#they all got unresolved issues and we love them for that

[undertheredhood]

bridgertons looking at their spouses from afar: oh, they’re adorable

bridgertons when they see their spouses up close: oh, they’re traumatized!

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

ford: would you be interested in a dd&md campaign where nothing bad happens whatsoever

stan: what’s the fun in that?

ford: the escape from our chronic depression

stan: …can i raid a dragon’s hoard or somethin

ford: you can. you can even mock the dragon so hard it dies

stan: holy shit yeah i’m in

[sinning-23]

Backseat Pillow Princess

Hey y'all! I like to call this game, "Guess what I saw and cant stop fucking thinking about?" Take this because I need them both carnally and I'm sure you do too!

Enjoy :D

Warnings: violence, blood, swearing, the reader is annoying and Logan pretends to hate it in a way that seems like he actually does, they should have fucked but uhhh they didn't, lots of tension, pt.2 coming soon hopefully?

PT.2 UP NOW

"Bae i love youuu, you my everythinggg~"

"Can she shut the fuck up"

"I'm your main bitchhhh, fuck a wedding ringggg~"

"Only if you ask her nicely,"

"Nah, I like when he's mean."

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me"

The nonstop back-and-forth bickering had been going on for about 2 and a half hours now and the man the myth the legend, Wolverine was getting dangerously tired of it, unfortunately. Your shitty renditions of Sexyy Red matched with Deadpools incessant yapping was becoming too much to bear.

But little did he know, that was exactly your plan.

"Are we there yetttt" You whine from the backseat, sprawled out with your arm over your face.

It had been what felt like days (despite it only being a couple hours as previously mentioned) you'd been driving and the fact that you were in a small space filled with touch-starved testosterone(Wade and Logan) wasn't helping your case.

"If you shut up it'll go faster," Logan grumbles, Wade's chatting only worsening.

"No, it won't, you're just being mean! What's a sexy, super talented, immortal.. sorta, girl like myself supposed to do?" You whine again, an idea soon popping into your head.

If there was anything you loved more than seeing how far you could push this crotchety son of a bitch, it was stirring the pot.

Knowing the idiot riding passenger, a slip-up was inevitable and all it would take was the right pressure applied from yours truly.

"Hey Wade, wanna ask Wolvie what he's gonna do when he gets back? To his own timeline that is." You hum, resting your elbows on the middle console and your chin in your palms.

Ah yes, the fantasy your sick little brain conjured up was almost to fruition. All they needed were a few nudges and you'd all be at each other's throats with as much violent, sexual tension you could dream of.

"Yeah, what will you do if the TVA can fix your timeline?"

Bingo

You lean back, preparing for the absolute bloodbath that's bound to take place as the tension skyrockets.

Now up until this point, you'd be trying your damndest to get into Wolverine's pants, call it 'something you needed to scratch off your bucket list'. Anyway, from the "Mad Max"(as Wade put it) esque part of the void all the way here, you made your fair share of passes.

Unfortunately, all were shot down with a snark comment, the unsheathing of those gorgeous adamantium claws, or a growl...all of which only further fueled your desire. What could you say you liked a challenge?

"What did you say?"

You lean forward, making eye contact with Wade, his head shaking as if to say "No don't don't don't" but you were never good with social cues.

"He said 'IF' sweetheart." You retort, practically kicking your feet as the look in Logan's eyes grows wild, that growl barely bubbling in his throat as he and Wade converse back and forth.

"You shut the fuck up." He seethes, though directed at you his eyes stay focused on Wade.

You fight the urge to say 'make me" but you soon become quiet when Logan really starts to read your buddy in red. Oh, this fucker was definitely projecting...

"And you," He's got an accusatory, gloved finger pointing at the center of your face.

"You got some unresolved daddy issues or something? I don't know what hole or holes you're trying to fill but I can sure as shit tell you the harder you try to get under my skin the more it makes me wanna rip yours off that pretty-looking face." He growls, your heart practically beating out of your chest.

"Now I suggest each of you shut your goddamn mouths until we are where we need to be."

It's silent for a second again and you can feel the bridge about to break...anyyy second now.

"I'm gonna fight you now."

Three...

Logan chuckles, amused at the fact that Wade would even suggest he could getaway with something like that

Two..

And mid-sentence, Wade's fists make contact with Logan's nose.

One.

You scoot back, the car shaking as Wades head makes contact with hr car door and then the radio, each smack of his skull changing the station.

“Omg nooo don’t kill each other you’re both so hot and sexy and cool, nooo.” You yelp, your false concerned pleas falling on deaf ears.

And once the blood from each blow splatters against your face, you feel a bit opted to join in. Besides, he hurt your feelings, he deserved a little ass-kicking.

Question, when three seemingly frustrated and regenerative assholes get into a car fight with tensions, sexual or otherwise, that have been building for about 2 days now, what happens?

You slip past the pair of claws that just barely nick your side as you shove the driver's seat forward, effectively trapping Logan for a moment.

"You did this on purpose! You honry fuck!" Wade shouts, using his elbow to crack your skull and shoved you right back into your spot behind them before you can respond. Logan pushed the seat back again, now trapping you as his claws stabbed through the cushion, impalling you through the back of the seat.

"FUCK! This isn't how this was supposed to pan out in my head!" You yelp, gasping when the claws leave you feeling the worst kind of empty.

"I didn't even do anything he's the one that lied!" You seethe, using the heel of your boot to kick Wade's side in, the crack of bones bringing you much satisfaction.

"IT WAS AN EDUCATED WISH!" He defends, unloading about 3 bullets into your sternum before kicking Logan out the winsheild, glass falling inside and out.

You take a gulp of air, digging the bullet out before locking your arm around Wade's neck and the passenger seat headrest.

"You red-clad cunt! I was supposed to rizz him up, fuck him, and ride off into the sunset with my rugged fucking mountain of a man and you RUINED IT!" You shout, releasing Wade when six separate knives dig right back into you.

Taking the chance, you throw the back of your head at his face before pulling his claws from out your sides and kicking Wade's chest in. Looks like legs were your strong suit today!

"You said you didn't wanna fill any holes, yet here we are!" You growl in frustration, turning back around to shove your boot heel into this man's rock-hard chest.

He only grabs your ankle, pulling you forward, once again skewered by his claws. Your position is less than ideal, any other angle would for sure look l like you were on the receiving end of some damn good strokes.

And there it is, that stupid bloodied grin he gives while he watches your eyes squeeze shut and your head tilt back. A light, yet pained swear left your bloodied lips and the gasp that leaves your lungs when his claws retracted was just as erotic as you'd imagine.

"Would've been better off fucking at this point huh?" You joke, seeing Wade creep up behind the backseat door.

"Maybe." He responds a bit coy, the tension only dying down for a fraction of a second before you're at each other's throats again.

With your help, Wade is right back in the car, and the three of you are now waiting for the next move. Logan's up against the dash, Wade is heaving against the backseat by your side, the two of you manspreading with a dangerously hungry look directed at the man in yellow.

"This is pointless. We're gonna be here for hours regenerating and fucking each other up, but damn if it isn't fun." you chuckle, letting your head lull back against the completely destroyed headrest.

"So what do you suggest, 'sweetheart'," Logan growls, using your little pet name from earlier.

"Oh I think you know very well what I suggest, but I'm starting to believe you just can get it up can you peepaw?" You insult, Logan's face contorting in a sneer.

There's another silence, your gaze locked with Logan's as you both teeter on the edge of regular frustration and the urge to rip each other's clothes off. This fuckers love language was definitely acts of playful violence...if playful meant an absolute bloodbath in this stupid-ass honda odyssey.

"I feel like there's some underlying tension here that I definitely wanna be a part of.

"You shut the fuck up" You speak simultaneously, Wade doing just that.

"So what'll it be, bub. Fuck me or fight me?" You mock, seeing that smile right back on his face.

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

You would like to say that the remainder of the day, into the night, all the way into the wee hours of the morning were spent furiously love-making in the bloody and battered Honda, but that would only be half the truth.

The moonlight had shone so brightly down on the three of you, each movement calculated, as you continued to punch, stab, pick and damn near fuck each other in the enclosed space.

At one point your hands were pinned to the dented dashboard, Logan slotted between your legs, Wade right behind your oddly bent body....accept Wade's gun was at the small of your back and Logan had his hand wrapped tightly around your throat as your legs squeezed as tight as possible.

And at another, you'd been hovering above Logan, hands at his chest while Wade had a fistful of your hair, his grip lethal... a-although your hands were only at his chest cause you were double-fisting two knives that you had wedged to the hilt into each to his pectorals...and Wade was also pulling your hair to get a better angle at your chest since he deemed it was "only fair" considering you were going the same to the man beneath you.

It had only gotten worse, your comments ranging from rude to just plain nasty, and the farther along you went in the night....strangely enough, the better everything felt. The slight accidental/intentional grind of your hips against Logans, or the way you just so happened to fall back into Wade's chest, your bodies pressed so close together you could feel each breath you both took.

"Oh you just don't know when to quit, do you honey?" Logan grumbles, throwing you off him, your positions quickly switch.

"Not in my vocabulary sweetheart." You shoot back, gasping when Wade grips your hair again.

"Yeah, thought you were seeing the pattern ready peanut, she's hard to break." He chuckles, a filthy smile making its way over your bloodied face.

You were practically sandwiched, Wade behind you, his chest to your back, and your legs just barely make room for Logan who was kneeling one leg on the backseat, the other slightly off the edge.

"This is a little unfair don't you think? Feels like I'm about to get tag-teamed." You joke, the moonlight illuminating the current position just enough.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? You're sick." Logan scoffs, only feeding into your slight delusions.

"Yeah, I might be sick but you're a hypocrite, You want it too, don't you? I know for sure Wade does, 'cause that's definitely not his gun on my ass." You shoot back, body and brain stirring from the hours of activities.

He doesn't say anything, just tightens he grip he has on your hips.

“Cmonnn, we had our nice,” you glance over at the destroyed radio, your hopes of trying to get the time seemingly crushed.

“We’ll say 9 hours give or take, we’ve already been fighting and none of us are really satisfied.”

You can feel Wade adjust, his hands now secure at your shoulders, massaging the small of your neck with his thumbs.

“We all know what’s gonna solve that and we can put this whole debacle behind us.” You coax, your hips rolling a bit to meet his and he turn his head, jaw working as if he was seriously considering the offer.

And with a finally huff what really sounded more like a growl of last restrained, he’s on you.

——————————————————————-

YES IM MAKING A PART TWO YES THERE WILL BE SMUT BECAUSE WTF YALL. UHHH HOPE YOU ENJOY LMK IF YOU WANNA BE TAGGED I. THE NEXT PART!

[writinginatree]

All the Blood that You Still Owe

Relationship(s): Xaden Riorson & sibling!reader

Summary: An unpleasant surprise awaits on Hedotis, and you react with far less composure than your brother.

Warnings: Spoilers for Onyx Storm (set during chapters 33/34), canon divergence, mommy issues, implied daddy issues, anger issues, self-worth issues, we got all the issues baby!, unresolved childhood trauma, meltdowns, self-harm tendencies if you squint, graphic description of blood and violence, violence against children, murder, dissociation, self-hatred, vaguely suicidal thoughts

Title from MCR's song "I Don't Love You", go listen for some extra angst!

Landing on the rocky shore near the capital of Hedotis, you immediately dislike the place. You can't pinpoint why — on the surface, it seems like a beautiful, peaceful place. Nonetheless there's something about it that makes you uneasy in a way none of the other isles did. It's not just the lack of magic, either; uncomfortable as that is, you're starting to get used to it.

Observing the city — Vidirys, Violet had said it's called — it seems wrong somehow, with all those identical houses. It feels like looking at the background of a painting someone didn't want to put much effort into, just copying the same view over and over to create the illusion of a real place. Creepy, somehow, despite the superficial serenity.

The rest of the squad are all gathered a little farther up the beach, but you hang back, reluctant to part from your dragon.

The contrast of Dioghal's blood-red scales against the pale landscape only amplifies the lack of color around her, and you can't help but think what easy targets you make like this. Not that it should matter — according to Vi's handy guidebook, the people of Hedotis are supposedly peaceful. That doesn't make them trustworthy in your eyes, though. You're naturally suspicious of people who remain neutral in any and all conflicts happening around them, and you'd be willing to bet they do have weapons, possibly aimed at you this very moment from some hidden spot.

With these things in mind, you tense when you notice the group of locals stepping onto the wooden walkway that connects this piece of beach with what looks to be a market just outside the city.

Though you can't see any weapons on them, and they're all dressed in light tunics and gowns entirely unfit for combat, you double-check that all of your own weapons are where they belong before you give Dioghal's leg another pat and hurry after your squad, who are already going toward the locals.

Xaden raises a brow at you when you fall into step beside him, a wordless scolding for falling behind. Guess he doesn't quite trust the purported peace, either.

You're glad you aren't the only one who finds the place a little unsettling, because it really shouldn't be. But try as you might, you cannot shake the unease. Even the welcoming committee — if that's what it is — doesn't sit right with you. They should be wary of armed strangers on dragons showing up on their shore, but the way they're strolling toward you looks perfectly relaxed and casual. Almost like your visit doesn't surprise them.

No, you definitely do not like this. But these people could have the answers you're looking for, so if this is a trap, you're just going to have to deal with it. To calm your nerves, you remind yourself that Dioghal will be watching over you from afar. She won't let anything happen to you.

As you draw near, you notice a tall woman in the group of Hedotians — or is it Hedotics? — You should ask Violet later, she'll know what they're called — who seems strangely familiar.

Your discomfort intensifies, but you force yourself to keep walking, staring at the pale wooden boards beneath your feet as your group reaches theirs and greetings are exchanged. When the man from the triumvirate — he introduced himself, but you were only half listening — beckons his wife forward you glance up, and your heart stops, only to double it's speed.

It's the familiar-looking woman, and up close, you know why she's so familiar.

"Xaden," she says. Then her gaze jumps to you, frozen in place half a step behind your brother and a little to the side.

You barely hear her saying your name over the rushing in your ears, only vaguely register Xaden acknowledging her as he pulls Violet closer to his side. On the inside you're seven again, abandoned, confused, and fucking furious.

But unlike back then, you're armed now.

The metallic sound of your sword coming out of its sheath draws everyone's attention, and Garrick grabs you around the waist before you can take more than a single step toward your so-called mother.

"Let me go," you demand in a low growl barely loud enough for those nearest to hear. You can't seem to get enough air to speak any louder.

Instead of letting you go, Garrick forces your sword-arm down and pins it to your side. Despite the endless hours of training you've put in, you're no match for his strength — you might as well still be that seven-year-old you were when your mother left, so effortlessly does he restrain you.

"Calm down," he has the audacity to whisper into your ear. "We have a mission, remember? Don't fuck this up because of her."

He's right, you know that. It's just hard to care when so suddenly being faced with the woman you've missed and hated for the last thirteen — no, almost fourteen — years. Years you've spent imagining seeing her again — at first, it had been a happy, tearful reunion you'd pictured, back when you couldn't fully believe she had left for good. You'd thought you would apologize for whatever you had done to drive her away and all would be well. Then, as you'd grown older and understood she really had abandoned you, you imagined her looking at you full of regret and apologies, begging for forgiveness you would deny her. Later still, after your father had died and you were left alone under the care of some Navarrian loyalist, soaking up the world's cruelty like a fine handkerchief dropped into a pool of blood, you started dreaming of revenge. Your mother, Navarrian leadership, everyone. In your dreams you made them all pay for the hurt they'd inflicted on you and your brother, knowing you'd never be able to do so in reality.

But now you're here, and so is Talia. It would be so easy. So gratifying to make her see what pain she caused you and give it back to her tenfold.

Garrick's words echo in your ears as you notice the rest of the squad watching you with varying degrees of confusion and disapproval. Don't fuck this up. No, you can't afford to ruin this mission the way you do everything else. You've got to keep your shit together. For Xaden's sake, if not for that of everyone else on the Continent.

With that thought, you force your muscles to relax, and let Garrick guide your sword back into its sheath. His hold on you eases, but he hovers right behind you, ready to grab you again should you make it necessary.

You won't. Won't disappoint your brother and friends, won't ruin the mission, won't make things more difficult for them. You just have to hold in this burning rage. You can do that, have been doing it all your life. Calm. You have to be calm. If Xaden manages not to throw a fit at the sight of your mother, surely you'll manage not to do so either. Be calm.

Forcing yourself to take slow, measured breaths (nice and calm, nice and calm, nice and calm) you look anywhere except at Talia.

Someone starts making excuses for you, claiming that in your exhausted state you had merely gotten startled by Talia's suddenly stepping forward and overreacted. You meant no harm, they say. You're perfectly safe to be around, they say. It won't happen again, they say. Lies, all of it.

But no. It mustn't happen again. You can't ruin the mission. Keep it together. You have to keep it together somehow.

The man from the triumvirate — your mother's new husband — who observed your outburst with cold disapproval looks like he doesn't believe a word, but doesn't withdraw his invitation, either.

You really, really don't want to go to his house, though.

"Garrick," you mumble, since he's still standing closest to you, "I want to leave."

This is how it always went when you got overwhelmed while stuck at some stupid event as kids; you'd tug on the sleeve of whichever of the boys was closest to you and he'd sneak you out while the other two distracted the adults that wanted to keep you there before eventually joining you. But this is not a boring ball or dinner party, and you are no longer a child. You are here on a mission, and there's too much at stake to just blow it off, you know that even as you ask to leave.

"We can't, not before we find out if they have some answers for us," Garrick whispers back. He rubs his hand up and down your arm, trying to soothe you. "I know it's hard, but just remember that we're doing this for Xaden."

He's right. Gods, you know he's right, but every second in your mother's presence feeds the hatred burning inside you. Soon it will consume you whole. You don't know how you're supposed to keep it in much longer, if you can keep it in.

But you have to try. For Xaden. For your brother's sake, you might manage. If he can look at Talia without bursting into tears or punching something, then so can you. But of course Xaden has always had much better self control than you, a different kind of anger. Where your own anger burns like a raging fire, demanding to be let out, Xaden's turns his veins to ice, freezing his voice and eyes, a mask of deadly quiet.

You're not even sure if he is angry at your mother, or just disappointed, sad, whatever. Your rage is more than enough for both of you, anyway.

Talia's husband clears his throat. "Shall we?"

"Of course," Aaric says, stepping forward to take control of the situation, since neither Xaden nor Violet make any move to reply. The sideways glance he gives you in doing so says to get your godsdamned shit together. "Thank you for the invitation."

"You don't have to come," Xaden mutters to you, hanging back while the group slowly starts toward the city. You can tell he's upset too, but unlike you, he keeps it all on the inside. If only you were capable of the same. "Stay with the dragons if you want."

As much as you want to do so, it feels wrong, like you're failing both Xaden and the whole squad. What's the point of being part of this quest if all you do is lag behind?

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. You can always still join us later, if you feel up to it."

Us. That means Xaden intends to go with them. Of course. He's more important to the mission, and if both of you stayed behind, the man from the triumvirate might take offense. You should care about that. He's important here, and that means his opinion could decide whether or not these people will help you. But all you can think about is that all this time, your mother has been here, with that man. Had she left specifically to be with him, or did they meet later? Does it even make a difference? No, you decide. You hate both of them either way. And no matter how much you tell yourself you should, you just can't go with them to their house, where you'd probably have to sit in a stiff reception room and make pleasant conversation while the anger continues to eat you alive. You can't.

"Go. It's fine," Xaden encourages again. Nothing is fine. Not to you, and certainly not to him, either, but he's good at pretending things are fine when they're not. "You can do a sweep of the area if Dioghal isn't too tired, see if you spot the irids."

"I doubt they're here."

They aren't; you feel that in your bones. Hedotis is not a place dragons would like. Or are you just biased because you don't like the place?

"Yeah, me too. But we have to make sure, and it'll give you something else to focus on."

"Okay. I'll see you later then."

Xaden nods and follows the others, catching up with Violet, who walkes at the back, waiting for him, in a few long strides.

For a moment you look after them, feeling like a failure. They're almost out of earshot already, so you could break down now, scream and cry like the turmoil inside you demands.

You don't. Instead you turn, walking back down the beach to where Dioghal waits.

You wish your brother could have remained behind with you. Or better yet, that you could all leave this whole fucking place already. Selfish reasons aside, you also don't like the thought of leaving Xaden to deal with your mother alone. Her absence was just as hard for him as for you. Harder, maybe. But he won't really be alone, he has Violet and Garrick to take care of him, so you suppose it's alright. It makes no matter, anyway. Wishes won't get you anywhere; that's a lesson you learned the hard way. Xaden will bury his feelings and fulfill his duty the way he always does, while you will fight the urge to cry and scream for as long as you can and eventually break down, the way you always do.

Dioghal lowers her head when you reach her, chuffing in a way that sounds vaguely worried.

You curse the lack of magic in this place, desperately missing the mental connection to your dragon. She watched the interaction, but you don't know if she was close enough to hear, to understand what exactly made you so upset.

"That— That woman," you explain out loud, almost choking on the words, "that was my mother."

Dioghal croons, a blast of steam parting your hair. Her head swivels around to look after the group with narrowed eyes, like she's contemplating to follow them and show Talia exactly what happens to people who upset Dioghal's rider — death, usually.

"Can we just fly, please? Xay asked that we look around for the irids while the others talk to the triumvirate."

Dioghal lets out a low growl, and for a moment, you think she'll ignore you and go after your mother. Unlike you, she doesn't have anyone to grab her and talk some sense into her. You almost want her to do it. That way, you'd get the revenge you've dreamed of for so long without being directly responsible for ruining the mission. But then Dioghal straightens, averting her piercing gaze, and you know she's decided to let Talia live for now.

That should be a good thing, but it doesn't feel like one.

As you scale Dioghal's leg and get seated, you picture her claws sinking into your mother's flesh, her strong jaws closing around her, the resulting spray of blood as red as her scales. There's so many ways she could go about killing her. Biting her head clean off or slowly ripping her limb from limb, snapping her in half or clawing her guts out. Burning her, like the traitor she is. She could stab her with the poisonous bulb of her tail, make it slow and painful.

Gods, what the fuck is wrong with you? It can't be normal to wish these things upon your own mother, no matter what she did to deserve it. She may have abandoned you, but the fact remains that she's your mother. You're pretty sure that's supposed to mean something to you, even now, so why doesn't it?

If Dioghal could talk to you here, she would tell you it doesn't matter, that this hatred doesn't mean you're broken somehow. She understands your overwhelming anger better than anyone else ever has. You're one and the same in that way, quick to lash out for the smallest reasons, unable to let go of the big reasons, no matter how much time passes. Sometimes you wonder if that's why she chose you, because you're as unforgiving as she is, with a temper to match her own. And other times, you wonder if this similarity might be a bad thing, if maybe you would have been better off with a more reasonable dragon — say, a green, like your cousin's — that would teach you control over your emotions, instead of encouraging you to act on your rage like Dioghal tends to do. She forgets that you're human, that unlike dragons, you're supposed to have morals, a conscience.

If Dioghal ever caught those thoughts, she would probably eat you alive for doubting her.

She leaps into the air, and you wish you could leave the feelings plaguing you behind just like the ground, quickly shrinking with distance, but it's never that simple.

You can blame the stinging in your eyes on the wind, having foregone your goggles in your hurry to get off the beach, but there's no denying the sob that works it's way up your throat. Another follows, and another, and now your cheeks are stained wet, and with your eyes closed, you can pretend you've flown into a cloud and that's where the wetness comes from, but you know that if you open them, you won't be in the clouds. It would make no sense to fly that high, not when you're supposed to survey the isle for signs of the irids.

Bending at the waist, you press your face against Dioghal's warm scales and try to pretend your distress away. When that doesn't work, you allow yourself another sob, two. You have to stop. Dioghal may understand your anger, but she doesn't have much patience for tears. You squeeze your eyes shut, gnawing at your lip until blood floods your mouth. It's a reassuring taste. The pain in your lip isn't enough to distract you from your emotional hurt, but it gives you the strength to push past it and straighten in the seat.

Far below you, Hedotis's capital sprawles into the distance in it's orderly rows of identical pale houses. You can't deny there's a sort of beauty to it, but the city does not look alive the way Aretia or even Basgiath's small village of Chantara do. This kind of orderliness isn't natural.

It's hard to wrap your head around the fact that this is where your mother must have come from, that your ancestors lived here — maybe not in this very city, but in one like it somewhere on this isle. These are your roots. Talia's home, that she abandoned you to return to.

You hate it.

For hours, you fly along the coast, steering clear of any human dwellings and searching for signs of dragons in the less populated spots. As expected, you find nothing.

Despite how hungry Dioghal must be, she shows no intention to land and find something to eat. You know it's your obvious distress that keeps her in the air; she's protective of you to a fault, like— You flinch at the thought. Like a doting mother. Your eyes burn. Your mother abandoned you, but at least you now have a dragon to play the role she didn't want. Not that you'd ever say that to Dioghal's face. She has a habit of waving that poison-dripping scorpiontail of hers in your face when you call her out on her overprotective behavior, and she would take even more offense to being called a mother hen, no matter how true it is.

Guilt nags at you for keeping her from her well-deserved meal. She has to be tired, too. The flight to Hedotis had taken all night, and thanks to your meltdown, Dioghal has been circling overhead for another four hours or so while the others rested and fed themselves. Without magic to give them strength, the dragons tire faster than they're used to.

"Maybe we should land," you yell over the wind. It's not just lonely being unable to talk through your mental link, but also terribly inconvenient. "I've calmed down now. Honest."

Her head swings around, golden eyes scrutinizing you in that way that makes you feel like she can see through you, straight to your soul. Apparently Dioghal is satisfied with what she sees, because she makes a turn for the northeastern shore, where you can make out Tairn and Sgaeyl's looming forms once you get closer, and slowly descends to land on a colorless beach near a colorless house.

Talia's colorless house, you realize, spotting Xaden and Violet on it's veranda. The distance is too big for you to hear them, but from the look of it, your brother is arguing with Sgaeyl. Amazing how he manages that even without being able to talk to her.

She roars something in his face, maybe Don't tell me what to do or Behave until I'm back, and turns, making a slightly friendlier sounding noise at Dioghal before flying off, Tairn and Andarna close behind her. Dioghal nudges you toward the house and turns to follow the small riot. You assume the sound must have been an invitation to eat together. Dragon relations are a mystery to you, but as far as you can tell, Dioghal is something like Sgaeyl's cool aunt.

Not wanting to go into or even near the house, you're contemplating whether you should just make yourself comfortable in the sand or maybe go for a swim, when you notice two dark-haired boys watching you. They hadn't been there when you'd scanned the area from the air, which means they must have come from inside the house, probably attracted by Sgaeyl's roar. That in turn raises the question of whose children these are. You don't want to think about it, but... It's your mother's house. Of course it's possible someone else lives there with her and her husband, maybe a widowed sister or something. Or maybe the kids belong to someone who works for them; you just have to look at the place to know they have a whole army of staff. And yet the most painful conclusion also is the most obvious, the most likely — if Talia has a new life with a new husband, why shouldn't she have new children, too?

The thought makes you feel like crying again, so you turn to stare out over the water and do your best to ignore the boys. You don't want to know who they are.

And yet, when you hear voices a moment later, you turn to look again. You blame it on the self-preservation instincts Basgiath has instilled in you, edging on paranoia. Even before that, you never liked having something happening behind your back, but now it positively makes your skin crawl to be facing away from potential danger. What you see doesn't seem very dangerous, though. The boys are still there, and a woman fusses over the pair of them — some kind of maid, judging from the look of her.

Maybe that is their mother. Or maybe it's her job to look after them. What do you care?

But you do. You trail them with your eyes as they start back toward the house. Just as you're about to lose interest and turn away, Talia rushes from the house, straight toward the boys.

Your throat constricts. No. You don't want them to be hers.

But as you watch on, it's obvious they are. You don't understand what they're saying, since it's all in Hedotic and you're almost out of earshot, anyway, but you don't have to. It's all over Talia's face, in her tone, in every gesture and touch she makes. So loving, so tender.

Your heart aches as you watch her run her hands over their hair like she'd done yours when you were little. When she'd still loved you. Or pretended like she did, anyway. You're not sure which it was, and it doesn't really make a difference. Those times are long gone.

Your shaking hands curl into fists as the hatred inside you grows, demanding an outlet.

Not enough that she abandoned you. No, she fucking replaced you. With these boys, who no doubt are nicer, better behaved, less prone to meltdowns. You'd always known you weren't good enough, too difficult to be considered worthy of her love.

Xaden spent years trying to convince you it hadn't been your fault she left. He and Dad loved you despite your faults, wasn't that proof enough that you weren't unlovable like you thought? Sometimes, you almost believed him. After all, your mother had abandoned not only you, but Xaden, too — flawless Xaden, who you'd always been aware was your parents' favorite, who always had to serve as your good example when you acted out. Not even he had been enough to make her stay, so you'd let him convince you that maybe the problem really wasn't you. Maybe there was something wrong with her. It was easy enough to pretend so; she was gone, and memories blurred with time.

But now here she is, playing the loving mother for these boys, so it must have been your fault after all.

You stalk closer, unsure what you'll do when you reach them. It won't be pretty, that's all you know. You feel like a predator advancing on its unsuspecting prey.

Just a handful of steps and you'll be right behind them, and they still haven't noticed you.

Mom. The word is on the tip of your tongue, but you can't get it out. It feels too wrong. She will always be your mother, there's nothing you can do about that, but she stopped being your mom the moment she disappeared into the night without so much as a goodbye.

You still remember how you'd woken up that morning, happy and unsuspecting. You remember Xaden, who'd been awake earlier than you, sitting over his untouched breakfast — chocolate cake, left over from his birthday the day before. You knew something was wrong then, and that it had to be serious. There wasn't much that could kill Xaden's appetite, especially when it came to cake. You remember how you hesitated, slowly walking to the table and sitting down, not sure you wanted to know. Finally, you gathered your courage and asked what had happened.

"Mom is gone," Xaden had responded glumly, shoving his untouched plate of cake to you and rising from the table.

"Gone?" you'd asked, briefly wondering if he meant gone as in dead. Adults sometimes talked that way, but you didn't think Xaden would. "Gone where?"

"Away."

Xaden had stomped off to his room — to cry, presumably — and you dug into the cake he'd spurned, vaguely angry with Talia for making your big brother so sad, but still thinking that surely she would come back after a few days at most.

Her absence hadn't sunken in for you right away the way it did for Xaden. You missed her, sure, and you were upset, yes, but that was mostly because Xaden was upset.

Your mother had always been there, so it made no sense to you that she shouldn't be anymore. That she should have abandoned you seemed as absurd as the idea of water not being wet, or fire being cold. Children and their parents belonged together, that had always been a simple fact to you. Therefore, it wasn't until a few weeks had gone by that you were able to believe that she wasn't coming back.

Then you started to wonder why, and it didn't take long to come to the conclusion that it must have been your fault somehow. It always was. When she was unhappy, or tired, or had a headache, when something broke or there were chocolate smudges on the window; it was always because you had thrown a tantrum or refused to go to bed, because you had been too loud, too clumsy and careless. In your parents' eyes, you could never do anything right. Talia especially had always seen right through all your attempts of being good, of being like Xaden, straight to your rotten core. For as long as you remember, you always felt that something was fundamentally wrong with you, and your mother knew it, too. She never said so, tried not to show it, but she must have felt it, or she wouldn't have left.

And it's true, there has to be something wrong with you. Otherwise, you wouldn't be slinking toward the wholesome little group like a wolf amongst sheep, mind racing with bloody scenarios. You should be happy to see her, not want to throttle her.

You're close now, a step or two more and you'd be close enough to reach out and touch your mother's back, should you want to. You still have no idea what you want to say or do when she notices you, if you'll even be able to get any words out or if the rage will take over like it did this morning.

You hesitate. It might be better to turn away now, before it's too late.

That's when one of the boys notices you, tapping his mother's — your mother's — arm and saying something in Hedotic, wide eyes on you.

You can only imagine what you must look like to these people, who have only ever known peace. The raised scar running along your collar bone that Dioghal gave you at Threshing is on full display with your flight jacket unbuttoned, the array of weapons strapped to your body glinting in the sunlight. You wonder if the boys have ever seen a blade before, kitchen knives aside. You don't think so. Not with the way Talia and the maid were fussing over them, like they're precious little treasures that need to be wrapped in silk and kept safe. So unlike you and Xaden, discarded to be forged into deadly weapons in the fire of war.

Talia turns, gasping in surprise to see it's you standing there, you, who she'd certainly noticed separating from the group that morning.

A tentative smile touches her lips. She takes a step toward you, hand raised as if to cup your cheek, but falters at your hard expression. Still smiling, but less so. She's nervous, probably struggling to see the pathetic child you were in the soldier before her.

"How nice that you could join us after all. Xaden's girlfriend said you wouldn't, that you had to monitor the area. I'm so glad—"

"I didn't," you cut her rambling short. It's only half a lie. Xaden sent you patrolling mainly to distract you, so it wasn't like you'd had to do it. "I just didn't want to see you."

You thank Dunne that the words come out just as coldly as you intended them to, despite the tears wanting break free again.

Your mother flinches, and the smile falls.

Good. How dare she talk like that, after being gone for almost two thirds of your life? Is she really that ignorant of what pain she caused you, or does she simply believe she's entitled to your forgiveness? Whichever it is, she'll know better soon.

"You abandoned me," you say before she can recover from the shock of your words, which should not have shocked her at all — wouldn't have, if she'd ever cared enough to truly know you. You've always held onto your grudges, clung to them, really. "Abandoned us. Does that mean nothing to you?"

You assume the whelps don't understand the common language — it's only common to the Continent, after all. A shame, really. You want them to know their mommy isn't as perfect and loving as they probably think, to know she's already left a pair of her children behind without looking back once and there's nothing stopping her from doing the same to them.

"Of course it does," Talia exclaims, "but you have to understand—"

"I don't have to understand shit!"

Dragons don't listen to sheep, that's what Dioghal would say.

"I didn't want to leave you behind, but I couldn't take you with me," Talia continues to defend herself. "Xaden was the heir, and you..."

You're the spare, that's what she's too cowardly to say. She should have thought about that sooner. Of course she couldn't take either of you from Tyrrendor, that would have defeated the point of your very existence. She knew her children would have to grow up in Aretia when she married your father. Was she planning to abandon you even then, years before you were born?

"I couldn't bring you!" she repeats.

The tear that runs down her cheek only make you angrier. What right does she have to cry?! It's your and Xaden's lives she ruined, while she was here playing house with her oh so lovely new family. It makes you want to turn the whole place to rubble. To climb onto Dioghal and torch it all, force Talia to watch her neat little house burn the way you'd had to watch Aretia burn. To take away the happiness she'd found while you were suffering.

"You could have stayed!" You meet Talia's eyes for the first and last time and repeat yourself more quietly, "You could have stayed."

Then, faster than Talia could ever hope to comprehend, you grab the younger boy by the shoulder, ripping him away from her and setting a dagger at his throat in the span of a second.

"No! Gaius!" she shrieks, color draining from her face. "Don't hurt him!"

Her fear is both gratifying and infuriating. If someone had done the same to you, would she have cared as much? You almost laugh at the thought. No, if it had been you in that boy's stead, she wouldn't have given a damn.

Talia pushes the other boy behind herself, hand clasped so tightly around his arm he winces in pain. She doesn't notice, gaze fixed on her youngest. At least you think he's her youngest. For all you know she could have more children hidden inside the house.

The maid shuffles backwards with tiny steps, as if you won't notice what she's doing that way. She's still well within knife-throwing range when she turns and makes a run for the house, but you let her go. It's not her you care about, and any help she might return with will come too late. The blade is already nicking the boy's skin; one wrong move from anyone and he'll be dead.

"Please," your mother cries, "let him go! We'll do anything you want. My husband is part of the triumvirate, he can give you whatever information you want, just don't hurt our boy!"

She thinks you're doing this for information? Things must've not gone well for the others so far, then, a realization that only adds fuel to the burning rage inside you. Doesn't she care at all what happens to you and Xaden, not even enough to put in a good word with her husband?

You shake your head, lips curling in disgust. Does she have no spine or dignity at all?

"The only thing I want is for you to suffer. And since you seem so attached to these boys, killing them will be a good start. You think I'm just taking this one hostage?" You laugh, the resulting sound harsh and ugly in a way that sounds foreign to your ears, not like you at all. "No. I'll make you watch me slit both their throats just for fun."

"They're children!"

"So were we!" you scream, voice breaking as you finally lose control of the tears you've been wrestling with for hours. "We were just children too when you decided you didn't want us anymore and fucked off without a word! You think that doesn't do anything to a child, being abandoned like that?!"

"You had your father!"

"Until we didn't," you bite out. "But that's not even the point! The point is that you pretended to love us while you had to put up with us, and then as soon as you could, you ran away behind our backs like the coward you are. Would it have killed you to tell us you were leaving, to give us a chance to say goodbye?!"

As you speak, you give the boy in your hands a shake, your dagger scraping his skin ever so slightly. He cries out for your mother, who is staring at the blade against his neck with such intense concentration you doubt she heard a single word you said. You don't know why you even bothered.

She says something to the boy in Hedotic — hopefully to calm him. She would have to be an even bigger fool than you thought to believe he could escape you.

"Please don't hurt him," she sobs again. "Do what you want to me, but let Gaius go!"

As if. Killing your mother is still on the table, but for now, watching her fear for her son's life is much more satisfying than the brief pleasure of putting a knife into her would be.

If only you could stop crying. Talia is not worth your tears, and you hate letting her see you cry, hate giving her that power over you. Crying in front of people has always felt humiliating, like a display of your lacking self-control. And crying in front of your mother now, after all the time that's gone by since she left, really ruins the picture of the cold-blooded soldier you want her to see. You want the thought of what the innocent child she left behind has become to haunt her — a futile hope, probably. If she cared, you wouldn't be in this situation.

Shouts from the direction of the house alert you that others have become aware of what's happening, but your eyes never stray from your mother's panicked form. For better or worse, she has your undivided attention.

You should do it now. Drag it out much longer, and whoever is coming from the house might manage to stop you. Peaceful place or not, they would be fools not to have some sort of security personnel. You could probably take them on, but that would mean letting the boys go, and that is not happening. They're the ticket to Talia's personal hell.

From the corner of your eye, you see Xaden approach. He moves carefully, the way you would around a corned animal, and stops a dragon's length away.

He calls your name, so softly you almost miss it, and cautions, "Don't do something you'll regret, baby."

"What difference does it make? She's always looked at me like I'm some sort of monster, so I might as well prove her right."

It's stupid to be acting like this, you know. It's Xaden who will turn into an actual monster if you don't find a way to cure him. You're not going to get any closer to doing that by throwing pointless tantrums about things no one can change. But you've never been good at regulating your emotions. Even when you were little, your anger always consumed you. You thought you'd gotten better — you'd had to. All the power that comes with being a rider is dangerous in the hands of someone with the emotional stability of a toddler, so you'd worked hard on learning better self-control. Using sparring sessions to work through your feelings, you now usually manage to avoid the violent outbursts you were prone to as a child. But there is no coping mechanism strong enough to save you from the sheer hatred for your mother that has festered inside you for almost fourteen years, the embers of the despaired rage from when she'd left reignited into the burning flames they'd been when the pain of her departure was still fresh. The moment you saw her, the rage overwhelmed you the way it always had.

"It's not about her," Xaden reasons. Can't he see you're beyond reasoning? "It's about how you will feel once you've calmed down."

"Better, that's how I'll feel!"

But even in your frenzy, the tiny part of you still capable of rational thought knows that's not true. Never once have you actually felt better after one of your outbursts. You always think you'll feel better after you let it out, but every time you're left drained and ashamed instead, picking up the pieces.

One time — you must have been about eleven — you'd broken Xaden's snow globe, which had been a gift from your mother, in a rage. You'd felt horrible afterwards, and not just because he refused to speak to you for more than a week. After that, you'd promised yourself you wouldn't lose control of yourself like that ever again. Keeping that promise had been impossible, but the memory almost makes you halt. It's never too late to change, right?

But then your gaze falls back onto your mother — the same mother who'd thrown you away like an old toy she no longer wanted, never looking back, never caring what became of you in the rebellion or the impending war, now so keen on protecting these boys — and the hatred wins out.

"What makes them worthy of the love she denied us?" you demand of Xaden, not really wanting an answer. If she ever loved you at all, she has long stopped doing so. If there is a reason for it, it doesn't matter. "Why does she get to be happy with a new family while we had to suffer and fight for our lives every day for years?"

Without waiting for a response, you turn your dagger so that instead of the edge of the blade being lined up with the boy's throat, it's the tip that presses against his fragile skin.

For a moment you stare at your mother and wonder how it has come to this. Her desperate pleas mix with the boys' crying and the frantic voices of your squad, fading into the background until all you can hear is the racing of your own heart.

Then the dagger pierces skin. You sink it in to the hilt and yank sideways, slitting his throat wide open in a move you've practiced hundreds of times on the mats of Basgiath's gym. Never would you have thought that this would be how you'd come to use it for real.

Talia wails, lurching forward, and you shove the body into her outstretched arms. A fountain of blood sprays over your hands and your mother.

She cradles the boy to her chest, crying and blubbering words you're too far gone too understand. Maybe it's Hedotic. She's focused entirely on the life you already took, and that's her mistake. She doesn't notice you sidestepping her to get to the other boy, who stands frozen in terror, until it's too late.

He screams in fear as you advance on him, lifting his arms in an attempt to fight you off, but of course he doesn't stand a chance. If he'd ran while you were killing his brother he might have made it into the house. As it is, they're about to be reunited.

Talia screams again, even louder than before. "Simeon!"

She gets to her feet just as you stab the boy straight into the heart. Through the haze of your own tears, you watch as she catches his falling body and sinks to the ground with him, wailing all the while.

There's a blur of movement, and then someone's arms are around you, pulling you back against a strong chest. He holds you tightly, like he expects you to resist, squeezing your arms against your ribcage in a way that would be painful if you weren't so detached from your own body. Someone else takes your bloodstained hand into their own, prying your fingers apart to take away your blade.

You let it all happen, numb to the world.

People are shouting, hectically buzzing around. None of it registers. Your vision blurs, not with tears this time, but simply going unfocused. You barely feel the hands turning you to face away from it all. Now that your anger has run it's course and is wearing off, there's nothing left in you but the deep underlying despair you've long gotten used to.

You vaguely realize it was Xaden holding you as he lets go, stepping to your side and wordlessly leading you toward the ocean, where the dragons are waiting. You hadn't even noticed them returning.

As you walk, your head starts to clear, and you slowly become aware of yourself and your surroundings again. The way the sand shifts under your boots with every step. Warm blood dripping from your fingers, the heavy smell of it mixing with that of the sea. Your brother's hand, strong and steady against your back.

You're glad he doesn't take it away, even when you reach the dragons. If he did, you might just crumble under the weight of what you have done.

You keep your eyes trained on the sand beneath your feet, not wanting to see the horrified looks on everyone's faces. There can be no doubt they are horrified, after what they just witnessed. Even you are disturbed by your own actions. The uncontrollable anger might have been an almost constant companion for most of your life, but never before had it driven you to kill someone.

In the heat of the moment, you'd only seen the boys as tools to hurt your mother, but now it sinks in that they'd been people of their own. Children. Innocent. It hadn't been their fault that Talia replaced you with them. Now they're gone, and you can't take it back. You're not sure you want to, and that scares you most of all.

You look back only once. When you do, Talia still kneels in the blood-soaked sand where you left her, sobbing over the bodies of her youngest sons. Part of you thinks you should have finished the job and killed her too, but another, crueler part buried deep inside you whispers it's just right this way. This way, she'll suffer far more, for far longer. Then, viciously, you wonder if that's true. It was so easy for her to replace you and Xaden with these boys, who's to say she won't replace them just as easily? She probably is not yet too old to get pregnant again. Well, let her. No matter what she does, she'll have to live with the memory of their deaths, of her own helplessness in the face of your righteous fury. You hope it haunts her till the end of her days.

When Xaden stops walking, you do, too. Some of the others are rushing back into the house to get their things, but Xaden doesn't leave your side. Taking your rucksack from you, he digs through it until he finds a towel, and leads you to the edge of the water to clean the worst of the blood off you. Neither of you speaks a word while he does so.

You just stand there, staring into space while the past hours replay in your mind over and over again. The bloodshed could have been avoided, you think numbly, if only you had stayed in the air a few minutes longer. If you hadn't landed just when Sgaeyl roared, the boys would have been safely inside the house, and you would've never even known about them.

Finally you drag your gaze up from the ground to look at your brother. You're not sure what you expect to see on his face — disappointment, anger, horror... some sort of negative reaction to the atrocity you just committed, certainly. But you find neither. Instead, he's gazing at you with affection and worry you do not deserve. The look he gives you is almost like he understands, like he might have done the same. But that's absurd. Xaden would never throw a fit like that, would never let his anger out on innocents. He's the sane one of you two, the responsible one. He never would have risked the mission— Oh gods, the mission!

"I'm sorry," you whimper. "I ruined everything."

He shrugs, like it's not a big deal. As though you broke a tea cup or maybe a window, not ruined international relations forever by murdering innocent children. "They weren't going to be much help anyway."

"What if they know something that could help us and now we'll never know? It'll be my fault if— if—"

...if Xaden fully succumbs to the dark, is what you mean, but can't say so when you're not sure who might hear. As the isle of wisdom, Hedotis is the most likely to know a cure, isn't it? But thanks to you, there's no way any of you will be welcome here again, no way of being given access to their collected knowledge.

Your brother shakes his head, brushing a tear off your cheek. "They don't have magic here, so it's unlikely they know anything that would help us. Even if they did, they didn't give the impression of wanting to share their knowledge, regardless of your behavior. And they don't have an army they could aid us with, either."

He's just saying that to make you feel better.

They don't need to have magic to have information about magic. And information is something the people of Hedotis surely hoard. Aaric, Violet and Xaden are good at this whole diplomacy thing. They would have managed to make some kind of bargain and learn something useful if you hadn't fucked everything up.

They should have left you at home, never let you near anything or anyone important. Your mother was right, you're nothing but trouble. It would've been better for everyone around you if you'd never been born.

"I didn't want to hurt anyone," you whisper. At least you don't think you did. You certainly hadn't wanted to want to hurt anyone, which basically comes down to the same thing... doesn't it? "I just— I was so mad at her, and— They were right there and all defenselessness and—"

"I know," Xaden soothes, running a hand over your hair. "I know, baby. You don't have to explain yourself. I'm not judging you."

"You should, though! I— I'm—"

By now you're crying too hard to continue speaking.

"Shh, it's alright. You're not a monster," he says, somehow guessing what it is you'd meant to say. "You're just upset."

You certainly are, but that doesn't excuse what you've done.

Despite what he might think, Xaden's lack of concern about the matter is far from reassuring. Not that you want him to be mad at you, but his complete disregard for the lives you took makes you wonder if maybe he's already lost more of his humanity than you knew. But no. Surely he's just pretending not to care to your benefit. How could he be a soulless venin when he's looking at you so gently, soothing you just like he had so often when you were children and your parents didn't have the patience to deal with you? Venin or not, he's still a better person than you have ever been.

"Mom was right," you say, and immediately cry harder. Now you've done it, now you've called her that after all. "She always knew something was wrong with me."

"Nonsense," Xaden starts, but you don't let him speak. Now that you've started talking, the words just keep pouring out.

"I shouldn't be like this. I shouldn't be so mad at her, because it was my own fault she left. She never would have left if it wasn't for me. You were perfect even as a child. All I ever did was throw tantrums and cry." You manage a self-depreciating laugh between sobs. "Still do, apparently. I can't even blame her for wanting to get away from me, I'm just sorry you had to suffer for it, too."

Xaden takes your face between both hands, forcing you to look at him, though it's hard to make out his expression through the tears blurring your vision.

Shaking you for emphasis, he says, "It was not your fault. We've been through that a thousand times after she left, baby. There is nothing wrong with you for being emotional."

Calling you emotional is a severe understatement. For as long as you can remember, you've always been too much. Too clingy, too loud, too easily overwhelmed, too quick to cry and rage. Needy and out of control, a disgrace to your family line. Xaden can say it's not true all he wants; you know it is. And now you're a murderer too, on top of all that.

"And for k-killing those kids? Is there nothing wrong with me for that, either?" you ask angrily.

Xaden sighs. "You made a mistake. It happens. If you didn't feel bad about it I'd worry something's wrong with you, but you clearly do. It's okay. We're all capable of bad things."

You don't know what to say to that, so you don't respond.

For a few minutes, Xaden simply lets you cry. He doesn't try to calm you, doesn't scold you for breaking down. He just holds you, providing an anchor in reality and making the occasional soothing sound.

Then, someone says something. You can't make out the words over the sound of your own sobs, but the voice sounds like Violet's, and there's a note of urgency to it that gets your attention. You feel Xaden nod, and then he takes your hands, gently removing them from the death grip you're clutching the back of his shirt with, and holds you at arms length so he can look you in the face.

"I'm sorry, baby, but I need you to calm down, now. At least enough to get on Diogahl and fly. I know you're upset, and you can cry all you want later, but we really need to go. Okay? Think you can do that for me?"

You nod, even though you're not at all sure you'll be able to mount your dragon, let alone keep your seat once you're in the air. You can barely breathe.

Maybe that's okay. Maybe it would be better for everyone if you lose your seat and plummet into the sea. At least then you wouldn't hurt anyone anymore, wouldn't destroy everything you touch, wouldn't constantly disappoint those you love. Maybe they'd be better off without you. Your mother definitely was — or would have been, if you hadn't come back into her life.

"Hey," your brother's gentle voice pierces through the mess of your thoughts. "Breathe, baby. It's okay. If you can't fly—"

"I can," you croak, wiping your face with your sleeve. More tears are still falling, but you manage to trap the sobs inside, at least.

A glance toward your mother's house shows what brought on the hurry to leave: guards are coming. You knew they had to have some, but there's no triumph in being right. Forcing a deep breath, you swing your rucksack onto your back and tighten the straps with shaking hands. Meltdown or no meltdown, you can fly. You have to. You refuse to be responsible for even more bloodshed.

"That's the spirit," Xaden praises, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. "Try not to think too much about what happened. Just remember there's more to you than that anger, and that I love you, even if Mom doesn't. You're not evil."

"Okay. I'll try." The guards are getting close; you really have to hurry now if you want to avoid them. "Love you too."

Xaden waits until you've made it up Dioghal's leg; only then does he run to Sgaeyl, taking his seat as the others climb into the air. You get away just in time, and with your brother's words in mind, you hold on tight and don't look back.

[pneumaticshift]

pls can we have batlantern confession butmake it cringe ^..^

Oh buddy, I can do cringe. I thrive off cringe. I am the cringe.

———

The annoying thing about Spooky was that he existed. 

That was the core issue, really. Bruce Wayne existed. If he didn’t, Hal’s life would’ve been a helluva lot simpler. 

Because if Bruce didn’t exist, Hal wouldn’t have to deal with the constant feeling of being outplayed. He wouldn’t have to put up with the fact that no matter what he did, no matter how far he flew, how hard he hit or how clever he was, there would always be this blob of blackness lurking in the background to aggressively judge his every mood. 

If Bruce didn’t exist, Hal wouldn’t have to deal with that look. The one where Spooky narrowed his eyes, pressed his lips into that grim, disappointed line, and somehow managed to communicate all the power of justice, vengeance, and at least forty years of unresolved emotional baggage in a single glance. He wouldn’t have to deal with the fact that Bruce could vanish mid-conversation just to be dramatic. He wouldn’t have to deal with the way Bruce always seemed to know things, things Hal hadn’t even figured out about himself yet.

If Bruce Wayne didn’t exist, Hal wouldn’t be freaking out because he fell in love entirely without his consent. 

And now he was existing in proximity. Standing in the Watchtower common room, pouring himself a cup of coffee like it was normal, like he was normal. Like he was just some guy. Entirely unforgiving of the fact that Hal realised he had fallen in love with him three days prior and was now suffering the beginnings of a really fun existential crisis because of it. 

Because Hal was Hal and because he couldn’t be normal about anything, as soon as Bruce glided into the room, all tucked up in his big dumb cape, he froze. Odocoileus virginianus. Wide eyes, locked joints, brain empty, headlights on. His entire life flashing before his eyes. Not even the good parts. The stupid parts where he tripped on air, or the time he gave a presentation in college with his fly undone and he had been wearing his girlfriend’s underwear.

He was being dramatic, maybe, but he thought he earned the right to be dramatic when the object of his very reluctant affections was the type to unironically wear a cape and flounce about punching things in the moonlight. 

It was, however, a wildly ineffective reaction when faced with a man who was widely considered to be the World’s Greatest Detective. Which, in Hal’s opinion, was a dumb title. 

“You’re quiet,” Bruce said, because he noticed things like that. Of course he would. Bruce noticed everything. He probably had folders on everyone in the League and kept track of how many words each of them said in a day. Probably had charts and graphs, too. Loser. 

“I’m quiet?” Hal repeated. Then, because he was the type to acknowledge an opportunity to make things worse for himself and leap towards it, he added, “I’m never quiet. You’re the quiet one, ever think about that? Can’t a guy take a second just to, like, sit here and exist? Is that really such a big deal?”

Spooky leaned against the counter and took a sip of his coffee. He was still wearing the cowl, but his expression probably wouldn’t have changed even without it. There was a really specific feeling that came with being stared at judgmentally by Batman. Usually irritation. Now, Hal realised, it was accompanied by a very unwelcome flip in his stomach. 

“I suppose not,” Bruce said. 

This was exactly why Hal had plans to avoid Bruce for the rest of his life. Or at least until he got a handle of this new light he was seeing him in. Without saying much of anything, Spooky was already on his way to backing Hal into a corner. It wasn’t even intentional. It was just the way he was. Just the way he goddamn existed. 

So, after a moment of staring awkwardly at Bruce and hoping one of them would just disintegrate or something, Hal made the totally rational decision to bolt.

“Okay, great talk!” he announced, clapping his hands together and immediately heading for the door. Like a coward. He’d never live it down. 

Bruce, to his credit, didn’t stop him. He just stood there, stock still. Creepy, really. Hal didn’t know why that did it for him, but it sure fucking did. But while Spooky didn’t move, he did decide to speak instead. “Jordan,” he called. “Are you trying to avoid me?”

Yes. Yes, Batman, Hal was definitely trying to do that. He was already committing to his hasty escape, but he automatically turned back. As much as he was being a little baby bitch and running away with his tail between his legs, he didn’t appreciate being called out on it. 

His brain malfunctioned, he was pretty sure he temporarily lost his mind, and his mouth decided to betray him in real time. 

“What? No. That would be insane. Why would I avoid you? I love you. Shit.”

The silence that followed wasn’t deafening, but it was mortifying. 

Hal turned to stone. Just fully froze in place. Bruce didn’t react. Didn’t so much as blink. He just kept on looking at Hal with that same, neutral, horribly patient expression. Almost like he didn’t even need to react. Almost like he was just waiting to see what Hal would do next. 

Which was unfortunate, because Hal really had no idea what to do next.

There was a full second where he debated trying to play it off. Slap him on the shoulder, haha, love you, pal, buddy, chum, friend, and then saunter off like he meant to do that. But his body had seized up in horror and his instincts were helpfully ordering him to abort. 

So, naturally, he did the only thing he could do.

He turned on his heel and walked straight into the doorframe.

Which wasn’t cool. Like, at all. 

The impact was pretty catastrophic. Both for his poor nose and his dignity. A sickening thud, the crunch of something not meant to be crunched, and then — oh. Oh no. That was a lot of blood. 

Hal staggered back, hand flying to his nose, and when he pulled away, yeah. Absolutely wrecked. A flood was gushing down his face, dripping from his chin and mixing with the green of his Lantern suit until he was Christmas colours. He tried to catch it in his palm, and it stained the white of his glove red. 

Spooky was still incapable of reacting like a normal person. He just watched in mild interest. No exclamation of shock, no gasp or startled movement. Just a slow blink, as if he were mentally processing the exact physics of how Hal had managed to do this to himself.

"Ow," Hal said belatedly, because his nerve endings had finally caught up to the disaster. "Shit, ow."

With a contemplative grunt, Bruce set his coffee down. That was when Hal knew he was doomed. Not because Spooky looked all that  concerned, but because he was moving toward Hal with the quiet efficiency of a man about to take charge of the situation.

"Sit down," Bruce instructed, and Hal, in the midst of blood loss and panic, did exactly that.

The bat-utility belt had a lot of useful shit in it, and Bruce pulled out a wad of gauze to press against Hal’s tender face. "I think I broke my nose," Hal said, only because he felt the need to contribute something to the moment. It came out like ‘I thig I broge by dose’. Which was humiliating, naturally. 

Bruce hummed, tilting Hal’s chin slightly to assess the damage. “It’s not broken.”

“Good. Great. Awesome,” Hal muttered into the gauze. “Did it look cool? It felt cool.”

Of course, Bruce didn’t reply for a moment. He was too busy applying pressure and ignoring how social interactions were supposed to go. Then, with absolutely no warning, he said, “You love me?”

Hal choked. Almost literally, because he inhaled wrong and the blood situation immediately got so much worse. Bruce just waited, patient as ever, as Hal just stared and bled in his direction. “You’re asking me that now?”

“You’re the one who said it.”

“I was panicking,” he snapped back, a little frantic. “It was trauma-induced. You can’t hold people accountable for things they say when they’re hemorrhaging.”

Bruce mercifully didn’t mention that Hal definitely wasn’t bleeding when he blurted out his fucking undying love for all things Spooky. He just held the towel firmly in place, gaze steady, unreadable, waiting for Hal to pull his head out of his ass.

And Hal, still actively leaking from the face, realised he was probably going to have to answer. 

He did search for an escape route for all of three seconds, but there was none. Bruce had him locked in place with the sheer force of presence. One hand firm against Hal’s saw (strong, sexy), keeping the gauze in place like he knew Hal would try to run if given even a moment of leeway. 

Which, you know, fair. Hal absolutely would have thrown himself out of the nearest airlock if he thought it would get him out of this conversation.

Instead, he was stuck. Bleeding, horrified, and, worst of all, subject to Bruce staring at him with the kind of scrutiny that peeled a person apart and rummaged around their insides for something raw and real to fall out. It was a small mercy that he couldn’t see those blue eyes. That would’ve finished him off. 

Hal swallowed. His nose throbbed. His entire life throbbed.

“Okay, listen,” he started, fully prepared to embark on a desperate campaign of damage control, but he faltered. 

“You love me.”

Not a question this time. A statement.

Hal made a noise that came out really ugly because of the whole nose situation. “You gotta stop saying it, man.”

Spooky continued to just look at him. 

God, there was no getting out of this. There wasn’t even an inch of plausible deniability there to hide behind. Just him, his big dumb mouth, and Bruce Wayne looking at him like he was something to be figured out. 

Fine, whatever. Hal had bounced back from worse things. This was mid-tier at best. Just mild, horrific, soul-crushing vulnerability. No big deal. 

“I mean, yeah, obviously, I love you,” he grumbled, his words a little garbled because of all the blood and gauze. “You’re an asshole. I trust you. I wanna punch you. I respect you. And yeah, sometimes I wanna make out with you really bad, but that’s not weird because most people want to do that with you because you have, like, a really nice face, which is frankly unfair—”

“Hal.”

He shut his mouth immediately. He recognised that tone. Patient, firm, Batman tone. It had shut him up in a crisis before, and apparently, it worked on this kind of crisis too.

Bruce let the silence stretch for a moment. Probably because he was kind of a dick. Then, without preamble, he said, “I already knew.”

Hal could’ve strangled him. “Oh, you’re an asshole.”

“You’re not subtle.”

“I’ll give you subtle, you goddamn—”

“You really thought I wouldn’t notice?”

“Honestly, I was banking on you respecting my privacy for once, but maybe I set the bar too high. I can’t believe you. You’re such a dick. Can’t let a guy pine in peace.”

Spooky shrugged. “I thought you’d eventually say something.”

“Buddy, you overestimated me so hard—”

“I was right.”

Hal groaned so hard his soul tried to escape his body. He also conveniently ignored how Batman was implying he had known for a long time, while Hal had only figured it out three days ago. That sucked. “Stop being so— so smug about it! God, you’re such a douche.”

Bruce, because he was the worst and Hal was apparently into that, had the audacity to smirk. Just slightly. Just enough for Hal to know it was there. And that right there was really playing dirty, because Hal was already compromised. His brain was melting, he was actively dying (having a nosebleed) and now Spooky was looking at him like that? 

Unacceptable. Absolutely unfair. 

But then Bruce did something worse. So much worse.

He reached up and tugged the cowl off. 

It wasn’t just that Spooky was obscenely attractive under all the doom and gloom. It was the way he did it. Like he was peeling off a formality, stripping down from Batman to just Bruce. All casual, all intimate, and for some godforsaken reason, he’d decided to do it right in front of Hal. 

And Hal, brilliant, composed, intergalactically renowned Green Lantern that he was, reacted by making a tiny distressed noise in the back of his throat. 

"Okay!" he yelped, scrambling to stand. "Time to leave.”

Spooky exhaled something that might have been a laugh in the right light, and caught Hal’s elbow to steady him. “Sit down before you hurt yourself again.”

Hal grumbled under his breath but did as he was told. Mostly because his options were limited and he was pretty sure his blood supply was dangerously low at this point. Bruce unravelled a fresh roll of gauze to help soak up the blood that kept on coming. 

And then, because if Hal hadn’t suffered enough, Bruce said in the most infuriatingly casual tone possible, “Let me know when you’re ready to talk about that ‘make out’ part.”

Hal promptly decided that bleeding out might actually be the preferable option.

[ascesabo]

sometimes i want to reach through the screen and shake sabo by the shoulders because. god. there's just so much going on with him.

he's first introduced through the veil of luffy's memories- here he's just another feral jungle kid, sticking it out with ace and luffy, the 'nicer' brother in young luffy's eyes. and then boom. you find out he's a runaway noble trying to escape his abusive, neglectful family- and this changes nothing, they still get to become sworn brothers, but just as quickly as this is resolved, his asshole of a dad takes the three of them hostage. and what does sabo do? he gives up the little sliver of freedom he'd fought for, is willing to become miserable and lonely again if it means ace and luffy are spared. and then he comes home to find that in his absence, his parents have already found a replacement! great!

and he doesn't even get to address how fucked up that is, because stelly runs his mouth and now sabo's too busy trying to figure out how to stop his brothers and their home from getting burnt to the ground. he never gets to give them a proper goodbye- he exhausts himself trying to reach them, but he can't because. you know. he's ten. so where does this leave sabo? ten years old, with nowhere to go- he sets out to sea to try and start over, and for the crime of wanting to escape a terrible life, he's punished with an explosion to the face. he loses his memories, his brothers lose him- and so the cycle continues.

then the army saves him, takes him in; he's essentially a child soldier, with how prodigious of a fighter he is from the get-go. but hey, he thinks he's finally found his footing, even if his past's a blur to him- then it all comes flooding back. in the worst way possible. he sees his brother's corpse and he remembers, but it doesn't matter, does it? he's too late, ace is gone, and sabo's lost ten years of a life he could have shared with his brothers. we don't even know how (if, even) he recovers from this- except for a single passing statement from koala, asking him if he's 'had that dream again' because he'd been crying in his sleep. this is never brought up or addressed again. great!plus, we never do find out if getting blown up at the ripe old age of ten could have left any lasting fire-related trauma; and if it does, what does that mean for sabo, who's pretty much made of it, now?

both of these questions are answered at once- sabo treats the fire as if it's ace. it's ace's legacy he's carrying on, and it's ace he seeks freedom for. he copes by making sure ace lives on in his flames, and how can he ever hate the fire living in him if that fire is all he has left of the brother he never got to see again?

i just have to wonder about him, because he's got so many Issues that just. don't ever get addressed? every time we see him deal with his grief (episode of sabo, his own retelling of events in dressrosa) we never really discover anything about him. i wonder how it felt to finally remember the childhood that eluded him, just to find out he was an unwanted, replacable child. how he feels, living with the knowledge that he could have done something to save ace, that he'd failed to remember the two people he loved the most? i wonder just how terribly that guilt must weigh down on him- because where luffy's already begun to heal, sabo still sees ace in everything he does. his title of flame emperor is a direct callback to ace's final attack in his fight against blackbeard. he talks to his goddamn fire like his brother is still in front of him, which is sweet and heartbreaking and, considering his backlog of unaddressed trauma... incredibly unhealthy. i know these will probably be left unresolved for the sake of moving the story forward- but god, sabo, are you okay?

[magic-shop-stories]

Can I request a Yoongi x Reader where they're exes who had a really messy breakup, but now they have to co-parent their stubborn, genius teenage daughter? Maybe she gets into trouble at school, and they have to put their differences aside to deal with it?

💌 Reply:

Ahh, thank you for your Request it was so cool and I hope the story is what you wanted. I feel like the Reader is coming a bit short but I guess it's gonna be fine...?! At least I hope so.

Have fun reading and feel free to reach out if there's something else I can do for you. 💜💜

PS.: I get the feeling this blog has turned into a Yoongi-as-a-Father Sanctuary but no complains, I kinda like it.

I was thinking- why not make parent headcanons for all BTS members?

REQUEST NAME:

FAME ≠ LOVE

↳ Yoongi x ExReader | Family | Angst, Drama, (Slow Burn)

Rating: G

Word Count: ~ 4k

Genre: Drama, BTS AU, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Slow-Burn Family Reconciliation, Slice of Life

Warnings: Heavy themes of parental neglect, emotional estrangement, and unresolved trauma, Strong language (profanity), Mentions of emotional distress (implied anxiety, abandonment issues), Mentions of media intrusion & exploitation, Family conflict and arguments, Mild violence (Yoongi shoving a reporter), Discussions of corporate politics & fame pressures, Slow burn co-parenting reconciliation (not romance-focused)

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Ex-Wife!Reader

Featuring: Min Jihyun (OC, daughter of Yoongi & Reader), Min Yoongi (Suga) as a flawed but fiercely protective father. Reader as a high-ranking HYBE executive struggling to balance career and motherhood. Themes of healing, forgiveness, and the messy reality of co-parenting. HYBE Staff, Media, various reporters, and minor original characters,

“Fire doesn’t care who it burns, the hand that strikes the match, or the ones who built the kindling. But ash is where new things grow.”

Your Phone, 10:03 AM:

Unknown Number: “Ms.Y L/N, this is Principal Kwon. Your daughter has vandalized school property. We need you here immediately.”

Your Response: “I’ll be there in twenty.”

Next Call:

Yoongi. Three rings. Voice clipped. “What?”

“Jihyun’s in trouble. Meet me at Seoul Arts Academy.”

“I’m in the studio...”

“Be a parent for once.” Click.

The fluorescent lights of the principal’s office hummed like a trapped wasp. You sat ramrod straight, Yoongi slouched beside you, his black mask pulled low. Jihyun, your daughter, leaned against the wall, arms crossed, her hoodie sleeves streaked with neon spray paint. The air reeked of disinfectant and regret.

Principal Kwon slid a tablet across the desk. Onscreen, the school’s gym wall blazed with Jihyun’s mural; HYBE’s logo melting into a skeletal hand clutching won bills, tagged with “FAME ≠ LOVE” in jagged cursive.

“Care to explain?” the principal asked.

Jihyun smirked. “They said my midterm essay on capitalist exploitation in K-pop was ‘inflammatory.’ So I gave them something to really cry about.”

Yoongi’s boot tapped faster. “How much?”

“Fourteen million won,” Principal Kwon said.

“Done,” Yoongi said, reaching for his phone.

You slammed your palm on the invoice. “She doesn’t get to buy her way out.”

“Like you’ve got time to parent her through community service,” he scoffed. "Weren’t you in Berlin last week?”

“At least I’m not teaching her money solves everything!”

“And what are you teaching her? How to ghost her family for a merger?”

The principal cleared his throat. “There’s… also this.” He slid over Seoul Fame Daily, the headline screaming:

“SUGA & HYBE VP’S TEEN TERROR: Inside the Dysfunctional Family Behind the Fame”

“…Min Yoongi (33) and HYBE VP [Your Name] (34), long praised for shielding their daughter from the spotlight, now face scrutiny as 14-year-old Jihyun’s vandalism scandal goes viral. Insiders claim the girl’s ‘rebellion’ stems from years of neglect: ‘They’re never around. That kid’s been raising herself…’”

Yoongi stood, chair screeching. “We’re done.”

“Sit. Down,” you hissed. “This isn’t a studio session.”

“Funny,” he said, voice glacial. “You’re the one who walked out first.”

Flashback: Two Years Earlier

Your heels clicked furiously down the hallway of HYBE’s headquarters, Jihyun trailing behind, her small hand gripping her backpack straps. She’d begged you to attend her middle school art show, but a last-minute investor call had run late. Again.

“Mom, it’s starting in ten minutes...”

“I know, Jihyun. Just wait here.”

You disappeared into the boardroom. When you emerged an hour later, she was gone. Security found her in the lobby, sketching angrily on the walls with permanent marker. The caption: “BUSY PARENTS NEEDED. APPLY WITH TIME.”

Yoongi arrived hours later, smelling of airport and exhaustion. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“Would you have answered?”

Yoongi’s eyes locked onto yours, the memory hanging between you. "You walked out,” he repeated, quieter now. “But I let you. Let her.”

Jihyun barked a laugh. “Wow. Teamwork.”

The principal’s intercom buzzed. “Sir, the press is here.”

Outside, cameras flashed like lightning through the blinds. Jihyun yanked her hoodie over her head. “Happy now? Now everyone’s watching it!"

“Chaos is just truth with the volume turned up. And right now, the world is screaming.”

The school’s front gates were a warzone.

Cameras flashed like strobe lights, reporters shouting over each other: “Suga-ssi! Is it true your daughter’s expelled?” ,“Ms. Y L/N! Will HYBE issue a statement?”

Jihyun hunched between you and Yoongi, her hoodie pulled taut over her face. You gripped her shoulder, but she shook you off. “Don’t.”

A reporter lunged, yanking her hood down. “Jihyun! Why’d you do it? Daddy issues?”

Yoongi moved faster than you’d ever seen. He shoved the man back, snarling, “Touch her again and I’ll sue you into oblivion.” His voice carried the same venom as his Daechwita verses, raw and unbridled.

Your Phone buzzed:

[HYBE Assistant]: The board is panicking. They want a statement by 5 PM. Draft attached.

You glanced at the draft: “HYBE regrets the incident and is committed to addressing systemic pressures on celebrity families...”

Bullshit.

Jihyun stumbled, and Yoongi caught her arm. “Car’s this way,” he muttered, steering her through the swarm. You followed, heels sinking into wet grass, your mind racing with damage control.

Flashback: Six Months Earlier

Jihyun’s art show, her first after you became HYBE’S new VP. You’d promised to attend, but a last-minute call from the HYBE board trapped you in the office until midnight. When you finally arrived, the gallery was dark, her painting of a lone astronaut tagged with a sticky note: “SOLD TO THE HIGHEST BIDDER.”

Yoongi found you in the parking lot, Jihyun’s tears smudging his shirt. “She left this for you,” he said, handing you a sketch: a family portrait, your faces scratched out with charcoal.

Yoongi shoved Jihyun into his black SUV, slamming the door. You moved to follow, but he blocked you. “You’re taking the company car.”

“She needs both of us...”

“She needs one parent who isn’t a PR robot right now.”

Jihyun rolled down the window. “Mom’s right. Let her in."

Yoongi’s jaw tightened, but he stepped aside.

The drive was silent except for the paparazzi bikes tailing you. Jihyun stared at her phone, scrolling through headlines:

[@ArtRiot]:“HYBE’s gym mural is the protest art we need. Free Jihyun!”

[@KpopTea]:“She’s just like her dad, iconically petty.HYBE’s gonna sue her into next year 💀”

She snorted. “Now you both have to pay attention. Congrats.”

Yoongi met your eyes in the rearview mirror. For a heartbeat, it was 10 years ago, exhausted new parents, arguing over who’d take the night shift with a colicky baby.

“We’ll fix this." he said, to both of you.

Jihyun laughed, brittle. “Can’t fix what you broke.”

“The truth doesn’t heal. It tears. But in the wreckage, we rebuild.”

The therapist’s office smelled like lavender and lies.

Jihyun sat between you and Yoongi, her combat boots propped on the coffee table, scribbling “FAME ≠ LOVE” in the margins of a parenting pamphlet. The court had mandated these sessions after the school pressed charges, and now you were trapped in a room with a woman named Dr. Lee, who smiled like she’d never met a problem she couldn’t yoga-breathe away.

“Let’s start with why we’re here,” Dr. Lee said.

“Bad press,” Yoongi muttered, slouching deeper into the couch.

“Expulsion," you corrected.

“You,” Jihyun said, glaring at both of you.

Dr. Lee’s pen hovered. “Jihyun, do you feel unseen?”

She snorted. “My mom would have rather missed my birth because of a board meeting. And Dad sent a plush toy from tour for my first birthday. So yeah, unseen works.”

Yoongi flinched. “That’s not...”

“True?” Jihyun pulled out her phone, scrolling to a photo of her nursery, empty except for a stuffed bear wearing a SUGA headset. “Here’s Exhibit A.”

Flashback: Fifteen Years Earlier

Your heels echoed through the hospital hallway, contractions ripping through you as your assistant rushed to keep up. “The merger documents, they need your signature by noon...”

“Not now..."

You collapsed against a wall, gasping. Yoongi’s voicemail played for the fifth time: “In the studio. Leave a message.”

When Jihyun was born, he was in Tokyo, filming a MV.

Dr. Lee turned to Yoongi. “Why do you think Jihyun acts out?”

He stared at his hands, knuckles white. “I didn’t know how to be a dad. Still don’t.”

“Bullshit,” Jihyun said. “You knew how to write lullabies for strangers. Just not me.”

You stiffened. “That’s not fair.”

“Fair?” She laughed. “Mom’s married to her job. You’re married to ARMY. Where does that leave me? The bastard genius?”

The word hung like a grenade.

“Don’t call yourself that,” Yoongi said, voice low.

“Why? It’s what they call me.” She tossed Seoul Fame Daily onto the table. The headline:

“HYBE HEIRESS OR HOT MESS? Inside the Lonely Life of Suga’s ‘Genius’ Daughter”

“…Jihyun’s IQ (a staggering 148) and her ‘delinquent’ behavior have become a national debate. ‘She’s a product of neglect,’ says child psychologist Dr. Park. ‘Celebrity kids often act out to fill the void…’”

You reached for her, but she jerked away. “Don’t. You don’t get to parent me now.”

Dr. Lee leaned forward. “Y/N why did you leave Yoongi?”

The air thinned. Yoongi’s knee brushed yours, a ghost of the past.

“I left because I couldn’t compete,” you whispered. “With ARMY. With his music. With the world that needed him more than we did.”

Yoongi’s jaw tightened. “You didn’t even try.”

“You didn’t fight!”

Jihyun stood, knocking over her chair. “You’re both pathetic. You’d rather fight each other than fight for me.”

She stormed out, slamming the door. The framed degrees on Dr. Lee’s wall rattled.

Yoongi stood to follow, but you grabbed his wrist. “Let her go. She needs space.”

“Like you did?” He yanked free. “I’m done giving space.”

Ten Minutes later you were back on your work phone:

[HYBE Assistant]: The board wants you to issue a formal apology. Drafting options.

[YOU]: Tell them to draft a resignation letter instead.

“Art is the echo of everything we’re too afraid to say. And some artists are screaming.”

Yoongi’s penthouse smelled of fresh paint and regret.

You stood in the doorway of Jihyun’s old room, now a makeshift studio. Canvases leaned against the walls, each one a riot of color and rage: HYBE’s logo skewered by swords, ARMY bombs morphing into grenades, a faceless family holding hands made of dollar bills.

Yoongi crouched beside her, scowling at the neon splatter on his hardwood floors. “You got talent, kid. But stop doing it inside the house.”

Jihyun didn’t look up from her spray can. “Your studio’s soundproof. Can’t hear me anyway.”

He snatched the can. “Try the balcony.”

“Control freak,” she muttered, but a ghost of a smile tugged her lips.

Your Phone buzzed:

[HYBE Assistant]: Need you to approve the Q3 budget. Urgent.

You swiped the notification away, eyes catching on a sketchbook peeking from Jihyun’s half-open backpack. The first page stopped your breath:

“FAME ≠ LOVE – MURAL DRAFT #12”

Skeletal hands cradling a child made of newspaper clippings. Headlines like “HYBE’s Heiress” and “Suga’s Shadow” papered her skin.

Beneath it, a URL: www.artivist_ji.com

Flashback: Five Years Earlier

HYBE’s annual Family Day. Jihyun, age 10, clutched her crayon drawing of the three of you as superheroes. “Look, Mom! I drew you as Wonder Woman!"

You knelt, phone buzzing with a CFO’s call. “It’s beautiful, baby. Show Dad, okay?”

Yoongi was across the room, surrounded by staff. Jihyun approached, but a publicist intercepted her. “Not now, sweetie. Appa’s busy.”

You found the drawing later in the trash, scribbled over with red pen: “NOT ENOUGH.”

You typed the URL with trembling hands.

@Artivist_Ji – 50.2K followers

Bio: “Art is my middle finger to the universe. #FameIsOverrated”

The posts gutted you:

- A time-lapse of her gym mural

- Sketches of Yoongi at the piano, his back turned

- A self-portrait titled “Invisible Girl”, her face erased, replaced by tabloid headlines

The latest post stopped your heart:

“FAME ≠ LOVE – FINAL SKETCH”

Comments:

“Queen of dragging HYBE 👑”

“Is that Suga’s kid?! OMG THE TALENT.”

You closed the tab, guilt sour on your tongue.

Yoongi’s Studio, Midnight

You found him hunched over Jihyun’s mural draft, red pen in hand.

“Don’t,” you said. “It’s hers.”

“I’m fixing the composition,” he muttered. “The perspective’s off here...”

“You’re critiquing it?”

“She’s better than both of us,” he said quietly. “But she’ll never admit it.”

You picked up a sketch of yourself, sharp-suited, eyes glued to a phone, a speech bubble: “Legacy pending.”

“We failed her,” you whispered.

Yoongi’s pen stilled. “We still have time.

“When the world tries to define you, sometimes you have to redefine the world.”

The internet exploded at 9:17 PM.

Jihyun’s tweet went live with a single image: her mural, HYBE’s logo burning under the tagline “FAME ≠ LOVE.” The caption:

[@MinJihyun_Official]:

new bio: artist. anarchist. NOT your oppa’s kid.

Within minutes, the hashtag #FameIsOverrated trended worldwide.

[@SUGAstan95]:

“She’s just seeking attention. Suga would never raise a kid like this.”

[@ArtRiot]:

“This is the protest art we need. HYBE’s exploitation of artists is finally being called out. #FreeJihyun"

[@KPOP_NEWS_24]:

“Suga’s daughter goes rogue! HYBE stock drops another 3%. Full story ⬇️”

Your Phone buzzed:

[HYBE Assistant]: The board is demanding a press conference. They want you to disavow her actions.

You stared at the tweet, your thumb hovering over the like button.

Yoongi’s Studio, 10:03 PM

You found him scrolling through Jihyun’s replies, his face unreadable.

“You’re not going to say anything?” you asked.

“She doesn’t want me to,” he said, setting his phone down. “But I liked it.”

You blinked. “What?”

He showed you his Instagram, a single like on Jihyun’s post.

“Subtle,” you said dryly.

“She’ll see it," he said. “That’s enough.”

You opened your laptop, drafting a statement:

“HYBE supports artistic expression and acknowledges the systemic pressures faced by celebrity families. We are committed to fostering a healthier environment for all.”

Yoongi read over your shoulder. “Corporate bullshit.”

“It’s damage control.”

“She’s not a PR crisis,” he said, voice sharp. “She’s your daughter.”

You deleted the draft.

[YOU]: Jihyun, we need to talk.

[JIHYUN]: About what? Your next press release?

“Sometimes, the loudest cries for help are whispered under bridges, where no one thinks to look.”

The text came at 11:42 PM:

[HYBE Assistant]: The board released a statement without you. It’s… not great.

You opened the link, dread pooling in your stomach.

HYBE Official Statement:

“HYBE deeply regrets the actions of Min Jihyun and reaffirms its commitment to upholding the values of respect and responsibility. We are working closely with her family to address this matter."

The comments were brutal:

“HYBE throwing their own kid under the bus? Cold.”

“Suga’s daughter deserves better than this."

Your phone buzzed again:

[YOONGI]:She’s gone.

Han River, 12:15 AM

Yoongi found her under the Mapo Bridge, her hoodie pulled tight against the cold. The glow of her phone illuminated her face as she scrolled through the HYBE statement, her jaw clenched.

“You wanna be seen?” he said, crouching beside her. “Then stop hiding.”

She didn’t look up. “They don’t see me. They see you.”

“I see you,” he said, voice rough. “Always have.”

She scoffed, sketching furiously in her notebook. “Yeah? Then where were you when I needed you?"

Your Arrival, 12:30 AM

You stumbled down the embankment, heels sinking into the mud. “Jihyun..."

She turned, her eyes glinting with anger. “Here to give another statement?”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, tears spilling over. “I’m sorry I made you feel invisible.”

She stared at you, her defiance wavering. “You weren’t there. Either of you.”

Yoongi reached for her, but she flinched. “Don’t. You don’t get to fix this with a hug.”

You knelt beside her, the river’s reflection rippling like shattered glass. “We can’t change the past. But we can try to be better. For you.”

Her voice cracked. “I just wanted you."

Flashback: Eight Years Earlier

Jihyun’s first school play. You’d promised to attend, but a last-minute investor call kept you late. When you arrived, the auditorium was empty, her teacher holding a crumpled program: “She cried when you didn’t show.”

Yoongi pulled Jihyun into a hug, his voice muffled against her hair. “We’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

You joined them, the three of you tangled under the bridge’s shadow.

The HYBE press room was a battlefield.

Rows of reporters packed the hall, their bodies pressed together like a restless tide, cameras flashing like artillery fire in the relentless storm of media scrutiny. The air was thick with the hum of whispered speculation, punctuated by the sharp staccato of shouted questions. Heat from the overhead lights made the room stifling, the metallic scent of equipment mixing with the tension radiating from every person present.

You stood at the podium, heart pounding beneath your ribs, the weight of expectation pressing against your shoulders. Yoongi was beside you, his presence an anchor amidst the chaos, but you could see the tightness in his jaw, the way his fingers curled slightly against the podium's surface. He was furious, barely keeping himself in check.

In your hand, the CEO’s prepared statement felt like ice–cold, impersonal, a lifeless collection of words meant to protect the company, not your daughter.

“Ms. Y L/N! Will HYBE take legal action against your daughter?”

“Suga! Do you regret prioritizing your career over your family?”

The words came like daggers, cutting deep, aiming for the most vulnerable places. Your grip tightened. The flashes of cameras were blinding, turning the scene into a disorienting blur of faces and accusations. The words on the page blurred in your vision, meaningless against the anger simmering in your chest.

You exhaled, forcing steel into your spine. The paper crumpled in your fist.

“We’re here to address the recent incident involving Min Jihyun,” you began, voice steady despite the storm raging inside you. The noise in the room shifted, anticipation sharpening the air like a knife.

Flashback: Two Days Earlier

The CEO’s office was a cavern of glass and steel, the city sprawling beneath it like a world distant and indifferent to the turmoil inside. The air-conditioning hummed, a deceptive calm against the fire brewing in Yoongi’s stance.

The CEO’s voice was icy. “This is a PR disaster. Either you disavow her actions, or we’ll do it for you.”

Yoongi didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, slow, deliberate, kinda lethal. His voice, when it came, was quiet, edged with the kind of fury that could bring entire empires crumbling.

“Touch her, and I’ll burn this company to the ground.”

A beat of silence. The tension stretched, thick and suffocating, before the CEO’s eyes flickered with something that almost resembled fear.

Yoongi never bluffed.

The statement slipped from your fingers, falling to the floor like dead weight. Gasps rippled through the press like an electric current.

“Our daughter is not a scandal,” you said, voice slicing clean through the cacophony. “She’s a person. A brilliant, passionate, hurting person. And if anyone here thinks they have the right to reduce her to a headline, you’re wrong.”

Silence. Heavy. Unyielding.

Yoongi stepped forward, gripping the mic, his presence commanding, unwavering. The spotlight glinted off his eyes, dark and unwavering as he surveyed the sea of reporters.

“Next reporter who calls her ‘bastard’ gets a lawsuit and a free album.”

A ripple of uneasy laughter broke through, but the weight of his words lingered, pressing down like an unspoken threat.

He scanned the room, his voice calm but carrying the unmistakable force of a man who would go to war for his child. “She’s my daughter. And if you come for her, you come for me.”

Backstage

Jihyun stood in the shadows, arms crossed, lips twitching as she watched the scene unfold. The fire in her eyes dimmed just a fraction, something soft slipping into the cracks of her armor.

Yoongi’s words echoed in her mind, wrapping around something fragile inside her.

She huffed out a quiet breath, barely above a whisper.

“They’re not so bad.”

Epilogue: The Gallery & New Beginnings

Under the soft glow of gallery lights in a renovated Seoul warehouse, Jihyun’s mural dominated the room, a sprawling, defiant canvas titled “How to Survive Famous Parents.” Bold strokes of rebellion and tenderness intertwined: shattered family portraits, corporate logos dismantled by furious color, and symbols of both pain and hope. The atmosphere was hushed yet electric, as art lovers and curious onlookers clustered around the piece, whispering in awe.

In one quiet corner, Yoongi stood, his gaze fixed on the mural as if deciphering every secret message it held. He pulled out his phone and, after a long, reflective pause, murmured to a friend nearby,

“It’s going in my studio. To remind me not to fuck up again.”

A ripple of understanding passed through the crowd. Later, his phone buzzed, a text message from you. The invitation was simple yet significant:

“Coffee tomorrow? I’ll bring cake.”

Across the room, you lingered by a stark white wall, watching the celebration of your daughter’s truth unfold. In the flickering light, you felt the weight of past mistakes lift ever so slightly. You’d spent years tethered to board meetings and corporate crises, but tonight the gallery was a testament that art; raw and unfiltered; could be a pathway to healing.

After the show had ended and the last of the guests trickled away, you found Yoongi waiting in a quiet alcove near the exit. The tension that had once divided you softened into something resembling understanding. There, under the muted glow of emergency exit signs and the fading echoes of applause, you both paused, no longer bound by old resentments.

“You know,” you began quietly, “we can’t change everything overnight. But maybe we can start small, like family breakfasts or dinners. A time for all of us to just… be together.”

Yoongi exhaled slowly, his eyes revealing both regret and resolve. “I’ve been a stubborn fool,” he admitted. “For too long, we let work and pride get in the way of what matters most.”

You offered a tentative smile. “I promise I’ll work less. I can’t keep missing the moments that count. Let’s set a weekly breakfast, just the three of us. No boardroom, no cameras, no headlines.”

He nodded, and in that moment, the unspoken promise between you was palpable. The scars of the past were still there, but there was a chance; small, fragile, and beautiful; to rebuild something real for Jihyun.

A week later, in the quiet hum of your HYBE office, you took a decisive step. With a deep breath, you submitted your vacation request. It wasn’t a resignation from duty, it was a commitment to reclaim a piece of your life long neglected. You knew that for the first time in over a decade, you, Yoongi, and Jihyun would embark on a family vacation together. Not as lovers rekindling a lost romance, but as co-parents determined to create a haven away from the relentless glare of fame and corporate demands.

That evening, over a simple dinner at a small, warmly lit bistro, you all sat together, awkward at first, but gradually the shared laughter and gentle conversation wove a new tapestry of togetherness. Jihyun teased, “Don’t think I’m going to let you two make it too easy. I expect full participation in family fun.” Yoongi chuckled, and you reached across the table, meeting his gaze with sincere understanding.

In that humble moment, as the clink of cutlery and soft music filled the background, the promise of a vacation shimmered like a distant sunrise, a first step toward healing. Though your paths had diverged in the past, you were learning that survival wasn’t about perfection. It was about trying again, together, even if the wounds ran deep.

And as the night drew to a close, the gallery lights and city buzz fading into memory, you all looked ahead. There was art still to be made, truths still to be spoken, and a fragile family ready to rebuild, one shared breakfast, one small vacation at a time.

[letmedixonyou]

i'm not yours - part 9

summary: Daryl and you are friends. He dated Leah. You told him you loved him and things fell apart. Will it ever go back to normal?

Daryl keeps looking for the clues connecting anyone to your beating incident, and you try to fix his vinyl player while he's out of the house. When he comes back you have a sweet conversation and finally go back to being friends again.

words: 2.8k

warnings: swearing, mentions of killing (walkers and people)

A/N: Hello, muffins! Here I am with another part. I checked for mistakes 3 times, but it seems okay to me. Again, English is not my first language so the errors will probably occur to the English natives. I can also say already that there are going to be 15 parts to this, so we have 6 parts to go! <3

Read previous part here!

NEXT PART HERE: part 10

Daryl visited you and took care of you every single day for weeks. It almost felt like nothing had changed between you two; like everything was normal again. But was it really? Or was it just a façade that you two put up so you didn't have to deal with the unresolved issues? You tried not to think about it too much and just enjoyed the fact that Daryl was close again, even though he wasn't very chatty these days. Maybe he's still holding a grudge about your feelings for him, or maybe he just doesn't know how to return to being your friend again. He would bring you new books and some comics to read, so you wouldn't get bored, but boredom got you pretty fast after reading your third book in a week. You started missing movies right about then. You thought about your favourite TV shows and how your family would watch them all together after dinner. Now, all you can do is push through with your memories of it and an incredible imagination.

He would cook for you, usually something simple and quick that you could reheat if you wanted to, before vanishing for entire nights, trying to find out who had beaten you up. You had your suspicions, but you didn't tell him about it. Why? You were scared of what would happen. The information, or rather a clue, would make him go into a fight mode, for sure. You knew him well enough to admit that. So you kept your thoughts to yourself.

That didn't stop him from continuously asking you about the details or anything you remembered from the fight. No matter how many times you told him that it was dark and you didn't see or hear them, as they did not speak, just occasionally grunted while driving their feet into your body. He kept asking and trying to make sense of who would want to do this to you. Your tongue itched with an answer. For you, it was obvious.

You were glad that he was clueless like this. Maybe he just didn't want to believe it or found it hard to create that type of scenario in his head. Maybe it was too much for him to handle right about now. You didn't blame him, he had a lot on his plate as of late - his best friend fell in love with him, his girlfriend broke up with him because of the best friend, and he has chores and duties in Alexandria that he has to do, even if he is tired and doesn't want to, and now he turned into a detective, trying to solve a case - all of it probably making a huge mess in his brain.

You busy yourself with some reading once again, but it was starting to get excruciatingly boring. How many times can you read the same plot in multiple books? Putting it down on the sofa armrest, you suddenly remembered that you still had Daryl's vinyl player that needed to be fixed. That would be a good distraction, you thought and slowly pushed yourself up. The pain was less prominent now, so you could move a little bit better, although Daryl would scold you for even trying. It didn't matter how many times you said you felt fine and walking and moving around didn't hurt much anymore, he dragged you back to the sofa every single time. This time, he wasn't here, so you could freely roam around for a while.

You step into your bedroom and open your wardrobe. Reaching up onto the shelf, you pull the vinyl down, alongside many different tiny parts in a white cloth bag. You also pick up your screwdrivers, glue and anything else you'd need before attempting repair. Once you got everything you needed, you took it to the living room and put it on top of the coffee table. Leaning down, just enough to not feel pain in your ribs, you examined the vinyl player. You were a good tinkerer and you had a good understanding of electronic shit, although the player was old which required some knowledge about old electronics. You didn't have that, but you decided to try anyway.

After hours of fiddling and fidgeting, glueing and trying to pull tiny bits apart and put them back together again, you sigh deeply realising that making that playing vinyl records on this thing is going to need more than just a couple hours of repair. You most definitely will need some help from Eugene, as he is the only person with enough knowledge about this stuff.

After another hour of carefully glueing the tiny, broken bits to the exterior of the machine, you feel drowsy and you close your eyes for a minute, just to rest them. Before you realise it, you start quietly snoring, a screwdriver loosely in your hand. Your mind is blank for the first time since the incident. You feel like you can fully enjoy some sleep. Using your brain for more than reading books was a good idea, after all.

Daryl's head started to hurt about two hours ago when he checked the path you were beaten up on for the bazillion times. He was trying so hard to find out who attacked his best friend that the rage of not knowing was slowly sipping out through his veins. He could've sworn there was a red, hot, bright aura around him.

He went to the place where she was beaten up, thinking that he would get some good clues - maybe a blood trail or some footprints, or maybe a goddamn piece of fabric that was tugged off of the aggressor's clothes, but whoever did this was smarter than that and cleared everything within a couple of miles radius, making sure that there was no way to track them. He felt impressed at how meticulously they'd worked to cover the tracks, but most of all he felt helpless and angry.

It's been weeks since he started looking and Y/N wasn't much help. She kept saying it was too dark to see and she didn't catch a glimpse of any of the people. It didn't help that they hadn't spoken during the fight either, because maybe if they did, Daryl could've track them by the tone of their voice, questioning everyone in Alexandria one by one. But since there were no clues, he had a hard time finding anything. It bothered him to the point he kicked and punched an innocent tree a couple of times.

He finally decided that it was time to go back and check on his best friend. He wasn't going to find anything anyway, so he may as well use his time to help her recover and get on their feet again. Frankly, helping her recover helped him relax, even after the hardest of days. He didn't speak much around her, his mind still recalling the fact that she was indeed in love with him, but he tried to move past it as best as he could. Nothing was more important than her getting better right now.

Besides catching the people who did this to her, and potentially beheading them.

When he opens the doors, the sound of her snoring comes to his ears and he can't help but huff a half laugh at it. He remembers the countless times they went on supply runs and her snoring attracted walkers to their location. He never told her about it, he just took care of the walkers silently.

He takes his crossbow off his back and leans it against the wall before walking into the living room. He stops in his tracks for a second when he sees what lies on the coffee table in front of her.

The vinyl player.

The same one that ended up being chucked out of the window by Leah when they had a fight a few weeks ago.

His brow furrows as he steps closer to the table. He realises that she must've been present when he and Leah had a fight. Has she heard them? What exactly did she hear? How did she end up at his house that evening? How did she get the vinyl player and why would she take it?

He looks at her, asleep with a screwdriver in her hand. She looks peaceful. The bruises on her face faded a little, changing colour from purple and reds to blues and greens. The cut on her lip was healing nicely, a scab was drying out. Her hair looked messy, brought up in some sort of ponytail, where many different strands were sticking out from the sides of her head.

He looks at the vinyl player again and takes another step closer. He wasn't paying attention to where he was stepping, in his confused and surprised state, and his boot kicks the coffee table, making one of the tools roll off and fall to the floor with a clash.

It wakes her up with a jump, and she rubs your eyes a little, trying to make her vision less blurry.

"Daryl?" her voice sounds groggy and faint.

"How did you get my vinyl player?" Daryl asks with no hesitation, the urgency in his voice is enough to make her come to her senses.

She looks at the coffee table and her eyes widen a little, like she was surprised to see the vinyl player too. But no, it wasn't surprise, it was... embarrassment. Like she got caught doing something she shouldn't. She keeps looking at the vinyl player and he can see her cheeks flush and uncertainty flashing across her face. She was definitely feeling the need to escape from the situation, but she knew there was no escape. All she could do was face it.

"I...I found it on the ground," her voice is quiet. When she looks at him, he knows the answer to the questions yet to come, but felt like he must ask them.

"Found it on the ground?"

"Yes."

"Where exactly did you find it?"

"Outside your house," she says, avoiding his gaze. Her cheeks burn a deeper shade of red.

"When?"

"If you are asking me if I've heard you and Leah fighting, then yes. I have," she says; a sigh escapes her lips.

The silence was deafening for good couple of minutes. Daryl decided to take a seat next to her, staring at the vinyl player. She stayed quiet, looking at it as well. He was trying to figure out how to ask more questions; how to prod about what she's heard... what she knew. His hand reaches towards the platter, dragging his fingers on top of it, feeling the cracks.

"I haven't heard much," she finally breaks the silence and he looks at her. "I left pretty much straight away."

"But you've heard something," he says slowly.

"Yeah," she licks her dry lips. "Is it worth getting into it?"

He thinks about her question. Is it? Is it worth it? Does he really need to know what she heard? It wasn't that important, Leah and him are over now. But part of his brain believed it was crucial to know. He needed that information, needed to know how much she knows...

"Yeah," he says slowly. "I want to know."

"Well, I've heard her screaming about me..." she starts carefully, biting the inside of her cheek. "Something about me knowing more than her."

Daryl looks at her for a second, maybe trying to gauge her reaction to it, or maybe he was trying to focus on anything else than Leah's words echoing through his mind. He knew that she indeed knew more than Leah, more than anyone ever. He felt the most comfortable sharing with her. He remembers all the times he opened up and it felt great to be heard and listened to, probably the first time in his entire life. Somehow, he knew she was the right person to tell things. Trustworthy.

Back at the CDC, when he first opened his mouth to share, he was nervous. What if she judged? But all of this melted away when she sat there, listening, nodding, not asking questions, just soaking the information in. Maybe it was the alcohol in his veins, but it made him want to open up even more, get the stuff off his chest. Once he finished, it felt... cathartic. Like he was lighter.

He looks up to her eyes.

"I also heard her saying that... you're not worth it," she added and looked away. He could sense her anger in the words spoken, spitting them out like they were acid on her tongue.

"Mm," he murmured quietly, looking away from her and at his boots. He doesn't get embarrassed very easily, and yet his cheeks seemed to burn a little.

Again, the silence resounded in the house, you could almost hear the buzzing of electricity from one of the lamps. Daryl couldn't look up. Leah's words seemed to be burned into his mind, slowly making him believe he is not worth anything. He started to believe he doesn't deserve good things in life.

"It's not true. Leah was wrong," she says, putting her hand on his knee and squeezing it tightly.

"And you say that as a person who's in love with me?"

"I'm saying it as your best friend," her words hit him like a tone of bricks and he finally looks up at her, eyebrow raised. "You are worth so much."

Daryl wants to believe her. No, he needs to believe her. For his sake, for the sake of his mental stability. He takes a few deep breaths and and then looks down at her hand on his knee. His hand gently places over hers and he squeezes it lightly. Her reassurance was everything. You could say the only opinion he cared about these days was her, even though they haven't been great friends for awhile.

He beats himself up for not reaching out sooner. He hated he fact he's lost her for so long, and lost himself in the process. She loves him. Yes, it is more than a friend, but ultimately, she loves him. For who he is. She never judged, never tried to change him or push him to do things he didn't enjoy. She's one person he always felt comfortable with. He still does, even after she told him she loved him.

He thinks back to the time and thinks about why he was so angry at her for that. She wasn't making moves at him. She just... shared her feelings. Angrily - that was an understatement - but still. He sort of understood why she'd blow up the way she did. He spoke about Leah quite a lot and thinking about it now, it may have been to convince himself and her that he was happy with her and he did love her. Part of him did love Leah. But maybe it wasn't as strong feeling as he thought it was...

"You okay?"

Her voice brings Daryl back. He huffs and nods lightly.

"Yeah. I will be," he says and his lips curve into a smile.

"I mean it, Daryl. You're worth it. And I hope you do find someone who appreciates you," her little smile makes him scoff.

"Someone like you?" he retorts.

"No," she shakes her head vigorously. "Not me. You made it clear it's never going to happen and I accept it. But I hope you find someone who can make you believe you are worth everything and more."

Daryl looks at her with a grimace on his face. He did say that, didn't he? He said that her and him will never going to happen. For some reason, her words made him feel sad, just for a second. He wouldn't have been able to register it if he wasn't focusing on it that much. He shakes his head.

"I've sworn off love and relationships," he leans back on the couch and put his head on the sofa back. "It's just going to be me, my crossbow and my best friend."

"Your best friend?"

Her smile beams from ear to ear and Daryl can't help but notice the shine in her eyes when he said it. Like she wasn't sure if he was serious about it. Like she waited months for him to come back, to finally be her friend again.

"Of course. Can't live my sorry ass life without ya," he sighs. "Who else am I going to tease and laugh at?"

"You mean laugh with?"

"That too."

She giggles and he realises how much he really missed her all these months. He missed her laugh and their banter. The way he felt so free around her. The way he knew she could tell him she killed someone and he would help her cover up the tracks. She was his best friend. And going back to being friends with her felt good.

[illuminatedquill]

Dichen Lachman, Gemma Scout’s actress, has done some interviews in the wake of 2x07. I’ve clipped some stuff I found interesting, along with some of my own thoughts.

Spoilers ahead, be warned:

God, she’s been trying for years. My poor girl.

It hurts to see that this recent escape attempt has finally broken Gemma’s resolve. But Dichen thinks that although Gemma is resigned to her fate, she still holds onto the slim hope that Lumon will let her go when the experiments are over (spoiler alert: that is extremely unlikely).

Anyone who’s seen Dollhouse probably got a sense of deja vu when watching this episode. I’m glad that Dichen shares that same feeling. I don’t know, I just found it amusing.

THIS!!!

“The chikhai bardo is a Buddhist belief about a transitional state between death and rebirth, which could point to reintegration for both Mark and Gemma”

Both Mark and Gemma will never be able to reclaim the life they once had. That’s the tragedy. Those versions of them are gone. Dead.

Mark is reintegrating and becoming something new with the melding of his outie and innie personalities; Gemma, splintered into multiple versions of herself that are exposed through endless petty cruelties and psychological torture that she doesn’t remember, fighting tooth and nail to return home. They are becoming something new.

And I think these two new people should have a chance to find a new path forward. Together. Despite it all, despite the horrors and obstacles and misery, their love still endures. It won’t fix anything, it won’t guarantee a happy ending but it will be a new start. They deserve that.

The severance chips are being prepped for mass consumption. Gemma being put through all these varying situations - which are probably her own personal stressors - is to refine these chips perfectly so that people would never have to suffer again. But that’s so antithetical to life. We experience the joys so richly because of our lows, our suffering. You cannot have one without the other. That isn’t life!

All that remains is Cold Harbor. Ominous name. What horrible experience remains for Gemma to suffer through?

Still convinced that Gemma definitely signed up for something regarding the infertility issues but it’s evident that she wasn’t told the full extent of what Lumon would do with her. There’s more story to be told about how they got to her, I’m sure.

THE ENDGAME: Hades and Persephone

After having a full day to process this episode I am, admittedly, filled with a weird sense of optimism. Although Gemma’s fate seems all but sealed, I think the writers are smarter than to lay all this tragedy on characters only to end it in . . . well, more tragedy. There won’t be any healing or progression for either Mark or Gemma’s characters until she is freed from Lumon’s clutches.

Mark already tried to do that and he couldn’t. The only way he could fall in love again is if he never met Gemma. Don’t forget that.

Gemma needs to be free and be reunited with Mark. It won’t fix anything, I assure you. All that grief and yearning and suffering won’t magically disappear because they are back together. There’s so many interesting dynamics to play out.

The unresolved issues they had before she was taken by Lumon.

And then there’s Mark, fully reintegrated, remembering Helly and his love for her. Gemma having to reconcile the fact that there is a part of her husband that loved someone else.

The half-remembered nightmares and waking up with aches. Endless hallways and rooms that fill you with dread. An elevator that only goes down and never back up. Both Mark and Gemma will literally leave pieces of themselves behind in Lumon that they will never get back.

I think we’ve been looking at this wrong. Mark and Gemma being so tragic and Orpheus/Eurydice coded. They’re doomed by the narrative, it seems.

But . . . it doesn’t quite fit anymore now that we know that Gemma is alive and wants to go home.

I think Mark and Gemma are more like Hades and Persephone now. The other pairing in Orpheus and Eurydice’s story. In Hadestown, Orpheus’ song reignites their love and trust in each other, allowing them to try again after their relationship had become so strained.

So who is Orpheus and Eurydice now?

Who do you think.

[starlightandmusings]

at the risk of sounding cynical, i really don’t think that post-canon, everything in newsies is great and happy and, well, disneyfied.

i’ve never seen crutchie as surviving past, like, 20. sometimes in polio patients, post-polio syndrome occurs, worsening muscle paralysis and possibly affecting breathing up to the point of death. not to mention polio itself affects the immune system. even if he did survive, his quality of life would be pretty poor — he would almost certainly live in poverty, if he avoided the poorhouse.

i’ve never believed that katherine and jack could end up getting married or being together long term. there were historical exceptions for wealthy people marrying below their own status, but they were rare; katherine would’ve faced extreme social pressure. and also, they’re like, 17 or 18 when they get together. katherine is utterly naive, privileged, and impulsive; jack has anger issues and unresolved PTSD. i mean it when i say they’re not really good for each other, no matter how sweet i think they are. and i don’t think it worked out for them.

on that front, i don’t think jack is a very healthy person, or at least not for a long time. his trauma is deep and severe, and he flinches at little touches, raises his voice at the littles (despite hating himself for it), has horrific dreams of michael almost nightly. tears became strongly feminized in the 19th century along with showing strong emotion, and jack — with his hypermasculine western fixation and predisposition to posturing— would’ve fallen especially prey to these ideas. he internalizes his trauma, covers his scars under layers of fabric, and shoves his feelings down ever deeper.

if race kept up with the gambling and skirting with the law, he could’ve gotten involved in bigger, sketchier stuff, like working with the five points gang (irish) or the eastman gang (jewish). (race is canonically italian/jewish/irish depending on your sources.) we know race has bad impulse control and is hotheaded; if he got into sketchier territory, he could have easily gotten himself into trouble, sent upstate to sing sing or rikers. that’s some major extrapolation, but i could see it happening.

all that to say, i resent disney for covering the show in this kid-friendly gloss when that’s just not the bleak reality. maybe that’s why i love hard promises. it’s hard, and dark, but it makes the glimpses of joy that much brighter. don’t do these kids a disservice by pretending their lives were all easy and happy, because they’re fighters for a reason.

[spotlightlowlife]

hella decent vs hella descent

The satan character is decent.

A judge and a reasonable one at that who it seems is well respected among his peers, all the sins but sadboy showed to his court, there was plenty of room to speak and this court session was abruptly held because of one little snitch (with a good case) so we get the impression that he is a stickler for rules and justice.

No idea how powerful he is but he showed us something that this series has been lacking which is a hierarchy. A stickler for the rules but clearly had some favouritism and affection for Stolas who sits high as royalty, was Stolas spared by satan or is there a known and accepted exception to the rules when it comes to royalty? That was left open.

Stolas's punishment, if it's committed to could actually something excellent for his characters growth, the opportunity to genuinely slum it and gain empathy and appreciation for what is a lifetime to the average person.

I like how the moment Stolas lost his position the general public would turn on him, again, finally establishing that these titles stand for something.

We're definitely not missing out on sadboy Lucifer over at the hangout hotel, he truly isn't needed.

Stella can love her daughter and loathe her husband who loathed her right back. No proof that's she's the incompetent parent. Nothing hard to understand here. The Octavia scene could have made Stella look more of a villain had this all been her plan but no, her brother pulls the strings.

Still, Stella remains interesting .

I appreciate that Mammon was tediously bored, unbothered and was looking forward to taking a break to eat, like many people forced to be at meetings, this further told us that these meetings are something that must be attended like it or not.

They really laid it on thick that nobody likes this guy and were so petty about it, reminding us that he's gross, fat, glutinous, stupid, unfocused, childlike and doesn't get that those who aren't snapping at him don't like him either.

Were we supposed to find a grownup playing with toys that ranged from fidgit to toddler an annoyance or amusing, since the whole direction of this character is that he's offputting and wrong in every way possible?

Mammon had no time for Stolas's song yet Stolas would approach him briefly and knock over his building blocks, is his lack of interest in 'emotional' song and dance another reason we should be disliking him, who didn't have a song to sing in his episode where he additionally broke the mould of 'no fun'?

Why does Bee have issue with him? Wasn't she a fun, dismissive and shallow, binge eating and drinking pushing party girl when we last saw her? Couldn't these two easily be close?

What exactly is ancient Ozzie's issue with ancient Mammon outside of the past 10 years with 30 something Fizz?

Bee and Ozzie being attached at the hip and practically sharing lines is so tacky. They're reduced to cheering on Blitzø despite their few exchanges with him, exchanges which involved unresolved critique, these two are truly the worst, they got worst, Ozzie heckled Blitzø on before he got neutered, but after neutering he knows that Stolas had been lending out his grimore, Blitzø no longer has Stolas's book but now has Ozzie's crystal, so he's unser his jurisdiction now, a deal Stolas and Ozzie made behind Blitzø's back, how about talking about that? Bee on the other hand got neutered during her introduction, when she all of a sudden saw Blitzø as a huge problem that was ruining her party and killing a vibe though we saw no NPC walking out, now she's arguing that he's harmless? We don't get much of them but the brief moments we do get just dump on their credibility further but hey, what matters is they're both dating on Blitzø and co. level so they're 'nice guys'.

Two sides of the same coin is what they are. Though their opening lines were to cape for Blitzø things soon turned to Bee sex shaming Mammon, yes Queen Bee, the prince gluttony who sat cringing at Mammon's gluttonous display, makes the sex remark. I repeat, coin, two sides.

Really gives more credence to critism of fat phobia and acephobia (because asexual means nobody wants you, it's just another word for incel) that I've seen, there may be room to throw neuro divergence ignorance in there too.

[marsstyles]

Love Language

Zilla Fatu + Serene Savage (OC)

Synopsis: Serene is starting to make her ground in the NXT roster as she is going to be competing for the Women’s North American Championship title. Then, someone from her past debuts in NXT and its none other than Zilla Fatu. There’s unresolved issues between the two that hasn’t been settled prior to her move to NXT. Will they be able to resolve the past issues to work together in the same space or will it cause even more friction between the two wrestlers?

CW: Mature Language, 18+, Cursing, Friends with Benefits.

Author’s note: Hi! I hope you enjoy reading the first chapter of my first fanfic! I created the character of Serene as a fun way to develop a wrestling persona for myself. Serene is Latina (as am I) so I will have her speak Spanish. I have put numbers next to each Spanish dialogue and will leave the English translations at the bottom for the page.

Blue highlight: Serene’s thoughts.

Happy reading!💜

Chapter 1

NXT: Orlando, Florida -10:30am

Serene is driving in her rental car, listening to SZA’s new album, “LANA”, on her way to the performance center for tonight’s show. It’s a big night for her as she is the Number One Contender for the Women’s North American Championship title against Fallon Henley, who is currently reigning with the title. She had a Fatal Four way match against Shotzi, Sol Ruca, and Zaria, the week prior and she ended up winning the match by pinning Shotzi. It was an exhilarating moment for her because she worked hard and waited for this moment to compete for a title since she came to NXT a year and half ago.

She is nervous, but also excited for the match because this win will be a major boost to her career. Listening to SZA brought a calmer, chill vibe that was needed to ease her nerves as she pulls into the parking lot of the performance center. After parking her rental car, she takes out her headphones and connects the bluetooth to her phone to listen to the music as she gets out of the car and heads for the trunk to pull out her suitcase and bags.

Serene walks towards the entrance of the center and enters to see Shawn directing the crew on how things he would like to happen for the show. She makes her rounds saying “good morning” to the crew and heads backstage to put her belongings away. She makes her way to the girl’s locker room and sees that a few of the girls made it before her, who were also settling into their spaces and started doing their routines.

Among those that were present in the locker room were: Stephanie Vaquer, Sol Ruca, Tatum Paxley, Kelani Jordan, Guilia, Wren Sinclair and Shotzi. They all see Serene enter, some said “good morning” and others waved at her. “Good morning, ladies!”, Serene greeted back to them. She sets her stuff next to Sol who was stretching her legs on the floor.

“Hello miss number one contender, how are you feeling?”, Sol asked her, as Serene was putting her stuff down. Serene gave her a look and signed, “Well, are you asking in general or are you asking about tonight?”, she asked, sarcastically.

Sol chuckled. “Well, since you brought it up, then both.”, Sol said. Serene closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “As much I want to say I’m fine and not feeling nervous at all, you know I would be lying to myself when in reality, I’m feeling anxious as hell.”, she said. “I know what you mean. Even though I lost last week, I’m happy that you are finally getting this opportunity that you rightfully deserve.”, Sol said, putting her hand on Serene’s arm.

Serene gives her a small smile and puts her hand over hers. “Thanks. It really sucked that we had to go against each other because I would have loved to see you get that Number One spot. I know how hard you’ve worked for to get a championship title.”, she said. Sol waved her off. “Nah, don’t worry. My time will come. I mean we all deserve a chance, it’s only a matter of who got that chance first. Since it was you, I was really happy that you got the spot.”, she said.

Serene smiled fondly at Sol. She is grateful of her friendship that she has built with Sol since she came to NXT. Sol helped her settle into the new environment since it was different from the indies, became someone she confided in whenever she was feeling anxious and knowing what to say to help her calm the nerves. She appreciates everything Sol has done for her and they have been close ever since.

She looks to her side and makes a mischievous grin, “Now, if it was Zaria that had gotten the spot, then we both would’ve been fucked. Luckily, it was you that pulled through.”, she said as she gets swatted by someone that Serene didn’t see come in. “I fucking heard that, Sol.”, a female voice with an Australian accent said, in annoyance.

Serene sees Zaria put her stuff down next to where her and Sol were seated at. Sol started laughing, “That was the whole point, I wanted you to hear that. Especially, since I know I’m right for pointing out the obvious.”, she said, shrugging her shoulders and smiling at Zaria. Zaria rolled her eyes and flipped off at Sol, then turned her attention to Serene. “So, big night for you. How are you feeling?”, she asked with her arms crossed over her chest.

“As I was telling Sol, I’m feeling a bit anxious, not gonna lie. It’s been something I have been looking forward to all week since it’s my first major match to compete for a championship title.”, Serene said, as she started rolling her legs on her foam roller.

“You’ll be fine, mate. Don’t sell yourself short and doubt your potential. We’ve all seen your work and how much you’ve earned this spot. Besides, it wasn’t gonna be me who was gonna get the spot, that’s for sure.”, Zaria said, matter of factly.

“What? Why do you say that?”, Serene asked, giving her a confused look.

Zaria gave her a serious look. “Mate, it’s obvious that it was not going to be me because I had just got here, hell, it wasn’t even going to be Shotzi since she recently just got back from an injury.,” she said, pointing at the green haired female who was talking to Tatum as they were walking out of the room. “As much I appreciate the compliment of my in ring ability, the reality of it is, it was either gonna be one of you two who was gonna get the spot. Unfortunately for Sol, you got the spot.”, she said, pointing out the obvious to both Sol and Serene.

After hearing what Zaria had said, Serene knew that she had a point. It was going to be either herself or Sol getting that Number One contender spot since they have been in the company longer than both Zaria and Shotzi combined. Zaria recently debuted here to NXT back in October and Shotzi was in the main roster before getting injured earlier in the year and had just returned to help out Tatum and her friend, Gigi Dolan.

Sol gave Zaria a friendly push on her legs. “Hey, the wound is still fresh. That night was rough for me.”, she said, dramatically with putting her hand over her heart as if what Zaria said hurt her.

Zaria rolled her eyes and shook her head at Sol’s dramatic self. “Yeah, yeah, you’ll be fine. You’ll get your chance.”, she said, smirking and waving her off. Both Serene and Sol laughed as Serene had finished off rolling her legs and started rolling her back. The three continued talking to one another and took turns guessing who will win in tonight’s match card other than Serene’s match with Fallon.

As they were finished making their predictions and Serene was finishing up rolling up her back, Shotzi came over to tell them that Shawn wanted everyone around the ring immediately.

When Sol asked her why, she replied, “He just said that he has an announcement to make and he told me to get whoever is in the locker room and bring them there. He didn’t tell me anything else.” She shrugged and left the locker room.

All three women looked at each other for a moment before making their way to the door and leaving the locker room. As they enter the room where the ring is, a crew member told them to find a seat on the stands. They made their way onto the stands and Serene sees Stephanie and went to go sit with her with Sol sitting next to her. “Stephanie, sabes que esta pasando?”(1), she asked Stephanie. Stephanie shrugged and shook her head. “No, no lo se. No dijeron nada. Solamente Shotzi me dijo que Shawn quería vernos porque iba anunciar algo. Nada mas.”(2), she said. Serene nodded as they wait for everyone to enter and be seated.

When everyone had entered and was seated, Shawn went onto the ring and was handed a microphone. “Good afternoon everyone!”, he greeted. “Sorry to interrupt your training and warm up, but I wanted bring you all together because I have an announcement to make.”, he said. We all looked at each other as we anticipating what he will announce.

“Before I tell you the announcement, I wanna go over tonight’s match card so those who have their matches tonight, will know which order each match will be placed.”, he stated. He explained the order of the following matches:

Opener: Lola Vice vs Kelani Jordan

2nd: Men’s Tag Team title matcha- Fraxiom vs No Quarter Catch crew

3rd: Women’s Triple Threat Tag Team Match- Meta Four girls, Shotzi and Gigi, and special guests: Kayden Carter and Katana Chance from Raw.

4th: Wes Lee vs. Jevon Evans

Main event: Women’s North American Championship title match- Serene Savage vs Fallon Henley.

After explaining what segments will be happening for backstage and in the ring throughout the show, Shawn continued, “Now that’s all done and settled,” pausing for dramatic effect and smiled, “it’s time for my announcement.” Everyone applauded and cheered as they were all waiting for what the announcement is going to be about.

“Now, the announcement I wanted to share with all of you today is something that me and the team have been working hard to get this to happen and luckily for us this past week, it finally did.”, Shawn said, smiling with pride. “I am announcing that we have someone new coming to NXT and will be added to the roster as of tonight.,” he stated, as he hears the wrestlers whispering to one another. He chuckles. “Now, settle down. I know that you are all eager to know who will be added to the roster and you will find out soon…”, he pauses and takes a moment to think before continuing, “You know what? Let’s bring him out here! Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our newest member in NXT, Zilla Fatu!,” he announces.

Serene freezes and felt her eyes widen when Shawn announced that name. A name that she hasn’t heard from for a while, a name that she only sees and hears about all over social media, a name of a person she thought she wouldn’t have to see again until this moment. No. Fucking. Way. What is he doing here? Distracted with her own thoughts, they were interrupted by Sol nudging her as she was applauding at the arrival of the one and only, Zilla Fatu. Serene shook herself out of her shock and started applauding with the others as she sees Zilla making his way into the ring and shake hands with Shawn, then facing towards them.

Zilla was wearing a black hoodie that had picture of his late father, Umaga, black shorts with red and black shoes. Damn, I forgot how good he looked. He’s still fine as hell., she thought, I wander if he still remembers me. Zilla nodded at everyone and scans the audience to see who he could recognize from the stands. He looks at the direction where Serene is sitting and does a double take. Serene notices him smirking at her as he looks at her direction and she looks away, putting her head down to hide her blushing. Crap. Not him seeing me. Serene couldn’t pay attention to what Shawn is saying and will ask either Sol or Stephanie to recount what he said because she is too distracted with her feelings about Zilla, feelings she thought she had moved on from after the last time she saw him.

“Serene, are you okay? Por que tienes la cabeza agachada?”(3), Stephanie asked her as she noticed Serene not paying attention to Shawn. Serene, embarrassed about what’s happening, whispered to her, “Te lo cuento después.”(4) Stephanie nodded, understandingly.

Serene zoned out for the rest of the meeting as she feels her anxiety internally brewing until Shawn said, “Alright, that’s enough for now. Thank you everyone and give your best welcome to Zilla into the roster.,” Shawn announced as he concluded the meeting and everyone applauds.

Serene is eager to get the fuck out of this room to run to the bathroom because she feels sick and she can’t breathe. As everyone goes down towards the ring to welcome Zilla, Serene storms out of the stands and runs into the hallway to find the bathroom.

She is on autopilot and is not aware of Sol, Stephanie, Zaria and Shotzi running after her and calling her name. Once she was able to find the bathroom, she runs inside to one of the stalls and falls onto the floor in front of the toilet. She feels like she’s about to the throw up, but the feeling won’t come out and instead, she’s just staring at the toilet as she was trying to control her breathing.

Why now? Why all of the sudden, he decides to sign with WWE? A company that has been wanting, as well as the fans, to get him signed to when he would always dread answering any questions that involved the company. She feels tears coming down her face that she was trying to prevent from coming out. As she was trying take deep breaths, she hears the door burst open and hears voices calling her name. “I’m in here.”, Serene shakingly calls out to them to lead them to the stall she’s in.

As Sol opens the door and sees Serene on the floor panicking and crying, she sits down in the floor with her and puts her hands on her arms, rubbing them. “Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s okay. Close your eyes and just focus on your breathing. In and out. In and out.”, she said, helping her ease her anxiety and wiping the tears off of her face. “Shotzi, go to the locker room and get her water. Her stuff is next to mine. Quickly, please.”, Sol pleaded. Shotzi nodded and ran out of the bathroom.

This wasn’t the first time that Sol helped Serene with her anxiety attacks. She has helped her deal with them whenever she was feeling stressed and anxious, whether it was about a match or anything personal. Serene had trusted her ever since she knew what to do to help her recover from her episodes. As she is trying to control her breathing, Shotzi came into the bathroom with her water, Serene thanked her and took a sip of the water. The rest of the girls waited for Serene to regain control of her emotions and her breathing before they start questioning her.

After she felt her anxiety ease, she wipes her tears off of her cheek then looks at them, embarrassed, “Sorry, ya’ll had to see that. Anyways, go on ahead. Ask away.”, she said, knowing the girls are curious about her behavior and the reason behind it. The girls looked at each other with concern because they unsure where to begin with their questioning.

After a moment of silence, Stephanie was the first break it. “Por que tenias tu cabeza agachada cuando entro Zilla? Lo conoces?”(5), she asked. Serene paused for a moment to think about how to tell them about her past with Zilla Fatu, a past that she didn’t know she would have to relive again. She took a deep breath and said, “Yeah. Yeah, I do know him. We had a…a thing together in the past.”, she said, looking down at her tumbler and playing with the cap. “What kind of thing you both had previously? Was it serious?”, Zaria asked.

Serene shook her head and shrugged. “It wasn’t supposed to be at first. It was supposed to be something that we would be both emotionally detached from. Until later on, we didn’t know it would turn into an emotional attachment, at least on my end.”, she said that last part quietly to herself that only Sol was able to hear. “We had a…friends with benefits type of thing, which at first, I did agree to having with him because why the fuck not, he’s hot as hell and he was interested in me. So, we agreed to just fuck. Nothing more, nothing less.,” she confessed, to make it clear to them the intentions they both had in the beginning.

“I’m sensing there’s a ‘but’ coming up.”, Sol said. Serene let out a little chuckle, “Yeah there is. But, as things went on, I started developing feelings for him. It was only because he started doing things that you would do if we were in a relationship.”, she said, looking away from the girls. “It started to confuse me because I thought we were just having causal sex and nothing else. We agreed on having no strings attached, but then suddenly, he just started making things complicated.”, she said, putting her hands over her face in embarrassment.

“So, what happened next? Did you confront him about his intentions?”, Shotzi asked. Serene nodded as she dropped her hands off her face. “Yeah, i did. I was sick of him playing in my face when I saw things weren’t going anywhere. I asked him how he really felt about me and if he wanted to commit to a relationship.”, she said. “He tried to deny that he was having any feelings for me and was downplaying the gestures he did whenever we were together because it was all part of getting me ‘horny’ since we were just ‘fucking’.”, she said, rolling her eyes as she was air quoting what he said.

“Is that the reason you looked away when he came in?”, Sol asked. “Yeah. I haven’t seen him since the last time we had a conversation together. I told him that I never wanted to see him again.,” she said, coldly. “Before confronting him, I had gotten the call that I was accepted to come here to NXT. I wanted to tell him at first, but with the back and forth, I decided not to tell him and just leave.”, she explained, “I looked down because he saw me when he got into the ring and smirked at me. Fucking asshole.”, she muttered, in annoyance.

“Well, we got your back if anything. And besides, you can’t let that stop you from focusing on getting the Championship title, tonight.”, Sol softly said, holding her hands and squeezing them. That’s right. God damnit. After seeing this asshole again, it has distracted me from focusing on the Championship title match. She’s mentally kicking herself for even letting his arrival affect her that way and distract her. “You’re right. I should be focusing on tonight’s match. This might’ve been a minor setback, but I’m not letting it stop me from achieving my goal.”, Serene said confidently.

“That’s right, girl! That’s the spirit!”, Shotzi exclaimed excitedly. “Now, we’ll leave you to fix yourself for a bit. We’ll wait for you outside.”, she explained as the other girls nodded in agreement. Sol and Stephanie help Serene up to her feet, she gave them a hug and thanked them for helping her. They smiled and left the bathroom so she could have her alone time.

After they left, Serene goes to the sink to wash her face, then looks up to look at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying and splashed more water onto her face. She paused and looks up to the mirror saying, “No matter what, don’t let him distract you. You’ve worked hard to get this match and by the end of tonight, that title will be yours and you will be the new Women’s North American champion.” She affirmed herself, giving her a boost of positive energy she needed to feel.

After fixing herself and gave one last look to the mirror, she grabs her tumbler and heads for the door. She opens the door to find all three women outside of the bathroom, chatting with one another. They stopped their chatter as they saw Serene step out of the bathroom, “Are you good now?”, Sol asked. Serene nodded her head. “Yeah, I’m good. Let’s head back to the locker room. I wanna find Fallon and ask her if she is down to practice before tonight’s match.”, she said. They all agreed and started walking down the hallway to the locker room.

Author’s Note: I hope you guys enjoyed the first chapter of my first fanfic! This is my first time ever writing a fanfic so I hope did good lol. I have already written 2 more chapters that I will be uploading each week. I don’t know how many chapters this fic will have as I am working on the 4th chapter right now, but I will give an update! Let me know what you think of the chapter. 💜

Shoutout to my friend, @usoinked! She had helped me out during this process and I appreciate you so much!

Dividers: @diviniyae and @dailyramona

Here are the Spanish-English translations:

1. Stephanie, do you know what’s going on?

2. No, I don't know. They didn't say anything. Shotzi just told me that Shawn wanted to see us because he was going to announce something. Nothing more.

3. Why is your head down?

4. I'll tell you later.

5. Why did you have your head down when Zilla came in? Do you know him?

[fivesmannequinwife]

I hate how reggie was so easily left out the hook. His last escene is him peacefully accepting death along with his wife, as they watch together the destruction around them and he calmly accepts he was wrong, and that's it. He dies after living many happy years with his wife in a big nice house and being filthy rich. He got to have his love interest the whole damn season even if the show didn't make much emphasis on jt. And sure, Abigail had her issues with Reggie, but Reggie didn't know this so we can assume he thought he was having a perfect marriage. He lived HAPPILY in this universe, no struggle at all, no difficulties at all, with his love interest, and calmly accepted death by her side.

How could he have a better ending than the Brellies?

Five and Diego died hating each other.

Diego died after just finding out he had been cheated on by his wife with his 18-yo-looking brother that's actually a fucking senior citizen. He had just had to say goodbye to his children forever.

Luther had to die never having found his wife, being stuck as a mediocre stripper, with his body disfigured, and being the butt of the joke the whole season. He never got the family he evidently wanted to have with Sloane.

Klaus died a drug addict after bekng sober for so long. He was trafficked as SAed, buried alive, and all for a plot that had basically no impact on the main story. He never got to see Dave again.

Ben died a monster, even though we knew that Ben, at least Og timeline Ben, felt like a monster because of his powers and always hated using them. He died having separated from the Brellies, and being a crypto criminal for some fucking reason.

Five died never achiving his only goal of stopping the apocalypse, hating Diego, (who btw was the ONE sinling he shook and tried to wake up when he found his body in S1), and heartbroken. He never got to save his family.

Lila died with unresolved issues with Diego and Five, torn between the two, away from her children.

Allison never got to be happy with her whole family and died with a stranded career and away from her child that she missed for 3 whole seasons.

Viktor died with commitment issues, never having seen Sissy again, still pretty away from his siblings.

And they all died thinking that they were a mistake and everything would be better without them. They all died with so much tension still. They all died full of sadness and missing people.

EXCEPT REGINALD FUCKING HARGREEVES. The man who, oh, you know, MESSED THE BRELLIES UP?

And sure, it's not HIM, really, but the fact that he admits throughout the season that he would have done the same things don't help at all.

I hate it so much. Why should he have the best ending? Why...?

[lurkingshan]

Love Sea Final Thoughts

I have been trying to wrap my head around my overall feelings about Love Sea, a show that is undeniably flawed but somehow charming anyway, that drops so many threads but does such a good job with a few of its core points that it's hard to be mad. I can't really say that this is a great drama, but I can say that I enjoyed it a lot and I think it's a good watch if you go in understanding some caveats.

Let's start with a few things I really loved about this show:

Mahasamut. A great character, he will be going on my shortlist of Thai bl favorites. He's smart, honest, patient, giving and forgiving but he also knows himself, his limits, and his worth. On top of all that, he actually looks like a normal person, with a healthy body weight and beautiful imperfect skin. So rare in dramas.

Smart class dynamics. I appreciated how much this show grounded Mut and Rak's relationship in their class disparity, how wealth and lack of same was a constant issue between them that was never forgotten, and how its effect on their power dynamic shifted over time as their relationship grew.

Very well-executed sex scenes. The sex in this show is tied to character development and relationship arcs, and every sex scene mattered to the story. We watched the shifting power dynamics between Mut and Rak play out via the sex they had together and by watching their intimacy we learned more about them.

Ridiculous chemistry. The main love story was supported by truly excellent emotional and sexual chemistry. I always believed in the attraction and the feelings between these two, and that helped a lot when the story didn't quite take me where it needed to.

Rak and Vie's friendship. I really loved that we spent time with these two as besties, and that they were genuinely so supportive of each other. Vie was a real MVP in kicking Rak's ass when he needed it.

Meena, the best child ever. What a delightful character who brought a lot of fun and lightness to the story. Her scenes with Mut were a true highlight.

And here are some things that didn't quite work for me:

Uneven focus for the main characters. Once we left the island to go to Bangkok, the entire show was about Rak, his backstory, his issues, his ongoing problems, and his needs, and Mut was kind of subsumed in his story instead of having one of his own. I was glad we got back to Mut's life at the end, but they really should have kept it present throughout so everything didn't feel so one-sided.

Shallow engagement with family trauma. And despite the fact that the story was so much about Rak's issues, the story never actually went deep on them. I still don't really understand a lot about his family dynamics. The show used his dad and cousin as villains and then his mom as an easy out to solve everything at the end, but we never dug into how all these people ended up this way in the first place. It was a real missed opportunity.

Rak's emotional journey. I was on board for much of it, but other parts felt a bit haphazard and all over the place. Sometimes it felt like he was suddenly progressing out of nowhere, and others it felt like he was backsliding just because the plot demanded it. I liked where the story took him a lot but the path to get there was pretty bumpy.

The side couple. WOOF. I have no idea what happened here, but that was a fail on just about every front. Mook was a hard character to love from the start, Vie felt like a completely different person with Mook than in all her other scenes, there was so much lying and manipulation for no good reason, and in the end they were left completely unresolved. If you are on the lookout for great gl pairings, you will not find that here.

So there you have it. This show is absolutely a mixed bag on its execution, so how much you end up liking it will probably depend on how strongly you connect with what it did well and where it dropped the ball. For me, it was a good experience and one I'll remember fondly. I'll definitely be watching the special when it's released and I hope to see this cast again.

[vrzylla]

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

remus lupin x reader ! one shot ⏾

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loml, taylor swift inspired

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still alive, killing time at the cemetery

ᵎ!ᵎ graphic depiction of torture, major character death, emotional manipulation, suicidal ideation, body horror, self-harm tendencies, war trauma, betrayal by authority figures, child endangerment, werewolf abuse, grief-induced magical outbursts, last kiss trope, right person wrong time, no happy ending, prolonged suffering, violent death, psychological horror, survivor's guilt, toxic guilt dynamics, unhealed trauma, romanticized tragedy, destroyed keepsakes, blood/injury detail, abandonment issues, morally grey dumbledore, graphic descriptions of grief, unresolved romantic tension, emotional devastation with no catharsis

word count [ 3,200 ]

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the rain hadn't stopped since you arrived in london.  

it was the kind of rain that clung to your skin, cold and unrelenting, the sort that made the city feel like it was weeping. you hated london like this—all damp cobblestones and foggy alleyways, the air thick with the ghosts of choices you couldn't take back. but orders were orders, and when moody called, you came. even when you knew what it meant. even when you knew  why  they were sending you.   

the safehouse door creaked as you pushed inside, shaking water from your coat. the familiar scent of old wood and burnt coffee wrapped around you, undercut by something sharper—wolfsbane. your fingers tightened around your wand. you hadn't expected him to be here. not really. not after everything.   

but then—   

"you're late."  

his voice. god, his voice. rough at the edges like he hadn't slept, the way it always got before the full moon. you turned slowly, and there he was: remus lupin, leaning against the kitchen doorway like a man braced for impact. he looked older. the war had carved new lines around his mouth, shadows beneath his eyes. his sweater was fraying at the cuffs. you'd always hated that sweater.  

"traffic," you said, forcing lightness into your tone. "death eaters love a good bottleneck."  

his lips twitched. not quite a smile, but close. then his gaze dropped to your left hand—to the fresh scar curling around your wrist. a cursed blade in prague. you watched his throat work as he swallowed. "you've been busy."  

"you know how it is." you shrugged, tucking your hand behind your back. "dumbledore's errand girl."  

"don't." the word cracked between you. he looked away first, scrubbing a hand over his face. "just—don't do that."  

the silence stretched, thick with everything you weren't saying. you could hear the others in the next room—sirius' loud laugh, moody's growl, the clink of glasses. a normal meeting. just another mission briefing. except—  

"it's lyon, isn't it?" you said quietly.  

remus went very still.  

"i heard the rumors." you kept your voice steady, even as your pulse thundered in your ears. "werewolf cub chained up as bait. classic death eater trap."  

"you're not going."  "i am."  

" (y/n)— "   

"don't." you met his eyes, holding his gaze even as yours burned. "we both know why they're sending me. we both know  +who  they'll have guarding that kid."   

his breath hitched. you saw the moment he understood—the moment he realized you knew exactly what you were walking into. his hands flexed at his sides, like he wanted to reach for you. like he still thought he could stop you.  

"you could say no," he whispered.   

you smiled, bitter and fond all at once. "since when have i ever been able to do that?"   

the door to the meeting room swung open. "ah, there you are!" moody's voice boomed. "we're starting. lupin, stop lurking and get in here."  

remus didn't move. his eyes never left yours. you could see the plea in them—the desperate, furious  don't do this  that he wouldn't let himself say aloud.  

you stepped around him, your shoulder brushing his as you passed. close enough to smell the tea and parchment scent of him. close enough to feel the warmth of his skin through his threadbare sweater.  

"welcome back," he murmured, so soft you almost missed it.  you didn't look back. you couldn't.  

the war room smelled like firewhiskey and burnt parchment.  

you took your usual seat between emmeline and sturgis, ignoring the way the wood creaked beneath you. the map of lyon sprawled across the table, dotted with red pins that made your stomach twist. too many. far too many.  

"finally decided to join us, then?" moody grunted, his magical eye whirling to fix on you. "good. you'll need the details."   

sirius kicked his feet up on the table, but his usual smirk was absent. "lovely weather for a suicide mission."  

"black." dumbledore's voice was mild, but the warning was clear.  

remus hadn't sat down. he stood against the far wall, arms crossed, jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle twitching. his eyes burned into you—dark and furious and terrified all at once.  

you focused on moody. "how fresh's the intel?"  

"three hours old." moody stabbed a finger at the map. "safehouse here. two guards, maybe three. kid's in the cellar."  

"what condition?"  "alive. barely."  your nails bit into your palms.  

"extraction team?"  

"you."  a sharp inhale from the corner.

remus' voice cut through the room like a blade. "that's it? just her? "

  "objections, lupin?" moody growled.  

"yes, actually." remus shoved off the wall, his chair screeching back. "it's a  trap.  they're  expecting  us. expecting  her. "  

"all the more reason to move fast—"  

"bullshit." the word cracked like a whip. you'd never heard remus swear in a meeting before. "you're sending her in alone because you know they won't kill her on sight. because they'll  want  to make it hurt."  

the room went still.  

sirius slowly lowered his feet from the table. "moony—"   

"no." remus' hands were shaking. "no, this is  insane.  even for you." his gaze locked onto dumbledore. "you  know  what they'll do to her."  

dumbledore steepled his fingers. "we all must make sacrifices—"  

"don't." remus' voice dropped to something low and dangerous. "don't you  dare  give me that noble shit while you send her to die."  

your chest ached. you'd never seen him like this—raw and unraveling, his control shattered. the wolf in his eyes.  

"remus." you said his name softly, but he flinched like you'd struck him.  

"you're  agreeing  to this?" he demanded, turning on you. "you  know  what's waiting there—"  

"i do."  "then  why? "  

the room held its breath.  you met his gaze, steady. "because it's not just any werewolf."  his breath hitched.  "it's a child," you continued quietly. "and we both know who they'll send to guard him."  the realization dawned on his face—horror, then fury, then something shattered. "greyback."  

you didn't nod. you didn't have to.  

remus made a sound like a wounded animal. "no.  no.  you don't—you can't possibly—"  

"it's done," moody interrupted. "mission's a go. dawn tomorrow."  

remus looked at dumbledore, desperate. "albus,  please— "  

"the decision is made."  

for one terrible moment, you thought remus might actually attack him. his magic crackled in the air, books trembling on the shelves. then—  

"fine." he spat the word like poison. "but i'm going with her."  

"no." dumbledore's voice was final. "your condition makes you a liability for this."  

"my  condition  is exactly why—"  

"enough." you stood abruptly, cutting him off. "we're done here."  

remus stared at you, betrayal and fury warring in his eyes. you forced yourself to turn away, to gather your things. you couldn't look at him. not now. not when—  

a hand grabbed your wrist.  "look at me," remus demanded, low and rough.  you turned.  his eyes were wild, his breath coming too fast. "tell me you're not doing this," he whispered, just for you. "tell me you'll run.  please. "  your throat closed. you could lie. you  should  lie. instead, you gently pulled free.  

"i'll see you after," you lied anyway.  

his fingers slipped from yours.  

the hallway was too quiet after the meeting.  

you stood by the front door, your bag slung over one shoulder—lighter than it should be. you’d left most of your things behind. no point in dragging them through the mud of a french battlefield.  

remus found you there. of course he did.  

he didn’t speak at first. just stared at you, his chest rising and falling too fast, his hands clenched at his sides like he was physically holding himself together. the dim light caught the silver in his hair, the new lines around his mouth. he looked older. he looked broken.  

"you’re really going." his voice was scraped raw. you didn’t answer. you didn’t have to.  

a muscle jumped in his jaw. "say something.  anything. "   

what could you say? that you were sorry? that you wished things were different? that every fucking cell in your body screamed to stay, to curl into him and never let go?  you said none of it.  

his control snapped.  

" look at me! " he grabbed your shoulders, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. "look at me and tell me this isn’t just some—some  punishment  for leaving you! tell me you’re not doing this just to make me watch you die! "  

your breath hitched. his eyes were wild, desperate, his tears catching the light as they fell. you’d barely seen him cry before. not even that last night in the common room.  

gently, you reached up and brushed a tear from his cheek. he flinched like your touch burned.  

"it’s not about you," you whispered. "it never was."  

he made a wounded noise, his forehead dropping to yours. his breath was warm against your lips, his whole body shaking. "please.  please.  i’ll—i’ll go with you. i’ll beg greyback myself. i’ll—"  

"no." you fisted your hands in his sweater— that  sweater, the one you’d always pretended to hate—and held on tight. "you’re going to live. you’re going to  survive  this war. and you’re going to be  happy. "  

"don’t." his voice broke. "don’t say goodbye. not like this."  

you kissed him instead.  

it was nothing like your last kiss—no firewhiskey and desperation, no whispered  i love yous.  this was soft. slow. a promise you’d never get to keep. his lips trembled against yours, his hands clutching at you like he could memorize you by touch alone.  

when you pulled away, his eyes were still closed.  

"look at me," you murmured. he did.  

you memorized the exact shade of his eyes in this light—gold and green and brown, all at once. the way his lashes stuck together with tears. the freckle just below his left eyebrow. every detail. every breath. then you let go.  

"i’ll see you after," you lied again, and the door clicked shut behind you.  

remus didn’t follow.  

 

the owl arrived at 3:17 a.m.  

remus knew the exact time because he'd been staring at the clock for seven hours straight, watching the minute hand crawl through the dark. he'd memorized the cracks in the ceiling above his bed, the way the streetlamp outside painted stripes of gold across the floor. he'd counted them. thirteen stripes. always thirteen.  

the tapping came again—insistent, sharp. like it had been waiting for him.  

he didn't move.  

the owl dropped the letter through the gap in the window, its wings beating once, twice, before vanishing into the night. the envelope skidded across the floorboards, coming to rest against the toe of his boot.  

order of the phoenix seal.  no bloodstains.   

that was the first betrayal.  

his hands didn't shake as he picked it up. they should have. they  wouldn't.  the parchment was crisp under his fingers, the wax seal unbroken. he could still send it back. he could burn it. he could—  

it opened too easily.  

 mission failure.   

 operative deceased.   

 body unrecovered.   

three lines. that's all you got. three fucking lines after a lifetime of—  

remus didn't realize he was screaming until his throat burned. the mirror above the dresser shattered. the lightbulb in the ceiling exploded. somewhere deep in his chest, the wolf howled.  

he didn't stop.  

he tore the letter in half. then quarters. then eighths. he kept tearing until the pieces were too small to hold, until they fluttered to the floor like snow. like ashes. like the last bits of your purple cloak drifting through that french cellar.   

the silence afterwards was worse.  

he sat there for hours, maybe days, the shredded parchment clinging to his sweat-damp skin. at some point, the sun rose. at some point, his tea went cold.  

when sirius finally kicked down the door, he found remus exactly where the owl had left him—back against the bedframe, knees pulled to his chest, your name on his lips like a prayer. like a curse.  

"moony—"  

remus looked up. his eyes were dry.   

"she lied," he said, very calmly. "she said she'd see me after."  

sirius didn't answer. he just sank to the floor and pulled remus into his arms, holding him tight as his body finally,  finally  remembered how to break.  

 

the fire in dumbledore’s office crackled too cheerfully for the storm brewing inside remus lupin.  

he didn’t sit. didn’t speak. just stood there, your old journal clutched in his hands like a weapon, his knuckles white around the worn leather. harry had found it tucked away in a box of lily’s things—just a small, unassuming thing, filled with your messy handwriting and secrets dumbledore had sworn didn’t exist.  

 "he’s sending me to lyon. alone. of course. because remus can’t know. because if he knew, he’d stop me. or worse—he’d come with me. and dumbledore can’t have that, can he? not when the mission requires a body left behind."   

your words. your voice. right there in ink, dated three days before you died.  

remus’ blood roared in his ears.  

"you knew." his voice was low. dangerous. not a question. never a question.  

dumbledore didn’t look up from his tea. "i had my suspicions."  

" bullshit. " the word tore from him, raw and furious. the journal hit the desk with a  thud , pages splayed open to your final entry. " she knew. she fucking knew it was a suicide mission. and you sent her anyway. "   

for the first time, dumbledore met his gaze. his eyes were tired. old. but not sorry. never sorry. "she was the only one who could get close enough."  

" close enough to what? " remus’ hands shook. " to die? to burn alive in some fucking cellar so you could—what? prove a point? "  

"to save the child."   

" you could have sent me! " the words ripped out of him, magic crackling at his fingertips, rattling the portraits on the walls. " i could have gotten them both out! "  

"no." dumbledore’s voice was calm. infuriatingly calm. "you would have tried to save  her  first. and the boy would have died."   

the truth of it hit like a curse to the chest.   

remus staggered back, his breath coming too fast, too sharp. " you don’t get to decide that. "  

"i did." dumbledore set his tea down. "and i would do it again."  

for a single, blinding moment, remus wanted to kill him. wanted to wrap his hands around the old man’s throat and  squeeze  until the light left those too-knowing eyes. wanted to scream until the castle crumbled around them.  

instead, he laughed.  

it was a hollow, broken sound. " of course you would. " he dragged a hand through his hair, his voice dropping to something venomous. " you always knew how to weigh a life, didn’t you? her death was just another calculation. another fucking sacrifice. "  

dumbledore didn’t deny it.  

remus turned away before the rage could consume him entirely. he couldn’t look at him. couldn’t stand the weight of that silence, the  acceptance  in it.  

"you should have told me," he said finally, his voice scraped raw. " i deserved to know. "  

"would it have changed anything?"  the question hung between them, cruel and inevitable.  

no.  

 no, it wouldn’t have.  

because you would have gone anyway.  

and he would have let you.  

remus didn’t answer. he just picked up your journal, holding it to his chest like it could somehow fill the hole you’d left behind.  then he walked out.  

a folded piece of parchment, delivered by a tawny owl at midnight, months later after the end of the school year— back in his apartment.   

dearest remus,   

 i find myself compelled, after all these years, to offer you the truth you so desperately crave. i suggest you read no further—but we both know you will.   she did not burn. that was a kindness i allowed you in the beginning, one i see now was misguided. the truth, as always, is far uglier.   they caught her just outside the cellar door. she’d freed the boy—did you know that? he was halfway to the apparition point when they dragged her back. greyback himself held her down while they worked. cruciatus first, of course. she laughed at them. you know how she got when angry, that wild defiance that made even bellatrix hesitate. it only made them angrier.   

 they used muggle tools. knives, mostly. the kind that leave jagged edges. they started with her hands—the left first, the one with your ring. she screamed then, but only once. after that, she just gritted her teeth and took it. i’m told she never stopped trying to crawl toward the door, even when her fingers were gone. even when her knees were shattered. she was still whispering instructions to the boy when they—   

  no. i’ll spare you that particular detail. some things, even now, are too cruel to put to paper.   

 she lasted forty-three minutes. longer than most would have. longer than i expected. the healer who examined the scene afterward said there were grooves in the floorboards where her nails had dug in. she’d tried to claw her way out, even at the end. even when there was no hope left.   

 the boy survived. he carries your ring to this day. i thought you might find some comfort in that.   

 you were right, of course. i could have sent you. but we both know what would have happened. you’d have chosen her over the mission. over the war. over the greater good. and so i chose for you.   

 i do not expect your forgiveness. i ask only that you understand—some losses are necessary. some loves must be sacrificed. hers was one.   

 yours,   

 a.d.   

the letter falls from remus’ hands.   

for a moment, there’s nothing. no sound. no breath. just the parchment lying there on the floor, dumbledore’s elegant script screaming up at him in the dim light of his shitty apartment.  

then—  

his wand is in his hand before he realizes he’s reached for it. the spell tears from his throat raw and ragged, magic cracking through the air like a gunshot.  

“ expecto patronum. ”  

the silver wolf bursts forth in a blaze of light—not the gentle glow of happier memories, but something  feral , all bared teeth and hackles raised. when it opens its mouth, it’s  his  voice that comes out, broken and furious:  

“ she knew. she fucking knew. all this time—she knew she was walking into that cellar to die and dumbledore—fucking  dumbledore — ”  

his voice shatters. the wolf flickers, its edges fraying with the force of his rage.  

“ he sent her there to die, pads. he  let  them carve her apart and she— ” a ragged gasp. “ she still tried to crawl. she was still  trying — ”  

the patronus wavers, its light guttering like a candle in a storm. remus’ knees hit the floor.  

“ i need you, ” he whispers.  

the wolf dissolves into silver mist.  

and somewhere across london, sirius runs faster than he's ever run in his life—because the patronus didn't just carry words. it carried the image of remus' wand pressed to his own temple, the incantation 'obliviate' already half-formed on his lips, your name the last coherent thought in his shattered mind as silver light bled into the cracks of his broken apartment.

[ginawankenobi]

A Comprehensive Guide to All the Characters on Lost, Ranked (by me, obviously) - Part One: From Bad to Neutral

Do I need a disclaimer? Needless to say, these are my opinions and my opinions only. I am not the Supreme Authority on Which Characters are Best (though if you want to appoint me as such, I won't complain about it, lmao). If you feel differently than I do, polite and thoughtful commentary is always welcome, and I would encourage you to make your own list so we can compare! Anyway, I think that’s enough. Let’s get to ranking!

This doesn’t cover EVERY character, but it’s pretty dang close. Also, warning, this is LONG. There are a LOT of characters in this show…I kind of forgot that tiny detail until I started doing this, and by that point I was in too deep, so here we are. Don’t worry, I think I made it entertaining, if you feel inclined to indulge me and read it all.

All the way at the bottom of the list, we begin in

The 10th Circle of Hell (Because the 9th One Just Isn’t Deep Enough).

One of the main themes of the show is duality, which is why I have Jacob & the MIB up a level from here (more on that in a sec), but these people (again, in my opinion) are just irredeemable pieces of garbage. The Worst of the Worst. In no particular order:

Susan Lloyd. I don’t know what happened to make her such a miserable garbage person, but I don’t really care, either. Keeping Michael from Walt and the way she went about everything was fucking evil. Michael may not have been perfect, but he wanted to be in his kid’s life, and he deserved a million times better than what she gave him. Being Walt’s mom is the only good thing she ever did, but even that won’t come close to redeeming her in my eyes. At least karma came around for her in the end. Burn in hell.

Anthony Cooper. Do I even need to explain this? Zero redeeming qualities, zero remorse for anything he ever did, actual sociopath. Burn in hell.

Charles Widmore, you selfish, arrogant, stupid man-child. You can argue that he has duality if you want, oh he loves his daughter, he loves Eloise, blah blah blah. No he doesn’t and I don’t care. He doesn’t know what love means. Selfish little boy who learns nothing and only exists to make others miserable. Burn in hell.

Martin Keamy. Dickhead sociopathic probably former frat bro who gets off on hurting people and being in charge of hurting people. Burn in hell.

Woo-Jung Paik. Learns nothing, cares about no one. I truly despise that he probably wound up helping raise Ji Yeon, and then he probably got his fucking company back as well. I hate it and I hate him. Sun and Jin deserved to escape the island and raise their child themselves. Burn in hell.

Wayne Janssen is self explanatory; an abusive asshole who definitely would have also assaulted Kate given any opportunity. Disgusting individual. Am I upset Kate wasn’t a little smarter about what she did? Perhaps. Am I mad he’s dead? Nah. (So many dads on this show suck SO much, I think the writers had some mega unresolved daddy issues, tbh.) Burn in hell.

Sabrina Carlyle, you HEINOUS hag. Shannon was still a child when she lost her dad, she was a literal teenager trying to figure her shit out, and you basically told her to go fuck herself because you thought YOU deserved to keep ALL her dad’s money on top of the millions you already have, and Shannon deserved to be cut off with NOTHING because she was kind of wishy-washy and didn’t know what she wanted to do for the rest of her life at 18? Look, I understand wanting her to work for stuff and not just be handed everything, but FOR FUCK’S SAKE, how disgusting and cruel can you be? “Oh, your dad didn’t leave a will.” BULLSHIT. (I get kind of defensive over my faves, forgive me.) Burn, you guessed it, in hell.

Slightly above them in Satan’s Armpit, we have:

Yes, I am putting the MIB and Jacob on the same level, and it’s not the lowest one. They’re brothers, cut from the same cloth, blah blah etc. There are REASONS the island needed Hurley, things needed to be different. Like come on Jakey, did you really need to go through such a rigmarole to pick a freakin’ successor? I don’t think so. I mean, in the end it got us the Losties all together and stuff, but at what cost? It’s not like Jacob had any idea how any of that would turn out. Meanwhile, he let Ben do all his Ben shit, and let his smoke monster brother kill all kinds of people for no reason while he just went on being Mr. Mysterious “I-Never-Show-My-Face-Or-Actually-Explain-Stuff-To-People-Even-Though-I’m-Trying-To-Recruit-Them-To-Take-My-Job” …whatever, man. The MIB is here for obvious reasons. Selfish, doesn’t care who he hurts or kills to get what he wants, of course, he’s the obvious evil of this show. Still, there is duality there, and for that I am putting him in this tier. I can empathize with thinking Jacob’s an ass, lmao.

Roger Linus. I certainly empathize with him regarding the loss of his wife, that’s devastating, however, it is not an excuse to abuse your child. It was not Ben’s fault (for once, lol). I’m not saying Ben was right to kill him either, of course, but I certainly understand his reasons and how he was pushed to the decisions he made.

Phil. I loathe and detest this slimy doofus, and it all boils down to one thing: He Hit Juliet. I fully and completely understand James’s rage when he did that. The visceral reaction I have as an observer who knows these characters are fictional and loves Juliet is bad enough, so I can definitely believe the man who’s in love with her would LITERALLY want to kill him for doing that. There are other reasons, of course, he’s annoying and thinks he’s much smarter than he is and all that, but those reasons aren’t as important to me. (You’ll notice treatment of Juliet is quite a deciding factor throughout this list, lmfao.)

Stuart Radzinsky. Just an ass, to be honest. Unpleasant as fuck, doesn’t care who he hurts as long as he gets to do his little sciencey stuff. Oh yeah, and he rats out Suliet. So. BYE!

Brian Porter. Honestly being married to Susan is reason enough to put you here, but then you also went and threw Walt away like a used Kleenex. Fuck you, Brian.

Thomas (Claire’s baby daddy) is an asshat. Seriously. YOU insisted she keep the baby, made all these promises, and then got all pissy when it was time to talk and think about stuff for the baby? Fuck you. Grow up, Peter Pan.

Subcategory: They Who Hath Drinketh the Kool-aid (& Therefore I Cannot Respect Them)

Danny & Colleen Pickett. It’s clear they think they’re a power couple, but in reality they’re just weirdos with anger issues and a superiority complex.

Bea Klugh. Seriously, lady, you sacrificed your life for what? Citation not found.

Mikhail Bakunin. Again, you killed people and sacrificed yourself for…?

Ethan Rom. You know what you did.

Isabel. You’re useless. What even was the point of you, “Sheriff” who knows Chinese for some reason?

Goodwin Stanhope. You win a couple points for being nice to Juliet and trying to leave your wife for her (cause let’s be honest, who wouldn’t), but you still drank it, man.

Harper Stanhope. You’re just kind of a miserable person. Byeeee.

Adam. You beefed with Juliet and called her “Julie.” Ew.

Cindy Chandler. Pawn. “We’re here to watch.” Watch what? Watch Juliet get sentenced to death and executed. Go fuck yourself, Cindy. You’re lucky the execution didn’t actually happen, or you’d be in Hell Circle 10.

Zoe. Pawn.

Seamus. Pawn.

Omar. Pawn.

Ryan Pryce. Pawn.

Aldo. Pawn.

The rest of the Others we see glimpses of, like Burditt, Justin, Luke, Jason, etc.

Next, we have the You’re Not The Worst, But I Dislike You More than I Like You category:

Tom Friendly is in this category because despite myself, I kinda like the guy. He has a sense of humor and a flair for the dramatic, and he’s a far more interesting character than most of the other Others. He’s not higher in the ranks because well, Kool-aid drinker.

Cassidy Phillips. Look, I know James did her wrong, but she just sorta bothers me. I feel a kind of pick-me energy that I can’t fully explain, and I don’t enjoy it. I do think her relationship with Kate is the most interesting thing about her, and I definitely could see that ship sailing once Kate returned from the island.

Sarah Wagner (formerly Shephard) kind of gets a pass because Jack definitely had his issues, but did you NEED to cheat on him? I don’t think so. Also, being mad that he always wants to fix things after you literally married him BECAUSE he fixed a thing is a little nuts, I’m just saying.

Emily Locke did it with one of the worst people in history, but it produced John so at least there’s that, I guess. She’s got some severe mental illness(es), which Cooper undoubtedly exploited, so I can’t place a ton of blame on her. Still, she needs some serious help.

Nikki & Paulo. I’ll lump them together because that’s what the show did. In all honesty, they were just kind of unnecessary, but I don’t hate them.

Ed Mars is an obsessive man, one might say. Truthfully, he’s just trying to do his job. Kate legitimately is a premeditated murderer on the run, what’s he supposed to do? Does he get a little carried away? Yes. Is he wrong? Not really. Still don’t love the guy, but he’s not The Worst.

Kelvin Inman is here for his treatment of Desmond, trying to sneak off and leave him. Sorry, bro. He’s a relatively decent dude otherwise.

Liam Pace. Look, I fully respect that he went and got clean and got his shit together, I do, but selling Charlie’s piano was a DICK move.

Nathan…you just didn’t help yourself at ALL, man. If you gave even a smidgen of kindness to literally anyone, they wouldn’t have been so quick to believe you were an Other.

Mrs. Paik is here because she’s married to Satan’s spawn. She’s not lower on the list because she genuinely cares for Sun and Ji Yeon.

Right in the middle we have the “I Don’t Have Any Reason to Hate You, But I Don’t Really Have Any Reason to Like You Either” group. These are characters we don’t get to know very well, or that I just feel kind of neutral about.

I’ll group up the crash survivors here, so Joanna Miller, Gary Troup, Beth, Donald, the other tailies, and captain Seth Norris. We hardly knew ye. Literally.

Ilana, I’m sorry girl, I don’t really care that much about you. It feels a little like she was just thrown in to have an extra female character (cough, in the absence of Juliet, cough). She’s fine, she’s okay, I just don’t really have any personal attachment to her at all.

Matthew Abaddon and Eloise Hawking represent true neutral alignment to me. They don’t really get involved or invested, they just make sure the pieces are in the proper place.

Diane Janssen is here because she kind of evens out for me. She was stuck in an abusive relationship and couldn’t find the strength to leave, which I empathize with, but it caused her to make some shitty decisions that affected her daughter. I believe she was justified in her anger towards Kate, but wrong to try and blackmail her into seeing Aaron, though she wound up not following through with that and doing the right thing after all. It kind of all balances out, in my opinion, and I neither like nor dislike her, really.

Bonnie and Greta kind of drank the Kool-aid, but Bonnie used her final moments to defy Ben, and I can appreciate that.

Carole and Lindsay Littleton, we don’t get to know them much, but I appreciate how much Claire loves her mom and how Lindsay was protective of them when it came to Christian.

Danielle’s expedition party members. Rest in…well, pieces, if you’re Montand. Sorry.

Pierre and Lara Chang. Though Pierre is a bit of a grump, he’s not a bad dude overall, and Lara was fine as well.

Lennon and Dogen again sort of fall into the duality category where they even out. They drank that sweet Kool-aid, but there’s a little more to them than meets the eye. At the end of the day though, I just don’t have any strong feelings about them.

Richard Malkin did his best to steer Claire in the right direction, for whatever reason. But did it mean anything or not? The world may never know.

Carmen Reyes is a good mom, she made Hurley so she gets points for that, but she’s just middle of the road for me.

Dan Norton is a dude doing his job.

Tricia Tanaka, how did you not see that meteor coming, girl? Just kidding, she deserved better, but again, we don’t know her very well.

People we see mostly in passing: Regina, Nurse Lazenby, Rosie, Olivia, Chrissy, Jill

Part two will be on the way soon! (And it will probably be longer than this part 😅) Stay tuned!