#but i was at register and i'm forbidden to cry there i think

[binch-i-might-be]

recently I've noticed that I clench my jaw a lot at work and I've noticed this because obviously while doing that I also grind my teeth and I do not Want to grind my teeth as I don't want to damage them

idk when or why this started but like an hour ago at register. I realised. what was up with that. because I got so fucking mad that I clenched my jaw but while at the same time trying not to grind my teeth and it's the exact same motion I used to do when I was a young teenager. like 13/14. because back then I used to bite my hands when I got too fucking mad/overwhelmed. (I was also That Kid that would punch walls lmao)

now I know that was a kind of self harm and I find it oddly hilarious that I've been having this urge for the first time in years,,,,, because of this fucking job

get yourself a job that will make you want to self harm 😩❤️

[coff33andb00ks]

Hopeless - LN

Lando Norris x fem!reader (mentions of Charles Leclerc x fem!reader) Summary: and you know damn well that for you, I would ruin myself a million little times Word count: 2012 Themes: angst, forbidden love(?) Song: can i be him by james arthur Warnings: cheating, charles is a bad boyfriend, cursing, Oscar knows everything, barely proofread, not a happy ending Notes: I watched one too many she chose me/did she? tiktoks and this was born. Also please don't take this as me condoning cheating (unless you can cheat with Lando).

Lando isn't one hundred percent sure how it began, not really. He remembers the first move, the bit of shock when you didn't reject him, but he doesn't remember how – or when or why – he fell for you. He knows he didn't just wake up one day saying to himself right today's the day I fall in love.

It all started so innocently. Right? He found out you liked gaming and casually invited you to his place to try out his setup when you mentioned you were looking to upgrade. He'd expected Charles to come with you but had shrugged it off, too excited to share his love for gaming. You stayed most of the afternoon, laughing and he'd had the tiniest of crushes by the time you left. And when you upgraded you asked him to come over to help you set it up.

Crush: intensified.

He's pretty sure he liked you so much because you didn't talk about racing with him. He could be "normal" around you, just like any other guy in his 20s who loved video games and driving fancy cars and blasting music. Soon he was dropping by or inviting you over on off days. He didn't think anything of it. You were a friend, and Charles obviously didn't mind, so why deny himself the pleasure of your company?

Crush: die-hard. To the point Max and Oscar teased him about it.

He likes you most in his apartment. On race weekends at a track you were calm, cool, and collected in designer brands, the picture perfect girlfriend of everyone's favorite Ferrari driver. But at his place, you were… Y/n. Yapping nonstop and dancing in his living room, curled up under a blanket on his sofa watching the latest period drama, in his kitchen baking treats he isnt' supposed to eat.

It was, he thought after hugging you goodbye one night, kind of like having a girlfriend without the stress.

He still dated. Casually. Because he couldn't justify putting all the time and effort into finding a girlfriend. It was so much easier to sleep around and be friends with you. Fucked up, yeah, but easier.

Then on an off weekend you showed up unannounced, looking like you wanted to cry.

And he would have done anything to keep that from happening.

"I just needed to get away," you said, and Lando nodded, letting you in and pretending the smell of your perfume didn't affect him.

You didn't want to talk about it and he didn't pressure you. He gave you the remote and fixed you a drink and parked himself on the other end of the sofa with his laptop to edit some photos while you found some old movie to put on.

"Lan?" you asked after a while.

"Hmm?" He didn't look away from his laptop.

"If Charles…" You sighed. "If he cheated on me you'd tell me wouldn't you?"

"Immediately," he said without hesitation. Then, as your words registered, he saved his progress and closed the laptop, slowly turning to look at you. "Do you think he's cheating?"

You shrugged, eyes firmly on the TV.

"Y/n. C'mon, talk to me." Lando set the laptop aside and picked up the remote to mute the TV.

"I'm just being stupid."

He waited, and then listened while you listed off the reasons you were considering that Charles was cheating. How he'd stayed out late the night before, had left early this morning for a last minute trip to the Ferrari factory. Facing you, he moved closer, until he could hold your hand. Then, when you finished, he rattled off the usual signs of cheating to see if anything matched.

You looked at him oddly. "Got a lot of experience with cheating?"

Lando giggled, as he always did when asked a stressful question. "What? Me? Nah."

"Fucking liar," you muttered, rolling your eyes.

"No, no, I never lie when I'm fucking," he said, wondering why the words were coming out of his mouth before he finished saying them. Glancing upwards, he pinched his brows together. "Well, wait, maybe I have… Like when it's mediocre but you need to get off so you say it's good?"

You laughed, which was always his goal with you. He loved your laugh, adored the way you threw your head back, and always joined in as soon as the snort you despised escaped.

"Oh god Lan," you giggled, and moved to hug him.

And he knew he was a goner. Because you felt so good in his arms. He hugged you close. He knew the healing power of a good hug but also held onto you for more selfish reasons, committing the feel of you tucked so close to his memory, breathing in the scent of you. Easing his grip as you began to pull away, he felt his breath catch in his throat when you paused, looking into his eyes.

"Thank you," you whispered.

"You know I'm always here for you." He smiled. He liked that he could make you feel better. Then, because he couldn't help himself, he had to go and ruin everything. Reaching up, he lightly smoothed your cheek with his fingers. "If he is cheating, he's a fucking moron. You're not even my girl and I can't find anyone that compares."

He still can't remember how you'd initially reacted. Surprise, probably. Maybe a little shock. But he would forever remember the way you'd breathed his name, as though Lando were a prayer, and that you'd both leaned in at the same time.

And he was certain that until his last breath he would recall every detail of what had followed. The kiss, everything pure and perfect, your hands on his neck. Him pulling you closer, both of you moaning. It had been frantic, every shred of neediness and longing pouring from his mouth to yours, every late night dream running through his mind, each fantasy he'd allowed himself to think of coming true before he'd tasted your skin.

You stayed the night, and he'd discovered that you'd fantasized, too.

***

"You good mate?"

Lando blinks, seeing Oscar in the doorway. "Yeah," he lies, rolling his shoulders. "Just thinking of strats for tomorrow."

"You've been listening to the same song for almost an hour."

Fuck. "No I haven't." He pauses the song, rubbing the back of his neck and finally moving to finish dressing. "It's a good song."

"What's going on with you? You've been acting weird for a couple months now," Oscar says.

Lando swallows the shame. It's not that he feels guilty. He's content with the arrangement between you. Not that anything is set in stone, but it's an unspoken agreement. You're still with Charles – who, it turned out, was cheating but it was a minor fling – and he's single. Technically. In his heart, he's yours.

He almost laughs because it's so beyond fucked up now.

But he can't let anyone else find out. He's been around long enough to know that you'd be the one labeled as a whore. Even though everyone's aware of Charles' infidelity, it would be your fault. And Oscar…

For someone whose entire persona is I really don't give a fuck I'm here to race, the bastard knows everything. He's like a cat. He's always there, and even when he's not listening he soaks it all in like a sponge.

He spritzes a little more cologne on himself and pulls on his hoodie. "Dunno what you're talking about, mate."

"You haven't gone out to celebrate since Miami."

Of course he hasn't. Miami was the night he'd gotten just drunk enough to dance too close to you. The secretly snapped pictures of his face in your neck are still popping up on social media. "It gets old after a while, Osc."

Oscar folds his arms over his chest and leans in the doorway. "For me, yeah. For you? Not buying it."

Goddamn the sponge cat for being so observant. Lando shrugs, maintaining he façade of yep I'm good. "Osc—"

"Is it because of y/n?"

Ice water floods his veins. He can feel the blood draining from his face and his palms begin to sweat. You've both been so careful, Miami notwithstanding. He never takes you out, makes a point to not sit too close to you in a group setting, and is his so-called normal self anytime someone else is around. It's different alone, but – oh. "You mean in Miami?" he asks casually, fixing his necklace and lifting his foot to tie his shoe.

"You were weird about her before Miami."

Oh god. "It was just a stupid crush." He ties his other shoe and checks his pockets for his wallet and hotel key. "I'm over it now."

"Lando."

"What?" He practically snaps the word out and instantly regrets it, but he can't talk to Oscar about this. Oscar will never be able to understand. "Look, I gotta go, need to get rest for tomorrow."

"Oh. I thought… I guess you are over it." Oscar gives a tiny shrug.

Lando freezes. "Why are you talking in riddles?"

"You didn't see them fighting?"

He jerks his head to stare at his teammate. When he speaks, his voice nearly cracks. "Fighting?"

"Well, arguing. I don't know what about, I didn't catch any of it. I only saw him trying to talk to her and she shoved him and stormed off."

No wonder you haven't replied to his texts. His hand aches to pull out his phone and call you to check on you. To make sure you're okay. You and Charles don't fight often but Lando knows of your tendency to go and cry until you figure out a resolution. "What did they fight about?"

"I don't know."

Lando swallows anxiously, pulling out his phone and checking the time. "Where'd she go?"

"No clue."

"You're really no fucking help," Lando mutters, shoving his phone into his pocket and brushing past him to leave the room.

"Thought you were over it?" Oscar asks softly.

Lando freezes again, anguish twisting in his chest at the thought of ever being over you. "I… She's my friend. It's… Y/n… She's…"

"She's what?"

Everything but his. Real and true and more than he ever thought he could have. His daily sunshine and his nightly fantasy. The open ear when he's having a rough go, the tight embrace when he needs grounding. His source of peace and his greatest torment.

"Fucking hell, mate," Oscar whispers.

"I gotta go," Lando says.

And he leaves, not sure why he feels so anxious all of a sudden. Everything feels off. He tells himself it's because Oscar knows, or at least thinks he knows, and that's got to be the reason. He's fine. You're fine. Nothing's changing just because you had a fight with Charles. It'll blow over and by morning things will be as they have been.

The trip to the hotel seems to take forever and he's even more uneasy as he sits in traffic a few cars back from the valet. He should have gotten an Uber or caught a ride with someone. Despite the air conditioning going he's sweating, because you still haven't replied to his texts, and when he tries to call you it goes straight to voicemail.

Hey y/n, call me when you can?

But you don't.

He stays up late, hoping you'll at least send him a text letting him know you're okay. His sleep is restless, plagued with the worst possible scenarios. When his alarm goes off he hits snooze one too many times and so has to rush to the track, trying to push everything out of his mind as race time approaches. Checking social media so he can engage with the team posts hyping up his and Oscar's starting positions, he can only stare at the screen when Instagram loads.

You. And Charles. Cozied up like soulmates. There's candlelight and flowers.

But all he can stare at is the diamond on your finger. And, just beneath the photo, Charles' short caption.

She said yes.

*~end~*

[blue--ingenue]

"As You're Told"

Author's Note: i'm hitting our boys with the steel chair in this one. tw for violence i'm so sorry y'all

Read on ao3

His lungs heaved and his legs burned, but he couldn’t stop running. Somewhere in their terrified scramble to dodge Delphi’s hexes he’d lost sight of Albus. The name was at the tip of his tongue, but calling out into the darkness could land him right back at square one. The electrified ropes binding his wrists together flashed and crackled with each slight movement. Despite the searing pain, they were his only light source as he thrust his bonds into the shadows, searching for movement. He wanted to cry. He could feel fat tears burning at the corners of his eyes, but he didn’t dare let them fall. 

Albus. He had to find Albus. They’d taken advantage of Delphi’s momentary distraction as Craig - . His breath caught. Craig’s body had hit the ground, and as she stood above him, admiring her work, they’d made a run for it. The Forbidden Forest had been the closest source of cover, and so they sprinted into the shadows. A flicker of regret whispered at the back of his mind, telling him it’d been a mistake. At least when they were on the pitch, they were together. Now, Albus could be anywhere, so could she. What if she’d already found him? What if - 

No. He couldn’t let himself think of what Delphi would do if she got her hands on Albus again. He pushed it all to the back of his mind. All thoughts of Craig’s empty husk hitting the ground, Albus begging for Scorpius to be left alone - anything except the directive to find Albus was pushed away.

————

Albus was tired of running. Despite the cocktail of fear and guilt burning through his veins with each exhausted heartbeat, he was enraged. He didn’t think Scorpius was capable of making sounds like the ones forced from his lips as she tortured him. He knew he’d never forget them. Albus wasn’t sure who he hated more at the moment: her, for torturing Scorpius, or himself for putting them in this mess and being powerless to stop her. For now it didn’t matter. He just needed to find Scorpius. Then he could spend the rest of his life trying to make things better. But for now -

A branch snapped behind him. It was the only warning he had before he found himself pinned against a tree. It felt as though a weight was bearing down on his chest, pressing him against the rough bark and making it difficult to draw in a full breath. He struggled against it, but the force only pushed harder.

“You should’ve heard him scream,” a voice lilted from behind him. Albus froze, ears straining to anticipate where she was approaching from.

“I suppose you already have, but those were nothing compared to the sounds he made before I found you.” Delphi’s voice seemed to come from everywhere all at once. “Albus please! Albus, help me!” she crooned. She whipped from around the tree and took his face in her hands. Her nails dug into his skin and he thrashed his head from her grip. Delphi tutted, disappointed, before she thrust a fist into his curls and slammed his head against the tree. Hard.

His world shook with the force of the impact and he saw stars as she released his head. He cried out as he lifted his head. The world around him was soupy and slow. He was hearing everything from underwater, and he duly registered the back of his head was damp where it had struck the tree. The world shifted and slowly coalesced to form a single figure in front of him. Delphi.

“He’s got some fight in him, your little loverboy,” she spat. “I’ve never seen anyone last that long under the cruciatus curse. He was begging for you, you know. Begging for you to help him. And where were you, Albus? In the end, it was practically a mercy killing.”

He looked her in the eyes. Took in her smug grin, teeth bared like a wolf merely playing with its food. “You’re…you’re lying,” he croaked. She had to be. Scorpius couldn’t be- . It wasn’t possible.

The mask fell from her face. “Would it matter if I was? He’ll be dead soon, anyway, if you don’t do as you’re told.”

  For the first time that night, Albus’ defiance wavered. He couldn’t imagine a world without Scorpius in it. Couldn’t fathom it. Maybe he could buy them time? Pretend to go along with her plan, just until someone found them, or they figured something else out. She seemed to read his mind.

“I still don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation,” she whispered into his ear. Albus hadn’t realized she’d moved so close. She pointed her wand at his throat and hissed, “But you will. Imperio.”

Everything fell away and Albus was floating. There was a fog inside his head that chased away the pain and promised that everything would be alright as long as he listened. It was all so easy! He felt the burning ropes dissipate from around his wrists and sighed. The fog was safe. It was warm. It promised everything would be okay. He saw Delphi moving at the corner of his vision, but paid her no mind. Nothing would hurt him, and he was perfectly content to let the fog envelop him until he received his instructions. Delphi concealed herself behind a copse of trees a few meters away.

Call out for him, her voice whispered. He obeyed. It felt good to call out Scorpius’ name, knowing that his best friend would soon emerge and they’d be together again. What a wonderful suggestion. Do it again, and sound scared, came the next order.

Albus didn’t understand why he needed to sound scared, but he didn’t anyway. He just wanted Scorpius to be here. What did it matter what his voice sounded like? Just moments later a figure crashed through the trees, all lanky limbs and soft hair, moonlight-white. Scorpius.

Go to him, the voice coaxed. Albus ran forward, holding his friend by the elbows and gazing at his dirt-streaked face. Even now he was the most beautiful thing Albus had ever seen. A ripple of disgust rolled through the fog in his head, and Albus frowned. Scorpius was saying something, concern etched along his forehead. Albus tilted his head, confused yet intrigued. He wanted to listen to Scorpius, but the voice demanded his attention. Hold his face in your hands, it urged. Be gentle.

This was his favorite instruction by far. Albus placed one hand at the back of his neck, and let the other gently cup his cheek beneath a fresh-blooming cut. Whatever Scorpius had been saying seemed to fall away. He was gaping at Albus, lips parted in shock and brow furrowed in confusion. He rubbed a thumb soothingly against Scorpius’ cheek and threaded his fingers though the soft locks at his nape. “Albus?” he breathed.

The voice’s next instructions were crisp and clear. Put your hands around his throat and squeeze. 

His fingers twitched, but remained in place. Hurt Scorpius? He couldn’t do that. It went against every fiber of his being. Scorpius should never be in pain. Never.

The fog didn’t like that. The voice reared back, and he felt the instructions rattle through his skull: Obey!

Albus’ hands shot out of their own accord and he felt his brain cleave in two. It was as though he were watching someone else entirely. He fought and raged against his own body, but could only watch as the rest of him obeyed the voice. His hands were wrapped around Scorpius’ neck. Hands came up to pry them away, but they were still bound and did nothing more than paw at Albus’ unforgiving grip. Scorpius looked more frightened than Albus had ever seen him. His eyes were blown wide open, cheeks flushed and mouth agape in a desperate bid for air. 

He scrabbled uselessly against Albus’ hold, lips moving in a silent plea for him to stop. A horrible rattling wheeze punctuated each fruitless attempt to prise the fingers choking the life out of him. Albus could feel his pulse jackrabbiting against his palms, frantic and terrified and slowing, slowing, slowing…

Scorpius grew heavier in his grip, and he followed him down as he sunk to the earth. The corners of his eyes were crinkled in pain, lashes fluttering as his eyes slipped closed. His lips were tinged blue. Why were they blue? Scorpius’ lips were always pink. So perfectly pink.

Albus hadn’t noticed he’d been kicking his legs until Scorpius went still beneath him. Fledgling gasps died in his throat as he grew limp. Horrible whines and choked-off whimpers petered out. His bound hands fell away. Soft grey eyes pleaded a silent question, Why?, as a single tear escaped his fluttering eyelids. His eyes rolled back and he convulsed once, twice, and lay still. Completely still.

And still Albus held him, hands wrapped in an iron grip.

The air rushed out of him in one fell swoop, and it took the fog with it. Albus, in shock at the sudden change, remained frozen. Understanding hit him all at once and he pulled his hands away. A sound tore through his throat, half sob and half scream. He scrambled forward on his hands and knees and pulled Scorpius into his arms. He lay still.

“Scorpius?! Scorpius please!” he wailed. He pressed a trembling hand to his too-pale neck, but was shaking too frantically to find a pulse. He recoiled, gasping in horrified, snatched gasps as the moonlight illuminated the angry bruises ringed around his best friend’s neck. Albus swallowed down a sob and pressed an ear to his chest, holding his breath. The silence dragged on. Scorpius lay still. The wind whistled, leaves rustled, and Albus’ world collapsed. And then - 

There. A weak thump. And then another. “Scorpius,” he sobbed brokenly. “Scorpius please, I’m sorry!” He cradled him in his arms, hands frantically brushing soft strands of blond hair from his deathly pale face. “Please come back!” he wailed. The air shifted behind him.

“Remember this. Next time, he won’t come back. Remember this feeling, and do exactly. As. You. Are. Told.”

Albus was confused, barely registering her words through his grief and terror. He barely heard her whisper rennervate before Scorpius was coughing and spluttering in his arms. Tears of relief blurred his vision, but when he blinked them away, Scorpius looked terrified. The blue tinge was fading from his lips, but as Albus watched he twisted himself from his grip. Albus couldn’t bear the look on Scorpius’ face. He reached out a hand to comfort him, but he flinched violently away, curling in on himself. His gaze flicked between Delphi and Albus like a frightened animal caught in a trap.

Albus felt something give within him. He didn’t even react as Delphi recast the burning ropes around his wrists. As she ordered them to march back toward the quidditch pitch, time turner in hand, he saw Scorpius inch toward him ever-so-slightly. Almost imperceptible, but it was there. Their gazes met, and he could tell that Scorpius understood. He seemed to understand Delphi had used the Imperius curse. Scorpius leveled him with a look of understanding, of forgiveness. Albus looked away, guilty. He would never forgive himself.

[olderthannetfic]

(cw for mentions predatory behavior/grooming) I wish people understood how unsafe the furry fandom is for minors. I know that every fandom has that problem to some extent, but from my personal experience it seems to be much worse in the furry fandom. I was in it for many years as a young teen (age 13-16 ish) and literally ran away from it by the end. If you're into fursuiting at all you will be surrounded by adults in their 20s ish that are often dangerously and upsettingly immature for some reason. Despite how "sfw" the like to claim they can be, they aren't. The amount of times in which either I have or had witnessed someone else under 18 being intentionally shown p-rn either directly or through groups that call themselves "sfw" is revolting. Fuck's sake I once saw one of those "guess my age by my art" posts in which some grown adult went "I guess you're 15? Can you guess mine?" and attached nsfw art to their comment (the genitals were censored but STILL). facepalm with me, please. Attending irl events is another can of worms, really. Just hope that event runners keep an eye out for predators in the community and promptly ban them. Id like to think that there was a misunderstanding, really, but I once had to report an adult commissioner who took advantage of their commission contracts with minors to get flirtatious with them regardless of how much discomfort they voiced (I even had a video of the guy m-sturbating that he had sent to someone that was even younger than me that I would have happily provided as proof). And the convention runners didn't blacklist that guy. This isnt an isolated case either, registered sex offenders have been hard to blacklist from cons in the past. The problem here is the immaturity that adults who claim to be able to make a safe space for everyone have makes them really struggle to hold that promise.

--

I haven't hung out in furry spaces much. I do think that in-person events that are at least partly about sexual stuff are a minefield and many of them just ban everyone underage because it's easier.

Is suspect Furry spaces are suffering from a common problem that happens when something perfectly reasonable is seen as freakish and socially unacceptable. When banal queer sexuality is driven underground, it's harder to sort the consensual adult stuff from the predatory stuff. When half the priests out there have secret, forbidden but perfectly consensual adult relationships, it makes it easier for the predators to hide in the general atmosphere of secrecy.

People cry wolf so often about furry being scarybadcringeyuck that I'm sure a lot of furries just dismiss any challenge to anything.

--

Outside of furry circles, people usually just think of furries as a Weird Sex Thing, so they're unlikely to imagine children should be hanging out in those spaces.

[flydotnet]

Heart of Diamantine

WHUMMPTOBER, DAY 14: “Feed me poison, fill me ‘till I drown.” Flare | Water Inhalation | “Just hold on.”

I speedran this fic in a single hour so fuck it, if it has a bunch of typos, it's not my issue anymore at this point lmao (it is, but I'm past the point of caring).

This was very close to be an unashamed novellization of RONC's Musashi route, but in the end, I found a cooler idea and I went balling with it.

Also, get it. I'm writing a Misugi-centric fic on a 14th? I'm clever. I'm very clever, in fact. Biggest brain of the fandom my guy.

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

Heart of Diamantine

Summary: 5 times a boy was told to just hold on, and one time a man got to say it back.

Fandom: Captain Tsubasa (I'm flooding tags everywhere)

Word Count: 2.1K words

AO3 version available here.

CW for brief discussion of childbirth.

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Just hold on is a thing Jun has heard a lot of time over his life, come to think of it.

The first time he did was absolutely horrifying to remember. He must’ve been no older than six years old – the memory is too fuzzy for him to remember and too forbidden for anyone else around him to ever speak of it, lest Mother replicate – but the fear from it still resonates vividly inside of him.

That was the first heart attack he could remember having. It was a sunny day outside, the grass so green and bright, the chirp of birds – and everything feeling odd and blurry at the edges. If you had asked him about it, back then, he’d have told you he felt sleepy, but it was weird because it was three in the afternoon.

For all of the blur in his memory, what he can still picture without issue is how Mother jolted up from her chair, letting her teacup break in a thousand pieces and spill onto the wooden board of the patio, as she ran to him, screaming his name in such a distorted way.

What ended up breaking through the haze and the cacophony of chest pains was her telling oh, my baby, just hold on. He was in too much suffering to really react in any other way than cry and let himself be cajoled, then dragged to a doctor whose face he doesn’t remember either. All that’s stuck with him was Mother pouring every tear in her body that day, the coldness of a stethoscope on his chest and the crestfallen looks of everyone around him.

Sometimes, he wonders if, that day, it wasn’t to herself that Mother was saying this – just hold on. Maybe it was her way to channel all of the worry and anguish that suddenly flared inside of her, her way to sustain the trauma this imposed onto her.

Maybe it wasn’t just for him, after all.

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The second time this sentence was so important to him is only so in retrospect – back then, it was just yet another time someone was going to smother his freedom and send him back to square one, to prove he could sustain himself in basic air composition.

It started like every single time his life just got slightly worse: someone found out he had a heart condition that wasn’t going to be cured any time soon. There just was one key difference, this time, though: it wasn’t a grown-up that saw him knelt to the ground, clutching his chest and clenching his teeth.

No, it was a girl he hadn’t really gotten to know quiet yet: Musashi FC’s recently hired manager, Aoba Yayoi. She seemed nice enough, and he was the one to suggest her to the coach because they could use the help and she was interested in soccer (unlike most of his school), but that was kind of it. He really didn’t know much about her.

It came as a shock, to her, to see him in such an unsightly state; but she quickly found her footing again, surprisingly enough. For someone so unprepared, she had the reflex to tend to him and bring him not directly to the coach, but to the clubroom and then get the man. His present doctor self and her present registered nurse self would probably find that stupid, now, but back then, it meant she could understand his reasons as to why keep it secret.

Just hold on, Captain, she told him as she walked him to the clubroom, carrying him with his arm wrapped around her shoulders.

He’s pretty sure, by that point, that his parents had told him that sentence a hundred times over, for so many things that it stopped making much sense; but this one stands out to him because… well, it’s Yayoi. It’s the woman he ended up marrying, of course it stands out to him just because it’s her who said it. Maybe she could’ve told him something else and it’d have stuck with him as well.

There’s no need to ponder upon what didn’t happen, though, that much she’s made him clear to him and vice-versa.

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The third time that this sentence etched itself onto his mind, it was during his very first real soccer match – the semifinals of Nationals, when he was (still) a twelve-year old boy oh so many people were idolizing him for some reason that he couldn’t entirely comprehend (and still can’t quite grasp it even now, why were people fawning over a twelve-year-old anyway?).

This was the grandiose finale he was going to show Father and Mother. This was his last showdown and he had carefully picked the brightest star to go around so, like a comet, he could burn away leaving a trail of light behind him.

It almost wasn’t, because Yayoi was too truthful and well-intentioned but overly clumsy about it, and Tsubasa wasn’t as strong in the mind as Jun thought he was. And even if it all went well in the end, gave the spectacle he was hoping for, praying for, the consequences are still here. They’ve been singed into his very core.

Nothing wrong with both of their reactions, in retrospect, because they were all children and very confused about how to handle his condition; but back then, it stung – it burned and burned like his heart as he ran around and tried to ignore everything that wasn’t going well with him. Everything about him was going to explode, at some point; but he wanted it to be on his own term.

The pain was atrocious, of course, and unlike anything he had experienced before; that was the one thing the gilded cage of his parents’ mansion had protected him from, after all. But he told himself to just hold on, because this was his way of going out, and he was going out with a bang. That’s all that mattered, for forty minutes or so.

His recklessness this day wasn’t enough to kill him, thankfully – but it almost came to be. It did teach him to persevere, that’s for sure; and, in some way, it’s this event that defined much of what he is today.

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

Oh, the fourth time it happened, it came from – it came from nowhere, actually. It was just a feeling that overwhelmed his body. It flowed from his thoughts down to his heart and then through his entire self, pulsing like his blood.

Just hold on. It’ll be over before you know it.

In fact, he’d go as far as to say the fourth time happened twice. Both times were so similar, it’s like a two-parter of sorts, with one time echoing the other, ripples in the vast sea that has always been his difficult relationship with being alive.

Just hold on. It’ll be worth it by the end, don’t let it slip.

There is, however, a major difference between both times.

The first time around, it was a selfish wish to face off against a formidable opponent again. He wanted to see Tsubasa again, so he had to beat Hyuga first, so he had to help out the team. He had to hold on so he could get to Nationals – and he didn’t.

The second time around, however, it really was just to help his team get over the threshold and qualify for the finals of a tournament that, back then, was truly going to be his last, at least for a long time, maybe forever. He had to hold on so they could do that, even if his heart was aching all the while – and they did. They won, twice over even.

That must’ve been the turning point in his life – the one thing that taught him to be patient with his body, with himself. It taught him to think of the others as well, now that he could channel both his frustration and his feelings into things much more positive. His ambition became that of helping others, instead of just helping himself by running away from people trying to protect him, to help him.

Considering he’s now a cardiologist of his own, he’d say it was a success, even if maybe the success was that he was still alive and very much kicking. Maybe that’s not a thing a lot of fifteen-year-old could say about themselves, but was he really any fifteen-year-old to begin with?

(Most people would say no).

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

The fifth time is a mixture of so many voices and hallucinations Jun isn’t sure of how to untangle that mess, even a decade later. He’s not even sure of what happened: did he die and was somehow brought back? Was that just a near-death experience?

Whatever it was, all he knows is that he once again heard someone tell him to hold on. The circumstances – in the middle of a match, in front of shut-down teammates and unheard audience – make it so he doubts it was anyone but himself.

Yet, the voices he heard weren’t really his. It was his family’s, of his teammates’, of old friends’, that of the woman he wanted to marry. So many people he trusted and who trusted him, telling him to hold on. That he couldn’t let it all end now.

So he got up to his feet, swallowed immense amounts of pain like people with healthy hearts would down a bottle of sake, and continued playing. Continued living. Made it out of the match, tournament, country – whatever. He saved himself.

It was a sort of wake-up call, at the end of the day: he was going to die before most other people because of a thing he barely had control over, and that just how things were, unfortunately, and he needed to be hasty about some things. He didn’t have time to maul over decisions and let opportunities pass by him, or maybe it’d be too late for him, and he’d die with only regrets and what-ifs in his head.

Perhaps this is how it had always been – or, actually, it was just part of the solution. He finally found the balance: live well without worrying too much about the far future, but still think ahead enough to know when to preserve himself and continue living as long as he could. Have fun, have tranquility. And this meant he had to do at least one thing before it was too late, while he could still speak…

He told himself he’d just hold on until the very end, got down to one knee with a little box in his hand, and finally proposed to the one who had stuck by his side for so long no matter how high the tide.

(Somehow, as crazy as he was, she said yes).

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

It’s bizarre for him not to be in the position of the one who’s hurting, Jun must admit. He’s so used to being the one on the operating or examination table, to have tools on his skin and inside of his body, that being on the chair next to the patient is just foreign to him, even now, even as he’s now a doctor himself.

Or perhaps it’s because he’s a medical professional now and standing there, unable to do much about a situation, isn’t part of his life anymore. There is no advice nor tool that he could use how to make things go faster for his own wife and it’s terrifying.

He has reasons to be worried, he has reasons not to be, and the constant switch between hot and cold is sickening. One moment he’s trying to smile, another he thinks Yayoi is clutching his hand too hard and it means she’s in trouble, and it may turn awry, because God knows births can go awry – his almost did, and if their child has inherited whatever he has, then it may be too late for them and – and then the midwife says she’s doing so well, and the cycle continues.

It’s very much not like himself to lose his composure like that, even if it’s just internal and, on the outside, he’s the reasonable husband who’s standing by his wife’s side at a moment of need. He should be taking the role so much more at heart than he is, at the moment, too; it’s a way to thank her for all of her deeds and show they’re in this together.

And there is perhaps one sentence he can use that would do the trick.

Just hold on, he tells her, it’ll be over before you know it.

It must be the first time in his life that he’s happy to hear someone cry.

[jimlingss]

It's B from @bang-tan-bitches and I would like to request a yandere fic. It can be BTS OT7 x reader or BTS member of your choice x reader. Similar to your amazing isekai story i would like something similar(a long one shot or a multi-chapter, your choice). Whether YN transmigrates to a game or a novel (not as a villain but maybe as a cannon fodder side character that has little importance to the story and just wants to lay low) but YN captures the attention of the love interest(s) and shit starts getting weird, intense, uncomfortable. Maybe it causes the supposed female lead to turn into the villain, maybe it causes the love interest(s) to turn into the villain(s). Maybe YN realizes that something is wrong with the story/game but can't figure it out. Idk. Time period doesn't matter. Modern. Ancient. Fairytale. Fantasy. Whatever.

If you can do this great! If you can't or don't want to, that's okay too. You're an amazing writer with so much talent and I'm really appreciative of all your work. Thank you for taking requests from your fans, I'm sure you've received a lot.

Take care! 😘💜💜💜

at the start of the pandemic, I was getting back into manga and manhwa and then after a few months, I dawdled off but recently, I’ve been getting back into it again haha so this request came at a pretty good time. Hopefully you won’t mind that I’ve taken some creative liberties with this request lol I think it’s more fun if I keep readers on their toes, including the requester.

On another note, I really shouldn’t be writing all my isekai’s with Taehyung as the main lead but he’s just so fitting asdfghjkl

↳ The Fox Bride

2.6k || 99% Light Fluff, 1% Angst || Kim Taehyung || Isekai!AU, Slight Yandere!AU, Nine-Tailed Fox!Taehyung

You are a tutorial character.

But you weren’t always. You still remember being a career woman in the twenty-first century, struggling with overtime and paying bills while trying to keep yourself fed. The success of that ranged from month to month. But more importantly, you still remember that night too.

It was rainy. Your car blew a flat tire. You pulled to the side of the highway and got out.

The last thing that registered was the deafening honk of the semi-truck. 

Then you felt yourself flying upwards.

But when you landed, instead of colliding with the concrete and dying upon impact, you fell back onto your ass in the middle of a market on a dirt road. Transported back a thousand years ago.

Your purpose was fulfilled in the next two minutes. 

“Are you alright?”

The male protagonist had stretched out his hand and helped you up. The hero. The main character. It was obvious with his bright red hair, shining eyes and bronze armour. He was so starkly different from the rest who were gray and drab, including you who was suddenly in a brown shapeless dress. He was practically a neon billboard in the middle of a graveyard.

“Are you Y/N?”

You looked at him, befuddled that he knew your name. But before you could even respond or provide a line of dialogue, he said, “This is a delivery from Baker Jeon. He gives you his thanks.”

The protagonists handed you a loaf of bread. Undoubtedly his first ever quest. 

You looked down, not sure what to do with it.

“Do you know where the blacksmith is?”

You had absolutely no clue. But there was the deafening noise of hammering steel literally ten steps away. You would have to be blind not to see the gruff man shaping a sword at an anvil right on the road and deaf not to hear it. As if that wasn’t enough, the literal sign of the shop read: ‘the blacksmith’.

So you pointed.

“Thanks.” And he trudged off.

You were utterly confused until a background character who said they knew you waved you over. You shared your bread with her, brushed aside when she asked you what was wrong, and you followed her as she walked up to your supposed cottage.

All the while, you saw yourself in the background of the hero’s main quest as he ran through the town.

And that was that.

It wasn’t so hard to figure out where you were or what the hell this was when you put your mind to it. Without much of a job or a family, and no technology but the candle that you had to conserve when night fell, there was ample time.

So you spent it thinking and you eventually solved the mystery.

You were in Beast Boys Harem: A Forbidden Embrace. AKA. a dumb yaoi otome game app that you downloaded on your phone when you were sixteen and bored. You remember because you were too cheap to buy the routes, so you played the tutorial, prologue and read the summaries of the routes online. Now you regret that you didn’t just fork over the goddamn five dollars. 

Even more than that, you regret that you even downloaded the game in the first place.

But at least you’re just a tutorial character. You’re free from the storyline and the plot—

That’s what you thought.

Turns out living a thousand years in the past in a fantasy realm as a woman didn’t bode well. It was probably no different from how it would’ve been like in the medieval ages. You had no trade skills. No one was willing to accept you as an apprentice when you were a woman. You found that you were essentially illiterate with a reading level of a preschooler, no one was willing to teach you, and you had no power or wealth when you were without a father or a husband.

And you’re certain what the landlord and tax-collectors are doing is illegal.

But in this world, in this unjust realm, there is no such thing as the law.

“We know you’re in there!”

You jolt from the heavy pounding on the frail wooden door.

“It’s time to pay up!”

Your hands tremble as you set the candle down that’s still billowing of smoke, the flame smothered out mere seconds ago. As much as you want to hide and pull the blanket over your head, you know that door won’t last. They’ll find you if you’re trapped in here.

“If you can’t, spread those legs of yours!” a low voice spits and there’s chortling from the men.

Someone adds, “Sell your body already!” 

“Open up! Damn whore!”

Without a single possession but the white nightgown clad on your body, you open the latch of the back window. You cringe at the squeak, trying to keep your movements quiet before the door gives way.

You hoist yourself up onto the window ledge. The door bends with the strength of multiple clenched fists against it. Your feet touch the soft grass outside your cottage. The men shout.

And the door finally slams against the wall, hinges broken. 

But by then, you’ve slipped into the shadows.

“Where is she?!”

The blanket is ripped off the bed, curtains are whipped back, every drawer dumped onto the ground and cupboards yanked open. The floor shakes with the weight of their boots and you press your palm to your mouth to silence your panting breaths, slowly stepping away.

“That damn whore slipped through us—!”

But as your shitty luck would have it, a sudden crack has the whole world coming to a standstill.

Shit. You look down at your feet, realizing that the snapping noise came from you stepping on a twig. And it’s exposed your hiding place.

“There she is!” — “Out the back window!”

You grab fistfuls of your dress and bolt. 

“Get her!”

With your cottage on the edge of town, there’s nowhere to run but through the dense woods. It’s shrouded in the darkness, no doubt filled with wild beasts creeping through the thicket. The rustling canopy of the trees doesn’t allow the dim, waning moonlight to illuminate your path.

So you’re left blind. Struggling up the high incline of the forest, feet slipping on dirt and mud. But you keep sprinting with all your might, even when the pointed, coiling branches scrape at your calves until blood sheds and the hem of your dress tears in the underbrush.

“Run, little rabbit!” one of them mocks, “Run!”

The four men continue to give chase, gripping onto their roaring torches, shrieking and howling after you. One of them is manically laughing as if your efforts to flee only adds to the thrill. Their greased hands reach out to snatch you, but the tips of their fingers graze the ends of your hair.

Your teeth are sunk into the bottom of your lip, sobs breaking through your aching chest. Your lungs burn, dying for a break or moment of relief. But you don’t relent and luckily, you manage to build distance between you and the men. Only, that luck comes crashing down by a fucking hole.

A hole in the forest floor that you don’t see. That has your footing all wrong. That makes you scream and fall.

You twist your ankle in a direction it’s definitely not supposed to be in and cry from pain. 

A second later, you force yourself to get up and keep running with tears flooding your eyes and dripping down your cheeks. But it’s more like limping than running, akin to hobbling on one leg and every movement has pain shooting from your swelling ankle.

The effort becomes futile. They surround you within minutes.

“All finished?” The tax-collector’s head cocks with a spreading grin. “You’re not going to keep running?”

Why couldn’t you just fucking die the first time?! Even if it was an awful death where you didn’t have time to prepare yourself or say goodbye to anyone, at least it would’ve been the end. At least you wouldn’t have to suffer.

But there’s no time to grieve. Or hate the new life you’ve been given. This is it. You have to keep going. You have to survive. By any means. You’re about to pick up a branch and uselessly wave it around at them, shout at them to stand back. Anything that you could do to save yourself—

“Who dares come onto my mountain?!”

There’s a deep timbre behind you. A husky voice that quivers the very core of the forest.

As if the wind has swept through, the trees and thicket rustle and it goes silent.

The men fall back onto their asses, some torches clattering to the ground. Their eyes have grown double in size, nearly falling from their sockets and their jaws have dropped to the dirt.

“I-It’s the nine-tailed fox!”

The man scrambles back.

“Demon!” 

Another barely manages to get onto his feet. He turns around and lurches away while shrieking.

They all run. Scattering away as frantically as cockroaches when the light is flickered on.

From your spot on the ground, you turn around with wide eyes. 

Amber irises meet your gawking and they practically glow in the darkness of the forest. He is dressed in a loose, white robe that’s draped over his frame, open to the middle of his chest. And over his honey hair, on the top of his head, his pointed golden ears twitch. By the torch fire still yet to die out, he is illuminated and his shadow is casted on the ground. The blazing flame warms his cold, sharp features. 

He is the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen. In both worlds you’ve lived in.

And you know who he is.

Taehyung. One of the love interests of the hero. A seductive, sly creature that eventually coaxes the hero into selling him his soul to grant one of his wishes. But Taehyung grows to become an obsessed character that wants to do nothing but monopolize and possess the hero for himself.

That same Taehyung approaches you with his lip curled as you teeter to your feet.

“Run away, girl.” He leans close. “Before I eat you.”

“Stop!” 

On sheer instinct and adrenaline, you push him back. Your palm shoves against his firm chest.

Taehyung stumbles back with his eyes becoming rounded. He looks down to where you had made contact against his body. “Did...you just touch me?”

“What?”

Taehyung’s head darts upwards and he captures your wrist in his hand, squeezing tightly. He tugs you in and on your swollen ankle, you stumble into him. Bodies flush against one another. Your face pressed to his warm chest. His arm coming around your waist to break your fall.

He is aghast. 

“You’re not from this world.” Taehyung’s yellow eyes swirl as they gaze into you. “Where did you come from?”

…

It’s been three days.

“Wed me,” he begs for the seventy sixth time. 

You don’t know why you’re keeping a count.

“No.”

You’re hugging your knees for warmth. The rice paper-paneled doors are slid open and letting in the chilly air. He doesn’t seem to be affected by the cold, but you don’t look at him for long. 

You turn into the corner of his home while sitting on the tatami floors as if you’re putting yourself into time out. But you’d like to say it’s your privacy corner. It’s as private as this abode, which was basically one room, could get. 

Taehyung sighs in frustration, placing his hand on his forehead. His teeth grit. “You’re only making this harder for yourself.” Your silence angers him more. “You can never leave.”

You turn over your shoulder to glare. “Even if I married you, you’d never let me leave anyway.”

Taehyung narrows his eyes on you and then smirks. “You’re right. Wed or unwed, I won’t let you out of my sight. You should feel grateful, girl. You’re the best human I’ve ever treated.”

You quietly scoff.

Maybe you should feel scared. Maybe you should tread more lightly. After all, he’s not a character to be trifled with.

But you know he needs you. That alone gives you power. 

As a beast, Taehyung’s been trapped on this mountain by priests for centuries. The only way he can be free is by feeding off of sexual energy and breaking the barrier. But of course, they also cursed him to be unable to touch any woman in this universe. 

You aren’t from this universe.

You jolt when you realize that while you were lost in thought, Taehyung’s crawled closer. He has a foxy smile, amber eyes searching your expression. “Maybe….maybe I’ll grant you a bit of freedom if you would just give into the temptation and let me have a taste of you.”

As cold as he looks, he is beautiful. He is mischievous when he smirks and sly when he speaks. You are utterly spellbound as you look into his irises. And the temptation he speaks of flickers in the warmth of your belly.

But you turn away.

“I already said we only do that kind of thing after marriage. And I will only marry someone I love.”

Taehyung draws back with an unamused scoff. “What a prudish world you’re from.”

He wanted you the moment you were brought to this house. With the intensity of his stare and your captivated state, you had let him pin you to his floor and you liked it. But then clarity came and you blurted that such an act only happens after marriage. A lie just to buy time.

You didn’t expect for the hero to arrive at Taehyung’s house the next day. With his red hair and bronze armour, he had gotten lost in the forest and knocked on the door. Before you could limp over and answer it, Taehyung jumped off the roof and confronted him.

The guy was thrown off the mountain within five minutes.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. They were supposed to have a steamy rendezvous. Taehyung was supposed to get the sexual energy from him! 

The story was going off the rails. And you’re not sure what you’re even buying time for anymore.

The both of you know it’s only a matter of time before you break and succumb to his mesmerizing seduction.

Taehyung is cruel, ruthless, obsessive.

But what’s the most bewitching thing about him is the jarring contrast of when he’s clumsy and nurturing. It’s what he regards as his own weakness. What he hides from others. But you felt your heart waver two nights ago when you were shaken awake in the middle of twilight. When you peeked open your eye to see him gingerly wrapping your swollen ankle with bandages.

He looked beautiful in the pale moonlight, ears, tails, sharp features softened—

“Ow!” You wince as he squeezes your ankle, right on your injury.

“You think too much in your head,” he says and looks at you. “What’s wrong?”

“It hurts.”

A sadistic smile tugs on Taehyung’s lips. He lets go, but only to lift your chin with his fingers. His plush lips are inches away, his breath warm on your skin and he gazes deep into you. “I won’t let you return to your world. I won’t let you run away. I won’t let anyone harm you.”

“You’re mine now.” Taehyung swears, “You’ll fall in love with me eventually.”

You gulp and he smirks.

The two of you know it’s only a matter of time.

[neuxue]

Hello hello. I just started watching The Untamed and found your blog and it's been a lot of fun because, somebody has already put my mental screaming into words so thank you for that! I'm kind of mentally stuck on the events of the Lotus Pavillion massacre tho and just had to get my thoughts out because I haven't seen this said anywhere yet? So,1- When JC and Sis are in mourning they leave everything so WWX. except he just got whipped and it would've taken him a month to heal. Soooo (1/2)

(2/2) yeah WWX in also in excruciating physical pain on top of emotional and mental and nobody notices or remembers that his back is shredded.

Oh man okay, so. On the one hand, you are not wrong. On the other hand... 

I’ve said this before, but something I like about this show is the approach it takes to letting everything go to shit, in that it’s often not any specific person’s fault so much as it is a whole bunch of people’s virtues and flaws and insecurities and intentions good or ill all snagging against each other.

Because my own interpretive lens tends to be biased towards... looking from every character’s perspective and optimising for maximum pain to maximum number of characters (dark ethics, show me the forbidden utilitarianism) rather than assigning blame to any specific one. 

So, with that lens in place, my take on this (and yours may be different!):

On no one noticing/remembering Wei Wuxian being in pain

I’m always here for the ‘how are you even standing’ trope and it may not be outright stated in the episode but Wei Wuxian has been whipped by magical lightning to the extent that it’s a believable claim to make that he won’t be able to walk for weeks. (Whether Yu Ziyuan exaggerates in an attempt to convince Wang Lingjiao to leave them alone is... a topic for another time, but either way it’s a pretty sure bet Wei Wuxian’s in agony). 

Thing is (and this, too, is its own kind of devastating), Wei Wuxian is not unaccustomed to ignoring, downplaying, and enduring extreme pain. And he has effectively conditioned everyone around him to go along with it. Maybe they don’t always completely believe him, but he’s just so good at drawing everyone into his pretense with him that I don’t think they always see the degree to which he’s hurting (or at least they know it’s futile to push it).

I also think it’s not unlikely that he’s experienced this specific pain before (and, if so, likely has practice in pushing through this exact experience, so that his siblings won’t worry, won’t feel guilty, won’t have to choose between him and their mother. Which would only hurt them if they knew, and really any way you spin it that family is a mess on so many levels, ow). 

Also, not insignificantly, adrenaline is one hell of a painkiller, while it lasts.

So he’s able to take pain that should have anyone else on their knees and just... put it aside, ignore it, push through it without a word. 

Enough so that Jiang Yanli (who wasn’t there and therefore actually doesn’t know what has happened) doesn’t realise. Enough so that Jiang Cheng (who was there, but is, I think, practised at not seeing or not thinking about certain things--another topic for another time, but Jiang Cheng has been hurt and shaped by this family just as much as Wei Wuxian has, though in different ways) doesn’t question Wei Wuxian standing up with a makeshift oar to try to bring them all back to their family.

It’s as if we’re seeing the damage of all three of them, with respect to the particular dysfunction of their family, playing out here. Wei Wuxian masking pain in order to protect (prioritise) his siblings. Jiang Cheng seeing the image he is presented, rather than dealing with the truth he fears. Jiang Yanli being set aside, shielded (overlooked). This feels like a pattern that has played out before, all of them playing their roles. Which, you know, hurts.

On everything being ‘left’ to Wei Wuxian

On paper, that is pretty much what happens. But I tend to read this as... all three siblings’ established characterisation, their existing dynamic, and the ways in which different people respond to crisis, panic, and grief.

Firstly, this is what Wei Wuxian does. He sacrifices himself at every opportunity to protect those around him (especially but by no means exclusively his siblings). 

That’s even more true now, with the last words of both his adoptive parents in his ears (‘protect them’), the reminder of what he has written into the very fabric of himself: that he owes them, that they are more important, that his only value is in his capability, and even that has value only when used to help others. That he is nothing and they are everything, and so the only acceptable option is to sacrifice himself in whatever way is necessary.

Which, you know, hurts. And we can put no small portion of the blame for that on his upbringing, and on the cultivation world as a whole for the way it regards reputation and bloodline and family and obligation and role.

But here’s the thing: there’s plenty of emotional damage to go around! Because Wei Wuxian does this, each time, unasked and unasking. He just... steps up quietly, ignores his own pain, and does what he feels is necessary--regardless of whether those he is doing this for would want that from him. 

(I’m not going to argue the ethics of that one way or the other because that’s not really my point here; my point is more just that he makes that choice unilaterally, and it hurts for all of them. Wei Wuxian because he has so deeply internalised the thought that he has to do this, and his siblings because they probably don’t want to see him hurt).

Finally, there’s the whole issue of how people cope in a crisis. No one in this scene is operating at 100% rational capacity. They’re shocked and hurt and grieving and terrified, and that combination makes for a kind of... not always tunnel vision, exactly, but snap decisions and narrowed focus and a kind of brutal triage: if it’s not immediately relevant and vital, it doesn’t register. So, the ability to think about what you say before you let the words out, the ability to hold back the urge to cry or lash out, the ability to look past yourself and register the suppressed signs of pain in your sibling--all of these are pretty much offline for the time being.

For Jiang Cheng, that manifests first as a frantic need to get back to his family; that takes priority, consumes him, in this state of panic and fear and the world crumbling around him, over anything and everything else. Later, that turns to anger because again he’s just not in a headspace to be able to process it further than that, to hold any of that back. 

For Jiang Yanli, it manifests as sadness, as grief, as reaching out to her brothers and trying to hold them close, but also as a fear of confrontation, of doing anything that could make this worse. Where Jiang Cheng’s desperation is get to my family, hers is keep my family together.

Meanwhile Wei Wuxian defaults to his base state of There Must Be A Way Self-Sacrifice Can Solve This Problem. It’s... a heartbreaking kind of altruism, but in its way just as irrational and panic-driven as his siblings’ responses. This is what he does, so he throws himself into it without considering any other option, because he’s not in a place where he can. His desperation is that ingrained protect my family above myself. 

(Also, he’s very much a ‘throw yourself into the task at hand in order to keep the trauma at bay’ kind of person, so this is basically his coping mechanism, just as anger is Jiang Cheng’s). 

tl;dr: somewhere in there I had a point, and I think it’s basically ‘everyone in this sequence is hurting so much, and they’re all so raw and exposed, and falling into these deeply engrained patterns that hurt all of them and help none of them and yet it’s all they can do, because this is what their world has made them’.