#but now me knows how unhealthy it all was

[marcyvampire]

SILLY LITTLE BAT

pairings ⸺ Yandere! Platonic! Batfamily x Anti-Hero! Fem!reader.

sinopsis ⸺ In the shadowed halls of Wayne Manor, a girl lost among the darkness seeks the connection she never had. Her mother, a kleptomaniac with a broken heart, vanished, leaving only echoes of empty promises. Surrounded by a family that never sees her, her pain turns into a deafening silence. The void left by her past traps her in a limbo of solitude and sorrow.

One dark night, seeking her own way, she became what she once despised. Now, like the albino bat rejected by its own flock, she flies alone in the twilight. Her pale skin glows in the dark, but her heart still yearns for the warmth of a home she never came to know.

warnings ⸺ Dark Themes, Dead, murdering,Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, Discrimination, Violence, Blood, LGBT Content, Child Abuse, Kidnapping, Implicit Sexual Content, Mental Illness, Addiction, Suicide, Torture, Corruption, Isolation, Trauma, Phobias, Paranoia, Manipulation

A/N — English is not my first language—Spanish is—so there might be some grammar or spelling mistakes here and there. This is the first part of a story I’m writing for a friend (Isabel, I love you, you brat), and also an experiment to see what it’s like to write on Tumblr. Please support me! :"((

Nobody is coming to save you

Get up.

Your mother was not a good woman, and that was an undeniable fact, heavy as the shadow that covers Gotham City at nightfall. She was a creature of the underworld, one among the specters that wandered under the yoke of crime, walking among dangerous names like Selina Kyle or Harleen Quinzel, yet always remaining in the background, never reaching their fame or infamy.

She was nothing more than a kleptomaniac and a mythomaniac, doomed to live by cunning and deceit. She took advantage of the men who crossed her path, from the lowest criminals, like The Penguin, to the most powerful man in the city: Bruce Wayne.

You never called him Dad. To you, he was always Bruce, and on the rare occasions you addressed him, you did so with distant formality, "Mr. Wayne." Richard, your adoptive brother, found in him a father figure, while to you, he was just another shadow in the mansion, that huge, cold house you arrived at after your mother’s death.

You remember how, time and again, you tried to warn your mother to stop stealing, to stop lying, that those dark paths would inevitably lead her to Arkham Asylum, surrounded by all the lunatics you feared so much, or even worse: to death. But she always responded with a playful smile, stroking your head with her delicate hands, adorned with stolen jewelry and crude tattoos. "Those are just fantasies of an eight-year-old girl," she would say sweetly, while her ring-laden fingers assured you that you needn’t worry, "I will always come back for you," she promised, "because you are the only thing more valuable than any diamond I’ve ever held."

But the cruel truth was that was the last time you saw her. That night she left, and she never returned. It was then that the last vestiges of innocence faded with her absence. From that moment on, you ceased to be a child.

And that was one of the few things you understood with absolute clarity. There were no more empty promises, no more caresses tinged with lies. All that remained was the silence of a life fading away, like a stolen jewel that never returns to its rightful owner.

The only thing you knew after calling the police when your mother didn’t show up after two days was that they found her corpse in a back alley far from Gotham, showing signs of having been beaten and bruised by some underground gang.

Commissioner Gordon searched the entire house for illicit substances and signs of debts to mobsters, but he only ended up finding documents, stolen jewelry, and letters from your mother that were never sent, and most importantly, DNA evidence implicating that the city’s millionaire was your biological father.

From then on, your life was stained with eternal gray, that muted shade that erased all traces of light or shadow. There was no more white or black, only a silent fog that, day by day, enveloped you and dragged you into a madness that seemed inevitable. Gotham itself seemed more alive than the place you called home, although "home" was never the right word.

You didn’t love any of the Wayne family members. Bruce, your biological father, never listened to you. To him, you were always just another shadow, a ghost in the vast mansion that he prioritized over his other children, his "true" heirs. There was always something more important, something more urgent, and your presence faded among the cold walls and the echo of his hurried footsteps. With each passing day, you became more invisible to him, as if your very existence were a mistake he preferred to ignore.

Richard, the perfect brother, was kind on some occasions. He spoke to you courteously, but when you needed him, when you asked him to attend one of your performances, there was always an excuse, something that kept him away, as if your passion and accomplishments were insignificant details in his heroic life.

Jason, on the other hand, despised you from the start. He saw you as an intruder, a child of gold—but not of that pure and valuable gold, but of a dirty and false one, which he always mocked with disdain. And although you never cared for him, when he died, silent tears rolled down your face. It wasn’t out of love, but out of respect for what he represented, for the brutal reality of his fall.

Tim, in contrast, was the most indifferent. To him, you were a nobody, so irrelevant that you weren’t even worth a glance. Spending time with his friends or being the Robin of the moment mattered more than you did. You lived on his periphery, in a limbo where neither your name nor your face seemed to exist.

Cassandra, Stephanie, Barbara… at least they treated you with politeness, but you knew they didn’t really remember who you were. They saw you, smiled at you out of obligation, but deep down you knew they had no idea of your name, your story, your struggle to be more than a shadow in that world.

The worst of all was Damian, your younger half-brother. When he arrived at the mansion, Alfred introduced him to you with that serene formality he always had, and you, driven by an almost desperate impulse, tried to reach out to him. You wanted to offer him the support and affection of an older sister, that warmth you would have longed for in his situation. But all you received in return was a cold response: a katana piercing your abdomen. I wish I could say it was just a metaphor, but no, that wound was as real as the blade that cut your skin.

You would have liked to think that the pain was symbolic, that Damian had only rejected your affection with harsh words or his usual arrogance. But no, it was much more than that. The only thing you received in exchange for your attempt at fraternal love was a stab, a scar you still carry not only on your body but also in your soul. Because in that brutal gesture, you understood that the blood that united you also separated you, sharper than any weapon. And that was how you tried to connect.

You strived to stand out, to learn, to shine in your own ambitions, wishing that your success would be enough to earn you a place, a bit of affection. But no matter how hard you tried, it was never enough. Your talent crashed against indifference, your achievements faded into the air, as if they had no weight in the lives of others.

The only light, the only beacon in that storm of gray, was Alfred. The only one who smiled at you with genuine tenderness, the only one you truly loved. To you, he was the real father, the one who was always there, expecting nothing in return, offering you a silent but firm love. You did call him father, and his presence was the only thing that kept your sanity, the only thing preventing the gray from consuming you completely.

But even that love, so genuine and deep, was not enough to fill the void that your own family left you. And in that void, you continue to float, trapped between the girl you were and the woman you are trying to be, searching for a place you can truly call home.

Y/n's small room, though modest, had always been her refuge. The walls were adorned with unfinished sketches, trophies from various activities, and some paintings she had completed with dedication, showcasing her passion for both manual and performing arts.

The dawn light filtered softly through the curtains, bathing the space in golden tones, giving it a warmth that contrasted with the coldness of the rest of Wayne Manor.

On the desk, a small cake rested on a plate, simple yet made with love. Beside it, Alfred, with his usual understated elegance, watched Y/n with a mixture of nostalgia and concern. He, the only one who seemed to remember her birthday, offered her a delicate professional drawing set, wrapped in smooth, elegant paper.

"Happy birthday, Miss," Alfred said with a gentle smile, although his eyes reflected a sadness that was hard to conceal. "I know how much you love art, so I thought this would be helpful for your new projects."

Y/n took the gift in her hands with a genuine smile. It had been so hard for her to find moments of joy lately, but Alfred's gesture filled her with a warmth in her chest that she hadn't experienced in a long time. She placed the gift into one of the many brown boxes she had prepared for her upcoming move.

"Thank you, Alfred. It's perfect," she said, examining the set carefully, as if each detail were a reminder of the affection he held for her. "It will help me a lot... although, well," she sighed, as if searching for the right words. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that." Alfred raised an eyebrow, attentive, as she continued, glancing at the small space that had been her home within the vast mansion.

"Today... today is not just my birthday. It's the day I leave here." Her voice was firm, yet there was a sense of liberation in it, as if this were a long-awaited step. "I am finally no longer a Wayne. I go back to being a L/n."

Silence filled the room for a moment, heavy and dense. Alfred clasped his hands, striving to maintain his composure.

"Miss, I can't help but feel a certain unease hearing this. Are you sure this is what you want? This house, though empty in many ways, has always been your home..."

"Home?" Y/n looked at him with a mix of sadness and determination. "This house has never been my home, Alfred. Not like it was for Dick, nor even for Bruce. I have always been a stranger here, the daughter of a woman who never fit into this world, the bastard child. My mother taught me to find my own path, to not cling to what doesn’t belong to me... and being here, being called Wayne, has never belonged to me." Alfred sighed softly, turning his gaze toward the window. He knew there was truth in her words, but that didn’t lessen the pain of her leaving. "I know it’s hard to understand," Y/n continued, "but for the first time in a long time, I feel happy, Alfred. I’ve graduated, college is just around the corner, and I want to start anew. I want to find what truly makes me, me... not what others expect of me."

The old butler remained silent for a few moments, nodding slowly. He knew he couldn't retain her, that it was not his place to interfere in the young woman's dreams. But still, he couldn’t help but feel a pang in his heart at the thought of the house being even emptier without her. "I just wish you find what you’re looking for, Miss. And if you ever need a place to return to... this door will always be open for you."

Y/n stepped closer to him, gently hugging him, something she had rarely done. "Thank you, Alfred," she whispered against his shoulder. "You will always be my family, but I need this. I need to discover who I am outside of this last name."

The old butler felt the lump in his throat as he tightened the embrace a little longer before letting her go. He knew that deep down, she was doing the right thing. But that didn’t make it hurt any less to see her leave.

"Alfred, can you call the movers? I’ll be leaving tonight," Y/n said as she closed the last box with trembling hands, her gaze lost in the empty corners of the room she once considered her refuge. The butler, ever serene, nodded with his unwavering calmness.

"Don't worry, Miss, I assure you they will be here on time." His voice was soft, almost an echo of the ancient walls of the mansion, as if he himself were part of that structure that had seen so many comings and goings, so many lives broken and healed in silence.

Alfred turned halfway to leave, but Y/n's voice stopped him, broken yet sweet, like a melody at sunset. "Alfred..."

The man turned slowly, his eyes filled with paternal warmth, though always contained behind a formal gesture. "Yes, Miss?" he replied, with that tranquility that had always brought Y/n peace in her worst moments.

She took a breath, feeling how the words she had kept for so long fought to come out, to break the shell she had built since childhood. "I’ve never told you, but... thank you. Thank you for being the father I never had, for being there when no one else was."

For a moment, the silence in the room was heavier than all the accumulated boxes, deeper than any word. Alfred, who had been a witness to so many confessions and secrets in that house, stood still, his eyes shining with an emotion he rarely showed. "Miss," he murmured, his voice slightly choked, "it was an honor and a privilege to take care of you. If I ever gave you anything close to what you deserved, then my life has had true purpose."

Y/n smiled sadly, nodding slowly. "You did, Alfred. You did. And for that, I will always carry you with me, even if I leave here."

The butler slightly bowed his head in respect, swallowing any emotion that might betray his composure. "Wherever you go, you will always have a home here, Miss."

"I know," she said, though in her heart, she knew she wouldn’t return.

And as Alfred left the room to make the call, Y/n let out a long sigh, as if with it, she were leaving behind a part of herself, a part she could no longer carry with her.

Life in Gotham is like constantly walking on the edge of a razor blade. The city never sleeps, always alert, always dangerous, and for someone with the Wayne surname, the risks multiply. It has been a year since you left the mansion, trying to erase any ties that bound you to that life, desperately wishing the name would fade into the echo of the dirty streets and crumbling buildings. But it's not that easy. The name Wayne remains an indelible mark that the media and the people of Gotham refuse to let fade. The forgotten child, the silent accident of billionaire Bruce Wayne. And although you try to live as if you don’t exist under that shadow, the weight of the legacy haunts you.

You left with little, barely enough money to rent a small apartment in one of the worst corners of the city. You share the space with a friend, a plant-loving girl who has filled every nook of the place with leaves and pots, as if trying to make green defy the constant darkness of Gotham. You get along well with her; her love for nature is almost an antithesis to the chaos of the city, and she has taught you that even in the hardest concrete, something can bloom. She always accompanied you on the coldest, loneliest nights, giving you a warmth that, although ethereal, was very welcome. But still, life is not easy. You barely survive, spending the little you have on cheap food and paying the rent. There are days when the cold seeps through the poorly sealed windows, and you wonder if it was really better to be in the mansion instead of this little trench. However, you prefer this rough freedom to the soulless luxury of Wayne Manor.

Freedom, however, comes at a price. It wasn't enough to distance yourself, to change your life, or even to always carry a knife for defense. Gotham does not forget. People recognize you in the shadows, whisper your name, and approach you, sometimes with curiosity and other times with disdain. You have been beaten more than once. Some just for being a Wayne, others because they think they can extort you, even though they have no idea you can barely get by. The scars on your body bear witness to those beatings, but you refuse to give up. You get up every morning, despite the pain, and continue on your way. You don’t need Batman. You don’t need Bruce. You learned long ago that he wouldn't come to save you.

That night, like so many others, you were heading to the subway for your night shift, with the hood of your coat covering your face, trying to go unnoticed. The sound of the tracks echoed in your ears, a constant reminder of the city's hustle. You had gotten used to walking fast, avoiding eye contact, as if each step was a small battle won against the city. But this time, something was different.

"So it was true, the little Wayne girl is roaming the city... how lovely." The raspy, mocking voice rang out beside you, cutting through the heavy air of the train station. The man speaking wore a suit that, at first glance, seemed elegant, but there was something about his extreme thinness, his skin clinging to his bones and his disheveled hair, that made him look more like a specter of Gotham than a distinguished figure. A ghost from the shadows that had stalked you since you set foot on the streets.

If it weren't for his gaunt appearance and unsettling aura, you might have mistaken him for one of your father's employees. "I'm not a Wayne anymore," you said disdainfully, your voice sharp like the edge of a dagger refusing to be touched. "If you want money, I don’t have any. And Mr. Wayne wouldn’t give a cent for me either."

Your gaze drifted to the station clock. 8 minutes until the train that would take you away from this corner of Gotham, far from the shadows and faces that always seemed to recognize you.

The man let out a dry, raspy laugh that sent chills down your spine. "I don’t want your money, pretty girl," he replied, moving closer, invading your space with the same familiarity that Gotham’s filth slipped into every corner. "You’re worth more than that." You felt his calloused, scarred hand rest on your hip, with a pressure that was neither violent nor friendly. The contact filled you with disgust.

7 minutes.

You clenched your fist, your jaw tight as you struggled to maintain your composure. "I don’t want sex either, idiot," you spat, your words loaded with contained fury. Your hand subtly slid toward your bag, where your knife lay, waiting to be used.

6 minutes.

The man didn’t flinch. In fact, he let out a low, mocking laugh. "And I don’t want that either, little girl," he murmured, his cold, deep blue eyes scrutinizing you as if they could read every dark corner of your soul. "I want something more from you."

5 minutes.

"What do you want then?" you asked, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady, even as the ice of fear began to creep down your spine. Your eyes scrutinized him, searching his gaze for any hint of his true intentions, but all you saw was darkness.

4 minutes.

He let out a long, chilling laugh, tightening his grip on your hip. "Do you know what I want, Y/n?"

3 minutes.

His voice dropped, as if his words were a cursed secret the wind refused to carry away. "I want you."

2 minutes.

The world seemed to stop. You knew there was no time to run. There was no time to pull out the knife or to scream. It was as if the clock itself had conspired against you, reducing those last minutes to mere seconds.

1 minute.

The blow was sharp, a flash of excruciating pain at the back of your head. The cold metal of the station, the hum of the city, everything faded abruptly. The last thought that crossed your mind, before the world vanished into darkness, was that this time, you didn’t expect Batman to save you. It wasn’t a mere thief or a street threat that was taking you.

Gotham, with all its cruelty, always had new ways to remind you that there is no escape.

That night, when the Gotham subway stopped at the station, there was no one to pick up.

The mansion felt emptier than ever, like a deserted and cold labyrinth, where each hallway seemed to stretch into an infinite tunnel, devouring the light.

The silence was overwhelming, an oppression that enveloped every corner, as if even the ancient walls had run out of words. It was so heavy that the few who remained in the mansion couldn’t help but move uncomfortably, trying to fill that void with something, anything.

Bruce Wayne walked through those same hallways with a strange feeling, as if something was missing, though he didn’t know what. An unease, a persistent discomfort that he couldn’t shake off.

He had been like this for months, with that absence haunting his mind, a gap he couldn't identify. And then, suddenly, like a gust of icy wind, the truth struck him.

You.

His daughter.

His little daughter.

How long had it been since he last saw you? When was the last time he heard your laughter, the one that always seemed too sarcastic, too filled with resentment? He stopped abruptly, frowning. Why couldn’t he remember you? He couldn’t bring to mind a clear image of your face, not even how you used to look at him... why? How could he have forgotten you like that?

Damn.

It was as if time had stopped. It had been a year, maybe more, since he had really thought about you. He felt a pang of guilt pierce his chest, a heavy, silent guilt that dragged him into the abyss of his own negligence. Not knowing what else to do, he began to check the rooms, one after another.

Each door he opened was another blow to his conscience. Where was your room? The more he searched, the more confused he felt. The mansion was enormous, but how could he have forgotten where you slept? How was it possible that he didn’t know where you lived in the house where both of you grew up? Had you been here all this time?

Each door he opened was identical to the last, as if all the rooms had fused into one.

None showed a trace of you.

None seemed to have a hint of your presence. Didn’t you decorate your room? He thought frantically, didn’t you even mark it as yours? Panic began to take hold of him. Anxiety wrapped around him like a fist tightening on his chest. Were you still living in the mansion? Or had you left without saying a word, like a shadow fading at dawn? But... no, you hadn’t mentioned anything. You hadn’t said you were leaving. Or had you? And if you had, why didn’t he remember? How could he have ignored you for so long that now he didn’t even know if you were still under the same roof?

“Ah!” he exclaimed in a whisper, unable to contain the dread he felt.

Frustration consumed him from within. He stopped in the middle of the hallway, breathing heavily, and the echo of his voice faded into the empty walls. He tried to remember something, anything about you, about the last time they spoke, about how you were... but everything was blurry, as if his mind was betraying him, hiding you behind an impenetrable fog.

How could he have forgotten so much?

He brought his hands to his head, trying to calm himself, but only felt more confusion, more desperation. The mansion, which had once been his home, now felt like a strange and foreign place.

Had you been the one who made it feel like home? The question echoed in his mind, but he had no answer. Just more questions. More uncertainties. Finally, he let his arms fall, exhausted. He had checked almost all the rooms and had found not a trace of you. Not a clue. Not a sign that you had been there. And at that moment, something dark and painful began to settle in his heart.

Had you ever really been there?

Then something caught his attention as he passed by the cleaning room. In a dusty corner, next to a forgotten bag, something was protruding. Something small, old, and faded. He bent down and pulled it from the dirty clothes. It was a stuffed animal, or what was left of one. The faded black of its suit left no doubt. It was a figure of Batman, but worn down by time, battered to the point of looking forgotten.

Bruce's eyes were fixed on the small piece of fabric hanging from the doll's neck. A tag.

Your name.

Your name, handwritten, in ink that was already fading.

Bruce felt a lump in his throat, a mix of guilt and rage. How could he have forgotten something so important?

He clutched the doll tightly, as if doing so would return a piece of you to him, but instead of comfort, he only felt more emptiness. Where were you? He ran to Alfred, who looked at him with a mix of concern and pity.

"Alfred..." Bruce said, his voice breaking. "Where is she? Where is my daughter?"

The butler, with his always serene face, seemed to age suddenly. A long silence settled between them, as if time was fading away. "Mr. Bruce, I didn’t mean to..." Alfred lowered his gaze. "I didn’t want to burden you with that truth, but... it’s time you know."

Bruce felt a chill run down his spine. Truth? What truth?

"She left almost a year ago. She didn’t say where. She just... she took all her belongings, though they weren’t many, and left. She said she didn’t want to be a burden. That you and the other family members had too many things to worry about."

Bruce took a step back, as if the words had physically struck him. Did she have enough age to leave? A burden? Never, not for a second, did he think that of you, of his little daughter who, even though she wasn’t wanted, he embraced under his wing just like Damian.

You were never a burden.

...or were you?

No, he refused to acknowledge it; he just... he hadn’t spent time with you because Gotham needed him!

But when you needed him, where was Batman?

Where was Bruce Wayne when his only biological daughter needed him?

"Alfred, do you know anything about Y/n?" the hero asked, worry clear on his face.

Alfred didn’t look at him; he only stared into nothingness. "...I haven’t heard anything about her for two months...

And honestly... I'm starting to think...

that she might be lost to us forever..."

A/N — This is definitely apart from being my first official Tumblr post, it is also my first DC post and especially the first from the Lord of the Night xD

Don't hesitate to ask me anything if you want.

Isabel, I dedicate this to you, my love. Eat more to be well, you fucking anorexic, don't suck.

take a bath!

inspiration: @acid-ixx with his Again & Again series, @gotham-daydreams' work, @i-cant-sing's work and @klemen-tine's work, be sure to check them out!

[seventeenpins]

new rules

pairing: ex!Worst!Logan Howlett x f!reader word count: 2.7k summary: You've been broken up for long enough. It shouldn't be this hard to stay away. content/warnings: smut, angst, Logan's a disaster alcoholic, suicidal ideation, unhealthy relationships, big dick a/n: I didn't expect the Logan bug to bite me, but here I am, horny for this old man, writing a songfic in the year of our lord two thousand twenty four. Dua Lipa's "New Rules" came on shuffle and I needed to make it about our big boy. Thank you to the loml @ozarkthedog for being the best human alive and also for hyping me up, reading it thru, and telling me "it made me actually want to try to fix him" 😅

You’re in your pajamas, toothbrush in hand and moisturizer shining on your face, when the screen of your phone lights up. You wince when you see the contact name.

DO NOT PICK UP

You watch as it rings out, and you exhale when the comfort of the black screen returns.

And then it lights up again.

Just ignore it. Just ignore it.

As you’re spitting your toothpaste into the sink, the screen lights up again, DO NOT PICK UP flashing across.

It’s a bad idea. It’s always a bad idea. 

But as it lights up a fourth time, you hit accept. As you bring the phone to your ear, you already know what you’re going to say; you need to stop calling like this; have you been drinking?; this isn’t going to happen again–

And then you hear his voice. It’s just a single word, and comes out more as a croak than anything else.

“Hi, baby-”

Just like the first time. The third. The five hundredth. It makes you fucking melt, makes your body heat and your stomach flip.

“Hi Logan.”

—

“It’s been too long, sweetheart-” 

“Yeah, well-” you sigh. You know how this always goes. “I told you not to call.”

“But you answered.” 

Even over the line he sounds smug. You wish you could punch him, god, if only. But you knew from past experience that his adamantium bones and entirely unfair regenerative powers would leave him perfectly unblemished, while you nursed a broken hand.

“Sooo-,” you venture, “Is there something you need?”

It was better to play clueless, you reasoned; You weren’t gonna jump the gun. You would make him spell it out.

"Just you, hon,” his voice is low and dangerous and you think you might really hate him this time.

“You know it’s nearly midnight, don’t you? Are you ever gonna call me when you’re sober?”

You hear a noncommittal grunt on the other end.

“What do you want, Logan?”

He takes a deep breath.

“Can I come over? I’ve just been missing you. Been a rough day.”

“No.”

“Please, baby? I need you. Please?”

You close your eyes and exhale. Ten calls ago, you might have tried to hide the frustration, but you’re well beyond that now.

It’s always a bad idea. Always makes you remember the bits of him you miss desperately. Your nights together. How you still fucking love him.

“Can take care of you, princess-“ he pleads.

“I hate when you call me that. And no, you can’t. You can’t even take care of yourself, Howlett.”

He huffs a laugh. “Been doin’ alright a couple hundred years. Keepin’ myself alive.”

You don’t want to say the question neither of you will acknowledge.

Is this really living?

“Fine. You can come over.”

“I’ll be there in five.”

“Motherfucker-! Have you been on your way this whole time, Lo?”

With a snort, he ends the call.

He’s on you before you can even get the door closed behind you. His hands are cradling your head as he kisses you deeply. You were right; he tastes like cheap whiskey. And cigarettes, you realize. Fucking cigarettes. And then you remember– he’s all but abandoned his cigars, as though the pain of losing a vice was part of his penance. 

With an awkward foot you try to hook the bridge of your foot along the edge of the door, pull at it, but instead of closing it you just overbalance, tumbling further into him.

He catches you as if it was nothing, as if he were so innately steady he’d always be there to break your fall.

When he has you back on your feet, he gets right back to it, tearing at your clothing and his, pulling your top over your head, fumbling with the drawstring of your bottoms. He cups your breasts, pinching and teasing, and walks you backwards till the backs of your knees hit the foot of your bed and you tumble. 

Logan tumbles with you, his hold on you never ceasing, and now you can feel how hard he is against you.

It sends a shiver down your spine.

You’ve missed this. Fuck you’ve missed this. What kind of self-destructive dumbass judgment were you letting rule you? 

You need to gain some control back.

“Condom,” you tell him. 

He rolls his eyes.

“I’m not joking, Logan. Should still be in the top drawer.”

He exhales with a chuckle, but pulls his beater over his head and lets you get an eyeful of his toned chest before leaning over and sliding the drawer open.

Then, he rummages around, pulling back with a shit-eating grin. 

In his hand is a roll of condoms, classic fit.

“You got a little boyfriend?” he asks, and you feel your face heat.

“Shut the fuck up, Logan.”

“Now I’m not seeing the Magnum’s in here. You sure you still have them? Or are you so busy fucking dumbass boys with little pricks that you can’t even bother to pick up the phone?”

“The condoms are just in case– better to be prepared– and besides it’s none of your fucking business if I’m sleeping with anyone else!”

“You know I can’t get STIs, right?”

You do know. You remember that first conversation years ago. You grit your teeth.

“And if you’re so worried,” he continues, “I’ll buy you Plan B.”

“Move,” you tell him, and he scoots back so you can look in the drawer yourself. Much to your chagrin, he’s right. Not a single gold packet in sight.

You groan, and he laughs.

You should tell him no. Should tell him that if he wants to fuck you, he needs to go out and get some. Because it’s not even the risk of any sort of transmission, or even the risk of pregnancy that gives you pause. It’s the intimacy. The way you can hardly bear it when you can feel him dripping out of you. The love you still have for him, even after everything. 

The way you know he still needs you, too. More than you need him. But after everything he’s done, everything he’s been through, everything he’s lost– you can’t bear to be another thing he loses, not fully.

But now he’s straddling you, scooting you backwards towards the head of the bed. His cock presses heavy against your thigh, and you’re so overwhelmed by the way he’s pressing kisses along your jaw and nibbling behind your ear, you barely notice as he lifts your hips to pull your panties down. His nails scrape down your back and the angry scratches start to bloom with heat. 

You don’t realize you’re both fully naked until you feel the heat from him press against you, the slick of his weeping cockhead dragging a trail just below your navel, down down down-

He strokes himself twice and lines himself up, pressing against your opening. You wait for the feeling, for the way he always slams inside you, but he surprises you. Presses the tip in and rocks himself gently, easing you open.

After a moment (and hardly a single inch) he pulls out and sits up.

For a gut-wrenching second, you think he’s changed his mind, and how fucking dare him? He’s not the one who gets to back out of this. Fuck.

But then his cock is replaced with his hand, and he pumps himself with his left, while pressing inside of you with his right, scissoring his fingers open, pulling whine and moan and gasp out of you, coaxing you along with his filthy mouth the whole way.

“Jesus Christ,” he sighs, letting out a groan when you squirm against him, “You’re tight as the first time I fucked you. Clearly no one’s been takin’ care of this pussy, huh?”

Two fingers become three, and you’re overwhelmed with sensation, pleasure taking over any rational thought.

“That’s it, honey, open up for me. Such a shame no one’s been fuckin’ you right. Would make you feel good every damn day if you’d let me.”

He rubs against your clit in unyielding circles and pulls you right to the edge. You feel yourself dripping, thighs trembling, and tears rolling down your face, but just as you’re about to cum he stops. He guides your arms upwards and pins you down by the wrists with one rough hand and leans over, caging you against the bed. In a second beat, he knocks your legs wide, baring you fully, and he presses himself in. You’re beyond slick and the glide is exquisite. The feeling of his bare cock pressing into you makes you shudder with arousal. The wiry hairs at the base of his cock grind against you, making you shake. 

He fucks you deep and slow. The drag is exquisite. He pulls almost the whole way out, before rocking back in again, his foreskin adding to the delicious glide. With every thrust he’s burying himself so deeply you’d swear you could feel him in your belly.

“You’re openin’ up so nice, takin’ it so good,” he growls, and you feel a thrill of pleasure bloom through your body at the praise. “Been missin’ this. Miss how soft you feel around me. Have you been missin’ your old man, too?”

You don’t even register he’s asked a question till his palm is swatting your jaw. It’s not painful, it doesn’t even sting. And it does exactly what he’d hoped; it refocuses you on him.

“Wha- What?” you ask, coming back to him, whilst feeling your peak build and build and build-

“Have you been missin’ your old man, princess? 

“Fuck you, Logan.”

“Use your words.”

“Yes-”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes I’ve been missing you. Stop looking at me like that, Lo. C’mon now, fuck me like you mean it.”

You can’t deal with him being sincere right now. You need it rough and you need it mean.

It takes him a moment to pull himself away but then he does, obliging as if he can read your thoughts. He pulls out, leans back, hooks your legs over his shoulders, and makes you moan as he folds you in half. He’s pressing so much deeper now than he had only a moment ago. Any gentleness that had been there disappears immediately.

He’s panting, letting out heavy grunts as he slams into you and sweat drips down his temple. 

As he fucks you, he drives into you cruelly but you match each thrust. Every time he knocks you back, you press against him harder and heavier. Make sure it hurts, for both of you.

He’s never been a selfish lover and makes you scream on his cock, cumming three times in rapid succession, each peak that little bit higher. Each peak is a little bit harder. 

You’re boneless and spent. When he cums inside you, his claws shoot out, angrily splintering existing notches on your headboard. Blood trickles down between his knuckles. One drop lands on your lips, the perfect kiss from this mess of a man. Another drop lands on your new linen pillowcase.

At least you got those tide pens. 

You want to tell him off about the headboard–the splintered edges are ugly and ragged. But the fact you hadn’t gotten a new headboard is kind of on you. It may as well be an invitation.

You add a note to your shopping list. Plan B.

—-

You wake up alone in a dark room. The first thing you see is your bedside alarm clock, red blinking numbers telling you it’s 3:12 AM. Then, you hear a rustling in your living room.

You step out to investigate, bleary-eyed, to find Logan silhouetted in front of your liquor cabinet, bottle of amber liquid in hand. He raises the bottle and takes a swig.

Back to this-

"Go home, Logan.” You tell him, and he startles at your voice.

"Baby- I been havin’ bad dreams-” 

You cut him off. "I’ll call you a cab. You’re not staying here, trying to drink yourself to death on my sofa-”

"Sweetheart,” he cuts in, “You know it never sticks-“ 

He says it with a grin like it means nothing, and it’s mean. Makes your stomach flip.

This is the closest either of you had ever gotten to the depths of it all. You’d both been pretending for so long.

You leave the room.

A minute later, you’re back, and Logan has emptied the bottle.

"Get dressed.” You toss his shirt at him. It smacks him in the face and falls unceremoniously to the floor. “Cab’s on its way. You owe me for the whiskey.”

He nods. His movement is loose, and you can see the booze is finally affecting him. More than just making him gutsy, it’s making him sloppy. Every movement is sluggish as he redresses.

"You wanna know why?” He asks, and it comes out slurred.

You ignore him. “I’ll walk you down. Get home safe, okay?”

He nods again. Looks like he’s trying to put on a show to prove just how sincere he is.

You kick his shoes towards him, and help him with his jacket when he struggles.

A horn honks outside, and you both look to the window. When you turn your head back, though, he’s only inches away from you, whiskey-breath across your cheek, and a wearier frown than he’s ever let you see before.

"When I drink I don’t dream-,“ he tells you, “Claws don’t come out.”

Then he kisses you on the cheek, turns on his heel with an unsteady sway, and leaves your home.

You struggle for hours to fall back asleep, the bed suddenly much too big.

You ignore his calls for a week. They come through later and later. Nine PM, ten. Midnight. Two.

And then one night you get a text. 

He’s rarely one for texting, so to see the notification makes your heart speed up and your stomach flip.

DO NOT PICK UP - Attachment: 1 Video

With a single, hesitant tap, you open it.

You’re not sure what you expected. Something dramatic, maybe? Something miserable? You hope to god he’s not figured out some way to make himself an adamantium bullet. It’s a fear that’s bounced around in your head for a while now, but you’d never ask just in case he hasn’t thought of it yet himself.

Whatever it is, though, it has to be something that will make your heart ache and your head spin and–

It’s anticlimactic. Kind of.

It’s just a video of him, phone angled to show him in his steamed-up mirror.

There are dark shadows beneath his red-rimmed eyes, but besides that, he looks as perfect as ever. You can’t see below his hips, but you know Logan and you know he’s fully naked. His body hair is slick, his skin glowing from being freshly showered.

This fucking asshole knows exactly how to get you.

You hit play. 

At first, you can barely tell it’s a video. And then you see the way his arm is moving. He’s holding his phone with one hand, his other casually stroking himself just below the frame of the video.

“You gonna stop ignoring me?” he asks, his voice a throaty purr. “Quit playing games. Get your ass over here and let me take care of you.”

AND, you realize with a twinge, you text with him so rarely, you never turned off read receipts.

Three dots appear and you know that he knows you’ve seen it. 

A moment later, the text comes through.

“Ready for you, princess.”

God, if only it would take more than that.

As if overtaken by a horny ghost, you’re already slipping your panties off and putting on your favorite skirt. 

You’re at his house an hour later. 

You let him guide you. Taste you. Fuck you. Fight with you. 

You let him devour you, and let yourself fall in with him, in with the guilt and the anger and the hate and self-pity.

And fuck, it’s the love, too. It never went away.

[ssentimentals]

seventeen members as love tropes: xu minghao

enemies to lovers

'you're not mine but wouldn't you want to be?'

minghao tries is hardest to stay calm but all these higher ups are making it really hard. he turns to look at you and the sight of your hunched back and bitten raw lips makes him boil. are you two friends? no, far from it. minghao is very aware of the whole 'enemies' agenda that is happening between you both, but does he want to see you like this? nervous, agitated, scared? no. fucking hell, no. he wants to see you burning with passion, wants to see that fire in your eyes whenever you two argue - minghao feels like he's been punched in the chest when he realizes that he's ready to kill just for you to not look this scared.

'can we wrap this up?' he voices out loud, not bothering to hide his annoyance. 'i don't see any point in this.'

'it'd be wise for you to be more polite and remember who you are talking to, xu minghao.'

he sees how you cringe at this, how your hands ball up into fists at the way that man spoke to him. understanding that you are angered on his behalf warms minghao up; it feels incredibly nice to know that you care. he keeps his mouth shut, lets managers drag on about the issue and takes two step in your direction, stopping when your shoulders brush. you tense up at first, sending him a questioning glance but he only stays put to which you reply with a rejected sigh. they lecture him and then start lecturing you and minghao can't just stand still when you're obviously fuming. they are being rude to you and the words are out of his mouth before he can think them through: 'don't talk to her like that.' your sharp intake of breath kind of wakes him up and he stares ahead at all the managers, who all look shell shocked.

'you have no right to talk to her like that.' minghao pushes in a clipped tone. 'she did her best and so did i, our timing got fucked up but it's not our fault. don't speak to her in that tone.'

shortly after you get pulled away by other people and minghao is in for another 30 minutes of lecturing. by the time he finally gets out of that stuffy room, he feels like he wasted ten years of his life on nothing. he sighs, stretches and is about to turn when soft steps stop him. he knows it's you even before you call out his name.

'why did you do that?' you ask, squinting at him. 'why the sudden hero act?'

'it wasn't an act,' he says, rolling his eyes. god, he's so tired. 'but you're welcome.'

'i haven't asked for it,' you spit out, obviously angered. 'i don't need your pity.'

minghao turns around, raising his eyebrow. 'i have never pitied you,' he says strongly, feeling himself getting worked up again as some stupid side effect on you being close. 'can't you just say 'thank you' and move on?'

'i don't need your help!' you hiss. 'i haven't asked for it!'

and - only you can make minghao want to both bang his head on the wall from frustration and laugh like a maniac. he sometimes wants to step closer, pull you into his arms and... he doesn't know. part of him wants to strangle you for being so damn difficult all the fucking time, but another part wants to smash your mouths together so you can finally shut up. minghao is aware of how unhealthy it is just as he is aware of how often your gaze falls on his lips or his biceps. it's good to know he's not the only one who's gone mad. they say it's a fine line between hatred and love and for minghao right now this line is so thin that he barely see it anymore. is it the same for you? he wants to ask, but instead he says: 'why you didn't stop me then? you always could just interrupt me over there but you didn't say a thing. if you don't need my help why i was the one who you turned to when authorities came? you didn't say anything but you searched for me with your eyes, don't even try to deny it.'

five steps. that's the distance that separates you two and minghao thinks it's fitting. he can take two and then you can take two and then maybe you'll play game of chicken on that last step. but you surprise him with taking all those five steps yourself, storming onto him with fire in your eyes that he loves so much. 'you're not the one to talk, minghao. you think i don't know that it was you who asked everyone to wait up for me? who brought medicine to my team when i fell sick?' you try to push him on his chest but minghao easily catches you wrist in his, not letting you move. 'let me go.'

'that's not what you want.' he says in a calm tone that doesn't show all the hurricane which's happening inside of him.

reality of how close you two are standing dawns on you. jerkily, you try to step back but his hold on you is too strong. 'let me go,' you whisper, voice wavering. 'hao, let me go.'

hao. 'that's not what you want,' minghao whispers and lets his other hand wrap around your waist, pulling you even closer to his chest. 'tell me what you really want, angel.' he sees how you shudder at the petname and smiles, leaning in. he lets go of your wrist, locking his arms around you instead. 'you can go if you want.' he leans in, brushing your noses together. 'or you can stay. and i can never, ever let you go. which i think is what you actually want.'

it's brave. it's bold, it's brazen and - it works. your body sags in his arms and you hide your face in his neck, hugging him back. 'prick,' you mutter into his neck, raising goosebumps where your lips touch his skin. 'self absorbed asshole.'

'yeah,' minghao easily agrees, hugging you tighter. 'prick, self absorbed asshole that i will never, ever let you go.'

a/n: this one is a bit vague but i couldn't figure out how to write this for the live of me. i hope this was okay? let me know! - nini

my seventeen works are here

my formula 1 works are here

[serialkilluh1996]

✆𝐌𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐇𝐋𝐄𝐑✆

Older-Crush-König x Younger-female-reader pt.1

You have an unhealthy infatuation with König. But where there is obsession, there are dilemmas. He's 35, you're 21. He's your colonel, you're just an assistant. But most importantly, he can't fucking stand you.

Warnings: reader has specifically the personality i wrote, use of ☆☆☆ in place of reader's name, age gap (14 years), König is kinda of an ass, contact me if I need to add more.

Proshippers, Comshippers DNI

¹ 𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ➛

It's been almost a year since you fell in love with this man.

You were 20, looking for a reasonably paying job to live a reasonably affordable life, and Kortac had just the position.

A base level assistant. All you had to do was make sure everyone was in check, keep track of everyone's time sheets, and make sure all important files, including inventory, were safely stowed away in your computer supplied by the company. Who could turn down such an easy job? You didn't even have to do any field work.

Your life was going pretty damn smooth, if it wasn't for him. Him being König, your colonel and angel. He's a gorgeous man. Bright blue eyes, a firm muscular body, imposing height, his flattering accent. You were instantly in love with him, and he fucking hated it.

It started off small, with him politely hinting you away, but you were persistent. Bothersome. You absolutely wouldn't let him go, and that very fact would be the death of you.

König taps his pen against his desk, unmotivated to write his paperwork that was long past due. It wasn't anything serious, just a list of yes/no, if/and, where/when questions he didn't feel like reading through. Tap tap tap tap, the pen knocks against the table, abruptly stopping once König noticed you standing in the doorway.

He sighs, his entire mood shifting from unmotivated to irritated. "...why are you here, ☆☆☆..." he asks, sounding like more of a statement than a question due to his heavy accent and rough tone. Your name sounded like a curse coming from his mouth; a slur, even.

"I've done all my tasks." You explain to him, hands clasped together as you lean against the threshold.

"Und? Did ya want a cookie or something?" He teases. "I–I–" you stutter out, not sure how to respond to his sarcasm. "Don't worry about it." He fans his hand, looking back down at the paper.

He would've wrather been writing than dealing with you right now. You were so genuinely in love, enamored by him and his....qualities. but to König, this was all just some dumb hormonal puppy crush. He wanted a mature woman, not some silly girl like you.

"I...wanted to know if you'd go to the bar with me." You force out, your stomach churning with anxiety as you finally got the words out. "I'm not gonna be able to sneak you, Liebling, if that's what you're implying." He chuckles softly, beginning to scribble away at the paper.

"Sneak me in? I'm old enough to go to a bar, thank you very much." You look offended. It's almost humorous to him. Your anger is probably the only thing about you that made him smile, how funny and easy it was to piss you off. The younger ones typically did have a shorter temper.

"Oh, und how old are ya? 16? 17?" "...21." You said firmly, visibly irritated. You somehow managed to be the youngest in every group, so you were no stranger to being tease about your age.

"Oh...just old enough to drink. So, you want me to come and babysit you while you get drunk off your ass by some alcohol you're probably not even strong enough to handle?" "Why are you acting like this?" You folded your arms, frowning.

"What?" "I'm not inviting you as a chaperone, I'm inviting you as a date." You tilt your head slightly.

"...A date?" König almost bursts into laughter, stifling his chuckles with coughs as he covered his mouth. You could feel your confidence dropping with every hearty giggle.

"You're asking me out? Seriously?" "...yes." You mumble, no longer wanting to talk. "Why don't you ask Avery, hm? He's MUCH closer to your age." You frown at his words.

Avery was one his soldiers. A very kind young man, no older than 25, messy blonde hair. You loved having Avery around and he always made your moments memorable, but...he was practically a brother to you. You didn't see Avery as a potential love interest, you saw him as a silly best friend who had your back when you needed it.

"I don't want to go with him. I don't like him." You pouted.

"Well, that's too bad, Liebling. I'm far too old to be going out with someone like you. You're too young, und frankly, quite annoying. I want a woman. Not a puppy. Go ask someone else," he clicks his pen, leaning back in his chair.

"You're a very beautiful young lady and I'm sure there's plenty of men your age willing to kill to be with you." "I don't care what tuey want, I care what I want." You try to sound demanding, like you're standing your ground, but it comes out like a spoiled child whining, frustrating you further.

"Don't throw a fit, now." "I'm not!" You shout, now angry with yourself for being so openly bothered by his rejection. He couldn't help but exhale, looking at the sight of you. Your face was hot with agitation, eyes squinted with frustration as you stared into his eyes. He couldn't help but smile at your clenched hands. You were awful at hiding your emotions. It was almost precious to him

He felt himself becoming more tense, having to look down at the desk and put a hand to his forehead. "What am I gonna do with you..." he shakes his head. This wasn't the first time he'd rejected your advances; you've asked a myriad of times, being slowly but surely denied with more force each time.

"... I'll consider it." He offers, scratching his forehead, and you almost instantly rejoice at the idea. You suppressed a squeal as you bit your lip, trying not to make yourself look dumber.

"But not as a date." He interrupts, and you become nervous again.

"I don't want any unnecessary rumors about us spreading around. I'm not dating you and I don't want people to have the impression that I am. I'll invite a few others to go along with us and you will behave like a proper young lady. Understood?" "....Understood."

You can support me by liking, commenting, reblogging, and/or cashapping me @fundsbrownie. Donations are optional, but much appreciated. Have fun! And remember, take care of yourself.

[teruuu]

Exploring The Complexities of The Lamb and Narinder’s Relationship

Long post warningsgsgsgsgsh!!!!!! 🥺🥺

For those of you who want a quick rundown of what the AU’s about, check out the link at the bottom of the post.

Warning: Mentions of Cannibalism, Unhealthy & Obsessive Relationships, and Spoilers for The Art of Acquiring Devotion

Now, firstly, I’ll have to give my thanks to @nimbudcat for providing me with ideas as to how the relationship would function and opening the gateway for me to fully explore all the nooks and crannies of their romance.

I’m no expert on the deep complexities of toxic relationships, so I don’t have the courage to fully label the Lamb and Narinder’s love as ‘toxic’, but I know damn well that it’s not a normal love at all. Let’s think—what is a normal, healthy relationship composed of? Trust, of course. Mutual love and trust, absolute honesty... Those are the most basic building blocks of a healthy relationship. In this AU, for Narinder and Lamb, those concepts are extremely warped. They have all of those components in their relationship, but it’s so twisted that it’s difficult for me to define their romance as either healthy or unhealthy.

Narinder and Lamb trust each other, and it runs so deep that the best descriptor for that trust is pure devotion. They trust each other with their lives. This may not make sense since they are immortals, but think about it—the cannibalism that they inflict upon one another results in death for the two, each and every time, and they trust only one another for their resurrections. They allow the most vulnerable parts of themselves only to one another, and this is so incredibly meaningful because of all the aspects of their pasts. They trust themselves of course to always only tell the truth to each other, and the love that they share is simply reverent.

Now, let me elaborate on why all the things I expanded on above mean so much. Let’s start with the Lamb. I as I said in my previous post, the Lamb’s past for this AU is derived from my fanfic. We don’t know much at all about pre-sacrifice Lamb in-game, so I took the liberties to expand on their world myself. I’ll allow some passages from my fanfic to speak for itself:

It was through these traumatic experiences that the Lamb became hungry at the thought of companionship. No, the Lamb doesn’t just want some of Narinder’s Big Fluffy Gyatt™. As I’ve depicted in my other artworks, in this AU the Lamb considers Narinder as their savior, their one and only salvation, and perhaps the only person that has ever cared about them. And this is where things start to get murky—it’s because of this that the Lamb is so incredibly attached to Narinder and is absolutely insane about him.

The Lamb isn’t just attached, actually. They’re obsessed with Narinder. So obsessed that they develop a panic if they don’t hear his voice after more than half an hour. So obsessed that they begin to see any and all followers that interact with him as an enemy. This is also why I hesitate to consider this as toxic, because, see, Narinder likes it.

Moving on to Narinder’s part of the AU, it’s important to understand that, although he pretty much brought it to himself because of his high and mighty behavior, he was also quite isolated in his earlier years.

For Narinder’s side, he firmly believed himself to always be in the right. Think of it as a mad scientist whose ideas are way ahead of his generation. He had innovative thoughts and concepts in mind in the duration of his reign. He’d been supplemented by the knowledge that Shamura had provided him with, and that caused him to possess the mind of a radical inventor. Unfortunately, his ideas were less than desirable for the rest of his siblings and his own followers, so little by little the worship he received dwindled. Narinder was frustrated by this—why couldn’t anyone see the genius that he had to offer? Initially he had good intentions in mind, but he grew a tyrannical mind and eventually decided that the only way for the world to see his wonders is to force it beneath his feet.

Eons of imprisonment provided no aid for his mind. What once was a head full of wonders that could potentially change the world for the better became a twisted and cruel version of itself. Violence and revenge plagued his mind, and it became his one and only obsession. So, when the Lamb came to him, he relished in the worship they had to offer.

Their devotion for one another is purely mutual, but at the same time fully in their own self-interests. The Lamb is devoted to Narinder because Narinder is all that they care about in their mind, and they desperately require Narinder for them to continue living on. As for Narinder, he had never acquired such a passionate follower before, and he grew an addiction for the love that they have to offer. I don’t know if it’s a good thing or not.

They are incredibly violent for one another because that’s all they know. They don’t understand what it’s like to have a normal relationship. They cling to one another, kill for one another, and eat one another because they need each other so badly. The cannibalism is an expression of their eager desire to simply blend into one another because that’s just how much they want the other.

They know it’s wrong. They hate that it’s wrong. They hate each other for making each other feel so wrong and so crazy. But they so, so want it to be right.

(Okay sorry for the bad essay lmao adios)

[scribblestatic]

I promise y'all I'm not trying to slow burn y'all to the confrontation; I just thought of this situation considering Liu Qingge's dead in this universe and I had to write it first qwq

As an apology, this one is much longer than the others. I even put a Read More on it, it's that long.

Prev: Part 3

---

Luo Binghe isolated Shen Yuan for a while at the beginning. He was exceptionally unhealthy and had a hard time holding conversations at first due to exhaustion. However, after a few weeks, his body started filling in and his hair wasn't nearly as fragile.

By this point, the wives had heard that Shen Qingqiu was removed from the Water Prison and taken to Luo Binghe's quarters. Of course, some of the ladies wanted to know why, considering all of the horrors Shen Qingqiu forced on his young student. Little Palace Mistress in particular was ready to whip him to shreds like she had done several times before.

However, instead of the others, the first one to see him is Liu Mingyan.

She had snuck in, back before Luo Binghe more heavily warded his quarters from his still-large harem.

She found him in Binghe's bed, still sallow but looking healthier, hair spread out on the pillow, both eyes closed. The one without an eyeball had a flattened, drooping eyelid uncovered by an eyepatch at the moment. She stared down at him for a good while, noting how the sheets didn't fill with his limbs like they did for others. Gazing at how his chest moved with each breath.

Eventually, she started to move, raising the dagger she had in her hand.

"...Excuse me."

Her eyes flicked up to his face, seeing his remaining eye open.

From his gaze, she ended up freezing.

After all, there was no way the Shen Qingqiu she knew had such a calm, almost kind look to him.

"This one would usually not hinder you on your quest for revenge... However, it seems Luo Binghe desires this one alive. I, ah, cannot say how he would react upon returning to see me dead." His eye looks away. "And, this one isn't the Shen Qingqiu you are familiar with. Apparently you can tell from my qi? Please check as you wish."

He shifted a bit, raising his right arm before pausing. After all, he only had about half of his bicep left.

"Ah. Right. I don't have wrists anymore."

They paused in an awkward silence, and Liu Mingyan lowered the dagger.

"...Your voice sounds different."

"Does it? For some reason, I can't tell. It sounds like me, but also doesn't sound like me. But I guess this one doesn't sound like Shen Jiu."

"Who is that."

"Ah, Shen Qingqiu. Or, well, he was." The amputated man in the bed smiled waveringly, and expression she never once thought she'd ever see on such a face. How did he manage to make such sharp eyes soften like that? "This one is Shen Yuan though. Luo Binghe summoned me here... Not exactly sure why, but I'm sure it's for a good reason."

His manner of speech was still polite, but his tone was more casual. And tired, a little like it took some effort for him to interact with her. There were also bags below his present eye, the eyelid to the other one having lifted slightly from muscle memory. She saw the scarring inside, her own eye twitching in unwilling sympathetic pain.

The eyelid shut tightly a moment later.

"Ah, excuse me. This one is sorry you have to see me in such a state. I'm sure it's quite ugly."

She stared down at him a while longer before she left without saying anything else.

Of course, once Luo Binghe returned and Shen Yuan talked about Liu Mingyan's visit (sans the dagger, of course), the demon emperor responded by more heavily warding his quarters and giving a firm talking to his harem about not visiting his shizun.

(Why, they wondered, did he say that word with affection now when it previously only curled from his mouth doused in hatred?)

Still, while Liu Mingyan pondered over the strange spirit taking up residence in Shen Qingqiu's body, the spirit, Shen Yuan, asked to be able to visit her. Luo Binghe told her this, his arms crossed and appearing very unsatisfied.

"He cannot come to you. So you go to him."

Luo Binghe wasn't one to order her around, not usually. Unless he needed martial assistance, for her to follow him during the many battles they fought in together at that point, or they wanted to share body heat, he left her to herself. She had a firm position in the harem, a powerful one at that, so it was not often she received any sort of order.

But he ordered her to visit Shen Yuan, who had wanted to somehow visit her himself.

Strange...

--

"Ah, this one didn't really think about his mobility when I asked to visit you. This one apologizes to have disturbed you."

This time, he's dressed in more layers than just his night clothes. He also has an eyepatch over his empty right socket. Instead of a top-do, his hair is tied with a ribbon along his lower back, still going easy on the styles as his hair recovers. He seems more comfortable than he was when she first saw him.

Again, that sheepishly polite look on his face. The likelihood that this was just some other scheme by Shen Qingqiu to harm Luo Binghe in some way seemed increasingly less likely. Besides, he had said something about being summoned into the body.

She really should've checked his soul that night. Luo Binghe had told her not to touch him, and at that moment, he was currently sitting in a nearby chair, acting as though he wasn't paying attention by reading a book.

"...Hmm. You haven't disturbed me. This Mingyan was also interested in seeing you again."

"For certain, you must have questions. This one probably produced more than answered them when we first met. I hope to clear up what I can."

So, she asks about what he meant that he was Shen Yuan, and he said he wasn't Shen Jiu but someone else. He's dodgy when she asks where he came from, but he does at least say that he's from another world, which...sounds quite like what Luo Binghe had said after he temporarily disappeared after a battle, instead replaced by some strange replica of him.

The other him had been tall, his hair curling like a curtain of waves along his back. His skin was darker, body more built with muscle and health. He was, indeed, incredibly handsome.

If not for the fact he had been extremely hostile.

He fought viciously, nearly killing Sha Hualing in one of her usual attempts to fight their lord husband, only realizing that he wasn't him and shifting to fighting him with the intent to kill. But instead, he used a sword that seemed to be Xin Mo, but wrapped in bindings that hindered its presence and power. Moreover, the moves he used, the talismans, the sword forms...

He had been trained properly in Qing Jing's martial arts, only seemingly lacking in some experience. But he overcame her with sheer force of power and technique.

After he managed to leave, their lord husband later returned, a strange braid having made its way into his hair.

He has yet to take it down, even now.

He returned with distress and a renewed anger toward Shen Qingqiu. From what she could hear, he had roared in fury at him, demanding to know why he couldn't have been "like him." Why he deserved vitriol from him at all.

It seemed to hurt Luo Binghe more to have conclusive evidence that Shen Qingqiu could've been different than it had been to imagine it.

...Was this "Shen Yuan" supposed to be a different Shen Qingqiu, summoned into the broken body of another version of himself?

Shen Yuan cringes when she asks, saying he would never have been anything like that "scum villain." Their souls have to be entirely different. It just so happens he occupied this empty body and Luo Binghe...wants something from him, and that he'll do what he can to help with whatever it is.

Liu Mingyan sends a look toward Luo Binghe, who gazes at the back of Shen Yuan's head, not even facing his book anymore.

She understands it then.

She's unsure what spell he'd used, but it does seem Shen Yuan truly is another soul summoned into Shen Qingqiu's body. The child who had wanted a kind shizun...he never healed. Is this his way of getting what he wants now? But, isn't this a loss of some sort?

Sure, the soul inside Shen Qingqiu is polite and kind, if not a bit oblivious, but it's not Shen Jiu (his name before courtesy, apparently). The true Shen Qingqiu never changed, even until he had to be replaced.

And now, Shen Qingqiu no longer has to suffer for the sins he committed, like murdering her brother.

Dissatisfaction curls in her heart... But it's not something to take out on the soul now inside his body. So, even if she doesn't quite return the sentiment, she at least isn't rude to him.

After their meeting ends, she talks to Ning Yingying, who had been worrying about the situation.

She seems relieved that Shen Qingqiu's soul is gone.

--

After several months, here's how some major ladies relate with Shen Yuan:

Liu Mingyan: Good Friendship

After their meeting, they didn't really talk much until she found him reading one of her books and he waxed poetic about its good, bad, ugly, and beautiful points. He turned so pale when she revealed she'd written it, but she also found herself appreciative of his honesty with her work. She starts showing him her drafts, which he reviews just as honestly as he did before, and they become more friendly.

Shen Yuan temporarily recedes from their friendship after he starts having more Shen Jiu dreams, and after she asks him what's wrong enough times, he finally has a sit down with her and confesses that he might actually be Shen Jiu, and he doesn't feel he deserves her friendship. They do become strained for a good minute again, but she eventually asks him to tell her why he killed Liu Qingge.

He was going to lie, but instead, he tells the truth—he hadn't meant to. In the dreams, he's trying desperately to save Liu Qingge, but his own poor control and cultivation accidentally kills him. He never confessed that it was an accident out of guilt and shame and that he felt he basically murdered Liu Qingge. The fact Shen Yuan starts crying during this distresses him further, as he feels it's even more proof that he might be Shen Jiu.

But Liu Mingyan is distressed for a different reason, since it means she took her anger and revenge out on a man who had actually tried to save her brother. They both don't talk for a while again, neither feeling like they deserve to associate with the other. However, when they both try to apologize, they say the other doesn't need to: Liu Mingyan because Shen Jiu was a grown man and should've told the truth, even if he didn't feel he'd be believed, and Shen Yuan because he might not even be Shen Jiu, and even if he was, then she's the one who wrong him more.

Shen Yuan insists that she was only working off what information she received and she couldn't be held accountable for that, but Liu Mingyan says that she would hold herself accountable for her response, and that she has to accept that she was in the wrong. Because Shen Qingqiu never said he had killed Liu Qingge, and had she not been caught up in her feelings, she could've seen how silent he was about accusations toward him, even if they were wild.

That makes Shen Yuan go quiet since he's thinking about how often Shen Jiu stays silent to accusations that, via his dreams, he's realizing weren't ever true.

After some time, their relationship heals, and they start talking again. He sees her as someone reliable and straightforward, and she sees him as someone incredibly forgiving, who has a kind heart that's honestly too soft for the dangerous world they live in. So, she ends up becoming something of a guardian friend for him whenever Binghe's away. She also enjoys talking about trashy smut novels with him while learning how to write even better prose and storylines.

Ning Yingying: Currently? Strained.

At first, he becomes very close to her after Liu Mingyan told her that Shen Qingqiu's soul was replaced by someone else. She quickly went to get to know him and learn more about him, chatting it up and being her outgoing, friendly self. However, after a few times, Shen Yuan can sense that there's something a tad strained about how she associates with him under it all.

She's the first one he tells about the strange Shen Jiu dreams, which took him a while to decide to tell anyone about anyway.

She, ah, did not react well.

Ning Yingying had turned pale and left the room hurriedly. The attendants at the time started talking about him "showing his true colors" on the grapevine (which prompts him to confess to Binghe and eventually prompts Liu Mingyan's visit and his confession to her about possibly being Shen Jiu). Shen Yuan first thinks she ran away from him because he had sexually groomed her, and he even recedes from accepting Luo Binghe's attention as well, which put them in a rocky spot.

But then he has a dream about Shen Jiu's relationship with Ning Yingying, and...

No. Nothing.

If anything, he just had a familial relationship with her. Shen Jiu thought of Ning Yingying as a daughter.

He watched Shen Jiu keep her from working in the Warm Red Pavilion when she was perhaps too young to remember, right around the same time he dreams that he actually went there to avoid being around the men on the peak. He paid special attention to her because of his distaste for men, to the point he doted on her too much.

When he brought Luo Binghe onto his peak just to spite Liu Qingge, Ning Yingying's attention on him didn't spark jealousy, but fear.

He was afraid that Luo Binghe would become like Qiu Jianluo, and Ning Yingying would become like Qiu Haitang. That fueled his unjustified hatred and mistreatment toward Luo Binghe, as though expecting him specifically to become just like the man who assaulted him...

And didn't he? Didn't Luo Binghe become that person in the end? All because of a self-fulfilling prophecy that didn't have to be that way if Shen Jiu trusted someone else and got help. He turned Luo Binghe into his worst nightmare. And Ning Yingying...lied to help get him imprisoned.

Remember the pause during Liu Mingyan's part when they were apologizing to each other? That was him thinking about Shen Jiu's problem: he never spoke up, assuming no one would believe him. He helped cause his own problems...but he couldn't even blame it all on Shen Jiu's secretive nature anymore.

Not long after he and Liu Mingyan make up (with some remaining strain with Binghe, but the man hasn't abandoned taking care of him, thankfully), he dreams about Ning Yingying's false account of his lewd nature. And he feels, in his own chest, that Shen Jiu felt utterly abandoned by everyone in the world. Meanwhile, he kept quiet, thinking that it would help separate himself from Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, because despite his cattiness, he genuinely loved his position and felt pride in rising to power. The bamboo forest and the quiet pool had been his sanctuary.

He was satisfied with allowing himself to be destroyed if it meant the sect would survive. And his sect siblings just...let it happen. And so did Ning Yingying, pushing it along with her false testimony.

...Perhaps she saw the writing on the wall. Maybe she knew that Luo Binghe would seek to repay every grievance. Despite his sacrifice, Qing Jing Peak was lost, his sanctuary burnt to the ground. Because of his stupid pride, because of false testimonies and beliefs, and because his sect members hated him just as much as he despised himself.

If that was the the case, then Shen Yuan can't blame her for choosing the path to survival. She knew Luo Binghe loved her, and he taught her to care for herself. And that she did. So really, could he blame her for applying what he taught her to do? No. No, he couldn't. And he wouldn't.

She survived and is living well. As much as his heart hurts at the betrayal, he should've been a better person. Perhaps then, he could've kept the people he loved closer to him...

Shen Yuan blinked, realizing he forgot to think of it as Shen Jiu and not himself.

Ning Yingying has yet to speak to him again as of the time for his crowning ceremony, but at least he knows from a severely apologetic Luo Binghe that it's because she confessed the truth of her lie. She was present at his wedding, though they didn't speak much. He continues to extend an invitation to see her. She continues to deny it, so for now, he's leaving the door to communication quietly open.

This is getting a bit too long, so one last one for now!

Sha Hualing: Antagonistic, but actually friendly

It helps, in this case, that Shen Yuan's aware that Sha Hualing, born and raised as a demon, beats up on and teases people she likes. Of course, she can't actually beat up on him since Luo Binghe promised severe pain if she ever does. So, instead, she teases him. A lot.

At first, it was really meanspirited. She said a few things about his limbs that no reasonable person should laugh at. But Shen Yuan had joked back at her, firmly thinking he isn't Shen Jiu (and later, upon thinking he might be Shen Jiu, thinking he deserves it), so it didn't matter. She was thrown off at first, but found herself liking him for having thick skin.

After he and Liu Mingyan start having book club, Sha Hualing skulks around and teased him in more meanspirited but non-physically harmful ways, like poking him, flipping his hair over his head, or picking him up and holding him like a stuffed animal.

Although Shen Yuan can be oblivious, he starts recognizing her behavior as jealousy and eventually point-blank asks her if she's jealous of his time with Binghe. She huffs and doesn't react much, so, since he is now more aware of his own sexuality, he thinks further and askes if she's jealous of the time he spends with Liu Mingyan.

Sha Hualing sputters and huffs and calls him a fool, and Shen Yuan's expression steadily shifts from surprise to the most trollish grin she'd ever seen. She keeps insisting that wasn't the case, but Shen Yuan, having smelt blood in the water, brings out all his previous internet troll behavior to the point even she has to retreat.

Though, he does tell her later that he wouldn't tell Liu Mingyan if she doesn't want him to, which she appreciates. She eventually admits to him that she likes her, and though she was married to Luo Binghe, she wouldn't mind spending time romancing Liu Mingyan. Shen Yuan figures that since the two are in a harem (he hadn't married in yet), it isn't wrong for wives to love each other. Though, it turns out that was actually quite modern thinking, since it was expected for harem members to only dedicate themselves to their husband.

Shen Yuan: "...Eh? Since when do you follow those sorts of rules?"

Sha Hualing: *surprised Pikachu face* "Oh wow, you're right."

So, Sha Hualing askes Liu Mingyan out, and now they are dating while still being married to Luo Binghe, who, as it turns out, didn't care at all whether or not they had sex or dated each other.

When Shen Yuan receded from his friendship with Liu Mingyan upon starting to think he might actually be Shen Jiu, she's the one who motivated Liu Mingyan to try speaking with him. He told Mingyan about the dream and the truth, and they both stopped talking for less than a week before apologizing to each other. Sha Hualing calls them both foolish later on, and Shen Yuan gripes at her, who gripes right back.

Also, unbeknownst to Shen Yuan, Sha Hualing is part of the reason why Ning Yingying hasn't come back to talk to him again. Sure, Sha Hualing is a demon who betrayed her family to have power with Luo Binghe, but that's a demon's way. She teases Ning Yingying, calling her more like a demon than a human, which is an otherwise friendly jab, but, like with Shen Yuan's limbs, stabs close to home a tad too much.

So, it turns into a genuine fight, with Ning Yingying saying how she didn't like what Sha Hualing did to her own father, but Sha Hualing just says the equivalent of, "Hey pot, I'm the kettle. But at least I'm honest about it," which actually does kinda rub Sha Hualing the wrong way.

As of the crowning ceremony, Sha Hualing is friendly antagonistic toward Shen Yuan and Luo Binghe, dating Liu Mingyan, and mildly dismissive toward Ning Yingying.

---

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4: here

[deus-sema]

My dear Haladriels/Saurondriels,

I understand that we all here are very passionate about this ship of ours. But, as responsible and law abiding citizens of whichever country each of us belongs to, it is also our duty to weed out the bad apples in our midst who besmirch the good name of our community within the fandom.

Unlike the rest of us sensible and well meaning souls who know how to ship in a proper and decent manner, these notorious shippers have crossed all limits when it comes to delusion and their audacity knows no bounds. In the name of all that is good and just, they need to be called out.

Here are those individuals. If you come across them anywhere do NOT engage. They are beyond saving. Just block/report and move on. If it were upto me, I would have them jailed and locked away from civilized society but alas.

(1) Lost Cause #1

This guy is unbelievable for he comes up with the most outlandish headcanons about Sauron and Galadriel. He romanticizes the hell out of them and spends the entire day writing fluffy AUs where they end up happily ever after and have five kids or angsty ones where they pine for each other. Tch tch. I bet he doesn't know or understand anything about the books or the characters and is simply projecting onto Galadriel and trying to live his fantasy of fixing Sauron through her. It's okay if he wants to do that but then he starts acting like it's canon and it gets annoying. Someone please tell him Galadriel and Sauron aren't star crossed lovers.

(2) Lost Cause #2

Then there this dude who is legit dangerous. The first one was just an ignorant soul who romanticizes them whereas this one sexualizes the ship. Can you believe it?! He sexualizes the Lady Of Light and the Dark Lord. His fics are all porn and no plot. His fanart is blasphemous NSFW. He also prefers the ship when it involves dead dove, non con, stalking and obsession, all of which are supposed to be unhealthy, dangerous and illegal. I'm worried about his well being. If you ask me, like the other guy, he is projecting onto Galadriel too but instead of fixing the sexy bad boy, he wants to make Sauron worse. He,too, understands nothing about the books.

(3) Lost Cause #3

Last, but not the least, there is this guy who is.............hopeless. The other two shippers can still be rehabilitated with some time and effort but stay the fuck away from this one. He doesn't believe Sauron and Galadriel don't end up together. Those two live in AUs but for him, his AU is canon. He fully expects Sauron and Galadriel to ride off to the sunset together and won't let anyone stand in his way. Be it Amazon or the Tolkien Estate. As we waste time on social media, he is devising a means to travel back in time, hold Tolkien at gunpoint and force him to make Saurondriel endgame in the books.

Now, remember everyone. We are NOT like these shippers. We are good shipperses. Nice shipperses who stay in our lane. Sweet shipperses.

[dronebiscuitbat]

Give me a Reason: Chapter 19 - "Best Freind"

N: U sure ur okay?

Uzi sighed as she crashed into her mattress, body feeling sore and head full of cotton balls. Tessa had just pulled out of the driveway and N was already texting her.

She wasn't sure when they'd actually become friends, maybe somewhere between ghost hunting and getting kicked in the gut she'd somehow made that connection. But she was absolutely not used to someone being this worried.

He'd incessantly asked what had happened for her to get so injured. And she'd incessantly deflected, either saying that it was nothing serious- which was bullshit, it hurt like hell. Or, at the cost of her ego- she lied and said it was an accident.

She just wasn't sure how he'd react to the truth, he'd probably be even more worried then, knowing that someone did this to her on purpose.

Or… he'd laugh at her. Because she was weak, because she'd put herself in a vulnerable position and then couldn't take a little pain an-

N: You can talk to me.

N: No pressure.

N: Just worried about you :(

The new messages stopped that train of thought. No. He wouldn't laugh. Even her chronic cynicism couldn't convince her of that.

Finally, instead of staring at his messages, she responded.

Uzi: Promise you won't say anything? Or laugh.

N: Promise

She sighed, here goes nothing…

Uzi: I got kicked in the stomach, u know how I seemed upset that I knew someone in my math class? It was them.

The reply actually took a minute to come back.

And that was because N had all of air knocked out of him at that reply. She'd been hit? Purposefully? And hard enough to give her a serious injury? Why? She was so nice! And cool!

N: Who?

Uzi: Lizzy, she's a teachers aid now, but she was in my class last year.

Uzi: It's not the first time she's thrown a punch, just caught me off gaurd this time.

Once again, N was floored, a teachers aid!?

N: I'd never laugh at you. But you should report her, she shouldn't be working with students if she thinks that's okay.

Uzi huffed through her nose, a half-laugh that was drenched in a depressing kind of acceptance.

Uzi: It's not like they'd believe me. I'm not exactly a model student.

She sat her phone down and shucked off her jacket and beanie, hissing as her side throbbed dully. This had been such a day…

Her hand instinctually reached for her stash drawer before she even realized, and in another, she was looking at it's false bottom.

As tempting as it was- and it was very tempting. Drug mixing wasn't smart even if one of them was just an over-the-counter pain reliever, and adding a bad trip on an already shitty day didn't sound fun.

So instead she wrapped herself in the biggest, comfiest shirt she could find and grabbed her laptop, maybe she could distract herself with YouTube.

N: What do you mean by that?

Oh right, she'd never mentioned the fact she'd been held back to him, whoops.

Uzi: I was held back a year. I'm 19.

N: Oh wow! You're older then me!

N: Still it can't have been that bad. Failing a class isn't a reason to not belive you.

Uzi smirked, fingers clicking on the keys of her laptop as she tried to find something to watch- settling on an analysis video of one of the shows she was watching.

Uzi: I was high in class and a teacher called the campus police.

It took nearly twenty minutes for him to respond to that.

N:Sorry, got home and had to get up to my room.

N:You were WHAT?!

N: That's a crime!

Uzi: And so is trespassing on JCJenson private property to ghost hunt.

N blushed, now laying on his bed in a grey pajama shirt and pants with dogs printed on them, he held his phone close to his face as he grumbled, she had him there, but that hadn't really felt like a crime at the time…

N: I think you're a bad influence.

N: Also you're deflecting, drugs are bad! And unhealthy!

Uzi rolled her eyes at that, he wasn't the first person to tell her that. But you know what was worse? Dealing with herself unmedicated, without her stash, her head just got fuzzier and fuzzier, and before she knew it… she'd be having a full mental meltdown at the slightest provocation. Which she hated, she never felt like herself during those…

Uzi: Probably. But you see why they won't believe me over miss perfect.

N: Yeah okay, now I'm gonna be worried tho. I don't want you being hurt.

She smiled at that, this boy was so endlessly empathetic, and thankfully, her unloading some not-so-great facts about herself didn't seem to put him off either.

Uzi: Ew, don't worry over me. That's gay.

And yet she couldn't help but make a joke over it.

N: ???

N: how?

N: how does my worry make me gay?

Uzi: It's not manly.

Uzi: Empathy is a girly emotion.

She was snickering to herself, she didn't actually believe that of course, but she could almost see his reaction to it. That stupid, confused and amused smile that he wore when she made a particularly dumb joke.

N: Guess I'm gay then.

N: Cause I'm always going to worry. You're my freind.

N:Best Freind?

Her heart fluttered full of butterflies at that. Is that what he wanted? From her? She was so convinced he'd find someone else to hang out with but here he was, asking to continue this…

Whatever this was.

Uzi: Always knew I'd end up with a gay best freind.

Uzi: u can't borrow my makeup.

N: Awww, but it would look so good on me!

Uzi thought about that for a moment, imagining N with dark eyeshadow, lipstick, and black nails, and she about choked, she wasn't sure if it was funny or weirdly attractive.

Uzi: Dude that mental image.

Uzi: It's so cursed, I about choked.

N: Blursed

N: It's Blessed and Cursed

The conversation continued, the fuzz in her head slowly dissipating even without the assistance of her stash, and it continued late into the night… up until she heard Khan pull onto the driveway at 2am.

Uzi: Oh god, it's 2am. We need to sleep.

N: I didn't realize! We're gonna be zombies…

Uzi: More of a zombie u mean?

N: Yeh. U still in pain? Are u going to sleep ohay?

N: Okay* oof, sleepy fingers.

Even while about to pass out. He was still worried…

Uzi: I'm okay, pain isn't bad. U need sleep N

N: Ok, text you tmmrow, Uzi. Goodnight.

Uzi: Night N.

[kamimarroco]

A story where Ren suddenly starts chatting with you because he apparently cares about you staying up late at night. Not reviewed, may undergo corrections in the future.

Words: 1100+

“are you still awake?”

The vibration of your phone and the appearance of a notification startled you, almost making you drop the device. You looked closely at the top left corner of the screen and saw the time.

It is currently 2:35 in the morning.

People at this time are usually sleeping, and those who aren't are probably sorting out work issues or are insomniacs.

You didn't fit into either of them, since your irregularity was due to the fact that you were too stubborn.

A shame, really.

You didn't stand on ceremony and immediately clicked on the notification, being taken to the chat with an unknown person.

Well, not really an unknown person... Looking more carefully, your sleepy mind managed to rationalize and recognize who you were talking to.

Oh, it's Ren.

“yea but dw, i'll go to sleep soon”

You immediately saw him start writing after receiving your message.

“are you sure? that doesn't sound honest to me. you've been online a lot lately”

How long exactly has he been watching you to say that? Sure, it's possible to see when your profile is online because of the app's settings, but it makes you wonder if he's been watching you all this time.

“have you been watching me online?”, you ask without hesitation.

You feel him give a slight chuckle from the other side of the screen.

“haha maybe. but don't get me wrong, you really do spend a lot of time awake at night, and that makes me a lil worried”

You're torn between finding his statement strange or acknowledging your not-so-healthy habit. It's true, you're weird, anyone would find it at least slightly worrying that you spend so much time online in the early hours of the morning.

“and what about you? you are also online right now at this very moment”, you retort back, anxiety consuming you as you wait for his response.

He would be considered a hypocrite for finding your habit troubling if he does the exact same thing.

“i have a very valid reason for that. my routine makes me stay awake at night and sleep in the morning or afternoon”

Now you feel an arrow hitting right in the middle of your heart. Sure, of course he would have a good reason to be awake at this hour.

You are the only odd one out in this situation.

“i'm sorry about that, i felt defensive about my habit being called out”, you apologized, worried that your words had come across as rude to him.

“that's alright. it's 2:42 am, no hard feelings”

You felt relieved that he didn't resent your words, despite knowing that they did not convey the same intonation as in real life.

you're thinking too much (or too little), your emotions are starting to eat you up.

“but i still think you should sleep”, he sent a second message.

You felt like a child being scolded by your father, being called out for your unhealthy behavior. You felt your cheeks flush and shame enter your system.

“i already told you, i'll sleep soon”, even if he doesn't notice, you felt like a sullen child trying to explain yourself.

“wheeen?”

“by the holy of god Ren, i'm not some kind of child”, you felt the need to say his nickname (name?) for the first time, trying to emphasize your slight irritation.

This time it took him a while to answer you, seeming to process the fact that you called him by his name. You felt judged in some way for this, thinking that maybe you weren't close enough to call him that.

when did you get so soft? is it sleep that's making you think too much?

Just as you were about to text him an apology, he interrupted you.

“i know that, i just worry about you”, his message warmed your heart in a way you couldn't imagine.

That's… sweet of him. Worrying about you even though you two are just strangers on the internet who bump into each other every now and then.

Are you falling in love?

“i appreciate ur concern, but i know what i'm doing”

No, you don't.

He sent you a picture of a fox with one eyebrow raised, appearing to doubt your certainty.

That brought out a genuine laugh you didn't know you were holding back.

you're leaving yourself vulnerable around him.

“aaaw what a cutie fox!! <3”, you said, referring to the image received.

“it really is! do you like foxes?”

“yea i like them! they are cute and fluffy and i honestly feel like hugging them”

For a while, Ren seemed to forget the fact that you were awake and kept talking to you about random, unrelated topics. Neither of them really had any connection with the other, but one thing led to another.

You noticed how easy it is to talk to him. He has a fluid oratory and is always making associations with other things he knows.

You found yourself incredibly interested and captivated in the conversation you suddenly began having with this stranger.

is this a red flag? shouldn't you be more concerned about a sudden approach?

When you looked at the time on your phone, you realized it was already 3:56 am, almost four in the morning.

Jesus, did you really spend that much time talking to him?

Feeling the tiredness consume you completely, you (finally) felt it was time to let your body have some much-needed rest.

“hey i know we're still talking, but it's almost four in the morning…”, you began delicately, not wanting to give him the wrong idea that you didn't want to talk anymore.

why are you so concerned about what he thinks, in the first place?

“i don't want to let our conversation end here, so i thought we could continue it another time”

Nonono, stop this, you're falling into his trap

“i'm sorry about this, my body is really screaming for sleep”

You idiot.

Ren analyzed your messages a bit before giving a proper response.

“awe that's alright! i really wanted u to sleep in the first place, and i feel kind of guilty that i did a bad job xd”

“keeping u awake and everything”

You felt guilty for him feeling guilty because it wasn't his fault in the first place! You were the idiot who decided to stay up at night, so the damage was already done.

“nonono u didn't! i was the dumb one for staying awake until now”

“i really enjoyed our conversation tbh”

You sent it and already felt your eyelashes getting heavy.

“hehe me too! i look forward to our next conversations”

“but now u really need to sleep, so pls don't stay up too long <3”

Silly little guy. He really gets you, doesn't he?

You felt happy that you had at least met someone during your time awake at night.

[operativenightingale]

as someone who only really ships the idea and the chemistry of calzona, and really really really should know better, is there anyone that ships them that isn't overly indulgent towards arizona and doesn't seem to blame callie for not bringing the moon down for her or something, even at her own expense, especially at her own expense?

[words-writ-in-starlight]

listen I expected literally Nothing from the D&D movie okay, like I can't make it clear enough that I expected the most soulless money grab with a good cgi budget imaginable, I went in having already gone through every stage of grief and landed on acceptance and LISTEN

I fucking CRIED during this dumb RPG movie. it wasn't just "not terrible" it was objectively good with a clever plot and compelling characters and sincere emotional beats. this movie loves D&D so fucking much and it NAILS the "a bunch of goobers try to be cool and accidentally discover The Power Of Friendship And Also Great Violence" classic D&D party vibe. their barbarian's last name is fucking Kilgore and my entire family cried in the theater.

I hope they make twelve of these motherfuckers.

[fernlessbastard]

hot take moment cwilbur is literally just psychotic as all hell and i think people got way too comfortable villianizing the shit out of a man who was clearly portraying signs of severe mental illness. cwilbur was like im so fucking paranoid and scared and i think everyone is out to get me and hurt me and ive spiralled to the point i cant reach out to the people closest to me because im so afraid and lost in this spiral and im having constant panic attacks and hurting myself because i dong know what to do with myself and the only way out for me is to die. and everybody was like EVIL MAN WHO ENJOYS HURTING OTHERS AND IS ABUSIVE ON PURPOSE AND A VILLAIN AND SHOULD NEVER BE TRUSTED AGAIN. and then he came back and was like im still deeply troubled and afraid but im desperately trying to make up for the wrongs i did in the past and the people i hurt in my own way and communication is really hard for me but i hope people know that im truely sorry and i love them. im going to try my hardest to fix this in the only way i know how and then respectfully remove myself from the situation because i feel thats the kindest thing i can do to the people ive hurt. and people were like ABUSER ABUSER ABUSER EVIL MAN ABUSER. like girl

Yeah no based true real no questions asked

I'd hope I manage to portray Wilbur the way he deserves in my content, cause that man is heavily bpd coded and he just needs therapy and someone who genuinely loves him but also can handle his bullshit (which has exclusively and reliably been Quackity like, canonically)

But yeah no completely agreed. The man has issues and has definitely fucked up a lot but at the end of the day he really does need love and care and patience, but also boundaries (and therapy and meds, obviously)

[lightbulb-warning]

so has anyone figured out WHY there is the Need To Share our Artworks™ or is it just the vibes and our Soul apparently

[anaalnathrakhs]

love this part of my life where the things that are difficult but challenging and good for me are things i can stop and skip and halfass, but the things that are difficult and painful and pointless are the things i have to live with no matter what

[moeblob]

Deacon loves two things: Ymber and digging himself a grave.

Fulj hates one thing: Deacon.

[anthromimicry]