#his entire existence seems to be nothing but misery

[dashastoudenova]

I still can’t get over the fact that Spamton only got ONE moment of happiness during the entire game, and even that “happiness” is questionable.

No wonder Tumblr littlemeowmeow-ified him, give the man a break Toby

[moonlinos]

Invisible string (pt. II)

♡ Pairing: Lee Minho × fem!reader

♡ Synopsis: Minho is even more determined to make you see the good in love after falling for you, while you’re too preoccupied with thinking you’re not good enough for him.

♡ Genre: A ‘lite version’ of a soulmate AU, fluff, smut, friends to lovers, pining

♡ CW: Explicit sexual content (minors dni!), hand job, fingering, like two seconds of nipple play, slut shaming, swearing

♡ Word count: 13.2k

♡ A/N: I got such a great response on the first part 🥲 thank you to everyone who left feedback. It means a lot more than you realize. I researched what to do on a trip to Japan so extensively just to write this part that I got sad I’ve never traveled there 🫠

← part I ♡ part III →

The night after you and Minho watched the light show, you stayed awake until four in the morning with your roommates as Eunha cried about her ex-boyfriend. You’ve never been the type to hope for someone’s misery, but that guy is deserving of every terrible thing that could happen to him.

After she calmed down, you fell asleep together on the couch. You only managed to check your phone in the morning, finding it thrown on your bed along with your bag. Minho’s string of messages put a smile on your face. You could use the time away from everything, even if it was only for a weekend.

You agreed to his strange invitation without thinking twice. You did, however, insist on paying for your hotel room. Chan was already being far too generous in offering you his place on a trip he had paid for.

Soon enough, two weeks flew by and the Friday of your trip finally arrived.

You’re already waiting outside of your house when Minho’s car arrives. He greets you with a hug, taking your backpack from your hands and placing it on the backseat. He opens the passenger door for you, waits until you’re settled in your seat, and only then closes the door and walks around the car. It’s something he does every time you go out together and it always makes you smile, even though it’s such a minor detail.

“You know, you’re my first friend who can drive,” you comment as he enters the car. “You shot up a lot of spots on my favorite friends’ list just by saving me from taking the bus.”

Minho chuckles. “And here I foolishly thought you liked me for my personality,” he feigns offense, shaking his head. “I actually only know how to drive because of my mom. I was moving to the countryside, and she got really worried I was gonna be stranded there, so she gave me a car when I graduated.”

You raise your brows. “You lived in the countryside?”

“Yep, I moved to Gurye right after graduating high school,” he explains simply, starting the car.

You nod slowly. Truthfully, you wanted to ask more questions but didn’t want to seem intrusive. Minho had never told you a lot about his life before starting university — the only things you know are that he has three cats back home in Gimpo and started college late for some reason. You figure he’s a private person who will hopefully open up to you once he’s ready. You couldn’t blame him either; you also desperately pretended as if your life before university didn’t exist.

As you two sit in the car, moving slowly through the awful Friday night traffic, you feel the familiar thoughts of panic overflow your mind. This trip felt almost romantic; just you and Minho in Japan for an entire weekend. You should be running away from shit like this, should be shutting him out before anything more than friendship blossoms between the two of you.

Your fingers pick on the fabric of your sheer tights, pulling and pinching apprehensively as your mind races. Because, at the end of the day, Minho is still a guy. He’s still capable of breaking your heart in the same ways it was broken before, and maybe even in new ways. He could still cheat on you, fall in love with someone else, treat you like nothing more than an object or a nuisance in his life, wake up one day and simply decide he’s had enough of you.

But he’s also Minho.

Your heart quickly countered every single reason your brain came up with on why you should run away from the situation.

How could Minho, who believes that love doesn’t allow you to hurt the person you love because it feels like you’re hurting yourself, cheat on you?

How could Minho, who told you that love makes it so that you can only see the one you love, fall in love with someone else?

How could Minho, who does stupid romance movie shit like opening car doors and pulling out chairs for you, insisting that he should walk on the street side when you’re together, reading classic novels, learning how to cook so his mom doesn’t have to, all while having three fucking cats, possibly break your heart?

Part of you hates how you have to do mental gymnastics to even consider allowing yourself to feel something more for a guy, but a bigger part knows the hurt that inevitably comes with love isn’t worth it.

You hear a soft chuckle beside you, and you lift your gaze to find Minho smiling at you as you stop at a red light.

“Is that a style thing?” He asks, gesturing toward your thighs with a nod. You furrow your brows. The light turns green, and his attention is back on the road, a grin spread across his lips. “Ripping holes in your tights. Is that a style thing?”

You look down toward your legs and grimace as you realize you had mindlessly torn two holes in your tights while overthinking. You mentally curse yourself.

“I’m cold,” you lie with an awkward giggle. “Was trying to warm myself up.”

Minho hums, stepping on the brakes as you encounter another traffic jam. He unbuckles his seat belt, turns his body toward the back seat, and retrieves his jacket before draping it over your thighs. He shoots you a small smile and turns his attention back toward the road.

The side of your brain that was against Minho and anything romantic with him just a few moments ago is completely swallowed up, dissipating as you ultimately admit to yourself that you don’t hate the prospect of this being a romantic trip as long as it’s with him.

God, you really don’t hate it one bit.

You two finally arrive at the airport just in time to board your flight with no issues. You’re not big on flying, but the flight is just a little over two hours, and Minho is such a calming presence next to you. He quietly read you some harlequin romance he picked up at the airport bookstore, and you two laughed a bit too loudly at the over-the-top plot and theatrical writing. The two of you were taken aback as the book turned out to be erotica, but hearing Minho dramatically read to you in a whisper about the hunky love interest and his manhood made you laugh until tears formed in your eyes.

After that, you two somehow end up talking about your lives back home. Minho shares how he always cooks Christmas dinner for his family, and his favorite part of the night is always the praises his grandmother throws his way. He explains that although he started cooking simply to help his mother, he found that he genuinely enjoyed it. He said he missed doing it every day, having stopped because his roommates had begun treating him as nothing more than a personal cook. You listen to his every word with a smile on your face that you can’t hide. It feels like he’s slowly opening up more to you about his life outside of university, and even something as small as this detail about his home life makes you feel closer to him.

The flight is so pleasant that you only realize you’ve landed once you see Minho unbuckling his seat belt.

You two take an Uber to the hotel, arriving in thirty minutes — you insist on paying since you’re basically here for free. You stare out the car window in awe the entire ride, Minho fondly laughing at your amazement.

As you arrive, you struggle with your backpack, pulling it out of the backseat with such force you would have fallen backward had it not been for Minho’s hands holding your shoulders. He asks if you’re okay with a chuckle, and you groan about how heavy your backpack is. Packing light wasn’t your forte.

As you two walk toward the hotel entrance, the weight on your shoulders disappears suddenly. You furrow your brows and look behind you. Minho had nonchalantly picked your backpack up by the handle and lifted it off your shoulders, carrying all the weight in his arms. You bite back a smile, murmuring a thank you. He just nods, like he hasn’t just done yet another thing you thought only happened in books written by women.

You feel that damn pinwheel return to your chest, making you feel a kind of thrill that you haven’t felt in a while. A good kind.

The hotel is relatively small, clearly on the cheap side, although it’s still quite charming. Minho mutters an apology as he catches you looking around the place.

“It was the only place I could afford being a broke college student,” He explains with a sheepish chuckle, and you shake your head.

“It’s lovely. I’m so happy to be here, I think I wouldn’t mind sleeping on the floor.”

Minho is the one who checks you in, speaking in near-perfect Japanese to the front desk clerk. You focus on the wood chipping on the table and bite the inside of your cheek as you inwardly berate yourself for finding it so damn attractive. It was different from your classes or your small study sessions. You had never truly grasped just how good Minho was until right now. You didn’t understand a word he said. All you know is that he sounded too sexy for his own good while saying it.

Minho hands you the key and tells you the room number, and you finally make your way up the stairs. He walks beside you the whole way, and you wonder if his room is on the same floor as yours or if he’s just doing this so he can hold your backpack off your shoulders.

As you reach your room on the third floor, he stops you before you can insert the key into the door.

“Before you go inside…” He trails off, pursing his lips before letting out a sigh. “I — we could only afford to pay for one room, so this is actually our room.”

Your eyes widen for a second before you nod slowly. “Oh. It’s… okay,” you assure him, although there’s very little confidence in your voice. The prospect of sharing a bed with Minho makes you nervous, but not for the reasons you thought it would.

“There are two beds! Of course,” He assures you, and you mentally slap yourself on the forehead for feeling disappointed at this information.

It’s because you’ve exclusively been having sex with Hyunjin for so long, you reason with yourself. Your hormones must be making you stupid, making you want something more with someone else who isn’t him.

Yeah, that’s it.

Minho’s your friend, after all. It wouldn’t make sense for you to want anything more with him.

It’s just your stupid hormones.

You turn the key and open the door, stepping inside the tiny room with Minho. The two beds were so close together due to the room size that they might as well be just one. The only other piece of furniture is a bedside table, which basically connects the two beds.

It’s only once you slide your backpack straps off your shoulders that Minho lets go of the handle, and you toss it on the plain white sheets of the bed to your right by the bathroom door.

Feeling a chill run through your body, you let out a groan. The heater in your room is clearly not the best.

“Tights and a skirt weren’t the right choice for this weather. This shitty heater also isn’t helping,” you grumble.

Minho chuckles behind you, and you hear the sound of the bed springs as he all but throws himself onto the bed. “Poking holes in your tights probably didn’t help either,” he jokes, and you force out a chuckle.

It seems you chose today to act like a complete idiot.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom to change into your warm sleep clothes. The first thing you notice as you walk out into the room again is Minho’s bright orange sweater with a cat knitted on the front. He’s lying down, his back resting on the wall since the beds don’t have a headboard, and the color of his sweater might be a bit offensive to the eyes, but it’s quickly forgiven once you take in the kitten adorning the fabric.

You giggle, and he looks up from his phone, his eyes meeting yours.

“Your sweater is really cute,” you tell him as you sit down in your bed, crossing your legs in an attempt to warm yourself a bit more.

Minho grins. “I know,” He says smugly, “It reminds me of two of my cats because of the color.”

“You know,” you hummed, “You never showed me any pictures of your cats.”

You watch as his eyes light up at your words. He locks his phone before quickly turning it to face you, showing you his wallpaper. Your lips stretch into a fond smile as you analyze the picture: Minho holding an orange and white cat close to his face with a grin, a butterfly filter cutely adorning his nose.

“This is Soonie, he’s the first cat I got,” He explains, turning his head so he could look at the screen as well, “I was thirteen when I adopted him, and I remember begging my parents for almost three months until they agreed. In the end, they loved him so much they allowed me to adopt another one.”

Minho unlocks his phone and opens his gallery, flipping through his pictures like it’s the most normal thing in the world. You purse your lips. It feels like you’re intruding, even though he’s the one who hasn’t moved the screen an inch. You couldn’t think of one person you’d trust enough to so freely view every single picture you had on your phone like this. Minho really was something else.

Most of his gallery is composed of blurry food pictures mixed with pages and covers of books and computer screens filled with codes. Until he reaches a point — before he started university, you assume — where the only thing you can see is pictures of cats.

He stops scrolling and clicks a picture of the same orange cat, this time wearing glasses and a hat. You snort because, of course he dresses his cats in clothes.

“Soonie is adorable,” you beam. Minho furrows his brows and shakes his head, looking at you like he’s offended.

“This is Doongie,” he states like it’s obvious, “The second cat I adopted.”

Your brows furrow as well. “Minho, that’s the same cat.”

He clicks his tongue, closing the picture and scrolling before opening another one; two orange and white cats lay together on a cat tree. Your lips fall open.

“See? This one is Soonie, he has a white nose. And this one is Doongie, his nose is orange,” He explains, and you nod, knowing full well you’d be dead if your life depended on distinguishing these two cats. “Doongie is the middle child, so he’s more temperamental.”

You stifle a giggle at him talking about his cats like they’re his children, much like you do.

He closes the picture once again and scrolls down further. His fingers hover over a picture for a couple of seconds, like he’s hesitating before he ultimately opens it. The screen fills with the image of a younger Minho smiling while holding a gray cat. His wire-frame glasses were round, unlike his current ones, and his black hair used to be shorter. The picture has clearly been cropped, only half of the cat’s body still visible.

“This is Dori. He’s the last cat I got, and he’s actually the only one I call my son.” He lets out a breathy chuckle. “I adopted him with my ex-girlfriend. She wanted a dog, but I fell in love with Dori as soon as I laid eyes on him on the website, so she had no choice but to accept him.”

You watch as he smiles at the picture and the memory. You absentmindedly fiddle with your fingers on your lap, an all too familiar ugly feeling bubbling inside you. Jealousy. Not because Minho mentioned a girlfriend — you wish it was as simple as that. Jealousy consumed you when you were forced to face the reality that people have healthy relationships, where one partner sacrifices their own desires just to please their loved one. Where you make plans to adopt a kitten together just so you can call it your son. You know damn well you were never even close to having something even remotely similar to that.

You shake the feeling off, forcing out a smile. “He’s really cute,” you tell Minho, “And he’s my favorite, ‘cause at least I can tell him apart from the other two.”

Minho chuckles, scrunching his nose as he locks his phone and rests it on his thigh.

  You two settle into bed after Minho walked you through the day he and Chan had planned for tomorrow. He had organized everything neatly in a travel planning app — from where you would be going down to an estimate of how much you would be spending. You always preferred roughly planning things out mentally whenever you traveled, mostly enjoying going with the flow.

Among all your coincidentally similar little incidents, you finally found something in which you two are complete opposites.

That should, in theory, annoy you, but you can’t help but find his meticulousness endearing. You can just picture him searching tirelessly online, crunching numbers and jotting everything down. The image is too adorable for you to be mad.

“Guess we finally found somewhere we’re different,” you mention with a smile as you tuck yourself into your sheets. Minho remains sitting on his bed, putting his glasses on their case.

He hums. “Rather than different, maybe we just complement each other in this case? You hate organizing, and I fucking love to do it, as you just saw,” he chuckles, “We’d be a great team. I plan everything, and all you have to do is show up.”

You nod with a smile, going over the places he chose in your head. You were excited for all but one: the very first one on the list, Inokashira Park.

“You know,” you start with a sigh, Minho’s eyes finding yours in the dimly lit room. “I never talk about this, but I weirdly feel like I can tell you anything. Nobody from our friend group knows this but…” you trail off, gripping the scratchy fabric of the comforter. “One of my ex-boyfriends cheated on me during a family trip to Japan when I was seventeen. I found out ‘cause the girl he hooked up with tagged him in pictures on Instagram. They were together in Inokashira Park.”

Minho hums, his eyes studying your face. After a beat of silence, he shrugs.

“We can skip that if you want to. I just—” He purses his lips, shifting on the mattress. “I just don’t think you should deprive yourself of the experience just because of a bad memory. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

You nod, taking in his words. He was right. You were positive none of your exes ever deprived themselves of going back to places where they cheated on you, so why should you? They were the ones in the wrong, the ones who hurt and betrayed you, so why should you be the one to bear the trauma?

Minho rests his back against the wall, playing with the drawstrings of his sweatpants. “Is that why you don’t believe in love anymore? Don’t feel like you have to answer! I just… I wondered…” He faltered, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. “I wondered what could have happened to make you feel that way.”

“Well, that was just one of five times when love proved to kind of hate my guts,” you chuckle. You didn’t understand why, but the words you held back for so long were bubbling at your throat, ready to spill out. And you were willing to let them. Even if only to a certain extent, you were ready to talk about this pathetic side of your life. You would rationalize it all later. Right now, you simply wanted to talk.

“I’ve had five boyfriends in my life, and they were all terrible in some way. I know, it’s a lot of relationships considering my age.” You scrunch up your face, cringing when you voice out the number.

Minho chuckles, and you’re ready for him to agree.

“It’s really not. There’s no right or wrong number of people to date during your teenage years or your twenties.” You open your eyes to find him leaning on his side, looking at you dismissively. “Some people date more, some date less, some people don’t even date at all. Either way, it’s fine.”

Your lips open and close, then open again. You had always expected people’s reactions to be the same as the ones you heard during high school. From your classmates to your ex-boyfriends, even your friends at the time, they all seemed to be in unanimous agreement that you were at fault for having dated so much in such a brief period. You never thought that maybe people with different opinions existed. And that, maybe, those people would be the ones who you care the most about.

Thinking about it now, after hearing Minho’s words, you were certain neither Eunha nor Soojung — or any of your friends, for that matter — would ever think badly about you or shame you simply because you’ve had five boyfriends. It seemed silly even to think that way now.

It was sad how much your teenage traumas undeniably affected your perception of reality.

Minho is the one to break the silence, his soft voice pulling you away from your thoughts.

“I’m sorry that happened to you. I promise you, the memories we make on this trip will be good enough that they override this lousy one,” he vows with a small nod. “And, more than ever before, I truly hope I can change your view of love.”

You smile at his words. “I surprisingly feel my thoughts about many things changing. Love is one of them.”

“I’m glad,” he hums, finally slipping under his covers. “Y’know, love isn’t only romantic. You say you’re closed off to love, that’s really a lie,” he states matter-of-factly, a smug grin spreading across his lips. You bite back a smile and raise your eyebrows at him. He continues, “The love you feel for your family and your friends, platonic love, that’s also love. I’ve been around you long enough to know just how much you love your friends.”

To say you loved your friends almost didn’t seem sufficient. After graduating high school, you left behind all the judgmental and toxic friends you had. You are immensely grateful to have found such good people at university. Eunha and Soojung were the housemates of your dreams, the three of you so different that it truthfully shouldn’t work, but it simply did. Hyunjin becoming your best friend was also a surprise; he was younger than you, and you had never been friends with a guy before — in part thanks to your jealous boyfriends — but he carved out a space for himself in your life and refused to leave. And you were so thankful for that.

And then there was Minho, who had come out of the blue into your life and just as suddenly became such an important person to you. From the way you two first met to your little similarities and how well you got along in such a short time, it was as if fate pulled you toward him.

You smile.

“I do love them,” you tell him, fiddling with your fingers under the white comforter. “And I love you, too, Minho. You’re my friend, after all. In a way, you’re already succeeding in changing my view of love just by being you.”

Minho’s eyes blink rapidly as he looks at you, his parted lips making him look like a confused child before they close. He hums, nodding as a small smile spreads on his lips, which quickly grows bigger and bigger until he’s basically giggling. He hides his face behind his hand, clearing his throat. You feel warmth spread across your chest at the sight. You’re sure if the lights were brighter, you’d be able to see his ears turning red.

You shake your head with a chuckle. The mood has suddenly become a bit too emotional, and you still find yourself running away from these things. However, you were proud of your progress tonight. Talking about love and your past — especially regarding your ex-boyfriends — was already a huge step for you.

You hope Minho knows he’s part of the reason you’re able to take this step in the first place.

“Okay, your turn.” You sit up on the bed, the white comforter pooling on your lap. “I’m curious too, y’know. You’re such a love enthusiast,” you tease him with a grin, earning you a chuckle from Minho, who throws his head back. “Tell me about your romantic experiences.”

He mirrors you and sits up on his bed. “Experience. I’ve only had one girlfriend,” he corrects you, “We met on the first day of high school and began dating the year after that, when we were sixteen. We were together until I was just about to turn twenty-one, so…” he trails off with a deep sigh. “Yeah, it was quite the long first relationship.”

“My five relationships combined didn’t last as long as that.” You click your tongue, and Minho lets out a breathy laugh. “Why did you two break up after being together for so long?” You blurt out before you can process the words inside your head. Annoyed with your own self, you scrunch up your face. You really chose today to be an idiot. “If that’s okay for me to ask! Sorry for being nosy, I’m just— I guess I’m curious.”

Minho smiles at you, a fond smile he always shoots your way whenever you are word-vomiting. Much like your other friends, he had quickly adapted to your habit of spilling out words before thinking about them.

“It’s a bit of a long story. Basically, she wanted a quiet and simple life in the countryside, so I did that for her,” he explains, shrugging dismissively. So that was the reason he had moved to Gurye after finishing school. “I began saving up money at eighteen with my job at the convenience store while she gave piano lessons to the kids in our neighborhood, and we moved on her twentieth birthday. I figured I could just do programming jobs from home, anyway, so I completely gave up on my plans to attend university…” Minho trails off, his voice all but a whisper at the end of the sentence. He shakes his head, a bitter chuckle leaving his lips as he continues, “I kind of wanna kick myself in the face for that now. It fucking sucks to have started university so late, but it was my own decision. I guess you say stupid shit when you’re nervous, and I do stupid shit when I’m in love.”

You had never met someone who would abandon so much of themselves for the person they loved. It made Minho even more admirable to you. However, even though it was his own decision, he clearly came to regret it. People often say love is all about compromises, and you couldn’t help but feel like Minho had been the only one to give up anything in this scenario.

“Were your parents okay with you two making such a drastic move?” You question, your curiosity bubbling inside your chest.

Minho scoffs. “Of course they weren’t. Especially my dad. But we were nearing our twenties, so there wasn’t much they could do to stop us.”

He drums his fingers on his thighs, and you wonder if this subject brought back sour memories — or maybe even good ones he just didn’t like remembering because they had become part of the past. You want to tell him it’s okay if he doesn’t want to talk about it any longer, but he’s continuing his story before you can speak.

“We adopted Dori and left a week later. We were pretty much broke. All we could afford was a small cottage that hadn’t been renovated in over a decade, but we were happy,” Minho’s voice is soft as he speaks, a smile forming on his lips as he stares ahead, almost as if he’s reliving those moments in his head. “We talked about growing old together and raising our kids in that cottage. And we — god, looking back, this was so stupid it’s fucking funny,” He chuckled, shaking his head and raising his gaze to meet yours. “We were actually trying to get pregnant. We barely had money to feed Dori and ourselves, yet it still crushed us every time that test read negative.”

You feel your expression change, a blend of astonishment and admiration washing over you. They must’ve truly been in love. You felt a slight pang of hurt and envy run through your body; it truly was so easy for other people when it came to love.

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” you lament, although you’re not sure if you’re talking about the pregnancy or the entire relationship.

Minho shakes his head, scrunching his nose. “Don’t feel bad, it was a blessing in disguise. I can’t imagine how the fuck we would ever manage to raise a baby at that time.”

“It seems like you two had the perfect relationship.” You force out a smile, waging war against your bitter jealousy.

“It was perfect, until it wasn’t,” Minho shrugs dismissively, “We began to fight a lot after a while. Haneul would always get upset at me for not doing things the way she thought I should do them, down to replying in a way that didn’t fit with what she had hoped I would say. And I was the same, always getting frustrated when she disagreed with me, even if it was about something silly like what to have for dinner. We used to be able to talk it out and come to an agreement in the past — it wasn’t for nothing that we were together for so long — but being in that little cottage, just us two all the time, it became suffocating.”

“Is that why you two broke up?”

Minho nods. “We realized we were merely playing house. Neither of us was happy anymore,” he explains, a soft laugh escaping his lips. “It was like we each had a script inside our heads of what the other should say or how they should act. It wasn’t healthy anymore, so we mutually decided to end things before they got worse.”

Your fingers fiddle with a loose thread on the white cover. You had always been envious of this type of relationship, but you never thought to think about the fact that they can also come to an end. It always seemed to you that your relationships never worked because they weren’t perfect, like the relationships you saw in books or movies — like the one Minho had described with his ex-girlfriend.

You never once rationalized that even perfect things can ebb away. That nothing lasts forever, even if it seems utterly ideal.

“I know how terrible breakups are,” you tell him. “I can only imagine how much worse it must’ve been to you two after so many years together.”

Minho shakes his head with a smile. “I never really felt hurt by it. It was such a perfect breakup she even let me keep Dori without going through a custody battle,” he jokes, raising his eyebrows at you.

“How can it not have hurt you?” You let out an incredulous laugh. “You were in love, planning to start a family, and you tell me it didn’t hurt when it ended? That’s bullshit, Minho.”

He looks up at the ceiling, like he’s trying to find the words to explain to you. He hums. “Well, I loved Haneul. I loved her so very much, with every fiber of my being. She was my first love. My mom once said we were probably a couple in another life as well, and I fucking loved that,” He chuckles, “The idea that someone was destined for me and I was destined for them, that we were fated to find each other and be together across lifetimes.”

“Like soulmates?” You ask.

He nods. “Soulmates, yes. That’s what we were. And, after we broke up, I realized maybe people’s understanding of soulmates is wrong. At least to me,” He shrugs.

You let out a chuckle. He really turned a terrible situation into a chance to reevaluate his beliefs. It was the most Minho thing you had ever heard.

“How are people understanding it wrong, then?” You question him, resting your chin on the palm of your hand and looking at him. Minho mirrors your actions, a grin etched onto his lips. 

“Well, for starters, you can have many soulmates in one lifetime.” You furrow your brows, opening your mouth to ask him more questions, but he quickly adds, “For example, Haneul was my soulmate and there’s no doubt about it in my mind. But it ended, because it was time for it to end. I learned everything I had to learn with her, and she did the same. We couldn’t grow together anymore, so there was no point in staying together.”

Biting your lip, you nod. “I never thought of it that way. You ask anyone and they’ll tell you that a soulmate is unique.”

“It may be so to some people, but I find that way of thinking a bit unfair,” he shrugs. “Haneul found someone new. Wouldn’t it be unfair for me to say her new relationship is inferior to ours simply because we were soulmates? We were soulmates, but our time to be together has passed and she’s with the soulmate she’s supposed to be right now.”

You hum, tapping your fingers against your cheek. “I guess it does make sense.”

He shrugs, feigning smugness. “I am quite the smart man.”

“What about you?” You question, smiling at him, “Have you ever found a new soulmate after that relationship?”

Minho clears his throat, his gaze shifting to look at where his sock-clad feet poked out from underneath the comforter. You could swear you see a tiny smile on his lips.

“I think I did,” He answers with a questioning lilt. “There were some signs, and a lot of things that aligned.” His gaze lifts once more to meet your eyes as he continues, “Makes me think maybe I’ve found her.”

As you take in his words, jealousy rears its ugly head, the feeling almost swallowing you whole. You gnaw on your bottom lip. The way Minho made you feel at times was questionable at best, but you chalk it all up to your jealous nature. You’d always gotten jealous when your friends found new friendships or when they started relationships.

However, that feeling was a bit different from the one currently making you want to bite your lip until it bled out of sheer and petty jealousy.

You let out a heavy sigh, pushing all those thoughts into a neat little box inside your head and locking them up.

“You’re really lucky,” you tell him, and Minho cocks an eyebrow. “That’s why you think love can only be good, because your only experience with it was long-lasting and good until the very end. I’d much rather have love fizzle out than have it end in a way that ended me as well. That’s how it’s always been with me, and I guess that’s why I came to hate love a little bit.”

Minho smiles at you, a genuine smile that reaches his brown eyes. “Well, sometimes love lasts forever,” he asserts, “So you shouldn’t think about how it’s going to end.”

You can feel the pinwheel inside your chest spinning, causing your heart to skip a beat and your cheeks to blush pink. Forcing out a chuckle, you lie on your bed and pull the covers up to your nose.

“You’re back to your hopeless romantic ways.”

“I never stopped,” He corrects you. He lies down as well, facing you, his hand reaching out to turn off the lamp that sat on the bedside table. “Even when I thought you had a boyfriend,” Minho continues, “I was still able to be a hopeless romantic.”

You feel your eyes widen at his words, thanking the darkness that covers you both as confusion and shock swim in your eyes. Did Minho subtly admit he liked you? Were you reading too much into things? Why did this not scare you? It should scare you, should make you terrified, as this is the very thing you’ve been running away from.

You were probably over-analyzing his words.

But why did you hope that wasn’t the case?

The two of you wake up early, hitting the streets of Tokyo immediately after getting dressed. Minho’s list definitely made things easier, with you two hopping from place to place before crossing them out one by one on his phone. Your favorite so far had been the cat café you two went to for breakfast, where you spent the entire hour watching Minho petting and playing with the kittens, the smile on your lips so fond that it probably made you look stupid.

But as you walk around Inokashira Park, that quickly drops to second place on your mental list. It was a beautiful place, especially in the late afternoon sun. As soon as you arrived, Minho took your hand in his without a word. It was unexpected, to say the least, but you were even more surprised to find yourself liking the gesture. You squeezed his hand, smiling at him, before lacing your fingers together.

Your heart was racing so fast you were certain that damn pinwheel brought along a friend today.

After walking around for a bit, Minho abruptly stopped, letting go of your hand and moving to stand behind you. You furrowed your brows as his hands came to cover your eyes. With his lips incredibly close to your ears, he whispered, “I have a surprise. It’s a place that wasn’t on the list. A museum I think you’ll like.”

You felt goosebumps rise all over your body at the sound of his low voice coupled with his breath tickling your skin. You silently thanked the cold weather — had you not been wearing long sleeves, Minho would have seen the effect he had on you, and you would’ve had no other choice but to throw yourself in front of a taxi on the way back to the hotel.

The two of you waddled awkwardly, Minho still standing behind you with his hands over your eyes. He giggled the whole way to your destination. You were too immersed in not focusing on how his body brushed up against yours with every step you took to even think about laughing.

His broad chest so warm against your back, his arms wrapped around you, his lips grazing your neck once as he bent down to whisper something about the museum being just around the corner, and his lower body continuously brushing and rubbing against your ass as you two walked. You had to fight the urge to push your body against his every time that happened, wondering if that would be enough to get him hard.

After Minho’s supposed confession last night, your mind had truly thrown every bit of worry and shame you felt about being attracted to him out the window.

It felt almost liberating, being able to say fuck it and simply feel.

So you were attracted to Minho; why should it be a big deal? You shouldn't deprive yourself of these silly experiences just because love scares you.

Maybe being scared was okay sometimes. Maybe it was worth it for the right people.

Just as your mind was running wild with thoughts of Minho’s body pressed up against yours, his voice whispered in your ear again. You had arrived, he announced, removing his hands from your eyes.

As your eyes adjusted to the light, you made out the words on a wooden sign before you. Minho had taken you to the Ghibli Museum. Before you could stop yourself, you were throwing your arms around his neck with a gasp.

You could just kiss him at that moment. That was how happy you were.

After walking around the museum with a smile engraved onto your lips, your cheeks hurt in the best way possible. Minho hurried you as you looked through the overly expensive gift shop, reminding you that the swan paddle boats would be closing soon. You whined but ultimately had no choice but to leave the shop as he grabbed your hand and pulled you toward the exit. Mourning the loss of a Soot Sprite plush perfect for your collection, you grumbled to Minho about how he had no heart as you two ran across the park.

You made it just in time, being the last ones in line on the pier. Minho insisted on paying for your tickets, and you agreed only after he explained it would be your compensation for the loss of your precious plushie.

And now you sit beside him on a swan paddle boat, failing miserably at containing your giggles as Minho adjusts his life jacket.

“You know,” He starts with a dramatic sigh, “You’re not gonna be laughing if we crash and you drown.”

You poke his arm, making him look at you just as a smile spreads across his lips. “I’m only laughing ‘cause you look real cute.”

You begin to paddle, and it is surprisingly easy — especially because Minho is the one guiding the boat with a steering wheel. The scenery is quite dull because of the cold season, with most trees already bare of leaves and the sky a blend of pale blue and white.

“I wish it was spring,” Minho speaks beside you as if he’s read your thoughts. “The cherry blossoms are fucking gorgeous.”

You look over at him, his eyes fixed ahead as he steers the boat around the pond. His glasses reflect the pale sky and obscure his eyes, but you’re sure he’s blinking rapidly like he usually does whenever he’s focused.

“Did you come here with your ex-girlfriend in spring?” You blurt out.

Minho’s lips stretch into a grin as he turns to face you.

“No,” he answers simply. “But I want to come with you.”

It’s only then you realize he had been doing most of the work paddling, as he easily controls the speed at which the boat glides across the water, slowing down until you two are stopped at the edge of the pond.

Your mind races, but not as hard as your heart does.

“With me?”

“With you.”

His eyes are fixed on yours, and his left hand grips the steering wheel tightly. You part your lips, but only silence is stuck in your throat. Drawing yourself out of the impromptu staring contest the two of you had gotten into, your eyes shift down to stare at your purse which lay across your lap.

You softly utter the only two words your mind can conjure up. “Why me?”

“Because I like you,” Minho’s voice is also quiet. You hear him shuffling beside you, turning his body so he fully faces you. “I know you’re scared, and you feel like you’re protecting yourself, but I’m—” He cuts himself off abruptly, and your eyes shoot up to find him biting his lip, his brows furrowed. He lets out a sigh. “I like you so much I think I might implode if I do nothing about it.”

Your breath hitched audibly. There is still a part of you that’s screaming out run away, this is terrifying, you’re on your way to another heart-wrenching breakup — but that part has become so minuscule, so insignificant now, it feels like nothing but muffled background noise inside your head. Because a much bigger part of you is begging for you to just say, “Then do something about it.”

And he does.

Minho’s hand leaves the wheel and gingerly touches your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin before he closes the distance between you. It isn’t the first time you kiss Minho, but it is certainly the first time your entire being is fully enveloped in only him; from the way his slightly chapped lips still felt so soft against your own to how his strong hand finds your waist and pulls you closer to him.

And his taste. Minho coaxes your mouth open with his tongue and licks into it, your senses being taken over by the taste of the watermelon candy he’d been eating all day until you’re positively drunk on him. Your heart racing and your hands shaking like a teenager having their first kiss.

You go to grab his shirt, desperate to pull him even closer to you, but your hands collide with the damn life jacket he’s wearing. You whine into the kiss, annoyed, and Minho only chuckles against your lips. He bites your lower lip, pulling softly before releasing it and pressing another kiss to your pout.

“I take back what I said, the life jacket isn’t cute,” you mumble against his lips. His smile grows, and his lips crash against yours again, his hands tangling in your hair.

He groans into the kiss, barely pulling away before whispering, “Don’t wanna stop kissing you.”

You hum. “Well, you can kiss me anytime now.”

Minho’s lips spread into a grin, and he closes the small distance between you for one last kiss before he pulls away, your noses brushing. His eyes are dark yet soft, as if longing and affection had melted together.

“I want to be with you,” He says, “But I want you to think about it before you say anything because I know how scared you are of love. And if by the end of our trip I haven’t given you enough reasons to give me a chance, I’ll let you go and move on with my life. If you want to stay friends, I’ll happily do that. And if you never want to see me again, I’ll also respect that.”

Your heart swells with his words because Minho is the complete antithesis of everything your ex-boyfriends taught you that men were.

And, for the first time in so long, you feel the kind of nervousness that’s nothing but good. The kind that leaves you with trembling hands, a racing heart, and a dizzy head. The kind that only love can provide.

Despite his request, you’re eager to answer him right then and there, but just as you’re about to speak, the sky roars and dark clouds gather above. You jump in your seat at the sound, and Minho’s hands instinctively wrap around your shoulders and squeeze. You smile, simply nodding your head and giving his lips a small kiss.

Minho struggles a bit, but he’s eventually able to turn the paddle boat around, and you two begin to paddle back toward the pier. The light rain quickly becomes heavy raindrops drumming on the roof of the boat, and you dread the walk back to the hotel as neither of you thought to bring an umbrella.

“Y'know,” Minho starts. “There’s a myth here in Japan that says if you ride this boat with a girlfriend, then you’ll break up soon. I kinda always believed that.”

You let out a chuckle. “Really?”

He hums, nodding his head. “So I’m choosing to also believe that if you ride it with someone you like, they will become your girlfriend soon.”

Minho turns to look at you with a smile as you stop at the pier, removing his life jacket and exiting the boat without another word. You bite the inside of your cheek in a failed attempt at holding back a smile. Minho helps you out of the boat, his hand taking yours and pulling you toward him gently.

You two run back to the hotel, Minho holding you close to him with his hand around your waist. The streets are mostly empty as people squeeze under bus stops and shop awnings to shelter from the rain, and it almost feels like you and Minho are the only people in Tokyo that night.

You two giggle the whole way to the hotel. Even when you are struck with the realization that the power has shut off on the entire street upon arriving, you simply turn to each other and laugh even more.

You clumsily manage to take a brief shower in the darkness, changing into your sleep clothes as quickly as you can. You realize with a grimace that if your room was cold before, with the shitty hotel heater on, it’s basically turned into an icebox now.

Wrapping yourself up in your comforter, you shiver with a groan just as Minho walks out of the bathroom.

“Bet you miss that shitty heater now, huh?” He jokes, and you faintly make out his silhouette in the dim light of the moon coming from the window.

You let out another groan. “I'm gonna freeze to death tonight. I've made peace with that. Thaw me with a hairdryer in the morning, please.”

Minho chuckles, sitting on his bed as he checks his phone. You make out his features in the moonlight coming from the window, and he’s wearing another sweater, black with more cats printed on it.

Such a cozy, warm-looking sweater. You curse yourself inwardly for only packing t-shirts to sleep.

As he locks his phone, an idea hits you, and your words are faster than your thoughts — as they always seem to be whenever you’re around Minho.

“Can I lay with you for a bit?” You ask, “Just for a bit, until I get warm? My bed is right under this damn window, and I don’t have any sweaters I can sleep in, and I know I joked about making peace with freezing but—”

Minho cuts you off by calling out your name with a chuckle. “It's okay. You don’t need to make up a thousand excuses. I'm cold, too,” He says simply, scooting to the side to make room for you in his bed. “Come here.”

You smile, ripping the covers from your body quickly like a band-aid and all but jumping from your mattress to his. Minho instructs you to lie on the left side of the bed, facing the wall. You furrow your brows.

“Why?”

He shrugs. “It’s like the sidewalk thing. So I can protect you if a serial killer comes into our room.”

“Oh, so a serial killer’s gonna come into our room?” You ask, a teasing lilt in your voice as you scoot on the bed and slip under the comforter. 

“Well, I—” Minho stammers, pausing with a sigh. He removes his glasses and places them on the bedside table before he continues, “I don’t know, okay? I just… wanna take care of you in every way possible. Even in this weird scenario that my mind made up.”

His words slip out of his lips quickly, much like yours do when you’re nervous and can’t make yourself stop talking. You wonder if your habit is rubbing off on him, and you can’t help but smile.

As Minho settles into bed, you feel your body stiffen up. The two of you lay on your backs next to each other in the cramped bed, and you feel like you can’t move. Hyunjin was the first guy you ever slept next to, and even then, it was after you two had already had sex, so there was no room for feeling awkward. With Minho, everything feels so new. If kissing him had made your hands shake, laying next to him makes your whole body tremble.

You lay like that for a while, watching as the thunder lights up the ceiling until Minho turns to lie on his side.

“Wouldn’t we get warmer if we cuddled?” He trails off in a whisper, clearing his throat after his words leave his mouth. 

You open your mouth to answer but know you’ll only end up word-vomiting again with how nervous you feel, so you simply nod, turning so you’re facing Minho as well.

His arms quickly find your waist, pulling you closer to him until your noses are touching, and you feel his breath on your lips as he lets out a sigh. Before you can make sense of what’s happening, Minho presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your lips, making your mind go hazy. You two stare at each other for a beat, your lips agape and eyes wandering through each other’s features until he breaks the silence.

“You make me nervous,” he whispers, taking your hand and guiding it towards his chest. You feel his heart beating quickly through the thick fabric of his sweater. “In the best way possible.”

You smile, whispering back, “You make me nervous, too.”

Clutching at the fabric of his sweater, you pull him closer to you, slotting your lips together once more. Minho’s hands hesitate, his left hand barely touching your back before he changes his mind and grazes your shoulder with his touch, only to settle for cupping your cheek. You smile into the kiss, taking his hand and placing it firmly on your waist. He grips the fabric of your shirt just as you did and brings your body flush against his.

The kiss is hurried, as if you two will be forced apart tomorrow and this is your only chance to feel each other. Minho licks the seam of your lips, his tongue slipping into your mouth as you gasp. His firm grip on your waist, his body pressed against yours so tightly that you can feel his heartbeat thumping against your chest, and how with every stroke of his tongue, he devours you almost greedily — it’s downright impossible to keep the whine that forms in your throat from slipping out, Minho’s mouth swallowing the muffled sound.

And then he’s pulling away, and you’re left chasing his lips. He lets out a breathy chuckle at that.

“Let’s go to sleep, hm?” He suggests, his voice breathless. You can’t help but wonder if you practically moaning while simply kissing him had made him uncomfortable, and you inwardly berate yourself, mortification washing over you.

So you only nod, turning to face the wall so you can properly cuddle this time. Minho wraps an arm around your waist, and you wait for him to pull you closer, but he never does. You furrow your brows. Was it that bad? You can’t be faulted for reacting like you did, especially with how he kissed you. So you take it into your own hands to shift closer to his body. Your lips part as you feel his hard member pressing against your lower back.

Oh. 

So that’s what’s going on.

You bite back a grin, feeling Minho tense up behind you.

“And here I thought you were like a romantic lead in a PG-13 anime,” you joke, smiling as he chuckles, clearly more at ease. 

He uses the hand that had been resting against your stomach to pull you even closer to him, pressing his body against yours. “I am romantic,” He whispers, lips close to your ear. You only then realize he’s hovering over you. “But I’m still human.”

You fight back the urge to shudder at how his voice drops an octave, all low and soft, and, god, how his breath grazes your neck.

You search your brain for something to say but come up empty. Being nervous has rendered you speechless for the first time in your life.

“Let’s sleep now, okay?” Minho presses a quick kiss on your cheek. “I’ll lie far—”

“I can help you,” you blurt out, turning to face him. Going to sleep is the last thing you want right now. “If you want.”

His eyes wander across your face as he pulls on his bottom lip. “I don’t want to rush things.”

“There are ways to do this that aren’t… rushing.”

Minho hums, but his eyes are now fixed on your lips. You move to lie on your back, and he slowly climbs on top of you.

“As long as it’s okay with you, I don’t care what we do,” he whispers. You smile, pushing his black hair away from his face with your fingers.

“It’s more than okay with me,” You answer simply, using your hand on his hair to guide him down into yet another kiss. 

You can feel him still hesitating, so you grab a fistful of that silly sweater of his and pull him closer to you until your bodies are flush against each other.

“Can I touch you?” You ask, breaking the kiss. Minho nods hastily.

“Yes, please,” he groans, “I’m gonna die if you don’t.”

With a breathy chuckle, you move your hand between your two bodies, cupping him through his sweatpants; he’s even harder now, and you subconsciously bite your lip. He closes his eyes, his left hand resting on your waist before squeezing lightly as he hides his face in the crook of your neck with a shaky sigh. It might simply be because it’s your first time being intimate together, but Minho’s timidness is genuinely endearing to you.

Your palm grinds against him gingerly, and his body trembles under your touch. His hand travels from your waist toward your lower stomach, and you let out a quiet gasp as his fingers toy with the hem of your shirt. He lifts his head off your neck, his face so close to yours you can feel his unsteady breathing on your lips.

“Can I touch you, too?” He whispers, and you nod a bit too eagerly. 

“If you don’t, I think I’ll die too.”

Minho grins, his head dipping lower until his lips are pressed against yours, but he doesn’t kiss you. You’d be lying if you said finding Minho so hard after only kissing you hadn’t turned you on — kissing him alone also made you more aroused than you were willing to admit. But you were more than ready to go to sleep without doing anything about it after offering to help him, so the fact that he wants to do the same for you makes your head spin. This was not on your bingo card of things that could happen during this trip.

He pulls your shirt up slightly, only enough for him to slip his hand inside your sweatpants. He hesitates twice before cupping you through your underwear. His dark eyes meet yours, whispering against your lips, “You’re fucking soaking through your panties, and you weren’t gonna tell me?”

You gasp at his words, clenching around nothing. Wasn’t he shy just two minutes ago? Your mouth opens to answer him, but your brain is far too cloudy to form any coherent sentence, so you settle on a nod. He hums, pressing a kiss to your agape lips.

Once you feel his thumb tentatively brush against your clit through the thin fabric, you find the courage to slip your hand inside the waistband of his sweatpants, your fingers immediately brushing against his member. Minho shudders at the touch, his eyes still fixed on yours.

Your brows shoot up at the fact that he had foregone wearing boxers, and he chuckles lightly at your reaction.

“I never wear underwear to bed, so don’t think I was trying to seduce you,” he jokes.

“Too late,” you hum, “I was seduced the moment I saw your bright orange cat sweater.”

Minho grins, sucking your lower lip as he pushes your panties to the side painfully slowly, his middle finger gliding from your entrance toward your clit and spreading your arousal. With a sigh, you bring one leg to wrap around his waist, and he adjusts himself so he’s properly hovering over you. You take this opportunity to slide his sweatpants down his hips, his hard cock finally free from its confines. He groans low in his throat, his tongue suddenly licking into your open mouth as his right hand intertwines with your left, your fingers locking together. He presses your clasped hands onto the mattress beside your head.

Your hand now glides through his length, the palm of your hand beginning to rub at the head of his cock and Minho sucks in a breath, breaking the kiss, his eyes remaining closed. Pressing your thumb to the slit, you gather as much precum as you can and spread it through his member. You quickly find that it’s not enough, wanting it wetter and messier and—

Minho whines as you stop touching him, eyes shooting open. Bringing your hand to your lips, you lick a stripe on your palm and let a glob of spit fall on it before finding his cock again, wet both with your saliva and his precum as you begin to stroke him gingerly. With a quiet moan, Minho’s hips buck up at the touch and he kisses your lips again. You giggle into the kiss, inwardly thanking Hyunjin for teaching you that guys love sloppy shit like this and, in turn, making you realize you do too.

You avert your eyes from his intense gaze as his finger moves to find your entrance, pushing in slowly before moving at a steady pace.

He squeezes your hand. “Look at me,” his voice is all but a whisper, low and hurried. You turn to lock your eyes on his once more, immediately biting your lips to stop a moan from slipping out of your lips as his thumb begins to rub your clit in circular motions, and he slips another finger inside of your aching cunt. It was getting increasingly difficult to keep yourself from vocally begging him not to stop.

You focus on your own hand as you stroke his cock, your steady pace gradually quickening. Minho’s pace mirrors yours, and soon the small room fills with the noise of his finger swiftly pumping in and out of you mixed with the sound of your hand stroking him.

“What do you like?” Minho asks suddenly, his breath hitching as you tighten your fist around his cock. Your mind is far too clouded by desire and pleasure to fully comprehend, so you hum, your brows furrowing. He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours with a quiet moan and curling his fingers inside you, causing your eyes to shut tightly and a whimper to escape your closed lips. “Look at me, baby,” he repeats himself, his voice firm and his shy demeanor having completely shifted. You slowly open your eyes. “What do you like? I — fuck,” He curses as your hand twists on the head of his cock. “Wanna make you feel good, tell me.”

You’re definitely not used to being vocal about what you want or like during sex; your ex-boyfriends always too selfish, and Hyunjin too confident for you to even have had the opportunity to do so. Coupled with just how good you felt, you know you won’t possibly be able to speak a word without moaning the way you’re trying so hard to avoid. You settle for guiding his hand, which was tangled in yours, under your shirt. Minho immediately massages your breast, his thumb caressing your nipple as his eyes find yours once more.

You feel as if his gaze is setting you ablaze, his eyes boring into you. It felt as if all his desire was accumulated in his dark eyes, clearly visible in how he watches you like he’s drinking in every last drop of you through his stare. You’ve never had someone look at you like this before; it makes you feel so wanted, so desired, as if the only thing Minho could ever need in this moment is you. That alone makes your body tremble, your left hand holding onto his shoulder for purchase as you feel you might float away at any second.

If you were told a couple of hours ago that something as simple as having Minho’s fingers inside you would have you so euphoric, you most definitely would have laughed.

Minho groans into your open mouth, his breathing heavy and his brows drawn together tightly. You force your lips shut once more as his thumb rubs your bundle of nerves more hastily. Your hand leaves his shoulder to tangle in his black hair, futilely attempting to tug him even closer to you before you kiss his agape lips that spill out groans and sighs like a mantra.

It’s almost all-consuming. His fingers inside of you, the warmth of his hand on your breast, his cock pulsating beneath your touch, his hot breaths that fill your lungs as he sighs into your kiss, and his eyes — his damn eyes that look at you as if he wants to eat you whole.

You finally allow yourself to moan as you feel your orgasm building up, whimpering his name against his lips as your strokes on his cock turn messy and desperate among the copious amounts of precum. Minho growls, pulling your hand from his hair — his grip on your wrist so firm it stings a little — before he pins you down to the mattress, fingers messily intertwining with yours again.

This time, you’re unable to restrain your whimper at his actions; Minho had always been gentle and sweet, something as simple as him pinning you down to the bed has you clenching around his fingers. This duality of his you just discovered is something that stirs up curiosity inside of you.

“I’m gonna come,” He announces with a sigh, his hand squeezing yours. You can only nod as you melt around his fingers, your whole body trembling. Minho soon follows, his cum spilling into your hand and your shirt, a low guttural sound leaving his throat.

His eyes only leave yours as he leans down to connect your lips again, giving you small kisses before a stifled laugh escapes him. You furrow your brows, and Minho grins.

“Sorry for getting your shirt dirty,” He mumbles against your lips, the two of you unwilling to move for the time being.

You shake your head with a chuckle. Although you cringe slightly as you feel the fabric of your shirt stick to your stomach.

“It’s okay.”

Minho shifts on top of you, and you only then realize his fingers remain inside of you. Your body jolts faintly at the stimulation, his name falling from your lips in the form of a whine. He grins at you again, all lopsided and handsome, before bringing his hand to his lips. You watch with agape lips as his tongue flicks out to lap at his fingers before sucking on them with a hum, his eyes locked onto yours once more.

Once again with this newfound duality of his. He’s pure romance and gentlemanly behavior, but seemingly so alluring and shameless in bed. The way he looks at you alone makes you clench around nothing as if you didn’t come mere minutes ago. And it’s such a simple act — you can’t count on one hand the number of times you watched as Hyunjin licked his fingers clean after being inside of you — but the contrast of his calm and endearing everyday personality and him suddenly pinning you to the bed or licking your cum off his fingers while looking into your eyes makes this entirely different.

You would’ve never expected this from Minho, and it makes your brain stir up with thoughts of what he would be like while eating you out or while fucking you. Would he pin you to the bed again or pull your hair, or maybe—

The sound of him clearing his throat interrupts you from your thoughts, and you only now realize you had been staring at the ceiling while fantasizing about Minho fucking you. Great.

Once your eyes meet, he’s quick to avert his gaze. “I will, uh, pay to wash your shirt when we — when we get back,” Minho stumbles over his words, his eyes now fixed on your shoulder. “If you want. But, like, I got it dirty, so…” He trails off, and you purse your lips to muffle the giggle that bubbled up your throat as it seems all the confidence he had only minutes ago had dissipated into dust and left his body.

He was back to his usual self. You can’t help but smile as you realize you adore any version of Minho.

He pushes himself off of you, muttering that he’ll be back before disappearing into the small bathroom. You remove your soiled shirt, wiping your hand on it, only to blanche at the sight of the logo printed on the fabric. It’s one of Hyunjin’s shirts that you had stolen ages ago. You mumble a string of apologies to him as you pull the covers off your body. After discarding it on your bed, you change into the first t-shirt you fish out of your backpack, worried Minho might come into the room and see your naked chest — as ludicrous as that was, seeing as he was knuckles deep inside of you less than twenty minutes ago.

Minho returns to the bedroom just as you’re closing the zipper on your bag. He silently takes your hand in his and wipes it with a towel, his head lowered as his eyes focus on his actions. You let out a breathy chuckle.

“There’s really nothing there anymore,” you inform him. “I wiped most of your cum on my shirt.” You nod toward the crumpled-up fabric thrown across the bed. Minho’s mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. He lets out a small noise, nodding his head slowly before ultimately pressing his lips together. Under the faint moonlight that lights up the room, you almost miss how his cheeks dust a shade of pink. You smile, pressing a kiss to his nose. Minho hums, smiling back at you and dropping the towel on top of your shirt.

Soon, you find yourself back in bed with him, Minho pulling you into his chest, his hands now offering you pleasure by gingerly massaging your scalp. You are almost asleep — listening to his heartbeat through his sweater, smiling at the soft snores that escape his parted lips — when it dawned on you.

You notice just how different being with Minho had been. How kissing him alone made your hands shake, how even without being fully intimate, the way you felt with him tonight was incomparable.

Minho’s words from months ago about how sex with someone you love eclipses the feeling of sex with any other person linger in your memory. You hum, a smile on your lips as your eyes flutter closed again.

Before they shoot open.

Because holy shit.

If it felt that way with Minho, it can only mean you’ve fallen for him.

Awakening to the sound of the heater’s soft hum, you feel Minho’s arm tightly around your waist, keeping your body pressed against his. His gentle breathing brushes against the nape of your neck, and you cautiously turn your head, careful not to wake him, only to be greeted by his tender eyes already gazing at you with a soft smile. Cuddling with Minho is another thing that feels different. You feel safe, adored from how he holds you to the way his eyes look at you.

As he realizes you’re also awake, he suddenly turns to lie on his back, staring at the ceiling as his ears slowly turn a light shade of red. You frown, chuckling a bit at his actions, before settling yourself across his chest.

“The power came back a while after you fell asleep,” he explains.

You giggle as you assume maybe he’s shy because of what happened last night. But your smile fades as your mind begins to overthink, your subconscious screaming that maybe you should feel shy, embarrassed. Weren’t you too easy? Letting him touch you like that after just a few kisses. Does Minho think you came into bed with him for that reason?

You think back to the last boyfriend you had, who berated you for how ‘whorish’ it had been when you asked to have sex with him instead of waiting for him to initiate it. And how your first boyfriend would tell you — every chance he got — that you acted like a slut, touching him as if you knew it would make him have sex with you. How, at the end of your relationship, he told you maybe you acted that way because you knew that sex was all you were good for. How another ex had laughed as he told you that even though you went through so many guys, you still managed to be a terrible fuck, and that was the reason he had to cheat on you.

There were also the murmurs around your school whenever you started a new relationship. Another one? She’s boy hopping so much she’s gonna get through our entire class in less than a year. Some girls just can’t stand to be alone, it’s kind of sad.

At some point, you had detangled yourself from Minho, now lying on your side and looking out the window. You never understood why so many people thought that way. You had five boyfriends from fifteen to eighteen, and in each of these relationships, you were either cheated on or broken up with in a less-than-pleasant way. But you did have the awful habit of jumping into relationships with little thought, often because you felt incomplete without a romantic partner — as romantic as high school relationships can be, anyway. Being single and content for almost four years now, you were proud to have worked on that.

But you still can’t shake off the feeling that maybe you were a bit too… forward. You were single, sure, but you were quick to jump at the opportunity to have Hyunjin as a fuck buddy. Perhaps people were right about that.

“Is everything okay?” Minho’s voice pulls you away from your racing thoughts. You offer him a tight-lipped smile, nodding.

“Yeah, I just zoned out.”

Sitting upright on the bed, you stretch with a sigh. Minho takes your hand before you can realize it, placing it on his chest and gently playing with your fingers, his eyes still glued to the ceiling. You gnaw on your bottom lip, pulling at the skin until it stings.

“I’m sorry if I was too forward last night,” you blurt out. Minho’s gaze shifts to focus on you, confusion swimming in his brown eyes and his hands halting around yours. Oh god, why did you say that?

“Forward?” The question trails off his lips, his eyebrows coming together in a frown.

With a sigh, you grimace at your own words. “Yeah, forward, like I was throwing myself at you. I’m sorry if it came off that way. I swear I’m not…”

“You’re not…?”

“You know what I mean, Minho,” you mumble, but his eyes remain swarmed with confusion. 

“I really don’t.”

You roll your eyes in exasperation, annoyed not at him but at yourself for having brought this up in the first place.

“You know, Minho,” you groan, “Forward, like, slutty. Like I asked to come to your bed just so you would fuck me.”

His expression softens, his eyes widening. He sits up as well, his hand still clutching yours.

“Why the fuck would I think that?” He asks matter-of-factly. “What happened last night was completely natural. We made out, we got horny, we took care of it together. You didn’t even ask me to touch you, I did it because I was dying to do it. You weren’t forward — you weren’t slutty.”

You feel the heavy veil of worry lift off your shoulders at his words. It was definitely going to take a while for you to work on that aspect of your trauma. This had never been an issue with Hyunjin since you were pursuing nothing more than a sexual relationship with him — things were different with Minho.

Minho was the complete opposite.

After countless moments of your heart racing and your hands trembling because of him, you finally confess to yourself that your affection for Minho extends well beyond platonic feelings.

With a small smile, you slowly nod your head. “Sorry for bringing this up, I just… didn’t want you to think badly of me.”

Minho smiles, placing a kiss on the back of your hand. “That wouldn’t have made me think badly of you. I’m not some Victorian man who thinks women should be burned at the stake for showing their ankles,” he chuckles, and you bite back a laugh. “Even if you had been slutty, so what? I’d like that just as much.”

You playfully hit his shin under the comforter as he wiggles his eyebrows at you.

Minho was unquestionably different.

“We gotta get to the airport soon,” he says with a sigh, stretching his arms over his head, carrying your hand along the way. “I had to book the earliest flight I could to save up some money.”

With a frown, you retrieve your phone from under your pillow and check for the time: seven-thirty a.m. You feel a pang of guilt as you recall how you are essentially on this trip for free.

“Why didn’t Chan help with the tickets?”

Minho bites the inside of his cheek before his lips stretch into a barely-there grin. “Chan was never coming to this trip,” he blurts out. You feel your lips fall agape.

“What?”

“I… planned this trip by myself. Only for you and me,” he explains. “I wanted to get far away from everything that distracted us so I could concentrate on showing you the good side of love like I’d been trying to do with all those fruitless attempts at taking you on dates.”

You take in his words and find yourself smiling at the gesture — the white lie Minho told pales in comparison to everything else he has done for you, both during this trip and since you met him. Truthfully, you didn’t even realize he had been taking you on dates. You mentally slap yourself in the head for that, believing he simply wanted to spend time with you as a friend.

“I’ll pay you back for my part of the trip as soon as—”

Minho’s voice interrupts you with a drawn-out ‘no.’ He smiles as you stare at him, puzzled.

“This entire trip must’ve been so expensive, Minho.”

But he’s unrelenting, shaking his head with a squeeze of your hand.

“I told you,” he says simply. “I do stupid shit when I’m in love.”

♡ taglist: @notevenheretbh1 @malunar28replies @jazziwritesthings @finchyyy @bloom-ings @linocz @minhochaos @lastgreatamericandynasty1

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

Past Astarion Meets His Future

This is a weird ass idea, but I'm doing it anyway. Some time travel fuckery. But the gist is: What if Astarion, decades before the Mind-flayers captured him, was on his last leg? Just on the verge of doing, what was at the time, his only way out. But what if something a little unworldly stopped him?

TW: Suicidal thoughts. M/F, me phoning it in with the dnd lore, Cazador is evil. Like, torture, physically and mentally, manipulation, literal horror shit. He's here so bad things happen to randos and our poor guy. I'm also using this as the backstory again for why Astarion can be in the sun in the future because it's so god damned convenient for drabbles.

~

Astarion watched the crowded bar with focused eyes, a feigned, relaxed smirk on his lips. But even with the acting, he could feel the smile on his face start to tremble, a tell-tale sign that he was truly on his last leg. It had been a long, horrible night, one that had no end in sight. Cazador was in rare form, demanding multiple warm bodies in the span of less than five hours. Astarion wasn't sure what had angered him this time, but he was taking it on the victims in a particularly savage way.

Twice already he had forced Astarion to stay in the room with the poor souls he'd brought back. And then Cazador... made him watch what he did to them. The monster truly had a knack for keeping them alive until the last possible moment. Beating them, assaulting them, laughing at their cries for help. He drank from them last, feasting on their blood until they were just on the edge of death before tossing to them ground. Then Astarion was dismissed with the order to find another.

He hated it. It was the worst part of his nights by far, not including when he was the one being tortured in their place. It didn't help that he always looked at their faces, full of terror and betrayal.

Why did he always have to look? It was a question he knew the answer to. It was because he did that to them. Perhaps not literally, but what was the difference? Astarion had led them straight into his hands.

That was all he did. His entire existence had been reduced to this. A slave, a rat, scuttling through the streets, only capable of inflicting the same torment on strangers. It was a hell that no one should experience, and one that Astarion had been in for nearly 130 years.

How could he continue like this? What was the point? He'd spent so long living on pure survival instinct, waiting for the impossible day where luck would be on his side. Where Cazador would kill the wrong stranger, where the possibility of his murder could become a reality. It was delusional, a poor excuse to continue clinging to this farce of a life.

But there was another option. There always had been. All he needs to do is wander off and wait for the sun to rise, and everything could finally be over. It's far from the first time he's thought about it. But Astarion is nothing but a coward. He'd seen the pure pain and misery of a death of that nature, your insides boiling from within as your skin turned to dust. It was horrifying, one of the worst ways someone could go. And yet... it was starting to seem like the only reasonable option he had left.

Maybe... maybe today would be the day, the first time he'd seen the sun in decades. And the last time he'd ever take a breath.

"Are you alone?" A voice asked, followed by a gentle touch to his arm.

Astarion turned, that same shallow smile instantly reappearing on his face. It was a man, one that was handsome enough for Astarion to probably not feel completely sick during the deed. Then again... he could always ignore them and go back to his final plan.

Or he could wait it out one more day, and pray for a miracle. Astarion nodded towards him, still slightly torn but willing to at least try. It's not like he could go home empty handed if things turned out that way.

"Come to my room?"

Well this was certainly easy. Astarion didn't even have to take the energy to bite out a subpar pick up line. He just followed the man to his room, a plan forming in his head on how he could convince him back to the manor. Not to mention his own escape if he turned out to have less than savory intentions.

The stranger shut the door behind him, sitting on the side of his bed with his hands folded in his lap, his eyes staring straight ahead. Astarion barely stopped himself from rolling his own. Great. A weirdo. What a lovely way to end the night, spending it seducing a complete freak. But Astarion had dealt with worse. He perched next to him, crossing his legs as he waited to see where this would go.

"I can see it," He finally said, his voice gravelly as he turned to stare at Astarion.

Astarion raised his brow, wondering for the first time if this particular prey had been partaking in some mind altering substances, "And what exactly are you seeing?"

"You."

Suddenly, the man was wrapping a tight hand around Astarion's wrist, his eyes shining with an unnatural green light, "You're close to the edge. Too close. My lord needs you breathing."

Astarion froze, equally parts horrified and confused at what he was alluding to. How on earth did he know his thoughts? What lord? Or the more likely reality; How wasted could one person be?

Astarion tried to pull back, frowning when he realized the grip on his wrist was iron-clad. He could feel a bit of panic start to swell inside him as he struggled, his voice rising, "I have no idea what you're talking about. Let go of me-"

"You must live," He said, the color of his eyes only getting brighter and brighter, near twin flames in the darkness of the room, "There is no other way. Kelemvor has work for you yet."

His confusion was quickly evaporating into rage. He didn't know what this thing wanted from him, nor why the god of death would have any interest in his life. But how dare he insist on Astarion's pathetic existence having meaning. He knew nothing.

His mask was slipping, his righteous anger spilling forth, "Let go. Before I rip your fucking arm off."

But he made no moves to back down. Instead he started to chant, an incantation that had Astarion officially panicking. Whatever magic he was using, it was powerful. Reality was shifting right beneath Astarion's feet, morphing into something different. The next thing he knew they were somewhere else entirely, his reality melting into something new right before his eyes.

The entire thing was so shocking that Astarion didn't even realize he was seeing sunlight. Without a single pain. He frantically looked around, the insane stranger's grip finally loosening as he twisted away. They were on a couch, in the middle of what looked like a brightly lit townhouse, voices spilling out of the other room.

Astarion stood quickly, a hiss escaping him, "Where in the hells are we?"

"Nowhere," The man said cryptically, his eyes still aflame, "Neither the present of the future. We are in nothing but a glimpse, taken and made for you."

That did nothing to answer his question. But it did make his mind go into more reasonable directions. This had to be an illusion, there was no other explanation for why he wasn't being burned alive. But an illusion of what? And for what purpose?

Astarion pinched the bridge of his nose, at a complete loss at what to do. He could try and kill him and pray that that would break the spell. But there was also the chance that he wouldn't live through an altercation with someone who could warp his senses so easily. Or perhaps this whole thing was a nightmare, a horrifying dream he'd cooked up after a night in the torture chamber.

Still at a loss, he settled on asking another question, "Then what is this a glimpse of?"

"Home," The man said simply before slipping off the couch. The cryptic bastard.

He started walking towards the next room towards the unknown voices; Astarion feeling helpless but to follow.

He lingered at the entryway, his eyes widening at the sight of a woman standing there, cooing at a teary-eyed child she had on her hip. They were right in her line of sight, but she had no reaction to their presence, instead calling out into the other room, "Did you find it yet?"

Another voice called back, oddly familiar as it groaned, "If I had, would I still be on my hands and knees here?"

Astarion stepped forward, more than ready to see if he could enlist the help of strangers for his predicament.

"They can not perceive us," The stranger said, interrupting the call for help that was on the tip of Astarion's tongue, "They are not real. Merely copies of what is, what will be."

"Lovely," Astarion growled out, his fingers itching to fight back against this demon of a man, "Now what in the gods' names does this have to do with me?"

"Watch and you will see," He said, his eyes blazing straight ahead, "The Lord of Death works in mysterious ways."

Astarion's theory of this being a torture-induced dream was becoming more and more believable. He didn't even bother questioning it, not when one more inane answer would send him into a tailspin. Instead he stared ahead, waiting for the moment he would wake up.

The baby was still squirming. Annoying whining sounds spilling from its lips, nearly on the edge of crying. But the woman still had a bright smile on her face, calling back "I told you we should have looked for it last night!"

"Well when she threw it across the room I assumed that meant it had fallen out of favor!" That same familiar voice yelled back, followed by an excited ah-ha! sound.

"Isabella's gonna have a fit, isn't she?" The woman sing-songed, bouncing the child on her hip, "I guess Mommy's going to have to let you start sucking on Daddy's hair again, huh?"

"I heard that!" The muffled voice called back, getting clearer and clearer by the moment. And then another man was walking into the room, grinning ear to ear as he held up a pacifier, "And I will not be forgetting it darling. Don't come crying to me the next time she's gnawing on your nose."

He leaned over to kiss the woman on the cheek before popping the pacifier in the girl's mouth, laughing when it instantly made her calm down. He was tall and pale, an elf with piercing red eyes and pure white hair.

No. It couldn't be-

"There. All better," The man sighed, his voice crystal clear in the calmness of the room, "She has quite the arm for a toddler."

It was a voice that Astarion knew, better than anyone else. It was his own.

Astarion watched, wide-eyed as his other self lifted the baby up in his arms, laughing as the child squealed around the pacifier, "She sure is cute for someone who can be such a brat. She takes after her mother doesn't she?"

The woman rolled her eyes, but she was still smiling. Almost like she couldn't help but do anything else as she watched the duo, "Brave words for someone of your nature. Not to mention how she's your twin."

"Nonsense. She looks just like you, we should have named her Tav Jr," Other Astarion playfully argued, taking his other arm to wrap around the woman's shoulders, "I'm only responsible for the corpse-like complexion."

Astarion stared at them, in complete shock. He didn't-why would anyone or anything want to show him this? It didn't make sense. How would it be possible for him to be in the sunlight? Let alone to have a family. Astarion knew that this had to be a lie, there was no other explanation.

But that didn't stop his heart from aching from being forced to witness it. He was too shell-shocked to speak as he followed the duo to the other room, listening as his other self set the child in a crib, still cooing at her, "Auntie Karlach is coming over and you'll need your rest. How else will you be annoying together?"

"Astarion!"

He watched himself laugh as he pulled back, kissing her little forehead before murmuring, "Mommy only says my name like that when she has no comeback, isn't that right princess?"

"You're going to regret telling her everything when she can start talking," The woman, Tav, piped up from next to him, "I hope you realize she'll tell me all of your secrets."

Astarion rolled his eyes before pulling her against him, pressing a sweet and lingering kiss to her lips, "What secrets do I have that you don't know? Please, enlighten me."

What kind of cruel joke was this? Astarion, the real Astarion, had seen enough. He turned to the bastard that had sent him here, growling through gritted teeth, "Why are you doing this to me? Have I not suffered through enough?"

The man offered nothing of value, "We offer you what could be, if you can survive. No more, no less."

No. No, no, no. He wouldn't believe him. He refused to. There was no future for him. There couldn't be. I-It wasn't possible. Not with Cazador looming, not when he couldn't walk in the sun without being burned alive. And especially not when he couldn't even fathom letting himself care form someone enough to have a family with.

But that's what was in front of him. He turned back, his morbid curiosity getting the better of him. Just in time to see the couple standing there, holding each other while they made out like teenagers.

"I love you," His other self sighed happily, the words free and unbidden from his own lips between kisses, "More than anything my sweet."

"With one exception?" Tav asked, her arms wrapped around his neck.

Astarion laughed, nodding towards the crib with a knowing grin, "With one exception."

Astarion stared at them, a horrifying feeling starting to grow in his chest.

Hope.

It's the greatest betrayal he could give himself, an eternity's sentence to his own personal hell on the delusional belief that something better would come. He couldn't give in to it. He wouldn't.

But the question still escapes his lips, "How long?"

"Seventy years until you meet," The stranger said, "You must live to see it. Five more until you're here."

Astarion watched, wide-eyed as the alternate reality started to fade, the stranger's eyes becoming more dull and human-like by the moment. He stared until the last possible moment, trying to commit it all to memory.

But it was difficult. Like thoughts he couldn't quite grasp, slipping through his fingers. Something wasn't right.

"Will I remember this?" He asked, even though he was already on the edge of forgetting.

"No," The man said simply. They were back in the room, sitting on the bed as though nothing had happened, "But you'll remember the hope."

It was the equivalent of a curse, one that Astarion could barely fathom as magic twisted his memories. But he could feel it there, festering in his heart. The yearning for a new life, stronger than ever.

Astarion left Shar's Caress that night feeling dazed and confused. He barely managed to drag a wasted loner back to the manor with him, preying on him in the back aisles. It was startling to think that he'd almost forgotten his original mission considering the consequences. But whatever happened had... done something to him. Something that he couldn't quite name.

But he didn't see the sun that day. Or the next. Or the day after that. Instead he continued to struggle, to suffer at the hands of his sadistic sire with no end in sight. Not until years and years later, when the worst and best thing to ever happen to him occurred. He was kidnapped by mind flayers, but gifted with a disgusting parasite that allowed him to live in the sun.

It wasn't ideal but it was better than being under Cazador's thumb. Not to mention how he found companions relatively quickly. It had been pure luck that you stumbled upon him, even luckier still that you were the type to forgive a man for having a knife to your throat.

He was happy to accompany you. He was happy to do whatever it took to increase his chances of survival, frankly. It helped that he felt... strangely drawn to you. You looked oddly familiar. He didn't know how else to describe it, but it was almost as though he'd met someone from a past life.

[reilliane]

i promised scara brainrots, here we go! slightly angsty, but more on the fluff side this time (surprisingly) and pretty self-indulgent! this is long lmao

✤ she/her

SPOILERS FOR 3.3 ARCHON QUEST!

: ̗̀➛ Reverse Isekai AU (becoming besties with a fictional character- wait, why is he here)

Imagine being in a fit of tears after playing through the Archon Quest. It's always been known that the narrative behind Scaramouche—Kunikuzushi, Kabukimono, Balladeer- just him, is tragic. But boy, with the way everything fell into place, he was meant for tragedy, it's awful.

It's difficult to focus on the characters' dialogue when you're busy trying to see through the blurriness of your eyes, but you manage. You hear him say something to the Traveler, and there shows up a choice box like always. Paying no mind to it, as you are occupied with sniffing and catching your breath, you press whatever.

He mentions ceasing, as what the trailer for version 3.3 entailed, and he's gone, and- wait. Did your game crash? Why is it frozen on a particular scene? Huh, your device shut down- your progress!?

Alas, you're not in the mood to lament over that when you can just spill woe over the story for the mean time. So you do just that, weep and roll around in your bed kicking your feet 'cause wow, yes, the guy's evil and all- but damn! His life is founded on nothing but angst! When you pull for him in game, you'll be placing him in the teapot with only the finest of comforts availa— OUCH!?

To your pain and confusion, something drops onto you from above, crushing your back as that something eventually topples out of your bed with a loud cuss. Wait a minute, was that a voice-? You take a peek and start laughing. Ahahaha, no, impossible, why- that only happens in fanfiction! Yet, his demanding question that reaches your ears in real time only serves to remind you that this is real.

“What the hell are you laughing at, you puny mortal? Answer my question or die where you stand!” AHAHAHA YOU'RE TRIPPIN'!

News flash, you're not. Because all of a sudden you are being pinned on the bed, with a very angry little man above you that doesn't seem to be joking around with what he said about killing you.

Holy smokes, it's supposed to be impossible but no, he's right there. On top of you. If you were reading some kind of e rated fanfiction in ao3, you would've screamed because hey he's looking pretty handsome right now but- woah, woah, calm dOWN SIR YOU WILL RECEIVE YOUR ANSWERS!

As expected, Scaramouche does not believe an ounce of what you say, but resigns to it. After all, he has already 'deleted' his existence in Teyvat, it'd only seem logical if he were to be transported in an entirely different world...

Now, as he is a smart guy, he very quickly deduces that you somehow know him. Oh boy, imagine telling him that he's someone from a game. At first, he'll laugh bitterly at it, saying something like 'of course. my misery was some kind of amusement, is it?' BRO mission therapy starts now. You're no Nahida, but still!

Now imagine him learning that he has 'fans'. Boy will be so confused like, fans what fans- do you mean those accessories orrrr-

He understands what you meant when you show him that he has a 'following', and he's pretty stumped. He only ever knew Haypasia, he had a single follower, but in this place- he had... tens of thousands? HUH? HUH??

As he's already been given a reality slap by the Traveler and Nahida, he's no longer in the mindset to be all god-like, but boy the temptation... until he realizes that he doesn't have any elemental powers. And he's become human. Oh boy.

When he realizes that he's breathing and has a heartbeat, dude stares at you for like a minute straight. Is this real? Look, look! He snatches your hand and holds it over his chest and- holy hell he's right, he has a beating heart.

Give him some space to process things, his mind is currently exploding right now.

It'll take him time to understand that he's loved as much as he is hated in this world. The latter he understands, but the former... oh, is this real? He still can't believe it, so you had to go through various social media platforms just to prove a point. He bares his eyes to numerous 'posts' that range from 'YO HE BETTER COME HOME I'LL TAKE GOOD CARE OF HIM', 'AHSDAKJHDJAKDHA HE'S SO HOT BARK BARK YEOAWOADSADH', and other more... flustering posts.

HE'S LOVED! Well, he's also hated, but he's LOVED! In all his confused snark, he asks you where you stand in those two groups. Bro's putting you on the spot, good luck.

If you manage to evade that question, you'll tell him that he's free to stay with you until he gets the ropes of this world. It'll be a bit difficult to adjust with someone new and yes you've screamed far too many times when he pops up somewhere in the house, completely still in disbelief that he's there, but it'll be alright.

When you first accompany him outside, you had to throw him in huge clothes just so that he won't be noticeable. Even if he was 'humanized', he still looks a lot like how he does in game, not to mention his voice. He dislikes hiding, but has to put up with it.

Bro highkey basks in the glory when you both go to a genshin convention and see all the love for him. It's the one time he gets to dress up in his Harbinger attire (though he admits he dislikes having connections with it after knowing the truth) and show himself without fear of hearing "YO ARE YOU SCARAMOUCHE? YOU LOOK LIKE THE REAL DEAL!" because cosplayers are a thing. When he finds out that he gets a 'redesign' he pesters you to buy him the outfit. How laughable, how can the OG guy not have his own made clothes in the game??? You cave of course.

He's still a smug lil shi- though, so he will say that he is the one and only 'Wanderer/Scaramouche' when asked in the convention. Your panicked screaming in the background is thoroughly enjoyed, please, continue giving a good show as he revels in all the attention. Before long, posts about him are scattering all around the internet and you lecture him about the mob on your door and the diehard "HE'S MINE!" fans that has sent threats in your social media. They still believe he's just a really good cosplayer, but still...

“Hah, what're you so scared of?” he'll just smirk in the middle of your lecture, “They won't be able to land a hand on you so long as I'm here.”

Cue malfunction. He knows what he's doing, isn't he? This smug piece of- you'll kick him back into the game if you could!

“Like hell you will. Even if you can, you won't do it. Your boring human life has only become interesting because I'm here.” + :P

DAMN, HE RIGHT THOUGH!

ive always liked his character from the moment he appeared in that first event but now that his lore is fleshed out it's time to go ham >:D

[finniestoncrane]

Devout

Dano!Riddler x Female!Reader, word count: 4k commission: eddie is a lil bit obsessive and a lil bit posessive and also is filled with a lot bit of catholic guilt 🐀💚 commission me here! request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: obsessive and possessive themes, kinda love bombing, religious mention, literally bits ripped from the bible, i'm a filthy little satanist so i revel in that

The apartment was dark, almost pitch black except for the glow of the light from the laptop screen, the small yellow glow from the bulb above the stove, and the pervasive shine of the streets below that came in through the half-opened curtains. In the lonely silence, everything echoed. The clock on the wall, the rats beneath the floorboards, the shifting and fidgeting of Eddie as he tried to comfort himself in the darkness and quiet. Usually, that felt safe, familiar. He’d spent so long with you in his life now, though, that you were what was familiar. You were his safe space. You were light, and even though you were soft and quiet, you had a sound to you. Like an aura, a soft glowing sound. And it made it all the more noticeable when you were gone. Leaving him there in the pitch black of his own painful memories, his isolation compounded by his thoughts and perpetual misery. He hated when you were gone.

And you had been gone for so long already.

Eddie was getting irritated with himself. The constant jittering, the tapping of his pen on the desk, the way his fingers now ached where he’d bitten the nail down too far. He was so angry, and so stressed. Nervous, too. It was strange, to worry this much about other people, especially since he’d focused all of his efforts in his life up to that point in pushing others out and away. It was far too emotionally taxing to care for the other orphans, the other down and outs, the other humans in the rat race. Making them seem human made it easy to have empathy, sympathy. And he needed to feel neither of those in order to achieve his goals.

But with you it was different. He needed you around, his body ached for you when you weren’t close to him. Years, decades, of solitude, fortifying his mind and soul against loneliness, had been entirely fruitful from the second you came into his life. Because now, he couldn’t stand to be apart from you, not even for a second.

Shunning all privacy was nothing to him, really. He went to the bathroom with the door open now, as did you. He sat on the tiled floor while you bathed, and when he was showering, he shouted conversations to you. When you went to work, he came with you. He had all but forgotten his own job recently, pretending to work from home most of the time, instead focusing on the more important tasks at hand.

In a way, he felt like you were the same person. A singular entity. It probably wasn’t healthy, but he chose not to dwell on that too much. Instead, he focused on what a joy it was to finally have someone that he wanted to spend time with, and who equally wanted to spend time with him. It was a rarity to find a kindred spirit, a soul mate. And before he met you, he hadn’t even really believed that those things existed. But there you were, beside him, all the time. Willingly!

Being apart from you, though, was made all the more difficult because of the way he had begun to think of you two as inseparable, as necessary to each other’s happiness and survival. If he didn’t think it would be weird to say out loud, especially with his recent actions and the furthering of his criminal endeavours, he would express to you how deeply he wanted to know you, to be with you. That he would like to be inside of you, all the time, to feel like he was wearing you. But that was creepy, even he knew that. When that thought had popped into his head one day as he held you in his arms, he had cringed forcefully and blinked extensively to try and shoo the idea away. It was hard to argue with his brain though. That was definitely the preferential scenario for him. Especially since there was no way to shrink himself down and live in your pocket.

Even now, as he tried to calm himself down, he deferred to imagining you there with him. Your hands, soothing against his skin, stroking his face to calm him down. Your voice, whispering sweet words into his ear, something personal, something adorable. You called him your sweet Eddie, and every time he heard the word it made his whole body warmer, skin prickling as his cheeks flushed and his heart skipped a beat.

He looked at the clock in the corner of his monitor. Not long now. You said you’d be home at 8pm. It was 7.55pm now, so five more minutes. He could manage that, he could cope.

“Sweet Eddie, not long now. I know you can do it!”

But he was never as sure of himself as you were of him. That was one of the things he liked most about you. There was a lot about himself he hated, that he wished away constantly, but you saw those as positives, you cherished them. You thought so highly of him, and it was necessary for his survival to have your kind words whenever he needed them. You had an almost psychic ability, knowing when he needed a little pick-up.

He needed one now though. And where were you?

Eddie looked at the clock again. 8.03pm. He checked his phone, same time, and no texts. He checked his watch. Slightly slower, by one minute and some seconds, but basically, they all told the same story. You had lied.

In a fit of rage, Eddie slumped down, his forehead slamming against the desk as he whined. Was he angry at you? Or was he angry at himself? And if it was the latter, why? Because he had trusted you. Or because he hadn’t.

Here he was, deciding you had lied to him, when there was every possibility that something horrible had happened to you. What if you were laying there, a victim of Gotham, your fragile body in a pool of your own blood that was slowly washed away with the ever-present torrential downpour of rain? Or cowering in some alley, waiting for the inevitable as your attackers closed in, wishing for Eddie, shouting for him, or silently calling him? And he was here, cursing you out?

He was disgusted with himself.

As his nails dug into the underside of the desk, the pain it caused making him feel oddly good, like a properly fitting punishment, he heard your key in the door. Every ounce of fear and sympathy was drained from him in a moment, and he felt his soft features being pressed into a scowl.

“Hey, sweet Eddie!”

The words had little effect over him, and that alone was enough to have his eyes become wet with the threat of tears.

“You’re late.”

“Am I?”

Eddie looked at the clock on the monitor once more. 8.11pm. You were definitely late.

“Yes.”

“I didn’t think I had a specific time I had to be home by.”

You giggled, unaware of how serious he was. But the longer you looked at him without seeing his face shift into his soft smile, you grew more concerned.

“Eddie… are you ok?”

“I… I…”

He fought hard to suppress the rage that had been building. It was no one’s fault, not even his own. That’s what you would tell him. You’d assure him that any anger was built on years of trauma, of being let-down, of having things snatched from him, people snatched from him. And even just imagining your calming voice and soothing touch was enough to bring him back down, his heart rate slowing as he took a deep breath and spoke clearly this time.

“I was worried about you.”

“Oh, Eddie!”

You could make out the small tears lingering in the corner of his eyes, and you threw your arms out, rushing to gather him up in them. But rather than allow himself to fall into your embrace, he stood up and stepped back from you.

“Eddie, what’s wrong?”

He looked into your eyes for a brief moment, letting his gaze flit quickly to the floor. You could tell there were screeds of thoughts running through his mind, but you’d have to ease them out slowly. He got like this on occasion, his brain working against him. He was intelligent, so much so, but he could let that be his worst enemy.

“If you don’t tell me, I can’t help you.”

Reaching a hand out to him, you tried to hold his forearm, but he snatched it back and away from you.

“Eddie…”

“I’m so… mad.”

“You’re mad?”

“I think so. I don’t know. I’m confused.”

“Well, why do you think you’re mad?”

“I… because… you… I… you…”

“Eddie, sweet Eddie, I’m here to help you. You know that.”

“Are you?”

He spat the words out at you, his brow suddenly furrowing. His mouth turned downwards into a little frown and he glared out, the anger behind his eyes occasionally dimming to make way for sadness, confusion, before returning to the rage you rarely saw in him anymore when it was just the two of you alone.

“What do you mean? Of course I am. I’m always here for you.”

“But you were late. And you didn’t tell me where you were.”

“I was only five minutes-”

“More than ten!”

“Eddie! I didn’t say I would be back exactly on the hour. I said ‘around’ eight. Is that really why you’re so upset?”

“Wouldn’t you be!?”

“Of course not!”

His face fell again, further than before, further than you thought it might be able to.

“So you don’t care about me?”

You were speechless, your heart aching and your mind fogged with confusion and hurt. You cared about Eddie more than anything in this world, and you thought he knew that. But evidently, his deep-seated trauma was still a block on his ability to see that. Despite how often you reassured him of that fact.

“You know I do, what does that have to do with anything?”

Eddie stepped towards you, his hands balled into fists so tight that they were shaking, his palms turning red from the pressure.

“If you care about me you would have called! You would have been back on time! You wouldn’t have…”

He stopped, shuddering as he looked down at his hands.

“You wouldn’t have left… that’s… horrible, isn’t it?”

“Oh, Eddie.”

At the softness in your tone, surprisingly still as calm and sympathetic as it always was even in the face of his ridiculous reasoning, Eddie felt his lungs sweeling and let out a small wail. He fell to his knees and stayed there as you walked to him, standing in front of him and brushing your fingers through his hair.

“It’s not horrible, Eddie. But it’s maybe a bit unreasonable…”

Looking up at you with his large, sad eyes he sniffled.

“I am so sorry. I am. It’s just… I get scared, anxious…”

He shuffled forward a little more, clinging to your legs as he pressed his face to them.

“I just love you so much. I need you. All the time. Everything is harder when you’re not with me.”

It was hard to feel anything but sympathy for Eddie. His whole life had been a struggle, and that conclusion was based only on what he had revealed to you so far. There were moments in his childhood he had told you he was afraid to speak of. Things that were so horrible he worried that they might traumatise you, or worse, bring those memories to the surface and make his life more unbearable and more difficult than it already was.

All you ever wanted to do was take the pain away from Eddie, to hold him and make him feel safe and secure. You were enamoured by him, and admittedly, a large part of that was how much he needed you. It felt good to have a purpose. And it felt good for the feeling of lust and desire, and emotional connection to be requited on the same level.

Falling to your knees with him, you cradled his face in your hands, his cheeks soft and warm, and wet with his tears.

“Eddie, my sweet Eddie. I understand. I understand it completely.”

He looked into your eyes, still sparkling with tears, and let his face lighten slightly, hopeful at your words.

“You do?”

“Of course I do. You know how much I love you, and how much I need you. I wish we could be together all of the time. I wish there was a never a need for us to be apart. I would have myself sewn to you if I could. Oh… was that weird? That might have been a strange thing to say, sorry.”

In that moment, Eddie felt his heart thumping in his chest, heart rate elevating exponentially as he realised you were just as intense and, if he could be wishful, as insane about him as he was about you.

“Not… not that weird at all. I would like to keep you with me all the time. Shrink you down to be in my pocket would be my first option, but I would have your hand stitched on to mine so you’d never let go.”

“Aw… that’s so weird.”

“Yeah… we’re weird together, right?”

You nodded, smiling at him as you took his hands in yours and pulled both him and yourself up from the floor.

“Perfect. I’ve always wanted someone to be weird with. To just be myself around.”

“I’m glad I can be that person for you, Eddie.”

“Really? You’re not put off at all?”

“Never! I find you so romantic, actually.”

His smile widened and his eyes shone as he looked at you, sparkling, ignited by inspiration.

“Huh… I never thought of myself as romantic.”

“Oh, but you are! You proclaim your feelings in such poetic and dramatic ways, it might not be to everyone’s taste, but I love it.”

He wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight as he pressed his cheek to yours. His lips, so close to your ear, grazed over them as he whispered to you.

“You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. I am desperate for you, every second of the day. Even when you’re with me, I want more of you.”

Eddie paused to kiss your neck, placing three kisses down it and back up before he spoke again.

“Even when I’m… uh… i-inside of you… I want to be deeper. I don’t think it’ll be enough unless I’m in your soul.”

You sighed against his touch, his fingers placed at the bottom of your back, tracing over the skin he exposed by lifting your shirt up.

“You’re my everything, my entire world. And there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep you safe. No one I wouldn’t take care of to make sure you were taken care of.”

“Oh, Eddie… you’re my hero.”

He groaned as he let his teeth sink softly into your skin, as though he thought consuming you might help him feel as close to you as he was obsessed with being. He dragged his tongue along the skin, soothing after the sharp nip of his bite, before he bit into you again, clawing at your skin as he tried to bring your body closer to him, pressing it to his with such force it felt like you might melt into him under the pressure. But it still wasn’t enough for him.

His hand caressed your cheek gently before he let his fingers grab your face, holding your mouth open in a light pout as he licked first at your lips before sinking his tongue in, flitting it against yours which rushed to meet his.

Against the desperate movements, he groaned and sighed, and you could feel and taste his breath on your taste buds. It really felt like he was trying to enter you, to become one with you, and you welcomed it. Your hands around his neck held him in place, refusing to let him go, even when he pulled back, a trail of saliva falling from his and your lips to your chin. Eddie wiped it with his thumb and stepped towards you, into you. He pushed you lightly, sending you into the wall where you stood breathlessly, head tilted back, neck exposed to him.

You weren’t sure where you wanted him to go next with this, but you were intrigued to see and would let him have complete control if he wanted. Anything, whatever he did, just to see what lengths he would go to in order to express fully his undying and terrifying love of you.

Interestingly, he fell to his knees once more, lowering his body until he was laying on the ground on his stomach, wriggling to get close to your feet, which he let his fingers trace over before kissing them. Here he was, riddled with the kind of Catholic guilt that creates a monster, deciding that he was devoted to a whole other god, making you the idol, worshipping at your feet to show how devout he was.

“You’re everything to me. You are the earth, the sky, life and death.”

He shifted forwards, lifting himself slightly as he kissed up your calves, holding the back of your legs tightly.

“A hymn I’d sing forever.”

As he raised himself higher, his mouth kissed over your thighs, fingers light against them as they pressed into the skin. It was something you noticed about him, an almost childish way of exploring you. Touch, sensory needs, as though feeling you was the only way to prove to himself that you existed, that you were real and in front of him. That by grabbing you and holding you and caressing you, he could convince his brain that you were there, letting him indulge in those pleasures of the flesh. The way he played with your body, investigative and exploratory, like he craved complete knowledge of every aspect of you. It was intoxicating, and completely erotic.

“I am beholden to you. I serve you. I am enamoured. Devout. I owe you everything.”

He held his face against your legs, breathing deep, taking slow, meaningful inhales and exhales that sent shivers over you, despite the warmth of his breath on your skin.

“It feels… odd to seek you out constantly, when you’re within me. You’ve always been there. And yet, without you there’s no existence at all.”

Eddie was on his knees now, praying to you almost, avoiding your eyes as he spoke the words of his sermon to you.

“You’re radiant, resplendent. You’re fragrant, and I draw my breath in and now pant after you. I tasted you, but I still feel hunger and thirst for you. You touched me, and I am set on fire, longing for your touch again to extinguish the flames, but I don’t want to give them up.”

The words were familiar, almost, as though he were preaching something you’d heard before at church, or school, or in passing even. You felt a flush of heat course through your body as you recognised the significance, the words he had been made to repeat as a child, the words that filled him with such anger, and now he was twisting them, putting new meaning to them. Using them to worship you.

Your breath hitched as you choked out a moan, feeling Eddie press his nose to your crotch, his lips against you, thin layers of fabric separating his mouth from your entrance as he continued speaking.

“To serve you is freedom. To praise you is my soul’s joy and delight. And to confess this, then, is to praise and glorify you. In seeking you, I find you, and in finding you, I have you. And in having you… I keep you.”

“Eddie… oh my god…”

You could feel his tongue, lapping at the fabric of your leggings and under them, your panties. Ending each sentence with a wet drag of it against you, soaking you, able to taste your own slick through it.

“No longer do any passing fancies take my interest. My soul is focused on you alone, it praises you.”

He leaned back, looking up into your eyes as you stared down at him. His cherubic face, cheeks warm and flushed as he expressed his adoration, his obsessions.

“You allow my soul to remain attached to you, a corruptible thing as I, with the glue of love. We are attached. We’ll never be torn apart. We were meant to be. And we always will be.”

Eddie took your wrists in his hand, a tight squeeze as he spoke his final words. His amen.

“We always will be. Right?”

All you could do was nod, silently, breathlessly, completely taken back by the lengthy outpouring of his feelings, laid bare in front of you.

Standing up in front of you, he went quickly from small and vulnerable, to towering over you, exuding the control and power he usually only managed to harness when he was wearing his mask. But something about loosening up and spilling his guts to you had given him a sense of power. Possibly in the way you reacted, skin flushed all over, chest heaving as you took long, gasping breaths to try and relegate your heart rate.

As much as Eddie was willing to get on his knees and thank you for letting him be near to you, he wasn’t completely oblivious to the effect he had on you. You were just as likely to do anything for him. You already did. You were an enabler, chronically. You enthused and encouraged, maybe not outright, but in your soft, soothing tones, the way you held him when he returned from a night of ‘work’, or when he finished one of his streams. You were supportive, of everything about him. Even the darker things. The horrible truths that lurked on the edges of his soul. You made it easier to bring them out, and for that, he was eternally grateful.

It felt strange to him, to experience mutual appreciation, requited love and adoration. As much as he worried constantly, he’d rather live with the fear than suffer a life without you, not now that he’d been blessed by your presence, your touch, your kiss. His gaze flitted briefly to your lips, suddenly reminded that they were there, in front of him, his to have if he so wished.

Leaning into you, Eddie took your face in his hands before moved back, his fingers spreading through your hair as he kissed you, hard, long, filled with intense passion. A soft moan emanated from him as he felt your hands cling to his waist, travelling around to his front and up his chest. As you reached the collar of his plain, white shirt you grabbed it and held him against you. His body, surging with arousal and white, hot lust heaved inwards as yours moved outwards, a rhythm together, fitting perfectly around each other like two pieces of a puzzle. The kind that they had in the orphanage, always missing a few pieces. Much like he was. But now he was whole, complete. A sentiment that seemed cheesy to him, still, made him cringe as he thought it. It was the truth though.

Pulling himself off of you, disappointed in the fact he had done so immediately, Eddie found it in himself to smile again, for the first time that evening since you had left the apartment.

“I’m glad you’re here… home.”

“I’m glad to be home, Eddie.”

He lunged towards you again, his arms around you as he held you tight, almost suffocating you against his chest. He loved that you loved him. He loved that you were with him. It only felt like home when you were there. You were his home.

[spitdrunken]

notes: unhealthy relationships, HORRIBLE coping mechanisms (disordered eating, forced sleep deprivation), semi-connected to this post, though it can be read without it. written before the masquerade event was finished.

rollo knows his existence is a cursed one. he knows that, with every breath, he is polluting this world. for the amount of magic coursing through his body, no punishment could ever be enough to tip the scales towards purity- but he can certainly try. 

he does not deserve good food. he does not deserve a full night’s rest. if no one else will torture him for being his filthy self, he must do it with his own hands. as a first-year, his fellow students worried about his appearance, but he’s always brushed off their concerns. now, they know no better than that their student council president walks around with eyes sunken deep into his head, and his skin a deathly pale. it’s been years since they’ve pestered him about eating well. 

it’s not like he’s consuming so little it would kill him, or resting so few hours that it would make him unable to function. a balance is needed, or he won’t be able to fulfill his ultimate goal. 

but rollo wants to eat lots and well, he wants to rest for hours and hours, he wants to take breaks and be entirely unproductive. sometimes, he wants to be as carefree as the other students here. to laugh. the truth of this world is a heavy burden to bear, and thankless work, but he will do it all for them. all of these thoughts, the yearnings, the desires... all of these cement his belief that he is far, far from pure. 

for one who has made his own misery his home, your stubborn self is the largest obstacle. of course it would be you, a magicless person from another world, a world without his curse, that reaches out their hand to him.

you make it hard to keep himself to his promises. though, at first, rollo had believed he’d been taking you underneath his wing- now, it sometimes seems like the roles have been reversed. you offer him food and, out of politeness alone, he could never have denied. but you stick with him until he has no choice but to give into his vices, and your smile almost makes it worth it. you never let him pay you back (the school already offers you so little money to begin with!), and so his debt to you only grows day by day.

you always insist he promises to go to bed early, and he does feel guilty for not holding onto it. both of you know it doesn’t achieve much. he saw your worries deepen the lines in your forehead day by day and, in the end, saw to it that the bags underneath his eyes were largely hidden by makeup. lying is a filthy deed, most definitely, but if it’s to keep a pure being such as yourself happy... that is a sacrifice he’s willing to make. he finds himself caring about your moods, your opinions of him, more and more. rollo doubts you share the depth of his feelings, and would never mention them. you deserve better.

(you deserve better, but he can’t help but wanting to be around you. your presence brings him peace of mind, even if it’s only temporary. rollo loves showing you around different parts of the city he loves so much, in the name of cultural education. really, he just wants an excuse to be around you more often. he is self-aware enough that his desire to be around you morphed into a need somewhere along the line, and depriving himself of your presence becomes a new form of personal torture.)

you hold a lightheartedness he can’t capture himself. you insist on telling him about ‘earth bonding practices’, or ‘totally normal greetings’, which he chooses to believe you on only because there is nothing that could possibly disprove you. he’ll let you kiss his cheek, and hold his hand around the schoolground, no matter how it makes him feel. (too good.) too embarrassing. you sneak pictures of him, too, and the ones he’s seen make him want to hide his face behind his handkerchief forever. his face, reddened with ugly blotches reaching up all the way from his neck. it’s horrific. no matter how often you call him cute, you’ll never be able to change his mind on that. 

perhaps he is selfish for wanting to keep you away from other magic users, but, that is one sin he will not hate himself for.

[sunshine-scented]

Alright, so! You could skip this if you want, but I was wondering if you could do hanahaki hcs for SWK, MK and Macaque's S/O? (Seperately)

How would they react to them suddenly growing a bit more distant? Looking a bit more sickly? Coughing a lot more often? How long until they notice that something was wrong? Do they find out before it's too late? I'm a really big sucker for angst i'm sorry lmao-

A pleasure for heartbreak, why of course I would do this ♡

I didn't make them dating cause that didn't match the real AU of hanahaki and I'd like this to be realistic as possible, I apologize in advance for the inconvenience

❀ On my last breath, you won't be there for me ❀

: Hanahaki disease AU! (If the person you love doesn't feel the same way for you, then your lungs starts to fill up with their favorite flower until you suffocate)

: Sun Wukong, Macaque, MK x gn!reader

: Angst, no comfort, mentions of suicide, gore, mentions of blood, self insults, body horror, and explicit descriptions of torturous experiences! Read with caution!!

Sun Wukong

Once you confessed your love to him, it was really nerve wracking

Was not subtle at all that he didn't feel the same way and failed so bad to make it seem like it was no big deal so he ended up running away

Ever since then, he's ignored you entirely, and everytime you were called onto the conversation he would excuse himself out or just not speak up at all

But when you tried to confront him about it, he pretended that nothing was wrong, he's not at fault, you are, dummy!

However, if the way he was pretending that you didn't exist was hurting enough, you started to feel a pang on your chest

What's this? You've never felt this way before

It all started as a small come and go ache, then it got worse with heavy coughs so loud that it sounds like your coughing your own stomach out

Even with your pitiful situation, he never bat an eye

It's like you don't exist in his eyes

Still, that didn't help your coughs, so loud and violent, eventually this went on for five whole minutes of non stop coughing, with a worried Mei and Pigsy on your sides while MK, Sandy and Tang were panicking

Your throat was burning, your head was spinning, it felt suffocating as you failed to regain air

Until you coughed a small baby peach colored flower, covered on your own blood from your mouth

This obviously caught the attention of everyone, but this was all new to them, not even Tang knew what's going on

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months

The baby flowers grew bigger in size and in quantity, soon, you began coughing out fully grown flowers in pairs of two or three

The feeling was torture, you felt like throwing up everytime you coughed one out, it was burning and it was squeezing your stomach while your throat tastes like the metallic blood from your lungs

You just wanted to end it all

So you went up to the kitchen cabinet and grabbed the closest thing next to you, the kitchen knife

Slowly, you raised it up to your chest ready to take the plunge, but you stopped

Did you really want this?

You started to think of the people who were there for you through your entire life

The fun memories you had

The laughs, the victories, the losses, you loved them all

MK, Mei, Pigsy, Tang, Sandy, Wukong

Wukong..

No, he didn't care

He never did

And he never will

What's the use of living if all you feel right now is misery?

What's the use of living if nothing matters to you anymore?

Without hesitation, you once more lifted the knife

And shoved it inside your chest

The door was clicking open, someone was here to help!

But they were too late

Your vision was blurry, everything was fading

Only a faint scream of agony and horror was heard, hurried footsteps banged through the floor as you felt a hand cup your cheek

"No...no..! (Name)! Please! Don't leave yet!" "Kid! Wake up!" "(Name)! Hang in there!" "Oh my god, (Name)!"

"(Name)...I'm so sorry"

Everything faded to black, you were gone, and it was all your fault

Wukong held your lip body close to his, the room felt colder as Mei's loud cries of agony and MK sniffing the tears away all fell mute on his ears

He didn't mean to do this

He pushed you away cause of his selfishness

He loved you, he always had

It's was because you were mortal and he wasn't, the thought of losing another person he loved lead him to reject you

It was all his fault

"YOU!" Pigsy's scream echoed on the dead room's walls, he stormed his way to the monkey who was still staring your limp, cold body

"YOU KNEW DIDN'T YOU?! THATS WHY YOU IGNORED ALL OF US WHEN WE ASKED YOU ABOUT THEIR HEALTH!"

He gripped the monkey's scarf to force him to stare back at him, but all Wukong did was stay silent and looked at the ground

"YOU DIDN'T EVEN BOTHER TO HELP THEM EITHER, INSTEAD, YOU PRETENDED THAT THEY DIDNT FUCKING EXIST"

"How could you do this to us! We trusted you!" Tang joined in the argument, his fists clenched in grief

"If you weren't so SELFISH, THEY WOULD HAVE STILL BEEN WITH US!" Mei's voice cracked as her voice got louder and louder, full of anger

The only silent one was Sandy, trying to calm himself down and reassuring him that it's no one's fault, but it's so hard knowing that no, it is someone's fault

It's all his fault

"Monkey king.." MK's soft voice caught his attention as he hesitantly looked over at him, just to be met with betrayal filled eyes "What have you done"

Nothing will be the same, not without you

And it's all his fault

Six eared Macaque

What were thinking

You knew this was never gonna do you any good

Why are you so naive

Thoughts and regrets overflowed your mind, drowning in grief

Why did you think that you could change anything?

He looked at you with such disgust, eyebrows furrowed and an unreadable expression on his face

His silence haunted you, it always had, but this was a more deadly, suffocating silence

It's Macaque for crying out loud! Did you really think he'd be so willing to love you back? What kind of self centered naive bastard do you think you are?

"Shut up..SHUT UP!"

No matter how loud you screamed, the thoughts would never cease their mockery

Thick tears flowed on your cheeks like a never ending river of regrets, you hiccuped and wheezed to get air from crying to hard

Wheezed turned to coughing, until you were choking on your own tears

You held a hand to cover your mouth to silence your coughs, but it just seemed to never stop

Your chest started to ache, as if it was being squeezed like a wet towel filled with nails

Gripping your chest, you bent your back in agony as you coughs got harder and harder

It was burning

Something was climbing up your throat, and you wanted it out immediately

As you lifted out you hand, a single lavender stem was present on your hand

What the hell? When did that get there

But before you could think, another coughing fit started

You quickly stood up and rushed straight to the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water, draining it down your throat

It soothed your mind a bit, the faint taste of blood and snot was slowly fading, but it felt like your lungs were beating

You could feel reverberating through your chest, what the hell was going on?!

The next day, you weren't any better

You isolated yourself from the outside, stopped talking to your friends to stop them from worrying about you

They didn't need you anyways

What? No! They're you're friends! Of course they're gonna need you!

But they're just being nice and faking it, Macaque was different cause he's honest, they all hate you

You gripped your hair in annoyance, then you started to cough again and again

The cycled continue, with the never ending thoughts and ever growing lavender flowers, it was pure agony

Later, you found out that this is a rare disease from your doctor

The only cure was to make the other person love you back, but that was impossible

Filled with so much despair, you yourself coughing once more

You needed a breather, you needed this to stop

Taking a stroll on the middle of the night with the cool breeze hitting your face distracting you from your thoughts, it worked for a while

But you started to take an alternative route on where you usually walk

Soon, you notice yourself walk towards the very same dark mountain, it's clouds preventing any light to come through

"I'm here again.." you whispered to yourself, walking towards the end on the cliff, you stared at the distance of mist and fog

A temporary moment of solitude, loneliness filling up your senses once more

"What do you think you're doing here?"

A voice called behind you, but you didn't have to turn your back to recognize the voice you loved so, so much

Never taking your eyes of on the distance, you explained to him why you're here "I just needed a breather, is all"

He raised a brow, not bothering to move from his spot "And you chose here?"

Sighing, you shrugged your shoulders "Old habits die hard"

Silence enveloped the two souls who will never meet "What's your actual reason here" his voice growing sharper

Its really true then, he really doesn't care about you

You gave up, you didn't care either, nothing you did even matters anyways

"I'm in pain, Macaque" your voice a whisper "Coughing out your flowers, blood all over my hands everytime I spit one out, it's agonizing really"

You explained it so casually which made him even more suspicious of you "what do you mean by "My flowers"?"

"Lavenders" you answered "Remember when we talked about our interests so casually? I always remember what you tell me, I always remember the—"

"I told you, I don't feel the same"

You bit your lip "...Can't you just try?"

"That's impossible, we both know that" he sighed in annoyance, clearly indicating that you're wasting his time

You were right, it really was impossible to help you

Then again, why are you living anyways? Why are you still breathing? Do you even know your purpose?

"Then kill me"

Macaque's eyes shot wide open in shock "What?"

"If you really can't help me, then please" you turned around to face him, his glowing yellow eyes met your dull, dead and broken ones "End it all"

Taking a step back, he looked at you in disbelief "You're crazy, the hell do you mean—"

"Every day is torture for me, my lungs hurt, my head is spinning, I want to end it a—" coughs and wheezes stopped your sentences as you bent your body in pain, your coughs sounded dry like your voice sound strained and tired

Macaque could only stare in horror, you weren't lying then, you coughed and choked until three stems flowed out of your soaked blood dripping hands, but you still continued to cough

He started to unconsciously walk towards you and once he was close enough, you grabbed his clothes "Kill me, please"

You begged him at this point, every part of your body hurt, he doesn't love you, you're just going to suffer

Macaque only stared at you with a conflicted expression, his hands gripping into fists

"I'm sorry"

He grew a claw made of shadow and pierced your body as you screamed in agony

Your grip on his clothes started to loosen as your eyes grew droopy and tired

Your head fell on his legs leaning on him once more "Thank you..." A faint, barely even audible whisper was heard as you left him once more

Now, he really was alone

Love is a curse

MK

"I'm sorry, (Name) but I only see you as a friend" MK rubbed his neck as you could feel your heart break into a thousand pieces

But you quickly covered it up "Oh! Haha,, sorry for taking your time then!" You bowed your head and ran off before he could say anything

You tried to stay normal, you really did, but every time you saw his adorable face, your heart just shatters into a million pieces all over again

But you hid everything away, pretending you're alright. laughed at the same jokes, played with the same games, slept in the same sleepovers

That's what friends do

You didn't want to shoo him away, losing him means losing everything from you, he just means that much to that tiny heart laying on your chest

But everyday hurt more, knowing that he will never be yours

He will never hold your hand, he will never kiss your lips

He will never love you back

Stings and pangs randomly attacked your chest, it felt like it was being crushed slowly and slowly, coughs started to be normal for you as well

But you shrugged it aside, it might be the heartbreak

It'll grow off

Either way, you still hung out with him and his friends

Smiling, laughing, pretending

It hurts

So, so much

Why are you doing so much for him

Why are you giving so much effoet

He's never gonna love you, just accept it

How selfish can you be

"Hey, (Name)? You okay there?" Mei called out to you with concern all over her features

Everyone looked at you as well, all sharing the same look, MK was the most worried "Yeah, you've kinda just been staring off at the distance, something bothering you?"

There was that face again, the one you loved so so much

His hair, his eyes, gosh, you just wanted to kiss his cheeks

But you couldnt

You're not allowed to

"I'm fine really, I think I just need some air" you chuckled, feigning happiness once more as you excused yourself out of the group

Walking towards your home was torture, your coughs got longer, you even stated go taste blood

Whatever was happening to you, you didn't like it

You needed water, that's all you need

When you finally reached home, locking the door behind you

Your knees felt weak, as you fell to the ground

Coughing, wheezing, choking, everything was spinning

You started to vomit

Blood, spit,, flowers

What's going on?!

You tried to crawl to the kitchen, but your muscles felt weak, and you just fell down laying on the floor

Clutching your legs closer to your chest, you tried to stop whatever was happening to you

Until something poked your chest

Again

Again

And again

A vine started to rip through your skin, you screamed in agony as it continues to sprout and grow all over your skin

The thorns pierced your skin, roses decorated their every vine, blood was everywhere even in the vines

Your throat hurt, your chest hurt, everything hurt

It's growing everywhere

The vines started to grow on your mouth leaving it gaping wide open as more roses bloomed in your blood

You felt weak as the vines grew on your body, poked and pierced every crevice of skin it lays contact to

Your vision faded, it's finally over

You can finally rest and sleep in oesce

"(Name)? Are you there?" MK's voice called out at the door, but no body answered

"Maybe they're out on a walk?" Mei chimed in but MK was still intent in finding you

Finding the spare key hidden under the rug, he slowly opened the door

But it stopped half way

"A vine? What's that doing here" Mei asked in concern as MK shrugged his shoulders

But when they fully opened the door

They're faces went pale

There you were, laying dead in a puddle of fresh blood as beautiful long vines of thorny roses spilled and hanged on your walls, your couch

Your body

"(NAME)!" They both cried out in panic

Mei opened her phone to call an ambulance and inform Pigsy, while MK ran towards your body

A big beautiful crimson colored rose sat perfectly on your mouth as your eyes we're closed, blood dripped and trickled down your lips, you skin was pale and your temperature was frozen cold

He was devastated

When Monkey King explained the Hanahaki disease to him, his whole body just shut down

"I.... I did this.. " he gripped his hair "I killed (Name).. " he dropped to his knees

And out the most loudest scream

Full of agony, grief, anger

It was all his fault

All. His. Fault

This is by far my favourite one ever, I really enjoyed this!!

[flightfoot]

Do you have recommendation for Adrien centric fic that doesn't revolve around love square?

Yeah sure! Love Square still exists in some of these, but it ain't the focus.

---

Slowly Fading (from my misery) by @wehadabondingmoment

“You’re looking awfully deep in thought today, minou.” Ladybug’s gloved hand stroked over his hair and Chat Noir closed his eyes with an unstable breath. He got like this sometimes. Lately, it had been getting worse. Or: Gabriel likes using the rings to order his son around. After a while, it starts having effects on Chat Noir as well. (The more often Gabriel commands Adrien to act a certain way, the more it gets ingrained in his mentality. He suffers because of it.)

This is a gorgeous fic. Adrien’s been puppeted around, forced to obey orders for reasons he doesn’t understand, for so long, so often that a lot of times his own body doesn’t even feel like his. A lot of residual orders keep on bubbling up and stopping him from doing what he wants to do, and he just… doesn’t understand why. Considering how Adrien looked in Pretension when Gabriel forced him to go to his room so he could talk to Marinette alone, and how desperately Adrien tried to head back there but couldn’t make himself open the door, how terrified and confused he’d seemed, I think his feelings here, his mindset, is pretty close to canon.

---

adrien agreste and the consequences of tweets making fun of yourself by Anonymous

Well, Adrien thinks, what’s the worst that could come from a few poorly thought-out tweets lightly ribbing his own civilian identity?

I love the focus here on how people just assume what Adrien’s thinking and feeling and act on his behalf, without actually waiting to see what HE wants, and Adrien’s growing frustration. How they create a version of him in their heads, but don’t care to check with reality to see whether he actually wants their “defense”. 

---

The Parable of the Caller by @nemaliwrites

A week after Hawk Moth’s identity has been revealed, Adrien finds himself with nowhere to go, nothing he can do, and worst of all, strange gaps in his memory he can’t explain. In a stroke of luck, he stumbles upon a burner phone filled with voicemails from one of the Saviors of Paris: Chat Noir himself, who disappeared following Hawk Moth’s arrest.

But with each new voicemail Adrien listens to, he’s forced to confront the fact that there might be some kind of connection between himself and Chat Noir — and discovering it might leave him more broken than before.

I absolutely adore this fic, it’s a fantastic character study for Adrien! Basically in this universe, Ladybug and Chat Noir talked about who should be Guardian, with Chat eventually convincing her that he should be the one to take it on, primarily due to the whole “the Guardian gets amnesia about Miraculous-related matters” situation, and wanting to protect Ladybug from that. Then he finds out Gabriel is Hawk Moth, they take him down, and he relinquishes the Miracle Box and his guardianship to Su Han - all without having a Reveal with Ladybug, since well, he’s not in the greatest shape mentally at the time.

It’s a real treat to see Adrien’s thoughts and feelings about one of the Heroes of Paris leaving him all these voicemails, treating him like this close friend for reasons he doesn’t understand, and just seeing Chat Noir as this outside person. He’s got a very different viewpoint on Chat when looking from the outside than he would from the inside, with being able to see his heroic and good qualities far more easily when he doesn’t know that he is Chat.

Also Marinette’s struggling in the background of the fic with the loss of her partner and guilt over sending Adrien’s father to prison. It gets touched on at various points, and you can tell that she’s having her own story off to the side that we’re just not entirely privy to, what with this tale being told entirely from Adrien’s perspective.

---

Eventually by @lucid-ao3

Adrien’s life has been dictated by rules, monitored, and controlled for years. He has learned to compartmentalize. It’s not that bad. It always gets better, eventually. Doesn’t it?

Recovery can be an unexpected obstacle when you didn’t realize you were being hurt in the first place.

OR: How Adrien lives and copes with the emotional abuse inflicted on him over the years, and how he ultimately could overcome it.

If you want a good “Adrien doesn’t realize how abusive his father is but slowly buckles more and more under his tyranny, until things come to a head, and he actually gets the HELP HE NEEDS” fic, this is a good one!

---

Awaken by InkyIbis

The previously white butterfly, now oozing black and purple as a conduit of the butterfly miraculous powers, flutters softly within the silvered-gloved hand.

It sits there for a long time.

"Go, my akuma," The soft sigh pushes the butterfly, the akuma, out towards the despair of a love not returned. The same ache within his chest. On a level so great that he's willing to sacrifice the city to mend it.

It's okay if he's the villain for now. He'll force the miraculous of creation and destruction to be revealed, and once he gets his hands on them, none of this pain, none of his loss, will ever happen.

This is essentially a canon rewrite for Miraculous (specifically seasons 1 and 2, with a bunch of the events mixed around) that focuses primarily on Adrien, with his relationship with Nino being the main driving relationship of the fic. (Don’t worry, Marinette’s still treated fine, she’s just not the focus). This is the best “rewrite Miraculous with more of a focus on Adrien” type fic I’ve seen, with it reworking the plots of the episodes so that they’re different enough to be their own distinct thing - it’s not trying to just rewrite the canon episodes but from Adrien’s POV, there’s a lot of lore changes going on as well, and things occur in different orders.

Like lorewise, Chat’s given a more important role in cleaning up the mess the akumas leave, with his power helping to cleanse akuma victims and he and Ladybug needing to use their powers in tandem in order to cast Miraculous Ladybug. There’s also no Miracle Box holding the kwamis. Instead, Chat sometimes surpasses his limits and ends up summoning kwamis, which is dangerous to him, but very useful.

What really makes this fic great though, is its focus on Adrien’s emotions. You really get a feel for Adrien’s insecurities, especially when it comes to not feeling like he’s good enough for Nino, with not wanting to bother him when he absolutely should, with feeling like he’s not a good enough friend to him, and then there’s dealing with all of Gabriel’s usual abuse on top of that.

Speaking of Nino, this is an Adrino fic (though several characters get crushes on Adrien, Nino’s the one who matters most for this), though a slowburn one. Nino’s clearly head-over-heels for Adrien, but Adrien has like, no context for what a romantic crush feels like and is basically viewing Nino the way he viewed Marinette in canon prior to season 5. He clearly cares for him a lot, including romantically, he just... doesn’t get it.

Anyway, if you want an interesting canon rewrite fic from Adrien’s perspective with Adrino as the main pairing, this is a good story to pick up!

---

Dr. Walker & Kitty Hyde series by @pearl484-blog

Summary of the first fic, Rain Falls, Everybody Lies:

Chat Noir loves the rain. He loves the danger. He loves the excitement, and he especially loves how much Catwalker hates it. 

Jekyll and Hyde AU

Adrien AUGreste Entry 3: Rain

So like the summary says, and the title indicates, this series is inspired by the popular conception of Dr Jekyll and Mr. Hyde - not how the book actually goes, but how it’s portrayed in popular media, with Jekyll splitting himself in two, with a “good” side and a “bad” side. 

During Kuro Neko, instead of just changing his appearance through changing his mindset, Adrien took more extreme measures, sealing off his “undesirable” characteristics, his anger and sadness and all his sharp edges, into the ring so he could assume a more placid, genial persona that’d be more accepted - Cat Walker. 

But Chat Noir’s still there, taking over whenever Adrien gets too testy, and desperately trying not to be pressed out of existence entirely. With embodying Adrien’s sealed anger and snappishness and rebelliousness, he’s not too kind to the other heroes - he already felt looked down upon and ignored before this, and seeing them accept Cat Walker while he’s fighting for his life doesn’t endear them to him either.

The series isn’t unfair to them - this isn’t a case where one party is entirely in the wrong and another’s entirely in the right. Marinette, Zoe, Nino, and all the others - they did wonder about what was going on with Chat, but he wasn’t in a position where he could see it, and he did have legitimate questions about how much Ladybug would budge on things, if he’d told her what he was going through. It’s a series that emphasizes characters hurting and lashing out in some terrible ways, but that hurt still being respected, and working things out, trying to get everything to a better place.

---

Shadow of the Chat by @pearl484-blog

Chat Noir discovers that he has a living Shadow. Unfortunately for him, it is not fond of Ladybug. Inspired by the prompt: 5 times Character A and B thought they didn’t have anything in common and 1 time they realized how similar they are.

I wrote a fic based on this one and @wackus-bonkus-maximus fic “One Does Not Love Breathing”, basically importing Shadow into odnlb in order to help take down Monarch. It’s called “One Does Not Love Shadows”, btw.

Anyway, I love how this one-shot uses some of Carl Jung’s ideas about everyone having “shadows”; parts of ourselves that we consciously reject or suppress, and using that to get Chat some help. If you’ve ever played a Persona game, this will be familiar to you, as those games are based off of Jung’s ideas as well.

[jacenbren]

Apologies for yet another nonsensical insomnia rant but the fact that Legato Bluesummers a) has never truly been a free man and b) cannot fathom ever living outside of servitude. really hurts man. Like ohhhhhh boy.

In the ‘98 anime (due to trimax being incomplete at the time), we never really got to see the real dark and nasty bits of Legato’s story, and trigun stampede hasn’t yet gotten a chance to really delve into his character. While Legato still served the same purpose as he did in the manga with similar events playing out, I think a lot of his character’s depth was missing in tri98—we never really learn why it is that Legato is so deeply devoted to Knives, and he’s portrayed as a lot more… theatrical?? than he is in the manga?? anyway. Tri98 Legato serves his narrative purpose and is a great villain, but he seems a bit shallow, for lack of a better word, mostly because we don’t actually get to learn a lot about him.

In comparison to his counterparts, trimax Legato is… kinda a loser. The second we meet Knives, Legato gets crumpled like a soda can and spends the majority of the series as a quadriplegic who sits menacingly in the shadows in his body brace/coffin thing (which I affectionately like to call his Bitch Cocoon). He spends his time being very weird and unlikeable and tormenting Vash in various ways, all while dramatically singing Knives’s praises, despite him being the guy who quite literally rearranged all of Legato’s limbs and permanently crippled him. All in all, despite being an absolute menace in combat and just a generally fucking unsettling guy, Legato’s kind of pathetic and really easy to dunk on at first. Just ask Elendira, who roasts the shit out of him on a daily basis because she’s bored and even “accidentally” chucks a glass of water at him! He’s an easy target!

However, I think this makes the absolute gut punch that is finding out why Legato is the way he is infinitely worse, which I absolutely adore from a narrative and storytelling standpoint.

Legato has been a slave since he was a child, in every way but name—well, he was literally a slave as a child, and more specifically, a sex slave. He grew up knowing nothing other than the absolute worst of humanity, instilling a hatred towards his own kind that would last his entire life. It’s made abundantly clear that Legato doesn’t value himself in the slightest, because he grew up as little more than a commodity, to use and dispose. When Knives razes the city Legato’s being held captive in, and goes to kill him, this is the first act of kindness he has ever received, and yet also the greatest unkindness—Knives has destroyed Legato’s life, no matter how abhorrently shitty it was. Legato has never lived a life outside slavery, so he has no idea what to do with himself.

So he turns to Knives. Millions Knives, whose goal is to eradicate the humans who have done nothing but make Legato suffer. Knives, who seems all too willing to put him out of his misery should he turn down Legato’s offer to serve him.

Legato cannot fathom a life without a master, without pain and suffering and servitude. He cannot comprehend the idea of freedom, and most of all, he can’t understand Vash. He can’t understand that someone whose kind has been used and abused by humans for centuries, who’s suffered for decades alone in the desert, could find it in himself to forgive and love the ones who hurt him so unconditionally. Vash’s very existence infuriates Legato, because Vash is a mirror image of him—a mirror image whose trauma didn’t swallow him whole and turn him into something despicable. Sure, Knives might’ve saved him, but he’s just another master to serve. Knives broke every bone in his body as punishment for disobedience, and yet somehow, Knives still favors his brother—who keeps running, who keeps refusing, who keeps avoiding his past—over Legato, who’s sworn to never disobey his orders again.

Vash is what Legato could’ve been. Vash is what Legato desperately wants to be. The problem is, Legato refuses to heal, and he doesn’t want to be fixed, either.

[atopvisenyashill]

The idea that Ned would make Lyanna marry Robert post-Tower of Joy is crazy. Ned's more likely to straight up lie to Robert and tell everyone Lyanna died while secretly hiding her in Winterfell/North. Ned would gaslight everyone just to protect her and her child.

EXACTLY.

I think people see Ned’s general patriarchal attitude and think “he’s just like every other man in this series” and in a lot of ways he definitely is! I think he is frustratingly paternalistic and has this mindset that like, a woman’s ✨honor✨ such that it exists is worth less than a man’s, that it means less than a man’s and it does lead him to do some really awful stuff! Keeping Sansa in the dark, dealing with Cersei the way he did, the way he is only ~indulging~ Arya but not actually empowering her, physically & emotionally harming Cat when she asks about Jon, these are all objectively terrible decisions he makes specifically because he falls into this trap that women are just like, Not People As Deeply As Men Are.

But also. Ned is not like other men in many important ways!! There are situations where I do think Ned would be inclined to order Lyanna to enter a marriage she doesn’t want but after the Tower of Joy? When he’s walked in and she has nearly died of childbirth, and she’s holding a baby boy she’s too afraid to name herself - or one she’s given a Targaryen name too! - after accidentally kicking off an entire civil war because of her misery at the thought of marrying Robert??? COME ON!

I think pre-Jon Snow, nothing short of Lyanna telling Ned specifically “if you make me marry Robert I’m going to kill myself” would make him pause in bulldozing over her feelings. I think he’d try to help her in his own way. I think he’d agree to live at Storm’s End for a while, I think he’d offer to foster his own children with her to make her feel more like she’s at home, I think he’d talk to Robert about doing things to cheer her up, and I do think he’d step in if he saw Robert hit her, but he wouldn’t actively help her escape her marriage. At MOST, in my opinion, he would talk to Rickard about marrying her closer to home or sending a large group of Northerners south with her. That may not seem like a lot - and it’s NOT! - but again. Even Viserys II was capable of realizing that sometimes a marriage is detrimental to a woman’s health. Ned “I’m willing to completely tank my reputation and commit treason for over a decade just to honor my sister’s memory” Stark is objectively capable of looking at his sickly sister and her newborn and go “yeah handing you over to Robert is probably a death sentence.” It goes hand in hand with the idea of Ned being an “honorable fool” that Ned is too honorable, patriarchal, and foolish to not realize Lyanna and Jon are in active danger if they go back to KL and marry Robert. Ned may be dumb but he’s not stupid‼️

[hamliet]

while i was rereading the grandmaster of demonic cultivation again its about the two woman that came to lotus pear sisi and bi cao, there was something its about the reaction the cultivators had about there stories I was thinking what these two woman represent?

Hi! I've written a meta on Sisi before--she's one of the most important minor characters, I think.

I think her pairing with Bicao exists to make the reader ponder their own questions about what righteousness means and what justice is. After all, Sisi is a prostitute who openly admits to sleeping with married men, is coerced into assaulting someone to death, and is physically scarred. On the surface, she seems like someone society will and does indeed condemn.

But Sisi is the bravest, most righteous character in the entire story. She is not ashamed of what society and life have done to her; it's not like she had a choice in any of the above, after all, and while it's convenient to blame her, she had literally not a shred of freedom her entire life. At least not from whenever she entered the brothel, and we know from Jin Guangyao's comments about Meng Shi that the women there weren't there out of their own free will.

And yet, Sisi comes forward knowing people will condemn her purely to get justice for the other prostitutes who were coerced into this and then murdered. They were the ones not even brothels wanted anymore--too old, too sick, too ugly. The ones every last bit of society threw away, and she came to face scorn solely to get justice for them. She directly says this.

In contrast, Bicao came forward for money.

Now, that's not inherently a bad thing. Bicao is a servant. She's part of society, unlike Sisi, but she's not well respected or anything like that. However, Bicao knew about Qin Su's mother being raped by Jin Guangshan, knew about the Jins being siblings, and said nothing--fair enough. There's nothing wrong with wanting to survive. Where we do get into dubious moral territory is when she directly goes to Qin Su and gives her the letter.

Wei Wuxian himself notes that Qin Su had to have immense trust in Bicao to instantly believe its contents. She emphatically states that Bicao would never lie to her.

But Bicao also knew the likely outcome of her revealing this to Qin Su--that it endangered her, that she would probably be suicidal if not in danger from her husband, and Wei Wuxian directly says this as well. Bicao handed the letter to Qin Su for money knowing it would mean her misery, ostracization from society at best, and death at worst.

Bicao's not a blood relative of Qin Su, of course, and there's a tendency to be like "oh, she's a servant, she owed her nothing." To a degree, sure, but also to another degree we're absolutely supposed to compare and contrast Bicao's treatment of Qin Su with Wei Wuxian's treatment of the Jiang family, and with of course Sisi's treatment of her sisters in the brothels (which we know was always the case from how she protected Meng Shi). Wei Wuxian was derided for his disrespect of the family that took him in despite being the son of a servant, yet gave literally everything, even his golden core, to try to help the Jiangs.

We're also supposed to compare and contrast Bicao and Sisi, both of whom reveal information damning the child they once protected. Bicao did it for money and was aware of what she was doing. Sisi did it for justice and, as far as we know, was not aware that Jin Guangyao was Meng Yao.

This itself of course leads to questioning Nie Huaisang's quest for justice and whether his justice is the same flavor as Sisi's. He freed her because she served his purpose, not out of any desire to free her because she is a human being who doesn't deserve to be locked up forever. He paid Bicao to sacrifice Qin Su, who was completely innocent. Yes, he couldn't have known everything that came from his actions but he definitely knew the likely possibilities (again, Wei Wuxian explicitly says this).

These comparisons invite us to question justice and its link to power, to society, to what we owe one another, and to what it means to be righteous. These are good thematic comparisons wherein the point isn't even "Sisi good" and "Bicao bad" (which can be true even while acknowledging that Sisi is framed much more positively) but instead a multilayered approach designed to provoke questions rather than simple answers.

[maya-the-skaven]

Much Ado About Rats: A Skaven Story

Greetings everyone and welcome to the very first of my series of posts that will follow as I write my fanfiction about Skaven in the Warhammer: Age of Sigmar setting. While my fanfiction is something rather private and will probably go through a long and thorough process of writing, editing, proofreading and even rewriting before I am comfortable publishing it, I would still like to talk about its worldbuilding, its characters and my personal headcanon on all matters Skaven.

It's easy to consider Skaven as just cannon fodder for the good guys of the setting, nothing but a mass of hungry and inherently if not comically evil vermin that exist only to multiply, destroy and die, not too dissimilar from the Tyranids of the 40k setting. They represent all the worst traits both on individual and societal level and, more importantly, they're not human and kind of ugly and monstrous, you'd get weird looks if you told anyone you empathise with them, similar to reactions you'd get from the common audience if you said you feel nothing but pity for the orcs of the Lord of the Rings setting.

However, to me the Skaven are much like the Imperium of the 40k - they are independent individuals trapped in and molded by from their very birth to their rather short death by a highly institutionalized and hierarchical society with ruthless inner politics, warlordism and a merciless system of economics and labour. The Skaven who are not ready to do everything in their power to survive and chase the power are either destined for death or slavery. They fanatically worship a god that doesn't care that much for his children if not bestows constant malice onto them, but any deviation from that worship is tightly controlled by a tyranical sect of wizard-priests. The Skaven either conquer, ruthlessly exploiting their surroundings until their utter desolation, or stagnate forced to literally cannibalize each other to survive. They are essentially trapped in a vicious circle where the society forms natural selection where the most power-hungry, cruel and vicious individuals win and these individuals, in turn, do all in their power so that this society stays that way, with them in power and their subordinates in various forms of slavery. I don't know about you, but most of the above doesn't sound to me that different from average life of an Imperial citizen in a Hive World. Moreover, isn't that also what happened in real world many times? How the ultra-rich of today stay in power, how Nazis brainwashed the entirety of Germany into genocide and complete ruin, how medieval tyrants and their aristocrat countries held entire countries in serfdom, how USSR bureaucrats reproduced their own power by what amounted to negative selection?

The main difference between Imperium and the Skaven is that, while the Imperium also exists in a constant flux of decay, misery, exploitation and treachery, it still gets many stories about individuals that manage to represent better aspects of being human, in spite of their culture, their upbringing, their status. Skaven, however, are for some reason excluded from humanity and human stories, despite having the same sapience and free will as humans do, they almost never get any stories that center them and everywhere else they are just there to do something horrible (and sometimes funny) and then be defeated by the heroes of the story. Despite this, we got more intricate glimpses of Skaven in the Queek Headtaker novel, it turns out they can be loyal, they can have a conscience, they can be brave, they can reflect on the poor state of their species, they can actually care for each other for other reasons than power, however rare that is and however corrupted and abusive that care might be.

Skaven also make me reflect a lot about our own world. In a way they are kind of like Ferengi from Star Trek series, their culture on one hand seems completely alien from ours, but on the other hand it has direct connection to our culture because it is a huge exaggeration of it. We exist, function and prop up systems that cause suffering, we compete even if that means that someone else will go hungry, we punch down our most marginalised and miserable, we entrap people into economic system where the line must go always up propped by extremely underpaid labour or everyone will be scrounging for food, we exploit and destroy our environment without care for neither other living creatures nor even other humans, our current cultural mindset is thoroughly hierarchical and power-seeking with even those critical our the current state of things rarely escaping from it. It's easy to sneer at the Skaven as the utterly evil "monster" species of the setting, but they are only doing what we are doing, but dispensing with our dislike of grotesque, with our flimsy morals and with our ever so cautious self-preservation instinct. But in our world we have many stories of people prevailing despite tyranny, misery, poverty, people going to great lengths to help each other, people protesting and fighting injustice, even if their mind was still polluted by bigotry, cruelty or selfishness. If Rom from DS9 can unionize in spite of his entire species and culture, why not give a chance at better characterisation and characters for Skaven that doesn't revolve around being comically evil? Something akin to Queek's bravery and care for Ska, even if completely insane and abusive by our standards, Ska's unquestioning loyalty, Gnawdwell's refined composure and genuine pride for Queek, Sharpwit's recognition of Skaven being doomed to be trapped in their vicious cycle and never learning from any mistakes.

Source: https://twitter.com/nan_ivel/status/1460612547887910914

My motivation for writing a fanfic about Skaven is thus motivated by this unfair treatment of simultaneously portraying the Skaven as sapient and free willed individuals completely capable of forming a society woes many traits and woes of our own and other similar societies in fiction, while they are always treated as non-persons, never get any kind of diversity despite numbering trillions and stories about them that delve deeper into their psyche are practically non-existent. My story will be focused on a band of Skaven finding their own ways and detaching their personalities from the society that made them what they are, it's an escape story, a story of change, a story of experiencing and feelings things you could never put a name to. This is not necessarily a story about redemption, bad guys becoming good, the Skaven being goodie-two-shoes, it's much more about a seed of hope that exists even for cruelest and vilest of beings to change in whatever way, it's humanising Skaven in a way how our own evil is deeply human and it's about negating the idea of evil being ontological and immutable for sapient persons of free will.

The fact that there are trillions of Skaven and tens of thousands of clans should be, on the contrary, taken as a reason for the fans and creators to experiment with imagining diverse environments, individuals, sub-cultures of the Skaven society, sprawling like a tumour, growing in every which way. Similarly the fact that there is not really a lot of actual established lore about the Skaven and either very old bits that can be easily considered not even close to canon, short paragraphs that describe the trope of Skaven, but rarely go into any nuance or expand on them or things that could be very easily supplemented by additional lore, rather than be contradicted.

For example, what is the true nature of Great Horned Rat, is he even a real god of Chaos, as his aspects, domains and character seems to change all the time? Or maybe he is the truest of them, since even his nature changes chaotically, usually following the constant dynamic flux Skaven as a whole find themselves in? What is the relationship of Skaven with gender? Are breeders just an irrelevant lore tidbit that could be disregarded, or maybe it could be expanded, for example, how clans that don't have the means to purchase Moulder monstrocities operate? What of cloned Skaven? How is Skaven biology influenced by their constant misuse of warpstone, permanent overexertion, starvation and lack of sleep? Are we to believe Black Hunger isn't a psychological reaction that a half-starved sleepless human couldn't experience? A lore purist could disregard all these questions, but they'll end up without a backbone to their faction and barely anything interesting to write or ponder, apart from them being just mindless characterless beasts of ruin.

Next posts will answer these questions and go more into detail about some of my personal headcanon that informs my fic, such as diversity and function of Skaven society, their biology and its relationship with warpstone and exertion, their reproductive cycle, basic details of Blight City are the protagonists come from and what Great Horned Rat represents in essence. But, of course, that’s just my interpretation.

[bingoboingobongo]

task force 141 holiday headcanons

A/N: no bc like how fun would it be to spend christmas with the 141 like bffr rn. also feel free to send in requests for future posts ;)

soap

tbh i think soap would be the most hyped for it, he's the kind of mf who starts celebrating in november (besides it's not like he celebrates thanksgiving). like as soon as the weather starts getting chilly he's humming "last christmas" by wham! under his breath on missions and planning out christmas gifts for each team member. soap also wears santa hats whenever he can, and he tries to get the others to wear them too. he can usually get you, price, and gaz on board, but he's never gotten ghost. it's soap's life mission to see ghost in a santa hat though.

gaz

gaz seems like he'd be excited for christmas too, but not as excited as soap (at least he doesn't show it as much as soap). gaz is the kind of guy who looks forward to relaxing and doing nothing during christmas whereas soap looks forward to all the traditional christmas activities, setting up the tree, making a gingerbread house, buying presents, the whole shebang. on another note, i am officially announcing that gaz is stupid good at making gingerbread houses. like it's not fair how good he is. apparently it's because he's been making them with his family ever since he was a kid, but still. it's like scary impressive how good he is. like he will casually suggest building a multistory house with functional utilities, a garage with a working door, and a gingerbread remote controlled car.

price

price is a big softie for christmas. lord knows he can't go a single year without telling the task force about the christmas truce of world war one. and im serious about that, like sometime before christmas he will call everyone to the dining hall before dinner is served and make them listen to his speech about how the christmas truce should be a reminder that humanity still exists and it's important to treat fellow soldiers with respect and dignity. obviously super important stuff but it's sorta like the bullying presentations they show you in elementary school, in that you've heard it so many times you're just over it. besides that tho, price is pretty gung ho about christmas. again he doesn't get as festive as soap does (bc nobody can get as festive as soap does) but he's definitely in a happier mood because he let's the team get away with a lot more shenanigans during the winter season. on another note, he's also a big fan of eggnog, but he says the eggnog that soap makes is too sweet, even when soap doesn't even add any sugar. he always drinks it though, and sometimes he tells soap to make a batch just for him.

alejandro

alejandro and rudy both flew up from mexico to spend christmas with y'all and they are living their best life fr. idk why but im in love with the idea of alejandro drinking soaps eggnog but also sneaking a bit of bourbon into it. according to him it's because soap's eggnog tastes like shit and he needs to make it better, but you're pretty sure he's just ready to get drunk. he's definitely more chill about christmas than rudy, but he always gets involved in the festivities. one time he tried to decorate a gingerbread cookie, but when it turned out bad he made a show out of giving up and went to go talk and drink with price. he also is a big fan of mistletoe, not necessarily the kissing part just the concept. plus he thinks the plant is pretty.

rudy

rudy won't stop talking about the weather and how excited he is to have a white christmas (he's never experienced one before) and he's also completely in awe of the gingerbread houses gaz makes. rudy's actually a really good artist though, and so he makes the cutest little gingerbread cookies you've ever seen. he's also a firm believer in eating the head first to take the gingerbread man out of it's misery. rudy also really really likes buying stocking stuffers, and he'll drag you along to go shopping with him for like an entire day just shopping for candies and snacks and stupid knick knacks. if there's a competition for holiday spirit, it's definitely a toss up between rudy and soap.

ghost

and now for y'all's favorite: ghost. ghost tells people that he's ambivalent about christmas but it's clear he enjoys it. he doesn't sing carols or decorate gingerbread cookies with the rest of the team, but he'll sit on the side and watch everyone else, a cup of soap's eggnog in his hands. one thing he does partake in is decorating the tree, but that's mostly because soap always asks him to decorate the top of the tree. he also worries a lot about gifts, not because he's scared he's gonna get bad ones, but he's scared he's gonna get good ones. ghost's very conscious of the persona he puts on, and he feels like it would be contradictory if he got a super heartfelt gift for the team even though he knows they would love it. in the end though, he still gets them it anyways but tries to counteract it by not wrapping it and just slapping on a bow and trying to act nonchalant about it. he always takes careful note of how they respond though.

[collecting-stories]

Oceans - Ubbe Ragnarsson

Summary: Ubbe stumbles upon a person in the woods.

A/N: This is really just me trying to get back into writing Vikings cause I've been in the mood to lately.

Vikings Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

Mud caked the rims of your boots, soles sinking into the grass as you stood at the edge of the wooded area, fingers gripping the hilt of the knife that was secured on your belt. Through the trees, seemingly ignorant of the violent rain that was obscuring a usually clear line of vision, stood a man in armor like you’d never seen before. He was tall, taller than men you were used to, and everything about him was entirely foreign. The snap of a branch under his foot had alerted you to his presence in the woods. You weren’t alone any longer. Like a little kid coming across a wolf on the forest path, you felt frozen in space. Usually quicker on the draw, and on the defense, you were stuck in limbo just waiting. Who would move first? You or this man who looked like he had just startled a deer and was trying to calm it with his immobility.  

There were stories, warning tales that floated from village to village the closer you got to the channel about men who came from strange lands and pillaged whatever they could. You were not as unfamiliar with the idea as some of the villagers who repeated the stories told to them. This place was foreign to you too, though perhaps not as foreign as you’d heard their land was. You’d never known anyone who’d gone there and back again or knew anyone who knew anyone who had. It was all speculation, each time growing darker, with sharper teeth and more villainous endeavors. They didn’t just kill, they slaughtered. They didn’t just steal, they burned whole villages to the ground. As if the devil this village feared had possessed them, sent them up from hell to do his bidding on the good, true christians that had stolen you from your home and sold you to the family you lived with for a price you could never hope to pay off.  

“There are more of you?” You spoke saxon, hoping he knew something of the language you’d been forced to adopt. It wasn’t yours and you realized that he knew that when he tilted his head. Eyebrow quirked and for a split second you forgot how tall and demonic and out of place he was because he looked as bewildered as the little boy you kept watch over when you tried to explain the phenomena of the universe.  

Finally he nodded. He didn’t seem afraid at all and you didn’t blame him. Who were you to inspire fear in anyone? You let go of the hilt of your knife, chancing a step toward him. The only thing he could be doing, by not yet killing you, was biding his time. If he assumed that you were faster than he was, that you knew the woods better than he did, then he could assume that you would reach the closest village sooner than he and his men would. And if you did, it could give them chance to run, though you could assume that running was in vain. This man looked the very part of death and it was an inevitable fact of his existence that wherever he went, so did it. Even if you ran, even if you warned whoever you had to warn, he and his people would find you and kill you and it would mean nothing.  

Though you life so far had meant nothing anyway. “I’m not going to run away,” you continued speaking. He had understood you before. “I’m not afraid of you.” That was a lie and the little half smile that he gave you told you that he knew it was a lie.  

“No?” He took a step closer to you, leaves crunching beneath his boots.  

You swallowed the nerves that bubbled up into your throat, keeping your gaze on him and your stance relaxed. You weren’t afraid. What was the worst he could do to you? Kill you and put you out of the abject misery that your life had equated to since you had been brought to this village? Leave you alive and take you back across the sea to wherever he was from so that you could live exactly as you lived here somewhere else? You had no alliance to the people in the village where you lived.  

The closer he got to you, the better you could see him and you were struck with the odd thought that he was incredibly attractive. There was something about the way he moved that vaguely reminded you of something you once knew in another life. You could see also, as the rain began to lessen, that there was a series of small markings tattooed into his skin, parallel to his eye. You hadn’t seen anything like that in a decade, maybe longer. Sometimes it felt like the place you were before this village was an imagination of yours, just a daydream that you invented. Other times, like this one, it felt like you had just been standing in the doorway of your little house watching your father sharpen a sword.  

“Perhaps you aren’t afraid,” he teased when you reached your hand out and touched the side of his face where the tattoo was.  

Just as quickly as he’d felt the roughness of your fingers against his cheek they were gone, your hand clutched to your stomach as if you’d been burned. “You’re going to kill them?” You asked, not daring to look away. He could devour you if you even blinked and you knew he would not hesitate to do so.  

“We are already on our way.” 

Ubbe had split from his brother at the sound of a brook, eager for water after the long journey to shore. When it’d begun to rain he had abandoned the expedition, heading back towards the encampment to rejoin his brother and his army. It was then that he’d seen you, standing in the middle of the forest and staring at him as though he were some apparition sent by the gods. He’d been on shores like these before, had seen other saxons. They were nothing inspiring, if not for the wealth of land and riches that were offered in the raids, they offered little that peaked his interest. But there was something in your eyes, even through the dense rain he knew you were different. And when you spoke, the accent that carried your words was nothing like the saxon ones he had grown accustomed to. You were no christian.  

You wondered what repayment of a debt entailed for his people? Would these supposed heathens be as brutal as your christians had? Surely not. “Would you take me back with you? Is it foolish...to beg for my life?”  

“Are you begging?” The way he asked was almost teasing. As if he was saying ‘weren’t you the one who said you weren’t afraid’. When you squared your shoulders, the hand that had caressed his face going back to your knife, he smiled. You were positively enticing.  

“No.” You replied, forcing yourself to keep yours eyes locked with his. They were blue like the ocean. Like the stream by the house that you vaguely remembered living in as a child.  

“What about your people?” Ubbe asked, looking passed you as he spoke. Unlike you, unsurprisingly, he wasn’t afraid to look away. What could you really do to him. You doubted your knife would do more than tickle him. “You’ll let them die?” He’d encountered plenty of saxons and while he had little respect for them, he didn’t know them to abandon each other.  

“They’re not my people.” You explained, “they are nothing to me.” It would be beyond your ability in saxon to tell him exactly what they were. To explain the pain and anguish that you’d suffered all these years though you suspected he knew by the way his eyes softened at your words. Still tall and intimidating and yet, his eyes made you doubt that he could be as terrible as the stories you’d heard. No one with eyes that soft could kill the way these men supposedly did. Or maybe he could, but you couldn’t believe that he would kill you that way.  

“What should you have me do?” He asked, though he had already made up his mind. Possibly when he first saw you. Bjorn had told him once of a person he’d taken back to camp with him as a sort of trophy and he’d heard stories of Athelstan from men who’d travelled with his father. Whether it was some hereditary thing in him, a need to possess something beautiful and different, or whether it was something about you and the way you stood so unafraid in the middle of the woods and refused to cave to him, he knew that he was already planning to take you home with him.  

“I could work...if you gave me passage. I could work to pay you back.” You offered.  

Ubbe frowned in thought, reaching his hand out and running muddy fingers against your hairline. The caress felt almost intimate and for the first time since you saw him in the clearing you let yourself lose focus, closing your eyes for a moment as you leaned against his touch. When he pulled away, you opened your eyes, tensing again as if you had never let yourself relax.

“What would you do?” He asked, blue eyes shining as they met yours again.  

“Anything.” You promised, “I have nowhere to return and I will not die.” 

“You refuse it?” 

“If you wanted to kill me, you would have.” You reasoned, knowing it was true. There had been plenty of moments from when he saw you to now that he could have killed you. He could have done anything he wanted to but you were both still standing here in the woods and it had started to rain again and you could smell the smoke in the air. “So then, if you’re going to let me live...take me away from here.”

[thedo0zyslider]

If I Think Of Home, Then I Won't Be Alone - 5k Words

In the midst of Double Life, Martyn and Ren find themselves lonely without each other

(My second fic for the @treebarktitleswap event!)

A03 Link

Martyn is currently really, really fucking miserable . Like, so stupidly miserable he thinks he should win an award for it. But that’s not really new, not for this death game at least. He's been miserable basically the whole duration of it so far, and he doesn't think that will be changing anytime soon. Maybe that's how he's doomed to be, miserable for the rest of his stupid little life here. That seems pretty par for the course anyways, all things considered.

Maybe, he thinks, as he stares at the ceiling of his Bleeding Heart Bastion, he's just being overdramatic. Maybe moping around in bed, because he didn’t really wanna get out of it that morning, and thinking about how miserable he is is a little overdramatic. Maybe that’s why he’s so miserable, because he sits there and wallows in his own misery. Or maybe this is justified, he wouldn’t know.

Maybe him being this upset isn't really justified, actually, now that Martyn does some more thinking. He'd probably brought this all on himself, made himself feel more like shit by just laying in bed for half the day and reflecting. And now he was being overdramatic to compensate, because what else was he supposed to do? Actually get up and solve his problems? Hah, fat chance. Martyn was a master of doing just the opposite of that, actually, and making everything ten times worse for himself in the process.

He thinks he's done this exact thing a lot over the past few weeks, laying in bed and thinking. Thinking about how lonely he is and how his soulmate didn't want him over something so bloody stupid. (It was one nether trip Cleo, one! ) Thinking about how everyone else, sans Pearl, had someone to go home to and how they would walk around all happy and in love. How every time he saw a happy couple it felt like the world was rubbing it in his face, the fact that Martyn couldn't be happy with someone. Not anymore, not here.

He was happy with someone, once upon a time, many months ago. The same someone he often found himself thinking about. He was happy back in the first game, back with Ren in their kingdom made of cobblestone walls. Martyn had been so happy with that man, he hadn't known what to do with all the emotion. So he'd press loving kisses into Ren’s hair, to his face and to his lips. He'd spend hours with him just doing nothing, or gathering materials or mining. He was so happy with his king that he'd die for him, he'd burn the world if he had too. Martyn would chase people through the desert, running unsteadily on the sand and dodging deadly arrows, all because Ren had said to.

If Ren told him to run, he'd have run until he was told to stop. If Ren told him to kill all their enemies single handedly, Martyn would've done it gladly. And when Ren had ordered his hand to cut off his head, he had, and the tears and breakdowns that followed had been a thousand percent worth it.

And reminiscing about all of that caused Martyn to feel a lot of things. One, was longing. Longing for Ren, for their stupid little enchanting room and the carrot field and the ugly as hell cobblestone walls. A longing to go back to a time that doesn't exist anymore, to a home that isn't real anymore. A home that's probably destroyed and can't be remade.

It also makes him feel a little less lonely, in some weird way. He supposes it's because he's burying himself fully in the memories, and imagining Ren beside him once more. Imagining the two of them cuddled up in bed together on a lazy morning, Ren’s gentle snores filling the room and Martyn playing with his sleeping boyfriends hair, entirely at peace.

The blonde groans, and turns over until he can bury his head into his pillow. He needs to stop thinking about things he can’t have, he needs to stop longing. It’s not helping his situation get better, though he’s not sure anything will. Nothing will actually happen, if Ren keeps dating BigB even though the damn server knows he’s cheating. And nothing will get better for Martyn either, not if he just buries his head in his pillow and cries like some whiny child. So he decides he should stop doing that, and maybe do something productive before the day’s over.

He looks up and outside the Bastion’s singular window (because the other side faces Cleo’s house and he doesn’t want to look at that,) and by some chance, spots Ren and BigB holding hands. The two of them are walking together, closer to the edge of the ravine then they should. And Ren is laughing. He's laughing and giggling and smiling at BigB like some idiot even after he'd been cheated on and lord Martyn just wishes he would look at him that way-

The blonde tears his gaze away from the window as quickly as he thinks the last bit, whipping his head around to stare at the red wall opposite it. Great, now he's even more miserable than he was before. Absolutely lovely. Just a joyous day for old Martyn Littlewood everybody, no need to worry. He was doing just peachy in fact!

It was a good thing he didn't have to see anyone today, and could just spend the rest of it locked in his Bastion. He can feel his emotions swirling inside him like a storm, unstable and unpredictable. Martyn’s very glad he doesn't have to see Scott today, or Cleo, or even wonderful, wonderful Ren (who he would normally be trying to talk to right now, considering how close to his house the dog is,) because just one snarky remark would probably lead him to lashing out-

And oh fuck, nevermind that train of thought, he'd just remembered something. They have a Broken Hearts club meeting that day. Goddammit. Of course they do. Fuck. And it’s almost afternoon, which means the meeting is less than an hour. He has to go and actually see Ren, and try not to let all his emotions peak through. Which is gonna be really hard if Pearl doesn’t show up, and he doesn’t have another presence there to keep him in check. (It's not Pearl that keeps him in check, for the record, it's the reminder that there's another person there, and the want to not publicly embarrass himself. Also because if he did, Pearl would go tattle to Cleo and Scott and he'd never hear the end of it for the rest of his dumb little life. Even when they went to a new game.)

So Martyn sighs, and after a few more minutes of laying there, finally gets up for the first time that day. He stretches, quickly finding his body restless from the hours of inactivity, and heads towards the Bastion's front door. He makes sure his sword, bow, and other tools are on him, before he descends down his water stream and into the ravine. They're at the point in the game, where it's not safe to just run around making friends anymore, and Martyn isn’t counting on being caught off guard if anyone tries anything. Plus, there is still a warden hanging around the river somewhere (Thank you very much, Timmy and Tango,) and he doesn't want to possibly face that thing with no defense.

As soon as he leaves his house and climbs his way out of the ravine, a familiar voice is calling his name. There’s also the sound of barking, a sound that seems to be getting nearer, and Martyn has a pretty good idea of who that could be. Miss Scarlet Witch herself is coming around the bend, as if his earlier thoughts of the woman had summoned her. Like a true demon lady would be.

“Martyn!” Pearl’s voice calls out to him, Tilly trailing loyally behind her owner as she always is. Her owner, who sounds a lot less crazy than she did a few days ago. Which is good, because Martyn feels like the woman is going to stab him half the time they interact, despite still not being a red name. “There you are!”

“Hi Pearl.” He says, turning his head to where her voice was. She'd just come from Scott’s house, it seemed, and he could only guess what horrors and torment had gone down between those two just minutes before. He takes a moment to mentally send his condolences, and starts asking questions before Pearl can even ask him how his day had been going, or even get another hello in.

“Please tell me you’re going to the Broken Hearts meeting today.” He says, and makes a point to sound just a little desperate. Not as desperate as he really feels, but enough to maybe tug on whatever remains of Pearl's heartstrings.

“To watch you be jealous about Ren? Count me out.” Pearl snorts lightly, crushing all his hopes for the meeting right then and there. He is pointedly ignoring the loud bark of agreement from Tilly. “I have more important things to do.” “You’re really not helping your image by dodging these things, you know that.” Martyn retorts, tone just as light as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“Maybe I like my crazy person image.” Pearl smiles, the particularly insane one she's gotten pretty good at doing recently, and the blonde resists the urge to roll his eyes. Tilly barks again, and Martyn decides to keep ignoring the dog, like he always tries to do. Because messing with her in any way was a free ticket to being hunted and bowed down for sport, and he liked keeping his head. (Also, he was a cat person. Sorry not sorry to all the good dogs out there.)

“Of course you would.” He snorts, fighting back a bit of amusement. The blonde is glad he can joke with her again, her mood often being far too sour to do that ever since the first few days. Though maybe she's happy because she just tormented Scott, or stole an item from him or something. Martyn doesn't know what she was doing in his house, and also doesn't want to find out either.

“At least my image is just bloodthirsty and not hopelessly crazy over someone.” Pearl shoots back, intending for it to be a friendly tease. And also thinking Martyn knows how people think of him. Unfortunately for her, that topic is at a bit of a sore spot, especially today, and Martyn never really knows or cares what people's opinions of him in the goddamn death games are.

“That is not my image on this server!” The blonde protests immediately, a frown stretching across his face. He doesn't really know if Pearl’s telling the truth, or just trying to get a rise out of him, but he doesn’t like it regardless. That's not what people think of him, it can't be! He's not that obvious, is he?

“Eh, I don’t know. Jimmy and Tango said it was, and so did Bdubs, and Joel.” Pearl sing-songs, a smile on her face. Tilly barks again, in what sounds to be the dog version of laughter, and is promptly ignored again by an increasingly grumpy Martyn.

Martyn scowls at all the names listed, and huffs in annoyance. “Like they have any room to talk.” All four of those people had been obsessed with their soulmates since they got them, so much so that Martyn was surprised Jimmy hadn't been married within the first day again. Though Bdubs had, claiming him and Impulse to be loving husbands as soon as they'd discovered their bond together. Joel was actually the worst of the people listed, somewhat surprisingly, with that dumb shirt he wore. The one with Etho’s face plastered on it….

“I don't know, you sounded really jealous right there.” Pearl keeps teasing him, leaning on her axe’s handle. Because of course she'd hand it out the whole time, since she never seemed to put it away. And of course the thing was now tall enough for her to comfortably lean on. That wasn't terrifying and intimidating at all.

“And you’re not jealous of anyone's relationship? Huh?” Martyn fires back, kinds regretting the words as he says them. He really doesn't want to make things worse with Pearl than they already are, he really doesn't, especially when they're finally having a normal conversation. But he's not in the mood to go back on his word, not today, not about this topic. He can say sorry later, when the game is over and everyone magically stops hating each other. Like he's been saying he can for every other person he upsets this time, considering how well it had worked before…

Pearl’s face drops into a frown immediately, and Tilly growls at him, matching her owner's mood perfectly; like their emotions are in sync or something. It is the one time the dog isn't ignored. “Low-blow man. Low blow.”

“Then don't comment on my love life like you know me.” He snaps back, already done with this conversion. It was a very short one, and one of the nicer ones the two of them had had this whole game, but still, he was over it. One of the many, many things he was simply over today, it seems.

“I thought I did know you, but whatever.” Pearl says, no longer leaning on her axe. She takes it in her hands again, and for a split second Martyn thinks he’s about to get hit with it. “Go to your stupid meeting with your stupid ex-boyfriend and work it out there.” Thankfully, he is not attacked. Pearl just takes her axe and turns away, her voice now a lot sour then it previously was. Tilly growls, but thankfully follows her owner in the opposite direction; back towards poor Scott’s house.

“Fine, I will!” Martyn says, starting to head the opposite way. He doesn’t care what Pearl, or Jimmy or Joel or what anyone on this dumb server says about his love life. He doesn’t care if he’s hopeless or obvious or trying too hard or whatever Pearl had been implying. All he cares about right now is going to the stupid Club meeting like he said he would, because he would feel bad about leaving Ren by himself, and getting it over with. All he cares about is seeing Ren again, and getting to pretend he doesn’t miss him terribly for a few hours, and their back in the good ole days of winter; sitting around a campfire for warmth and talking. That’s all he bloody cares about.

When Martyn arrives at their small meeting space —a small clearing with three logs and an unlit campfire—he is not the first one there. He was kinda hoping he would be, so he had more time to get his emotions in check, but Ren was always there first. This is probably where BigB had been walking him too, actually, before disappearing off to who knows where. Probably going to further cheat on his boyfriend further, but whatever.

Ren smiles at him, catching sight of the blonde in an instant, and a lot of things flutter in Martyn’s gut at once. The first one is warmth, the warmth he always feels when Ren smiles at him; or looks at him far too kindly. The second thing he feels is a sharp pang of jealousy. He hates that he can’t look at Ren without feeling nothing but warmth anymore, he really really does. But he can’t help it, can’t help but remember how he’s tied to BigB, and that Martyn can no longer hold his hand the way he used to before.

“Martyn! How are you!?” Ren’s voice shakes him out of his thoughts, the dog patting the oak log next to him. An invitation to sit together, right next to each other. Martyn blinks, shoving down the jealousy best he can, and returns the glowing smile he’s being given.

“I’m doing good!” He says, sitting down where Ren had indicated, and promptly ignoring their proximity. The lie slips out far too easily, and doesn’t even leave a bitter taste in his mouth that lying to Ren used too. He wonders when doing so stopped bothering him, and slightly wishes it still did.

“Good, good!” The brunette smiles, still cheery as he normally is. If he can tell that's a lie, (like he probably can, like he can tell everything about Martyn with just a glance, a testament to how close they used to be,) Ren doesn't show it, and carries on with Club business as normal. “Do you know if Pearl’s coming?”

“Nah, said she had more important things to do.” He says, leaving out the fact that they’d argued not even twenty minutes ago. Ren doesn’t need to know that, like he doesn’t know how just sitting next to him is making Martyn feel all flustered and clumsy. Ren doesn’t need to know a lot of things….

“Aw man.” The dog says, a frown momentarily crossing his face before it vanishes as quickly as it had appeared. “Guess we’re having a boys night!” He says, acting like it’s actually night time and that the summer’s sun isn’t currently beating down on both of them. Like it isn’t hot enough to warrant a quick dip in the river.

Despite everything, Martyn felt a giggle slip past his lips. “Yeah, a boys night.” He agreed, and felt a friendly arm slip around his shoulders. Ren laughs in return, a sound as familiar to Martyn as his own voice, and a flush starts to spread across his cheeks. He figures it will be very easy to pretend to feel less lonely, with that laugh filling the air and his ex boyfriend’s arm wrapped around his shoulders.

He just wishes they were really back in Dogwarts, and that he could turn around and kiss his love and feel no guilt about doing so.

By the next Broken Hearts Club meeting a week later, a lot has changed. Including how many lives a lot of people have, including Ren’s own, (which was a given really, people were bound to die at least once a week. Especially with the new soulmate gimmick.) and also Ren’s opinion of his boyfriend. That especially had soured a lot in the past few days, which was a little impressive, he had to admit. He went from loving him nearly wholly one day, and then to feeling soul crushing despair not even twenty four hours later.

That soul crushing despair had come with the news that he was being cheated on. That BigB was seeing another man. Something the dog had kinda begun to suspect. Okay, well, suspect was the wrong word there. He'd known there were rumors about his boyfriend cheating on him, it was the whole reason he'd made the Club in the first place. He'd just finally found out who he was being cheated on with, killing his denial about the whole ordeal entirely. it's a person he probably should've guessed sooner, with all the extra bread lying around the base. Bread he didn't remember him or his partner making. Bread that only one of their friends was associated with. Plus, there was also his partner's weird behavior every day. How he would sometimes sneak away for long periods of time without a word, and dodge the question whenever Ren asked about it. How he always seemed to be looking out for a certain person, more than a friend would, whenever they went by a certain base. How his eyes would light up upon seeing them…..

Ren shouldn't have been surprised as he was to find out, really, especially with all the signs. But hindsight was twenty-twenty, or whatever people said, and all he could do now was think. All he could do was lay awake at night, the bed empty beside him for the third time in a week (another sign he also should've taken note of, but brushed off as nothing, not wanting to assume the worst of his boyfriend,) and ponder over every detail of their relationship. Of all the time they spent together and if it meant anything to BigB. If it meant anything at all, or if he was just keeping up appearances. So neither of them ended up like Martyn or Pearl: desperately alone and insane because your soulmate rejected you and with no place in the world anymore.

Though all the wonder he does ends up upsetting him, but that can't really be helped. He feels his heart twist in pain every time BigB does something as simple as smile at him, so the good memories they had together were bound to bring him pain. And longing. Like, a ridiculous amount of longing for a soulmate. For something he had. Or, something he thought he had, but had never really owned at all.

And whenever the longing gets too bad, Ren decides to let his mind wander back to happier times. He shuffles through memories from months and months ago, the ones that always make him feel better on his low days, and remembers his old kingdom. He remembers all the wonderful friends he had there, despite the war and the carnage and the death. He remembers how he and BigB had been allied back then, and how he knew that wasn’t fake. How that had been a real and true friendship, even if their current relationship is a lie. It makes him feel slightly better about the present to know that, at least at one point, BigB had truly valued him. Enough to die for him and his silly war. (Part of Ren wonders where all that friendship and that value went, and supposes he might never know unless he asks the man himself.)

But most importantly, he remembers Martyn, and the relationship they'd used to have.

Back then, in the winter, Martyn had been his everything. His sunshine, his loyal hand, his wonderful boyfriend, the thing to melt a king’s frozen heart. The blonde had been his reason to fight, his reason to live and keep going even when things seemed truly bleak. Martyn had been his everything, his world, and his hand had agreed. They were each other's worlds, if only for the briefest of times, and nothing else mattered but them and making it to the end. (He can only mourn that he and BigB couldn't be each other's worlds. Though maybe the Gods had made a mistake with their pairing, and their worlds were off elsewhere, with other people. That seemed like a better explanation to Ren, especially since the other was that BigB just didn't care. Which, considering what he knew and remembered about the man, felt wrong to assume.)

He would lay awake at night and remember when Martyn would lay next to him, both men snuggled comfortably against each other. Perfectly at peace in their bed, in their room and in their kingdom they'd made from scratch and an enchanting business. He would remember the soft kisses they would press to each other's skin, how Martyn would lovingly scratch behind his ears and help braid his hair every morning when he asked. How before every battle they would hold hands and whisper sweet nothings and I love yous , in case the war finally claimed one of them.

(He also remembered the more gritty parts of their relationship. How it took Martyn a week after the beheading to be able to look at an axe again, let alone even hold one. How he'd cried and broken down in Ren’s arms that night, his king blood staining his skin and clothes, and how Ren could do nothing but wait out the tears and help him wash the red off. But he tried not to think about all that stuff very often, lest he start getting nightmares again….)

Eventually, the night before the Club meeting, Ren would find himself wondering if he ever loved BigB at all, and if he was just going along with it. If he too was just trying to mask the want of somebody else. He didn't like how the answer seemed to veer towards yes with every passing day.

The next day, just a little past noon, he finds himself back in their little log circle. Ren is there first there, again, and Martyn shows up a few minutes later. Their normal arrival times, ones they haven’t broken since Club’s foundation a few weeks ago. Pearl isn’t here either, again, and Ren assumes that this is the new normal. That Pearl will not be coming back, and that these are now just the Ren and Martyn weekly meetups. The brunette is not very opposed to losing their most insane members, he finds.

Martyn is in a somber mood today, as he always is on Club days. Ren does not feel much like talking today either, only having shown up here because it was a part of his weekly routine now. (And it got him away from BigB and their too quiet base, and he got to see Martyn again…) Neither of them say a greeting, or anything, for several long minutes. Martyn just sits down on the log, in his normal seat next to Ren, and it feels like an eternity passes.

“I know who BigB’s cheating with..” He says into the silence, nothing around them to fill it but the sound of crickets chirping and other summer time bugs moving about the grass. He says mainly to get some things off his chest, and because he longs to hear his friend's voice once again.

“Oh.” Martyn sounds surprised, taken off guard, but he doesn’t say anything else. Not for a very long few, and slightly awkward minutes. As if turning the words over in his head, and choosing them carefully before he opens his mouth. And when he does speak next, his voice sounds a little strained. Like he’s holding back something, or maybe a lot of things. Ren desperately wants to know every thought swirling through his head right now, for a reason he can’t quite name. “How’d you find that out?”

“I just…..heard it on the grapevine.” He mumbles, gaze momentarily becoming fixed on the unlit campfire in front of them. He doesn’t want to think about how he found, how he was told. He doesn’t like the memory. The thought of it has kept him up on far too many nights than he’d want to admit.

“Who is it?” Martyn asks. The dog is kinda surprised he doesn’t know already. He was under the impression that everyone had either figured it out, or been told, ages ago, and had never bothered to inform him. Maybe to spare him from the pain, just a little bit…. “Grian.” Is all Ren says, wringing his hands together. His gaze doesn’t leave the ground, and he doesn’t know if he can face whatever expression the blonde is now wearing.

“…..Yeah, that feels about right.” Martyn mumbled, likely remembering all the disputes between Ren and Grian in the past. It’s no surprise really, that the latter would be the one Ren’s boyfriend was cheating with. The universe just liked pitting them against each other, for some reason, and made them hate each other when they should be friends.

“I still love him, I think…..but it hurts.” Ren admits, looking up from the grass just a bit. He hasn’t really said that, out loud or in his head until now. He likes to think Martyn’s presence is what gives him the strength to do so. But maybe he’s just being crazy on that one…

“I’m sorry.” Is all Martyn can offer. He’s being oddly silent tonight, and the fact hadn’t escaped Ren’s notice. He has to wonder what the blonde thinks of everything, of this whole situation, of the soulmates thing, of him right now.

“Thinking of you makes me feel better, you know.” He admits that as well, while he’s at it. He wants to get everything off his chest today, since he already started doing so. Plus, he’s been holding himself back around Martyn for weeks now, wanting to stay loyal to his partner. Though he supposes loyalty means nothing to their relationship now, and never really had before….

The blonde whips his head around quicker than Ren thought was humanly possible. “What!?” He exclaims, so surprised by the admission. Ren can’t even blame him. If his ex basically said “my boyfriend cheated on me but thinking about you makes me feel better about everything, actually.” He would also be pretty caught off guard. That’s not a very normal thing to say to someone under like, any situation ever. But being in a death game with an ever-changing gimmick also isn’t normal, so he supposes it's an okay level of weirdness for this situation.

“I dunno, man, it just does.” He shrugs, now looking at the blonde in the eyes again. Eyes he always forgets the beauty of, and how easy it is to get lost in them. “Like I think about when we used to be together and feel less….lonely.”

Martyn is quiet for a few minutes, his hand tightly gripping the edge of the log he’s sat on. But eventually, his face morphs into something lighter, something relieved and almost happy. The happiest he’s been at one of these meetings, especially when a real and genuine grin forms on his lips. Instead of those fake ones he’d gotten far too used to giving, and acting like Ren wouldn’t notice when they weren;t real.

“Doing that….makes me feel less lonely as well.” He admits, and it sounds like a weight has lifted off his chest by doing so. For a split second, Ren wonders just how lonely he's been all the time, especially without a soulmate, and feels a pang of sympathy go straight to his heart. Without him knowing, his tail starts to wag, and a thumping sound occurs as it hits the log. Martyn is immediately snickering at that, like he always does when Ren’s tail does something particularly silly.

The blonde scoots closer to him with a hesitant little giggle, close enough until their knees can brush. Ren resists the urge to pull him into his lap and never let him go. “I can’t believe you’ve been missing me too….” His voice is so full of disbelief, but a happy kind. Like he thought he wasn’t missed by anyone, let alone Ren. The brunette wanted to kill the train of thought entirely, if it was even real at all, because he'd just re-remembered the joy of being around this guy and was cursing himself for ever forgetting it.

“How could I not?” Ren says, an earnest smile stretching across his face. He gives into the want to hold him, and goes to cup both of Martyn’s cheeks. He finds that he missed doing that a lot more than he had realized. “You’re you .”

“And you’re still a big sweetheart.” Martyn snorts, leaning into the touch more than he probably should be. “B doesn’t know what he’s missing out on.” There’s a light blush starting to spread across the blonde’s face, all the way to the tips of his ears. Ren’s tail wags again, and feels his face burn with a similar color at their newfound proximity.

“We could make this whole fiasco worse, if you’re up for it.” He suggests after a moment, a pretty bad idea popping into his head. Bad in the sense that they shouldn't do it, even if it would be fun. Even if it would fill the gaping hole of loneliness in both their chests. But, despite the knowledge that he shouldn't, Ren turns to face Martyn, waiting for what he has to say.

Martyn seems intrigued by what he has to say, raising a curious eyebrow at his friend. “And how would we do that?” He asks, legs kicking idly against their log seat and disturbing a few of the nearby bugs hiding in it.

“Try and make BigB a little jealous too.” Ren hums, not so subtly moving their faces closer. Not too close, of course, but…close enough for his friend to get a pretty good idea of what he wants. “If you’re pickin’ up what I’m putin’ down.”

A small grin stretches across Martyn’s face once he realizes, and he leans in as well, doing half the work for Ren. “I think I am.” He mumbles, nose bumping when Ren’s snout just a little but. His tail wags, and thumps against the log under them in joy.

“Good.” The brunette giggles a bit, only feeling a tad bit guilty as he shifts their bodies closer together. He knows he probably shouldn't be doing this, that what he's about to do makes him no better than Grian and BigB. The rest of him, however, is not thinking about that. Instead he's focusing on how bad he's been missing Martyn, and how much he wants this. Ren can say sorry to BigB later, when the whole cheating thing is behind both of them, even though he will go to bed guilty and upset tonight; but not really regretting it. He can apologize when this game is over and they have to quickly heal before being thrown into another one. He will apologize when BigB says sorry first, for being the one to cheat in the first place. Even if Ren doing so right back to him isn't the kindest thing in the world either.

Martyn leans in even further, capturing him in the kiss they've both been wanting for weeks now, and the world around them goes quiet again. The chirping crickets are left to fill it once more, and the night feels a lot less lonely than it had before. Not just for Ren or for Martyn, but for the both of them.

And, despite all the consequences this is going to have come tomorrow, neither of them would have it any other way.

[cloneloverrrrr]

𝗦𝗮𝘆 𝗚𝗼𝗼𝗱𝗻𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁- 𝗢𝗻𝗲 𝗦𝗵𝗼𝘁 ⠀

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𝗥𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗚: 𝗠𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁⠀

𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚 : 𝗖𝗼𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝗪𝗼𝗹𝗳𝗳𝗲 𝘅 𝗳!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿, 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝗶𝗻𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘁

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𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗖𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 981

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𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: 𝗦𝘂𝗶𝗰𝗶𝗱𝗮𝗹 𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀, 𝗱𝗲𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻, 𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗺𝗲, 𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗹 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗹𝘁𝗵 𝗶𝘀𝘀𝘂𝗲𝘀, 𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘀𝘁, 𝗳𝗹𝘂𝗳𝗳, 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗳𝗼𝗿𝘁, 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲

This is nothing like I usually post , but I’m struggling at the moment, so writing this was a little escape and has helped lift my mood slightly. This is for anyone who may be suffering with depression or mental health issues, your not alone.

I hope this brings a smile the face of whoever reads it🖤

Dividers by the best @idontgetanysleep

@lune-de-miel-au-paradis @hellhound5925 a big thank you to the both of you for being amazing friends & thank you for always being there 🖤

The burning suffocating ache in your heart is doing it’s upmost engulf your very existence . The pain eats away at you daily , more and more. You are imploding with despair, emptiness, desolation. Tears continue to fall down your face , staining your cheeks, dampening your lips with their salty flavour.

The end is nearly here and there is no more pills to swallow. The bitter taste you feel won’t lead you to tomorrow. You stares dart between the four walls around you and the dark glowing night sky, piece by piece your falling apart breaking. Heaven is waiting for you , you try your best to close your eyes and sleep tight.

Your so consumed entirely in your misery that you do not hear the door swooshing open and the heavy thump of his footsteps creeping up behind you. His beautiful amber and cybernetic eyes weightily gaze over you.

You faintly hear him speak , his deep , rich , gruff voice, a voice you love dearly brings you back down from the oppressive overwhelming pain you are asphyxiating in, if only for a brief moment.

Commander Wolffe places his large gloved hand across your trembling shoulder, holding down firmly. His voice so tender, yet so confused.

“Please don’t cry Mesh’la whatever it is it will be ok…”

A moment seems like a lifetime, finally you break the silence.

“Leave me alone” you hiss , the shame of him seeing you like this is too much for you to bear. You coil into yourself shaking as the sobs take over you once more, the feeling you know all too well, your no longer in control of yourself , your body , your emotions.

Wolffe settles down next to you on the cold floor, his knee touching yours, he watches you wordlessly taking in your sobs, your strained breathing.

He stays silent allowing all of your pain, your hurt , and your confusion to spill out.

“The stars above would be ever so lucky to gain you as another one of their angels, but it is not yet your time. I will bleed with you, if that’s what you want. But ….. this is not your end and you are not alone” his voice is so soft so quiet, it brings a small sense of calm to your situation.

“I am just so tired of it all, pretending to be happy. Forever thinking of the past and where I am now… what I am. I’m nothing, I’m broken, lost and I can’t shake this pain. It’s like there is no breath left inside of me” you whisper between sniffles and cries of anguish.

You keep your head hidden behinds your hands, still too humiliated to look at him, at his face that you cherish deeply. He moves closer to you gently pulling your hands away from your face , the heartbreak within you crumples when you see this battle worn clone look at you with such devotion holding a pain behind his own eyes.

“I am with you, I will be with you till the end and I would sacrifice this galaxy to hold you” he places his hand upon your chest, right on the place of your soul-stirring ache.

A tear suddenly peaks out of the corner of his glowing cybernetic eye before rolling down his cheek, instinctively you softly rub it away with your thumb.

“And I will say this once more your end is not near, you suffer yes and there is a great strength in that but I know you. You are stronger than this, stronger than you’ll ever know, so stay with me ok”

You look him in the eyes before pulling away and turning your back to him letting out a deep sigh.

“Why am I like this” you blurt out, it wasn’t a question for him for you or anyone just something that pours from your mouth, the sobs then come again violently, your whole body shakes, it feels like you can’t breathe your insides are screaming so loudly and the hole in your chest so unbearable. You almost collapse onto the floor but he holds you steady, pulling you into his warm and calming embrace holding you from behind as if you would fade away in front of him if he let go.

His tight hold soon softens the uncontrollable shakes of your torture. You close your eyes and lean back into his touch.

“Every last thing you have endured , you have fought it and you have beaten it , so please do not let your mind make you think any different. You are a fighter. Yes right now you may feel defeated but stars I promise you this pain will go, and one day you will look back and smile. Because fought , you won, and you will have achieved the inner happiness you long for ”

“Is this my last fight Wolffe?” You whimper

“Shhh no… I will forever hold you high and steal away all the pain that burdens you “ he counters softly holding you even tighter.

Wolffe places a feather light kiss to your temple and you feel like your able to continue for another day . You melt into the warmth flowing from his heart and radiating from skin and you feel more alive than ever.

“It’s not time to say goodnight yet cyare” he whispers into the back of your neck

Yes you know the pain is there here and now, and it may take months even years to depart from your soul but it will. You will survive like you have countless times before, because it’s not too late. Some days may be filled with sadness others filled with joy and smiles. It is all part of the journey towards healing.

Tag list: @hellhound5925 @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @hello-there-cyarika @maybethatfanfictionwriter @idontgetanysleep @ghostperson69 @justanothersadperson93 @rain-on-kamino @secretthegriffin @clonemedickix @dukeoftheblackstar