dream Like A Dream” maintained its previous feature of multiple actors to one role, and multiple roles to one actor. Xu Qing, Feng Xianzhen, Ge Xinyi acted as after going abroad, old age and before going abroad versions of Gu Xianglan respectively. From the “peerless beauty” socialite of the brothels in Shanghai Beach, to the Baroness of a French Ambassador, to an artist, then to a maid, a sweeper of roads and alleys, to the lonely elderly in the hospital, she went through indescribable ups and downs.

Xu Qing had acted as Gu Xianglan since the play’s debut, and in the new version, her portrayal had already been exquisitely refined, the Gu Xianglan in her prime is lovely and graceful, but yet proud and wild, sensitive and emotional, as though Gu Xianglan’s soul had fully occupied her body. In addition to the true to form portrayal of the amorous nature of Gu Xianglan, her performance was exceptionally focused on the details of the silent scenes. When she and Xiao Zhan’s Patient No. 5 gazed at each other, when teary eyes met with clear eyes; from afar it seemed like she was looking at her younger self about to go onto a journey of no return, the resigned helplessness and the restless hope looked at each other; when realizing that the lost Baron had once returned, her astonished and sharp glares of anger; when Wang Debao found the tiny loft she stayed in by chance, her stealing glances were surprised and flustered… They were all full of the character’s aura and emotional tension, and the pain took the audiences by their hearts.

Senior actress Feng Xianzhen’s portrayal of the elderly version of Gu Xianglan was quite different from the version by the previous actress Lu Yan, which allowed the audiences to experience the wonder of plays due to different characterization. Lu Yan’s version was one that remained elegant and proud despite her tribulations, there was more calm and temperance, which would make the audiences respect the tenacity of this legendary lady. Feng Xianzhen’s version was a Gu Xianglan who went to France from Shanghai, and back to Shanghai from France, twice she found freedom and twice she fell. The cruelty of fate had ripped away all of the pretentiousness, the charm of her past had been lost, she was like every ordinary person. She would scheme cigarettes from strangers, curse as she liked with phrases such as “bastard”, “no good-doers in Taiwan”, mock those relatives who came to look after her as those who came for their inheritance. She fully portrayed the effects of her unfortunate life and her bitterness at the world, which made the audiences sigh in sadness.

Facing these two powerful actresses in portraying the same role, Ge Xinyi as the young Gu Xianglan, had a lot of pressure. Her performance was more inclined to a lonely beauty, the purity despite her circumstances, so as to provide a solid motive for the Baron and Wang Debao’s unrestrained infatuation. As a newcomer to the theater, her steady control was not an easy task, and should be praised for it. If she would be more open, layered and flavorful in her portrayal, the characterization would be better. After all, Gu Xianglan was the top courtesan within the midst of love and affairs, and the quiet and calm of a learned lady would be quite different from that.

Patient No. 5 was a journeyman of life. In the beginning, he suffered painful setbacks from the death of his child and the loss of his wife, and started a self-exiled wanderlust. His marriage came by mistake, almost like a replacement for his wife’s frustrating relationship. Fate caused him to lose his spirit, but he was unwilling to give up, hence he wanted to search for his wife, as though he wanted to search for himself. His encounter with Jiang Hong, was the wanderers’ sympathy for each other and to rely on each other. Only when he walked into the French castle and saw the tranquil and woeful eyes of Gu Xianglan, he seemed to see himself at the far coast of the lake, the cumulative rage and sorrow in both their hearts, their collective unwillingness to concede suddenly exploded, and he decisively dropped everything to find the lady in the painting. He did not know what question was ignited then, but he started his search for the dream of life.

In terms of the control of this character, Xiao Zhan and Yan Nan definitely put in a lot of efforts, they were highly immersive. What was even more rare was that, although their performances had different focuses, but they were both very united in terms of aura, body language, speech, pace and habitual actions, as though the two actors in the same stage were truly one character. For such a complete creation, you need not only tacit understanding.

Xiao Zhan’s performance exceeded my expectations. Despite it being his debut in a play, his performance was not even the least bit disjointed, and he was even able to merge his own personality characteristics with the role itself. His actions, pace and emotions gave a smooth interplay between tension and relaxation. The portrayal of innocent, naive, youthful, kind and fragile Patient No. 5, his unpreparedness in matters of love, was especially suitable as a youth who just joined society. It made the random encounter in the cinemas as the prelude of love more believable, and also gave a firm foundation to his actions later on, the multiple setbacks in later on, his wanderings, and his endless searching. With his wife and Jiang Hong, he had different relationships, the former was a budding first love, the latter came from empathy, Xiao Zhan had slightly different portrayal for the different phases of space and time, the cycle from simple to confusion, from searching to questioning, there was careful understanding and detailed handling. After discovering Gu Xianglan’s tracks, the clear longing that Xiao Zhan gave off collided with the layered longing from Xu Qing after her tribulations, was like the undercurrents under a calm lake, it drew in the rousing emotions, and became the strong force that pushed the story forward.

Xiao Zhan has the ability and the reason to achieve much better results in future theater stages. With time, if he could become even more at ease with the control of his body, if he could be even more accurate during the changes of character condition, I trust that he could achieve another breakthrough, and create even more challenging characters.

Reprising Patient No. 5 after many years, Yan Nan was obviously even more in-depth with his understanding of the script and character, and gifted the character a melancholy aura similar to those of an ancient poet, the quiet tones and deep glances became the key feature. The sense of accumulation of the vicissitudes, merged with Xiao Zhan’s portrayal, realized the continuation of the character’s fate. His performance on the hospital bed contrasted with Gu Xianglan on her hospital bed in a different time, and manifested Patient No. 5’s enlightenment after his miles of wandering, the person on the bed is awake, but those not were instead still dreaming. His calmness held the strings of every timeline together.

Zhang Liang’s portrayal of the Baron was the surprise of the show. If the old version’s Baron and Gu Xianglan was like the contest between eagle and the wild pigeon, the huge difference in power created the tragedy that made the audiences sad. The 2021 Yanghua version’s Baron and Gu Xianglan was like a pair of heavenly cranes, but they sang different notes as they flew to each other, and became a pair of lovebirds who hurt each other as they fell. The Baron became more romantic, more gentle and loving, but he remained prideful as he was still a noble beneath that amicable exterior, this was Zhang Liang’s new expression to the character, this also elevated Gu Xianglan’s difficulty in her choice, and even more so contrasted Gu Xianglan’s “evil” in her woeful revenge, and also left a branching point to the remaining love. His love for Gu Xianglan was true, it was not possession, but he loved the Oriental beauty, the caged Gu Xianglan, not the wild and free Gu Xianglan. Letting go and abandoning was his hopelessness for his lover, he felt that Gu Xianglan was letting herself go, she was betraying and depraving her beauty, he felt that his efforts were painfully wasted, it was not an attack on an escaped prey. This kind of portrayal made us wonder – love, was it to love a person, or was it to love an ideal? Love was to give or to receive? Was the ultimate goal of giving receiving?

The tragedy between Baron and Gu Xianglan became a tragedy of conflict between culture, social status and ideals. The difference between Baron and Gu Xianglan, did not merely exist on levels of culture and artistic ideals, but it was down to different life goals due to different cultural influences. It was hard for Baron to understand that his love only moved Gu Xianglan from a smaller cage to another bigger cage, even if he loved her deeply; Gu Xianglan who struggled for survival in a twisted environment, simply wanted to escape her cage, even if it meant poverty. This type of tragedy could not simply be explained with the character’s personality. The energy from repeated characterization is evident.

Huang Lu as Jiang Hong was a character that was rather difficult to grasp in “A Dream Like A Dream”. In her portrayal, Jiang Hong was an ordinary girl, who went through multiple troubles but was always chosen, besides her strong sense of survival, I almost could not see more personality. I remembered that I had brief flashes of a parallel universe while cooking eggs one morning, that was the state that she could not find herself or her position in life. She claimed herself as “the original Jiang Hong was dead, the Jiang Hong who arrived in Paris never existed” wanderer, her “relationship” with Patient No. 5 was merely a chance encounter in life, both of them were scared and questioning whether they should “fall into another relationship”. Huang Lu’s performance was very restrained, controlled, and tried hard to make herself not stand out, to do it to this extent was quite difficult. When she was talking about her stowaway escape, there was a point for emotional explosion, but yet she had to control it within the fine line between “surviving the calamity” and “unable to calm herself”. For this actress who was nominated multiple times for international awards and also won a national acting award, this was a rare stage experience.

Kong Wei, who just took off her costume in “Thunder Rain”, portrayed Shi Li Hong, the Mama-san of “Fairy Court”, in “A Dream Like A Dream”. Scheming and cunning in worldly matters, but yet she maintained her own sense of righteousness with Gu Xianglan and her sisters, fleshed out the character with even more emotions. Especially when the drunk professor professed his love for her, her teasing and forced calmness was mixed with surprise and shyness, as every emotion came at the same time, she managed them with ease, not only was the set brightly colored, there was also the sudden exposure of the character’s personality. Wang Peiyu who acted as the young Wang Debao, also showed the character’s clumsiness and stubbornness, his portrayal of passionate love was on point, which was just as brilliant.

There were many characters in “A Dream Like A Dream”, the group’s shared brilliance could not be forgotten, many actors who acted as multiple roles displayed exceeding energy. This came down to the Yanghua creativity production team, lead by Art Director Wang Keran, who had astute senses in actor selection as well as careful detailing in every part of the creation.

Luo Yongjuan, who portrayed a puppet in “Jewish City” and Li Zonglei, who had many important roles in many dramas and plays, both portrayed over 10 characters, and outstandingly completed the character creation for all of these different roles. Ruan Li, who portrayed the cousin, the dancer, the child, etc, also contributed multiple talents. Wang Weiqian, who portrayed Aunt Jin, the tourist, etc; Sun Zhongyi, who portrayed the professor, the old servant, etc, they all left deep impressions.

To display the characters but not to display themselves, this was the forefront of all theater actors, this was done by Xu Qing and Xiao Zhan, Zhang Liang and other stars, this was the respect they gave the play, the stage, the audience and themselves.

When the first kissing scene appeared for Xiao Zhan, part of the audiences were controlled but there were still some excessive “fan” reactions, but this did not interrupt his performance pace, this reminded me that Xu Qing and Hu Ge version also had the same situation many years ago. We could see that the actors were immersed, they prepared mental homework for every segment and detail, this was the hard work and the goal of both the production and the actors. Putting in efforts into acting and solely seeking the effects of celebrity, these are two totally different things after all.

When rehearsing or refreshing old classic plays, most of the time, methods such as subversion, recreation or simple replay were used. 2021 Yanghua’s version of “A Dream Like A Dream” is a case of production relying on the new cast to continuously discover deeper understandings, to recreate, and then to give audience a new icing on the cake while ensuring the quality of the play.

I was interviewed after the debut showing and said that this play was the Xiao Zhan’s starting point and not his ending point, and I also hoped that more capable actors would come to the theater stage, focus on the creation of art, and from that we could forge our own generation of quality “full celebrities”, such as Jin Shan, Shi Hui, Bai Yang, Zhang Ruifang, Shu Xiuwen, Laurence Olivier, Marlon Brando, Vivien Leigh, etc, of China. On the international theatrical stage, this is just commonplace.

[evolutionsvoid]

I am in a nightmare, that is all this can be. What else could explain this endless road? No other roads, no signs, no vehicles and not even a speck of civilization. It may seem foolish to think I am simply dreaming all this, but I left all rational thought miles behind. Maybe this is hell, or maybe I lie dying in a ditch somewhere and my brain is burning out. It could be any of them, but all I can do about it is drive. Just onward and onward, with no end or hope in sight. What else can I do? Get out and walk? I had hoped that the road widening was a sign of a town or populous ahead, but it just meant more asphalt to stare at in my headlights. That and these weird roadkill blob things that I keep avoiding. I don't even know why I bother, I already hit a few and they did nothing to my car. Let them spray their guts all over my stuff, it's not like anyone is going to care. At this point I think I would start crying if I saw a run down gas station, or even a hitchhiker. Something other than those bizarre things that walk this road. I have yet to see either of those things again, and I hope to keep it that way. Please just let a dog or raccoon run out in front of me. Let me hit a deer, for all I care. That would at least tell me that I am not the only one out here. But I have yet to see such mercy, so I have to keep driving. I know others may think I should just turn around now and head back, but what do they know? What would that do? Drive another dozen or so hours to get back to that one turn, right back to that dusty road? Of course it would be that easy! What I have seen and what I have suffered, I know it won't work. If I did a U and sped my way back, I would find nothing but more endless road. I am pretty sure I wouldn't even find that one lane section again, because that is how this hell works. I can't turn back because I can't escape. If hell is so bad, then why don't people just leave? My only choice is to drive onwards and just hope that some answer lies ahead.

It has taken me way too long to understand that things have simply stopped working, or won't stop working. It's bizarre. My rustbucket has pretty good gas mileage, but after a haul like this, I should be sucking fumes. Yet the engine still putters along and my gas gauge hasn't bothered to move in hours. Not that I could even tell how long it has been, because my clock doesn't work either. The time shudder, speeds and screeches to a halt without warning. I can glance at it every few minutes and either see it frozen in place, leap forward or back hours, or even give back a useless jumble of impossible numbers. The radio is nothing but static, and of course my phone offers no help. The only thing that works is the engine and gas, so I can just roll forward into hell. My car isn't the only issue, as I have realized that the sun isn't coming back. It was getting dark as I first entered this place, but after what seems like days of travel, not a hint of light has come across the horizon. Black sky, black earth. Just an asphalt trail to lead me forward, and all I can do is obediently follow. Something bright flashed in front of my headlights, snapping me from my trance. I didn't really understand what I was seeing, but there was lots of them and they were right in front of me. I slammed the brakes and brought my vehicle to a screeching halt. All the packed stuff I had in the backseat came surging forward, and I was nearly clobbered by my own belongings. How strange it felt to be reminded of them. All my stuff, my entire life packed up in this car. Would I ever have the chance to get them out of those boxes and bags? Would I ever be allowed to rebuild my life after I so hastily dissembled it and packed it away? These were questions I couldn't stomach to think about, so I turned my attention back to the road and what was littered in it. It wasn't those mangled blobs, they were something quite different. They were no creature born of metal and tar, they seemed very much fleshy, disgustingly so. There were dozens of them scattered across the road, creating an obstacle course that I could not get through. Some were thin like stalks, while others were bloated like a balloon ready to burst. They were banded with a vile orange and unsettling white, once normal colors staining an unholy medium. I expected them to move or do something like my last two encounters, but they remained where they were. The only hint of action came at random times, when one of the thin strands would suddenly swell into the shape of a barrel. They shuddered and quivered when they did, and it sickened me. Like the lung of a feeble elder, struggling to reach its needed potential. These horrible things sprouted from the asphalt itself, like fungi on a fallen tree.

As I stared on in disgust, I finally noticed the ground they came from. The asphalt was cracked and crumbling, chunks of it marring the smooth road like icebergs on a glassy sea. The whole road was torn up, as if a whole crew of workmen came in with jackhammers. Even without those disgusting pods, I would not be able to cross. The pieces were everywhere and the edges were jagged. Last thing I needed was to puncture a tire while navigating this and then be truly stranded. Honestly, I wanted nothing to do with the whole thing. The sight of it filled me with dread. The cracks and furrows in the road made me think of great wounds, gouges in skin of asphalt. And where tar ran like blood, some vile infection sprang forth, growing on these leaking gashes. As much as I hated looking at them, I had to do something. For the first time in hours, maybe days, my path was blocked. The endless journey came to a sudden stop, and found myself terrified by it. What now? What on earth do I even do? I knew turning back was an option, but it was a naive one. Going forward was impossible from the road, but perhaps I could get on the side and skirt it. The shapeless patches of dirt and grass seemed sturdy enough, but I still didn't like it. I wasn't really sure which way to go, so I put it on hold. I hadn't stopped for quite a while, and my mind was going dull. Best to sleep, and hope that my waking self had a better head on their shoulders. I popped my car in reverse and moved a ways back. No way would I be able to sleep while watching those disgusting things swell like zits. So I crept back until they vanished from my headlights. Even with them gone, I kept the lights on and engine running. No way was I going to sit in the dark. I jammed my seat back and desperately sought oblivion. How long had passed, I will never know. The clock was on the fritz and the sun had yet to show. Could have been minutes, but I felt some refreshment. Darkness still swallowed everything my headlights couldn't see, so there was no change there. My first thoughts upon waking was wondering about those sickening growths. I drove myself forward inch by inch, waiting for that obscene orange color to flare up, but I found no such thing. Instead, the pods lay in chunks and puddles, their flesh shriveling away. It appeared that they had burst while I had slept, splitting open like a rotted pumpkin beneath a vandal's boot. Their pieces were sprayed across the road, deflating into pathetic, colorless scraps. It took my mind a moment to realize the obvious while I surveyed these scattered chunks. Though the pods were splattered, the road lay flat and perfect. The horrible wounds were gone, sealed by patches and scribbles of tar. Somehow, the road had stitched itself back up, or perhaps the pods were responsible? Whatever it was, my endless trail into purgatory was restored. What a joy. I didn't know if I should think of it as a blessing or curse, but there were no need for thoughts any more. The road beckoned, and I drove on. --------------------------------------------------------------------- It's the state plant, said every state ever.  

[maplecornia]

chapter 22

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 4.36K

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: romance | slice of life | fluff | angst | bts x female!reader | ot7

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You watched them from the sidelines ever since you were a young teenage girl. Now you’re grown up, they’ve returned after 2 long years and everything has changed. What happens when you pull back the mask and find the darkness within? What happens when you see that they’re broken?

𝔞/𝔫: our first full introduction to all of BTS! I hope you're all excited ^^

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: cliffhangers | angst | fluff | slight mentions of self hatred | depression | mental health illness | self harm | occurs in the year 2024 | set in a timeline where BTS went to the military together | slight language

tags: @kookaine | @fangirl125reader | @kookiebbyxx | @taradevonne | @rae-bear |@mangminnie | @pixiekooo

Why did there have to be a meeting today of all days?

Yoongi scowls in the back of the car, trying his best to work on the small music app he’s downloaded for free on his phone. Letting out a small growl, he throws the phone aside, frustrated and annoyed.

“Absolute trash.” He snarls, staring ahead with nothing but malice in his eyes. The driver flinches a bit at the dark aura emanating from the back seat, and slowly rolls up the little partition glass that separates the two.

You know...just in case.

Yoongi notices the small act of distance and rolls his eyes, scoffing. He doesn't have to apologize. He can have a bad attitude if he wants. His schedule was supposed to be completely free today, a day where he could work on the album quietly. It was supposed to be a productive day, one where he could hole himself up in his studio and work and work until he made music that was perfect for their comeback.

Perfect for BTS.

Narrowing his eyes, he mutters a string of curse words under his breath for the 7th time that morning.

Then he got the call. That there was an urgent meeting for BTS to attend. A meeting that would affect the future of the company.

Running his hands through his hair, he tries to refrain himself from punching the car window out.

"What the hell is that even supposed to mean?!" He screams in aggravation, causing the driver on the other side of the partition to jump, startled. Not paying any mind to the driver currently struggling to restart his heart, Yoongi sighs, positioning himself on the seat so that he's comfortably lying down. Looking up at the ceiling with his soft, sparkling eyes, he tries to calm down. See things in a brighter light, try not to care so much. It's just...things are so frustrating to him.

All.

The.

Time.

Raising his hand to cover his eyes, he tries to remember a time when things had been so hard. He remembers training, debut, remembers the struggles of rising to the top, remembers injuries, exhaustion, remembers quarantine and tireless motivation…

Each moment seemed worse than the last. Every time they conquered a new struggle, another presented itself. As though they were walking down a road filled with multiple storms. A road that was destined to tear them apart, scatter them and leave them for dead.

Suga didn't think it would be so hard to leave. They were only gone for 2 years and yet by the time they got back it was almost as though the world had either forgotten about them, replaced them, or turned against them. Smiling bitterly, he raises his dark eyes to the ceiling once more, his hand curling into a fist at his side.

"You really fooled us didn't you...?" He mutters, his voice soft, but cold. Shivering with forgotten remorse. His hand rests itself safely over his eyes, shielding himself from the world. Trying so hard not to lose himself, he fights back the tears, barely able to struggle out the one word he's been holding back for so long.

"ARMY…"

Closing his eyes, he fails to catch one solo tear that falls, trailing a lonesome streak of wet painful memories across his soft ivory cheek.

He doesn’t remember the rest of the drive to the studio, choosing instead to block everything out and focus on releasing the dark cloud shrouding his mind. He’s learned how to deal with the pain, how to erase it, ease it safely and securely back into the inner corners of his mind...his heart. It's an endless procedure, falling and picking the pieces back up again. It doesn’t seem to matter how many times he may lock them away...they always come back, stronger and worse than before.

At least he’s learned to keep it inside.

At least he can safely hide.

And pretend everything is alright.

As the car pulls to a stop, Yoongi seriously considers skipping the meeting and staying home. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel like crap. Maybe then he’ll be able to forget...at least for a while. However, as soon as the car pulls up, the driver immediately opens the door and cuts the ignition. Yoongi groans from the back seat, glaring up at the ceiling just as his driver opens his door, and nervously waits for him to exit.

Muttering under his breath about how some people are such pussies nowadays, Yoongi reluctantly sits up, gathers his things and exits the car. Paying no mind to the nervous driver, he stares up at his company building. His face hidden in a shadow, he bites his bottom lip, his hand clenching around the strap to his backpack.

Since when has he regretted coming here?

Since when was he afraid to see what may lie on the other side?

Shaking his head free of such thoughts, he groans, the dark cloud surrounding him only growing. Today’s just a bad day, he really needs to pull himself together. Sighing, he rubs his hand over his face before heading towards the building. Each step seems to weigh him down, blur the world around him, bring him further and further into his mind.

A dark mess of music notes and compositions.

Of torrents of pain and broken promises.

Of hidden fears and memories.

The mind of a man past his breaking point.

But then he hears the voice.

“Yoongi!”

Just as he’s opening the door to the building, it calls out from right behind him. That one voice...that one sweet cacophony holding brotherhood and love, is enough to draw him back to reality. It’s enough to break the hold the darkness had had on him. Smiling softly to himself, he turns and meets his eyes with a soft steady look of his own.

“Hoseok.”

Jhope smiles broadly at the mention of his name, and finishes running across the distance to his hyung. Clapping his hand around his shoulder he chuckles a bit as they walk together inside. Yoongi smiles at him a bit, but looks away before Jhope could notice.

If he was being honest, any one of his members have the same effect on him. Every one of them...the hidden parts to the family they have struggled so hard to build...they make everything okay. They make everything worth it.

If Yoongi were to suffer…

Then it would be okay.

As long as it was all for them.

“Hyung, why do you think PD-nim wanted us here this early?” Hoseok asks, breaking his hold on his friend in order to stretch as he yawns. Yoongi doesn’t answer, brooding a bit over how his work got interrupted once more. First it was Namjoon, over a stupid assistant, now its Bang Sihyuk?

“Whatever it is, I hope he has a good reason for interrupting me.” Yoongi mutters darkly under his breath, startling Jhope a bit. Jhope flinches, and noticing the change in Yoongi’s mood, steps away a small distance, chuckling nervously.

“Were you working on something important?” he asks as they walk inside the elevator, headed to the office on the top floor. Yoongi scoffs as he presses the button and the elevator doors close.

“I sure hope it was. It was for our new album, which is due no less than a few months from now! Namjoon and I still haven’t even gotten the beat down for the title track...and now this?! What could possibly be more important?” Yoongi sighs, collapsing against the cool metal walls against the elevator. Cold and indifferent, he stares at his warped expression in them, wondering if that’s enough to protect himself.

But...

What does he need to protect himself from?

Jhope regards Suga with a soft look, almost pitiful. He’s found that when he gets like this, sometimes it’s just best to leave him be, to let him work it out on his own. But right now…

Is this really the best way to solve things?

The look on Yoongi’s face is familiar, and yet different from all those times before.

Hoseok finds that he can't read it, he doesn’t recognize it. Something about that…

Scares him.

As the elevator dings, and Yoongi immediately steps out into the hallway, it takes Jhope a moment to follow suit. Silent, he watches the back of Yoongi, trying hard to understand him, figure out what’s going on with him. It frustrates him that right now, when he needs him most is when Jhope has no idea how to help him.

Can he help him?

Biting the inside of his cheek, he looks at his feet as they make their way to the meeting room. He knows that ever since they were separated, ever since the military enlistment, no one has been the same. Once beloved by the world, they found themselves facing the fear of being forgotten. Of entering a world where no one cares about who you are...only how strong you can be. An honorable service, but a taxing one, something that would change a person.

And so it has changed Bangtan.

For Yoongi, it drove him further into himself. Into the depression of darkness he had tried so hard to avoid. Without his sources of light, without that grasp on hope he had before...he found everything fading away. He found himself fading away.

How easy is it to find yourself again?

How easy is it to turn everything back to how it was before?

For anyone who knows...it’s near impossible.

So he’s trying, he’s trying his hardest to turn it into something that he can live with. Into a strength he can look back on and say he grew from. Another obstacle that he has defeated in his pathetic excuse he calls a life…

But what can he do right now?

Except fall deeper and deeper into the darkness which becomes so alluring to him. He finds himself longing for it, he finds himself wishing to end it...because what is he fighting for anyway? He already reached the top...and now he has to make his way back up again? What is that supposed to mean to him? How is he supposed to deal with that?

They said they would stay with them.

They said they would wait for them.

But they lied.

They moved on, they forgot.

Was everything they ever did…

Did everything mean nothing to them?

Entering the meeting room the pair of them are greeted by noise. The familiar noise of joy and laughter Bangtan carries with them everywhere, just happy being with the other...no matter how many hardships they may face nor how much the darkness may cloud each of their minds...as long as they're together, nothing else matters. Yoongi can’t help it…

He smiles.

It happens on its own accord, without warning. It's just...seeing them, seeing how happy they are despite everything makes him feel a bit of happiness, a little ray of joy, a little speck of pride and amongst them all he finds what he’s been looking for all along.

Hope.

The one thing stronger than his fear.

“Yoongi! And Hobi hyung! You guys made it!” Jimin practically barrels into Yoongi as Jhope closes the door behind the two of them. Laughing like a maniac, Jimin squeezes Suga so tightly that it's hard for him to pry him off.

“Seriously Jimin, you saw me just yesterday, you act as though it’s been years.” Suga sighs, placing his backpack in one of the many chairs in the meeting room as Jimin pouts. Jhope chuckles at his expression, rubbing his hair affectionately before following suit.

“It feels like it’s been years! Have you forgotten that we only got back a few weeks ago? I’ve missed our hugs--” Yoongi places his hand expertly on Jimin’s face, stopping him as he moves in for another hug. Growling, Jimin gives him a glare and Suga raises his eyebrow.

“What was our deal about hugs?” Jimin pulls away at the ultimatum and dramatically deflates into the chair next to Yoongi as he sarcastically recites the “deal”, deepening his voice and flattening it as much as he can in order to match Suga’s.

“One free hug a day...any other extra will cost you.” While Suga rolls his eyes, he can’t help but crack a smile as everyone else in the room laughs along and Jimin sits up in the chair, chuckling to himself at his great impersonation. Well...great in his eyes. Shaking his head, Yoongi looks around at the room, smiling at the familiar faces he finds meeting his own.

There’s Jin, who hasn’t stopped laughing, his unique laughter carrying through the room, half hurting everyone’s ears, and half bringing them joy and happiness. Yoongi always forgets that it’s actually possible to miss that strange windshield laugh.

There’s Taehyung who sits next to Jin and rolls his eyes a bit at how hard he’s laughing, before chuckling softly to himself in quiet happiness. Yoongi still can’t believe that there was ever a time he didn’t cherish Tae as much as he does now.

There’s Hobi who has just settled into a chair right next to Yoongi and laughs that contagious laugh that strikes hope and joy into even the darkest of hearts. Suga still remembers when that laugh first entered his life.

There’s Jimin who has just tackled Suga into another hug before dancing away and laughing almost manically. Yoongi lets him off the hook, smiling softly to himself because if he were being really honest...he would want those hugs every day of his life.

Then there’s Namjoon, the one who watches over them all, a small but distant smile present on his face. As Yoongi raises his eyes to him, he can’t help but feel a bit of nostalgia.

His first friend.

His best friend.

Perhaps the only one who could understand him and yet…

He always seems so far away.

Namjoon, as though feeling Suga’s gaze on him, slowly flickers his eyes over to him and is startled by what he finds.

He sees the darkness shrouding his dear friend's mind. He sees the cry for help. His heart pounding with worry and trepidation, he bravely meets Suga’s deep conflicted eyes and tries to pick them apart, solve them as though they were a problem only he could untangle. He hasn’t seen this face for so long, he hasn’t seen this kind of fear in his friend before. His chest constricting, he almost wants to hold onto Yoongi and hold him tight in his arms until he makes everything better.

As though it were his job to make everything better.

His brow crinkling with concern, he opens his mouth in order to address him, but an outburst from Taehyung who is looking out into the hallway cuts him off and the connection is broken. Yoongi almost immediately looks away, leaving Namjoon to continue to stare at him, in deep thought.

"Where's Jungkookie? Why is he so late?" Tae is asking as he leans back in his chair to stare out the see-through glass that encases them inside the meeting room. Jimin, coming up behind Tae, almost makes him fall as he pushes the chair down so that Tae meets his eye.

"Wha…" Taehyung begins but Jimin cuts him off.

"That's rich coming from you Mr. MickeyD." Jimin snorts at the reference to the soaked bags Tae brought as a peace offering yesterday, before letting go of his chair and leaving Taehyung to teeter slowly to a stop. Jin, picking up on the let's tease Taehyung memo nods and leans forward in his chair as though invested in the conversation.

"Yeah, where were you yesterday? You took an hour to get here TaeTae…" he coos, reaching forward to touch his hand but Tae pulls away grimacing. Jin laughs before pulling away and Namjoon rolls his eyes, ignoring the small smirk growing on his face.

"Stop it guys, he was helping Yen, my new assistant manager." Namjoon explains as he pulls out his phone to check any new notifications. "She fell during the afternoon rush in the lobby yesterday and hurt her ankle. Tae was helping her to the hospital. That's why she's not coming in today."

At that comment, Jimin's face goes a bit cold, and he glances at Tae in the corner of his eye. Tae nods frantically in agreement to Namjoon's statement almost as if he were clearing his name, and Jimin can't help but feel a pang of disappointment.

Tae used to tell him everything…

So why does Namjoon know this and he doesn't?

It wasn't that hard to explain...he would have understood...so why?

Why couldn't Taehyung talk to him instead of having to turn to RM?

Tae swallows hard to see if they all believe him, his heart pounding a bit fiercely in his chest. That was partly the truth...but Namjoon doesn't know the whole story. Nervously glancing at Namjoon in the corner of his eye, he can't help but fidget a bit.

The only way he was able to keep Yen home was to get the all clear from RM. And in order to do that...he had to tell him that you were hurt. And so that's exactly what he did...it just wasn't entirely the truth.

Looking down at his hands, he holds them tightly, faintly remembering how your hands felt in them. If he told Namjoon about what happened, who knows what he would have thought? Besides, Taehyung doesn’t want to tell anyone about that day. He doesn’t know why, he has nothing to hide but…

It's almost as if he mentions it to someone else…

It’ll become theirs and not his.

“In any case, we’ve been waiting long enough...where’s BangPD anyway?” Suga wonders quietly, not bothering to hide the frustration in his tone.

“Good morning to you too, Yoongi.” At the voice, the 6 of them freeze, and slowly turn toward the door, which was closed once before, but now occupies three significant figures. Suga tries hard not to wince, but as he meets BangPD’s dark eyes, he can’t help it. The other members seem to shrink due to the tension rising in the room as the door closes behind the newcomers. This isn’t exactly a situation they would like to be present for.

“Jungkook!” Jhope cries as he scans the three faces, and sure enough there he is standing attentively behind BangPD. He smiles a bit as Jhope calls his name, and waves to them but when BangPD walks into the room, Jungkook follows closely behind. The third figure, a tall and slender woman, closes the door behind them.

Namjoon glances towards her a bit curiously, trying to place where he may have seen her before. As she sits in a chair near to the door, a reasonable distance from the rest of the others, she glances towards him as well. As their eyes meet, Namjoon barely has time to notice the small flecks of gold circling in her brown eyes before she looks quickly away. Raising his eyebrow, he shrugs before turning to BangPD who is setting down a few papers and documents in the head chair of the meeting room.

“Sir, what exactly is going on? Why did you ask Jungkook to text us all to meet here? Is it something to do with the album?” BangPD smiles at Namjoon’s quick wit as the rest of the members glance at each other a bit confused. He’s the only one who figured out that BangPD was the one behind that strange text last night. Sitting down, BangPD meets Namjoon’s stern but curious eyes, trying to pick apart the complexity hidden behind their depths.

“The reason is simple. We needed to confer with you 7 as shareholders in the company.” Taehyung sits up from his once relaxed position at the sentence, turning attentively towards BangPD-nim. He glances toward Jungkook to try and read his expression, but Jungkoook avoids his gaze. What exactly are the two of them planning?

BangPD nods to the woman sitting attentively in the back and she nods back, pulling out a computer and walking to the head of the table. She opens it and begins connecting it to the stereo system. Yoongi crinkles his brow at the curious setup. Once the woman is finished, she nods toward BangPD before heading back to her seat next to the door.

“Before we can do that however...there’s something you need to hear.”

With that, BangPD presses play and once more...your voice fills the room.

It instills a hush over each of them. Each one of them, even the woman in the back, is visibly affected by the emotion in your voice. The soulful pain that you carry through each note you sing takes them to a world which only they can see; drives them to emotions they have never felt before.

Jin goes completely still, trying his hardest to hold back the tears which are threatening to spill over and wet his cheeks. He wants to hurt whoever made you feel this way. Whoever made you sing like this...as though you were crying out for help.

Jhope’s expression is blank, completely out of character for him. But he can't help it. At the sound of your voice, he is unable to keep the mask up for any longer. It falls, shows everything underneath, shows what he really hides behind his smile. He can hardly feel it as the single tear runs down his cheek.

It takes all Jimin has not to break down into tears right then and there. He stares at the computer as though that would help him reach you. Help him to erase the pain that has affected you deep inside. As though he could erase in you what he could never erase in himself.

Yoongi has closed his eyes, leaning his head back in the chair he sits in. As though if he were to open them, the voice would disappear and the beauty he sees behind his eyes would go with it. As though it's the only anchor keeping him from completely fading away.

Namjoon finds himself searching through his mind, trying to figure out where he’s heard this voice before. Where he’s felt this kind of pain, this deep level of sadness and insecurity. Trying to remember why he can find some familiarity in it. Why he feels as though he’s home and safe.

Taehyung is petrified. He’s heard this voice before. He has it saved safely in his pocket at this very moment. He helped the owner of this voice home the other day. He can still feel her touch on his skin.

Frantically, he glances toward Jungkook once more. How was he able to get this recording? Was he there? And if he was…

Then was that moment Taehyung shared, that one break in time where he could only see you, that one moment where he knew, he just knew that you were perhaps the only one who could truly understand him…

When he couldn’t understand himself…

Did it mean nothing at all?

Jungkook smiles to himself now as he sees the room which is alight with your voice. As he sees the way they change, the way they are affected, how it seems as though they have been healed with the sound, the beautiful world which your voice brings to each one of them. When he sees the way your voice alights in them a new fire, a new flame unable to be doused, he sees the true purpose behind your voice behind you.

A light that was meant to be shared.

As the song ends, though he’s sad to see it go, this time he’s sure that he’ll hear it again.

That he’ll hear you again.

In the silence, the ones who remain have a hard time coming back to themselves. It's as though they are wandering in the dark, now that the world they were able to see has disappeared. Almost as though they had forgotten how to live, how to breathe without that utopia in their mind.

But the main thing is that suddenly, all at once…

They felt as though they had been healed.

Even if it was only for a moment.

“Her name is Yen.” BangPD’s voice breaks through the fragile silence, catching everyone’s attention, including Jungkook. Clearing his throat, Bang Sihyuk opens your file, passing it forward on the table. Everyone is able to see your ID picture, where you were born, your current number, your family members, your current address...even your social security number. It’s all there, for each of them to see and to immediately know…

“She has recently been hired as Namjoon’s assistant in Jaejin’s absence.” BangPD explains, but this is something they already know. They share a look with each other, recognizing that this is the same girl who brought a smile on their face yesterday.

“Now that you have heard her voice, let’s get down to business.”

The same girl who was hours late for her first day.

“The real reason I called you all here is because we need to make a decision.”

The same girl who turned Namjoon into a frantic mess.

“A choice that may make or break this company.”

The same girl who turned Jungkook into a dumbstruck teenage boy.

“A choice that involves this voice, that involves Yen.”

The same girl who helped Taehyung find himself...even for a little while.

“As shareholders for this company this affects each and every one of you.”

Though the rest may not have met you...they all saw the picture.

“I called you here today to ask you…”

They saw in you the same charming girl that everyone else had seen throughout the day.

“If the 7 of you would agree to signing this girl on as a trainee for our company.”

The one behind this voice.

Is the same girl who tried to stuff an entire bowl of salad in her face.

𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢: crazy crazy

chapter 23 here

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[awackyphdinadorkable]

Cherik Moodboard - The Snow Queen AU

Charles and Erik were the best of friends ever since they were small children. They didn’t just grow up together, but they also learned to master their special abilities together. Erik and his mother live in a small house just down the road, so Edie does not have to travel far to manage the gardens and all the flowers at Westchester.

These days, Erik helps his mother as best as he can, which, of course, always gives plenty of opportunity for him to spend time with his best friend to play chess or get drunk on Charles’s late step-father’s fine selection of drinks.

Now short before coming of age, Charles can finally claim ownership over his family’s estate and transform it into a school for the likes of them. Their dream is just within reach. A place for themselves, where others can hone their skills, unafraid of what others may think of them.

But a tragic accident during winter leads to Edie’s death, which leaves Erik petrified. Charles tries his best to console his friend, but even with his abilities, he doesn’t know how to help Erik look towards a brighter future to regain hope. Instead, Erik grows more and more obsessed with snowflakes and old stories.

After a night of heavy drinking to numb the pain together, Erik sneaks out into the night while Charles is fast asleep. Erik is visited by a beautiful woman made of ice, just like in his mother’s tales. The Snow Queen. She offers him a life of no pain, no suffering. Erik feels more than tempted to go with her, but when he hears Charles calling out to him, the Queen is already gone by the time he turns back around.

Wind picks up and something flies into his eyes, making his eyes burn with unshed tears. Charles ushers Erik back inside, and for the first time in a long time, Erik swats his friend’s hand away, arguing that he has no need for help.

In the days to come, Erik grows more and more irritated with Charles and his constant talk about the school, the dream. Was it ever truly his dream or was he just trying to please Charles? Erik is no longer sure. What if Charles went too far into his head to plant that seed there? What if he was a fool to ever trust him? People don’t accept them now, why would they ever change their mind? They are all the same in the end, aren’t they?

But whenever he addresses those matters to Charles, he just feels his heart clench with cold, seeing the other man’s sadness and disappointment. Most of these days, Erik wished Charles just left him alone, that everyone just left him alone so he could watch the snowflakes. When Erik goes to see his mother’s grave, he is visited by the Snow Queen again. She kisses him and he doesn't feel the cold anymore. The Queen offers to kiss him another time, to forget all this, all the people who’ve caused him suffering.

“And then everything will be in order again. Like snowflakes.”

Erik agrees and she kisses him another time. And just like that, his mother fades from his mind, Charles does. There is just endless white and the Queen guiding him to a sled of ice taking him away from a world that won’t ever accept him.

When Charles realizes that Erik is gone, he is desperate to find him. But no matter how far he reaches with his mind, he can’t detect him. Charles is in despair. His best friend is somewhere out there, and he can’t get to him. He can’t help him. Just what is he supposed to do?

In the nights that follow, Charles continues to be plagued by nightmares. Strange visions of a broken mirror dipped in blood. A castle made of ice. And inside it he sees Erik bowing to a woman wearing a crown made of ice. At first, he thinks this is just his mind playing tricks on him, the way it was when he didn’t yet know of his abilities and thought he was going mad.

Until Erik helped him see that he was, in fact, not mad. That the voices inside his head weren’t his own but of those around him.

When Charles passes by a river, thinking back to how they used to bathe in it as children, the images come back to him, like lightning striking in his head. Charles collapses into a wooden boat and blacks out, though the boat, without anyone’s doing sets sail. By the time he awakens, Charles finds himself far away from home in a boat sailing on its own accord.

Before he can sink into despair, he can feel the faintest of brushes of a familiar mind against his. Erik. He is closer to Erik now. He can feel him, however faint, but he can feel him. He isn’t dead. He is out there. And that means there is still hope.

The boat eventually finds its landing place in a faraway place Charles wouldn’t know how to find on a map, if he even had one with him. He wanders through the woods aimlessly until he stumbles upon a house guarded by a blue beast. Though Charles can tell at once that the beast is also a man, is someone like him and Erik.

As it turns out, Hank and Raven have taken refuge in this cottage after an experiment of his gone wrong. He worked on a way to rid himself of the abnormal appearance of his feet, only to amplify the effect and turn into a beast whenever angered or in danger. Raven possesses similar powers, able to change appearance at will. The two have since lost hope in humankind to ever accept them. They have also heard of the Snow Queen who seemingly wants to rally against humans.

Raven offers Charles to stay with them, but he kindly refuses. He has to find Erik, he has to bring him back home. Hank offers to accompany him, but Charles also refuses that offer, because he knows that finding Erik is his responsibility alone.

“But you will always be welcome in my home, as you welcomed me into yours. Together, we may be able to change the face of the world, not today, not tomorrow, but so long we haven’t given up, the chance is still there that the day will come.”

Better equipped for the cold awaiting him further up north thanks to Raven and Hank, Charles continues his quest to the castle made of ice. He lets himself be guided by the fragments of memories the Queen could not take away from Erik even with her second kiss. Because even if she stripped Erik of his memories, he is still there. Charles can still sense his light, and that will guide him to his best friend, no doubt.

But when he reaches the place he can feel Erik’s mind the strongest, he finds nothing but a frozen lake. No castle. Nothing except for ice and snow. Exhausted and discouraged, he collapses onto the ice, calling out to Erik, though he knows he can’t hear him.

Or can he?

When he opens his eyes again, Charles finds himself near a warm hearth inside a small cabin. A grumpy man greets him, putting on more wood for the fire. The man’s name is Logan, and for some strange reason, he seems to know Charles, even though Charles doesn’t know him. Even stranger so, he can’t sense the man’s mind, although he is sitting right next to him.

“That was by your own design.”

“I didn’t ever meet you.”

“Not in this world, but in the world I came from.”

“Another world?”

“You can read minds, and made it all this way to here alive. Don’t act as though this was the strangest thing you’ve heard or seen thus far.”

Logan begins to recall his time “on the other side of the mirror”. The Snow Queen with the aid of the mirror image of Erik, nearly succeeded in destroying all good in their world by completing a mirror that had burst into a billion pieces.

“The devil’s work if you asked me. But no one knows who’s made the mirror. I just know what it did to my friends. It made them angry, sad, cold. Until they saw no good in the world anymore and fell into despair. A world without hope… is really without hope. You were right about that all along.”

In a last effort to save their world, Charles with the aid of his pupils and Logan set out to fight the Snow Queen, a woman with special abilities much like Charles’s. But with Erik’s aid of completing the frame to hold the mirror in its place, their efforts were near in vain.

“I watched my friends turn to snow. I watched them fade away. Kitty and you came up with a way for me to cross the threshold to the other world, this world here. I heal fast.  I don’t get killed… so I took a shard of the mirror with me.”

He shows a scar on his abdomen. “The Snow Queen wants to complete the mirror in this world because she can’t complete it in the other. Because I have the last piece. You managed to hide me from her eyes. Only if I were to face her would she recognize me.”

“But she can complete the mirror in this world, if Erik sets the frame.”

“Yes, because the other me, the one belonging to this world… he is asleep, if you will, out of reach. And even if not, the moment I faced her and tried to break the mirror like I did last time… it would mean the end of all good in this world. I no longer have the claws to cut it. I had to leave those, too.”

“So there is no hope?”

“There is always hope. At least so long you don’t give up. If unleash your mind, if you let your abilities out, which I know you’ve learned to keep in check over the years, you will possess a power even greater than hers. You are the only hope we’ve got left. So you better make this work, or else I will be very angry with you.”

“But I can’t even find the castle.”

“Because you’ve only looked at it from one side.”

It is then that Charles understands what he has to do. He goes back to the frozen lake and cuts a hole into the ice. He dives into the dark waters below, and once again lets himself be guided by the faint light at the end of it, Erik.

When he lifts his head above the water again, he finds himself in the Snow Queen’s castle. Charles knows now that he has to do whatever it takes not just to save Erik, but everyone else who dares to put hope in him. Even if that means going to the edge of the world and further still. But will he succeed? Or will eternal winter be the end of all hope?

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Author’s Note: Here’s my little Christmas gift to a fandom that is also very much a gift. Happy holidays and much love!