#it hurts. it still hurts. he DOES understand and it hurts.

[pretentious-blonde]

patched up

pairing: remus lupin x reader

summary: you help remus clean up after the full moon, reminding him once again how much he is loved, even if he thinks he is underserving

warnings: cuts, wounds, physical pain

a/n: all i write is hurt/comfort, and I'm not even mad

Remus sat on the old leather couch, a book in his hand that just couldn’t seem to grasp his attention. His free fingers traced small circles on your legs, which you had ungracefully thrown over his own as you lounged together in the living room. It was still early, just coming up for noon, you both were aware of the time. Even if the knowledge was unspoken. 

It was the full moon tonight, and despite the routine that you both had become familiar with, the boy couldn’t shake the nerves that coiled and twisted inside of him. 

You pretended not to notice what he was doing, glancing at the door every couple of minutes, waiting for the inevitable knock. James and Sirius would arrive any moment now, take him away, far away for yet another transformation. You were used to it by now. 

One thing that was always constant was that they had always been there for him, he appreciated that, but he hated leaving you. Especially when you gave him that soft, reassuring smile. Like everything would be fine. Like everything was fine.

“Rem,” you spoke softly, catching those big, brown eyes. His body was tense beneath you. 

“I’m alright, dove,” he gave you a weak smile, his fingers stopping their patterns to give your calf a light squeeze. “Just… you know.”

And you did know. Painfully so.

You nodded, understanding him completely. You were about to speak more, but were interrupted by the shrill ring of the doorbell. He stiffened even more at the sound. Hand stilling.

He sighed and closed the book, setting it aside. His gaze moved to the hand on your leg, not wanting to move it, wanting to keep the inevitable away for just a second longer. 

“It’s time,” he tells you quietly, like he does every month. His voice carried a sadness that he couldn’t hide completely. 

You place your hand on top of his own, your smile gentle but knowing. “I’ll be right here. Waiting for you to get back, okay?”

He stood up, pulling you with him, tall body towering over your own. He let his hand linger on the small of your back as you both headed to the front door. When he opened it, James and Sirius stood waiting outside, both smiling softly as they knew what was to come. The car behind them was still running, headlights cutting through the fog, casting a warm glow behind them. 

“Hey, mate,” James begins, smiling up at Remus. “You ready?”

Sirius leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest, his usual smirk missing from his face. “We’re ready when you are,” he said. His voice light in an attempt to ease your boyfriend’s nerves. “If you need a breather before we go, just say the word.”

Remus shook his head, he would rather just get this over and done with, no more stalling. You could feel the stress in his body increase as the hand on your waist held on a little tighter. 

Sirius, sensing the clear tension that settled heavily in the air, finally cracked a smile. “Don’t worry,” he waved his hand in front of him. “You’ll be back here with your girl before you know it.” He said, winking in your direction.

James also turns his attention to you, giving you a mock salute, “He is in safe hands, don’t you fret.”

“And we won’t allow him to get too grumpy when we return him,” Sirius added, side-eyeing the man standing next to you. Remus runs a hand over his face at their teasing.

You rolled your eyes and gave them a half-glare, happy that they were trying to keep things light. 

“I trust you both,” you say, tone teasing but nonetheless truthful. “Bring him back in one piece.”

James nods. “You have our word.”

Remus lets out a small, grateful smile before turning his attention back to you. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, allowing his hand to linger on your cheek for a moment. “I’ll be back tomorrow evening, darling. I promise,” he tells you, his gaze was intense. The act of leaving you now was painful. 

You leaned forward and hugged him tightly, his own long arms wrapping around you immediately. Secure and firm, he never wanted to let go. 

“I know you will,” you whispered into his chest, voice muffled by his worn jumper. “I’ll be here.”

Remus reluctantly loosened his embrace, kissing your forehead gently as he allowed himself to linger. 

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he murmured as he held your chin. Warm, tired eyes burrowing into your own. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you say quickly. He already knew that but—god—did it feel good to hear you say it back. He turned towards the car behind him, giving you a small wave before climbing in. 

Remus settled into the back seat as the other two slid into the front. He watched you as the car sped away, trying to push down the knots his stomach was tying. Sirius leaned back, tossing him a lighthearted grin from the passenger seat.

“Come on, Moony,” Sirius said, trying to help him relax. “It’s just another moon. We have done this hundreds of times now.”

"Another moon, another miserable night,” Remus grumbled, no longer having the will to fake a smile. You weren’t there anymore. 

James glanced back from the driver’s seat, a sympathetic look now in his eyes. “You’ll be alright, mate. Besides, from the way you’re moping, I’d say you’re just lovesick.”

“Definitely lovesick,” Sirius said, nodding his head in agreement.

Remus sighed, staring out the trees flying past the window. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I am. I’m damn lucky to be.”

James and Sirius exchanged a quick, knowing look, but didn’t tease him further. Remus just wanted to get through this—so he could go back to the one person who made everything else worth it.

Remus tried his hardest to be silent when he entered, opening the door gently to lessen the loud creak, his movements were slow and heavy as he stepped inside. It was late—much later than he intended to be—every inch of his tired body screamed in protest at the slightest movement. He winced as a sharp pain shot through his ribcage, having to reach out and steady himself against the wall, closing the door behind him. 

It had been bad this time. Really bad. James and Sirius had confirmed it, as if the fresh wounds couldn’t tell him that already. Their concerned faces still clear in his memory. 

The cuts on his body were deep—deeper than usual—one stretching across his chest, another on his arm, and a particularly nasty one that covered the side of his face. He had no recollection of how he acquired them, but they offered a fresh reminder of what he was. What he could become. 

He trudged up the stairs, each step more painful than the last, eventually making his way to the bathroom. He avoided the mirror, the last thing he wanted to see was his reflection—the scars, the bandages, the tired eyes that always seemed more hollow after the events of a full moon. He quickly redressed the lacerations on his torso, delaying touching the one on his cheek. 

He didn’t want to see what it looked like, but he had no choice. He needed to change it. He would just have to do it fast. 

Glancing up quickly, he caught a brief glimpse of himself. He felt the air knocked out of his lungs. Immediately he looked away, biting down another wave of familiar self-loathing that flowed through him. 

He hated this—hated how he looked, how his body was always going to be a physical reminder of how cursed he was. How much of a monster he was. 

With shaky hands, he removed a bandage from its plastic casing, placing it on his face as swiftly as he could. He pulled out a loose set of pyjamas and quickly slipped them on his aching body, just wanting to crawl into bed and pretend the previous night never happened.

He opened the door to your shared bedroom and paused in the doorway, taking in the sight of your sleeping figure. You were lying peacefully on your side of the bed, the soft rise and fall of your chest, the sound of your breathing drew him closer to you. 

He paused before he got in, just standing there for a moment, taking you in, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips for the first time in over twenty-four hours. He loved you. God, he loved you. The one thing in his life he would never get near his tribulation. The one thing that kept him going. 

Carefully, he slipped in next to you, taking extra care not to rouse you. The ache in his arms flared up as he pulled back the heavy duvet, but he forced himself to ignore it. After all, what was a little discomfort when he could be close to you?

He shuffled closer, wincing at the pain that shot through his muscles, but it appeared to melt into the background as he felt your warmth permeate his skin. 

For a moment, he was content just laying there next to you, watching you sleep. If you were awake you would probably call him a creep. He stifled a chuckle at the image that formed in his mind. 

His heart ached—not from the wounds or exhaustion he had sustained, but from the overwhelming combination of emotions he felt for you. He hoped you were sleeping well, lord knows he wouldn’t be. Not with the soreness that was coursing through his drained body, but his own well-being didn’t concern him right now. What mattered was that he was here, with you. 

With a soft sigh, he gently pulled your sleeping form closer to him, his arms trembling slightly with the strain. The throbbing in his chest flared up again, but he ignored it. Instead, he buried his face in your hair and let the steady sound of your breathing soothe him. He kissed the top of your head, whispering into the silent room. 

“I’m home, love,” he murmured, voice almost inaudible as sleep began to pull him under. “Promised I would be.”

The first thing you felt when you stirred was a familiar warmth, strong arms wrapped around you, and for a brief moment, your heart swelled with relief. He was back. He always came back to you. But every time he managed to crawl back home you couldn’t help but worry if it would be worse than the last time. You shifted slightly, turning in his embrace in order to get a better look at him—that’s when you noticed. 

The fresh bandages, hastily applied, peeked out from his long sleeve, another covering the side of his face. You ached for him at the sight of them. You pulled your arms from beneath the duvet, reaching out to touch the dressing. Your fingers hovered just above it, pausing mid-air as you stopped yourself. The last thing you wanted to do was hurt him more. You didn’t know what lay beneath them. 

You wriggled out of his hold, taking additional time and care so as to not wake the man sleeping soundly next to you. He needed the rest. You were certain he would be in pain as soon as he rose, and as much as the idea of staying in his arms sounded heavenly, you decided to make yourself useful. 

Padding quietly to the kitchen, odd socks on your feet, you grab two cups from the cupboard above your head. You had to go on your tiptoes to reach them. Usually, Remus would insist on getting them for you—he had once seen you clamber up onto the counter and it nearly gave him a heart attack—but he was preoccupied today. 

The kettle bubbled softly as you pulled out the jar of tea, along with the packet of biscuits—chocolate, of course, his preferred choice. You prepared it in the way he taught you, letting it brew for a good couple of minutes before removing the teabag, pouring in a healthy glug of milk. You returned to the bedroom, steaming mugs in hand and the packet of biscuits under your arm. 

The brunette began to stir at the soft crackle of plastic as you placed the treats on the bedside table, holding your own mug close to your chest as you sat on the floor beside the bed. You watched his eyes as they fluttered open. 

“Hey,” you whispered, tilting your head to the side to look at him horizontally. “How are you feeling?”

He winced as he shifted over, his body still unbearably sore. His tired eyes met yours, and despite everything, he managed to give you a faint smile. It was hard not to when you looked at him like that. 

“I’ve been better,” he replied, his voice husky with sleep. 

You shook your head at his attempts to downplay his clear discomfort, trying to mask the worry in your eyes that was surely present. 

“I made you tea,” you gesture to the cup next to you, pale wisps dancing around the top of it. He liked it hot, straight from the kettle. It amazed you how he could handle drinking it so fast. “And your favourite.”

“I’m a lucky man,” he said as he sat up, voice slightly strained as he finished his sentence. He reached out and dipped the biscuit in his mug, making a sound of relief as he popped it into his mouth, allowing the rich flavour to melt over his tongue. 

He took a sip of his tea, sleeve rolling up slightly as he leant over, bandage visible. You didn’t want to mention how poorly they had been applied, you didn’t want to remind him. But it had to be done, for his sake. 

“Rem,” you began gently, not wanting to upset him. “You need to change those.”

Immediately, he stiffened, his body pausing mid-sip. He loathed this part—being looked after and the vulnerability that came with it. 

“Do I?” He muttered, voice lacking the spark it had when he woke up, clearly embarrassed at your statement. 

You nodded solemnly, cringing at the discomfort in his eyes. “It might get infected,” you tell him. “You’re tired. Let me help you, please?”

He hesitated for a moment, an internal battle occurring in his head, before giving you one of his kind smiles. “Alright,” he responded, trying to keep the sadness from his voice. “Can I finish my tea first?”

You giggled, worry easing just a little. “Of course,” you say, nodding your head. “We’ll do it after.”

He placed his soon-empty cup on the side next to him, sighing heavily as he nodded to you. “Alright, love,” he said reluctantly. “I’m ready.”

You stand up slowly, reaching out to take his hesitant hand, leading him towards the bathroom. He traced your knuckles with his thumb as you both continued down the hallway. When you opened the door, he immediately hopped up on the counter silently. Ignoring the mirror and instead choosing to look down at his lap.

The first aid kit was under the sink, a pack that you always kept fully stocked. You quickly grabbed it before returning to your place in front of him, standing in between his spread legs. Your heart felt heavy at how exhausted he looked. How broken. But you refused to let him see that. He didn’t need to worry about you being worried about him. He had enough to deal with as it is. 

“Can I take your jumper off?” You ask him softly, afraid of raising your voice. You needed to take care of him, and from the looks of it, he wanted to be as far away from this situation as possible. 

His eyes left his lap and locked with yours. For a second, he looked as though he might say something, but instead, he just nodded. Words seemingly too hard to form right now. 

You tried to keep your hands steady as you reached out, gently pulling the fabric over his head, keeping the material as far away from his body as you removed it. You folded up the material and placed it to the side, allowing him to get more comfortable with his bare skin showing before you gave him your attention again. But nothing could have prepared you for what you saw. 

Bandages—there were so many of them, scattered haphazardly across his torso and arms. Each one was a significant reminder of what he had been through the previous night. You swallowed hard, putting on a brave face as you knew he was watching your every movement. 

“You ready?” You asked, needing verbal confirmation as you knew this was going to hurt. Not just him, but yourself as well. 

His lips twitched up into a half-smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” he quipped, trying to take the edge off, but the pain was clear in his low voice. 

You peeled off the dressings, not earning a large reaction from the boy sitting in front of you. Most of them had become unstuck as he slept, making your job easier. You reached for the cloth and antiseptic, deciding to start with the easier gashes first. Your touch was diligent and gentle as you cleaned him, dabbing carefully at the blood and dirt that clung to his skin. 

He must have been shattered last night to skip this. That fact made you even more determined to fix this. To fix him. You couldn’t offer much, but you would do whatever you thought would help. Every few minutes, you’d glance up, wordlessly checking on him. Waiting for the swift bob of his head as he urges you to keep going. 

“Am I hurting you?” You knew the answer already, but you needed to know how much. 

“Only a little,” he lied, a faint smirk appearing on his face. “I’ve been though worse, dove.”

You roll your eyes at his ill attempt of humour, but at least he was able to crack a joke. That was a good sign. 

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” you murmered as you pressed down on a particularly nasty cut, earning a small hiss from him. You hurried up when you heard the noise, not wanting to be the one behind his torture. 

Finally, you turned your attention to the injury on his face, the angry red line that ran from his collarbone all the way up to his cheek. The sight of it yanked at your heartstrings and you knew you failed to mask your reaction, his body stiffened. Eyes darting away from yours as he attempted to look away. You caught his chin before he could withdraw into himself, forcing him to look at you. 

Big, doe eyes filled with guilt, shame even, and it devastated you. He cleared his throat with a sharp cough, his voice gravely. “You shouldn’t have to do this,” he muttered, gaze dropping again despite the grip on his chin. “You shouldn’t—have to take care of me like this.”

You removed your hold on him, allowing both of your hands to continue working, dabbing gently as his mouth curled at the stinging sensation. “Remus,” you whispered, your voice filled with compassion. “I want to take care of you. I love taking care of you.”

He shook his head slightly, the conversation paining him more than your actions. “You’re too good to me,” he tells you, his voice monotone as if he was just speaking a fact. “Look at me, darling. I’m—I’m a mess.”

You smiled at the angelic boy in front of you and placed a kiss on his cheekbone, just above the cut. He really couldn’t see what you saw. How his friends saw in him. How he treated you all. He was the most selfless person you had ever met, going above and beyond for each and every person he cared for. 

It wasn’t a skill that could be taught. It was innate. It was Remus. Always had been. 

“You’re not a mess,” you say firmly. “You are mine. I love you—every scar, every mark, every part of you.”

You saw his throat bod as he swallowed, his eyes slightly glass as he stared at you. He always struggled to allow people to give him affection, not believing he deserved it. He didn’t know where to put all the love you gave him. It always felt unworthy of it. 

But in that moment, just the two of you in the cramped bathroom, illuminated by the small ceiling bulb. It felt right. Your fingers brushing over his scars, some fresher, some older, he thought maybe…just maybe. It would all be alright. 

You finish the last dressing, smoothing it over his skin with the same tenderness you treated all the others. “All done,” you tell him, feeling proud of your handiwork. 

Remus lets out a relieved chuckle at your pride. “I’d say you’ve missed your calling, love. Should’ve been a nurse.”

“Oh yeah?” You laugh, feeling the tension leave the room. “Maybe I’ll change careers.”

“I take it back,” he says quickly, eyes softening with affection. “I want you all to myself. I’m selfish.”

“Well, you’re in luck. I have the whole of today off,” you say, throwing the used bandages and their wrappers into the bin by the door. “We can do whatever you want.”

He raised an eyebrow, your words tempting him. “Anything?”

“Yep, anything at all,” you nod at him. “Within your...physical capabilities,” you quickly add. There is no way that would be happening in his condition. 

“Well you’re no fun,” Remus frowns playfully, mischief still swimming in his eyes. “But I’m sure I can come up with something riveting for the both of us.”

You put your hands on your hips, assuming a determined stance. “I’m ready for whatever you’ve got in mind.”

He hums, pleased with your statement, lowering himself down from the counter and pulling his jumper back on. Grimacing as it brushes his skin. He motions for you to follow him into the living room, watching as he winces as he sits down on the couch, his face briefly tightening in pain. But then, true to form, he opens his wide arms and looks at you expectantly. “Come on then.”

You go to take a step forward but hesitate. You would love nothing more than to drape yourself over him, but the sight of his bandages stops you. “I don’t want to hurt you…”

A look of warmth crossed his face, shaking his head with a tender smile. “It’ll hurt more if you don’t let me hold you, darling. Come on.”

You can’t help but melt at his kind words, you gently ease yourself onto the couch, mindful of his injuries and not putting your full weight on him. His arms encase you instantly, pulling you impossibly closer despite the clear discomfort it caused him. 

“You’re stubborn, you know that?” You scold him, your cheek resting on his chest, mindful of the dressing on the opposite side. 

“Stubborn? No.” He quips, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Hopelessly in love? Maybe.”

You giggle, feeling his chest rise and fall beneath you in a steady rhythm. “A bit of both, I think.”

It’s his turn now to chuckle, his tired bones relaxing further into the soft cushions. “You might be right.”

You both just lie there in a comfortable silence, the sound of the world beginning to wake up outside only added to the ambience. He was at peace with you In his embrace, glancing down at you as you gazed at him softly. Fingers tracing gentle circles on an unharmed piece of his chest. 

“So…” you begin, continuing your motions. “Any grand idea for today?”

He shakes his head, stopping to meet your eyes, lips curling into a lazy smile. “Honestly? Just this. Just you.” His voice is playful but his words have never been more true. “Don’t need anything else.”

“Smooth,” you say sarcastically, suppressing a smirk of your own. 

“I’m serious, love,” he chuckles. “I can’t think of a better way to spend today.”

Your heart soared at his words, you carefully shifted to cup his face. “I don’t plan on going anywhere.”

He pushes himself further into your palm, eyes closing for the briefest of moments, his hand coming up to cover your own. “Have I mentioned that you’re too good for me?” He tries to make it sound like a joke, but the familiar self-doubt can still be heard in his voice. 

“Unfortunately, far too much,” you playfully glare. “You stubborn man.”

He reopens his eyes, now filled with an overwhelming amount of affection. It almost takes your breath away. 

“Then I’m sure you’ve heard me say how lucky I am as well,” he teases, his expression never faltering. 

“I’m the lucky one,” you grin cheekily, brushing back a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “My boyfriend makes an excellent cup of tea.”

“Is that all I’m here for?” He asks in mock offence, pulling you flush against him, despite the twinge of pain it caused. “Keeping me around for my tea-making skills?”

“Exactly,” you nestle your head against him. 

At that moment, everything felt right to him. Just the two of you, safe, together. Nothing else mattered to him apart from the girl in his arms. He knows the pain will linger—the scars, the transformations, all of it. But with you—his anchor—it feels just about bearable. And for the first time in a long time. He allows himself to feel hope. The hope of your future together. 

[pretty-little-mind33]

James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: James is the best boyfriend while you're sick.

Genre: Fluffy <3

Warnings: having a cold, germs, mentions of being contagious? really none lmao i'm just over cautious

~ for my lovely 🍓anon! enjoy! ~

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

You're convinced you're dying and no matter how much your boyfriend promises you you're not, you still feel miserable.

"No, no," you shake your head, your nose running obnoxiously as you blow into another tissue—you could start a whole collection by now. "you don't u-understand. My body is crumbling as we speak," you tell him as you're curled up in your bed, under a bunch of blankets and wearing James's warmest and favorite sweatshirt.

James sits by you, one hand pressed against your forehead and he frowns, suppressing a small smile. "Is that so? Guess I'll have to glue you back together again then," he hums softly. 

Your eyes narrow and then you cough loudly, your throat hoarse, "You aren't funny."

James feigns hurt. "Ouch," he strokes your hairline with his thumb, looking at you fondly, and then gives in as his eyes soften. "I'm sorry. I can feel you burning up, I know you must feel very ill, hm?" 

You nod, sitting up against the pillows as you cough again. The sound sounds horrible. James leans closer, his expression morphing into concern. Your eyes widen as guilt dawns on you and you panic, pulling away from him. 

"Jamie, no, I'll contaminate you!" you practically shriek.

James raises an eyebrow in amusement. "Contaminate me? Darling, you aren't diseased." 

You sniffle and whisper, "You don't know that." 

James can't help himself. He laughs, and the sound is a beautiful melody as he shakes his head. Still, he listens and pulls away from you. He sits back and thinks for a moment. "I'm gonna run to the store and grab you some things okay, I don't think this cold will disappear on its own, lovely."

You sniffle again, feeling sorry for yourself as you prepare to blow into another tissue. "If you leave me now, I'll surely perish," you state quite dramatically as James stands. He sends you a look as if to say be serious, his dark curls falling before his eyes.

You sniff, sending him a look in return as if to say, I am serious and James just leans over to kiss your forehead and then press another sloppy kiss on your cheek. 

"James!" You exclaim as he kisses you, alarmed.

"If I'm sick, I'm sick," he states seriously, gently cradling your chin as he strokes your skin carefully. "A silly little cold isn't gonna dictate when I can or can't kiss my darling girlfriend."

Your chest loosens at this and you feel a sense of warmth and relief at his words. You want to protest and tell him he's putting himself in harm's way for no reason. But, instead, you relish in the feeling of his lips on your skin and you sink into the pillows as you wait for his return. 

When he does return, you rouse from your small nap and let out a weak cough. Your eyes are bleary as you blink them furiously. "Oh, sweets, have I woken you?" he says in the sweetest voice you've ever heard and you almost melt.

You sit up and rub your eyes as James sits beside you again, resting the glass of water he'd brought in on the bedside table, and then drops the brown paper bag near your hip. He rummages inside and lays out an array of medicine, candies, and almost four boxes of tissues.

Having been feeling a little better from your sleep, you joke, "I'm not dying, am I?"

James chuckles and hands you some medicine for you. You swallow it reluctantly, pouting up at your boyfriend. He rests his hand on your forehead again, smiling.

"No, you aren't dying," he whispers, "far from it. Your temperature seems to have gone down, which is really good."

You nod, still tired as you reach for James's other hand and play with his fingers. "Can you make me some tea?" you ask bashfully. 

James frowns, smiling a little as his fingers gently pinch your cheek. "Of course, love. Don't be embarrassed. I'd move the moon for you."

You cough again, the sound much lighter already. "Kinds dramatic, no?" you whisper.

"No. Not really. It's all true," James pauses, his voice turning serious, "for you, I'd do absolutely anything." He kisses your forehead again, and this time you don't even want to protest. 

tags: @mischievousmoony, @sayitlikethecheese, @longlivedelusion, @fangirl-swagg, @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader, @fruticake

[altgojo]

Love always make itself known. (a katsuki Bakugo/reader…)

Summary : you knew that you will always be there for him, no matter what happens, because you know that you love him. But what you didn’t know is that he does too, and he would do anything for you… wc: 1,6 k Author note: you know how I started from a Drabble? Now I wrote a whole ass oneshot😭, I originally wanted to do this with a prohero!tomura/reader but I fear that I didn’t know how to construct such thing in one single part 🤕, butttt if you want it then maybe I could do it😇. Anyways, I hope you like it :3

Warnings: a little tiniest tiny bit of angst, but it’s a happy ending, fluff, they are both in love with each others to the point when it HURT like just confess😭, but they do eventually, f!reader, clingy katsuki because why tf not?

The sunshine was seeping through the glass panels of the window, gracing the room with a newfound warmth after a long cold night. As the sun rises up, the bright light slowly arose you from your sleep. 

As you get your own self accommodated to waking up, you notice that you were wrapped into a strong embrace, you try to slowly turn around, then as you look at their face, you remember all the things that occurred the day before.

      He saved you.

He saved you. You thought you were doomed for, your back colliding with the brick wall behind you, grunting in pain as you try to move, but to no avail. Your eyes were getting blurry and your mind was foggy, the only thing you can see is his face.

      You wished that you confessed.

      You wished that you had the guts to. 

You were ashamed, you wanted to be strong alongside him, you wanted to be with him. But you couldn’t, because you were a coward, and we all know cowards get nothing. 

      He sees you.

 And all that flashes into his mind as he sees you there, all sprawled with your back to that wall, is pure unfiltered rage. He wanted to be strong enough for you, he always trained so hard to do so, but there he is, he lets you get severely injured. Like the weakling he is. But he doesn’t have time to think about such things, he has to save you, as fast as possible.

      So he does. 

As flashes of your memories with him race in your mind, you feel large arms encapsulating you in his embrace, holding so tightly, but you don’t feel anything, so you just bask in his warmth as he shouts at you to talk to him. He finishes the villain off with you in his arms, you feel his rage and his anger as they escape his body, with an intensity that can rival the biggest waves crashing onto the shore . Then you smile, you smile because you are glad that you set your sights on him from the beginning, because to you, even if he doesn’t reciprocate your feelings, you still won’t stop loving him. 

    He is everything to you.

    But you are also everything to him,

    You just don’t know it.

That’s why, once you opened your eyes, he instantly appeared in your field of vision, he held your hand right away as he spoke.

“If you had died, I would have killed you”

You held his hand tighter. You realised that you missed him, even when he was right there, with you, in the hospital room, you missed him and you are glad you are here with him. You don’t realise that you were crying until you felt his hand wiping your tears away. His hand feels slightly different than when you were both teenagers, soon to be pros. But, even so, they still held the care and the warmth that they always did. 

 “Why the hell are you crying? I’m right here.”

‘I am right here, I am not going anywhere.’ That’s what he wanted to say, but he knows that you will understand him anyway, you always did, that’s why he was always at ease with you. You didn’t just dismiss him as an “angry aggressive person with no other feelings” like all people did, you saw right through him. You understood him, and that scared him at first. He tried to push you away, but you remained still, even when you both fought, he always found his way back to you. Because he realises that his future lays with you, with nobody else but you.

You look at him as he is deep in thought. With a relaxed smile on your face, you softly spoke, finally meeting his eyes.

“You can’t kill me if I already died, katsuki.”

As you finished, you realised that you just broke his train of thoughts, he looked slightly shocked for a second before he mutters :

“I don’t care, I will if you did.”

You muse back with a soft laugh :

“Then I won’t, never dreamt of doing so.”

You both stare back at each other for a while, silently looking at every detail on each other’s face, both trying to reserve this as one of the plenty of memories that you both shared. 

  You got discharged from the hospital two days after. Fortunately, you only had one severe injury that was nearly healed thanks to recovery girl (she came just after the villain attack because katsuki urged her to come. You made sure to thank her profusely for healing you.)

As you were about to leave the hospital, you found katsuki right outside waiting for you. As he sets his sights on you, he rushes to your side, and helps you get onto the car, his car.

You both sat in silence, listening to the low sounds emitting from his radio that acts as some sort of white sound in the car. That’s until katsuki turns it completely off and starts talking:

“I already talked to your agency and told them about your condition and the physical state that you are in, you need a lot of rest so I better not see you there until you fully heal, understood?”

Just based on his keen, stoic tone, you knew you couldn’t argue with him. So, you just sank further onto the cushioned leather seat of his car, opting to look out the window instead. Katsuki kept stealing glances at you from time to time, checking if you were okay. After some time, you reached your front doorstep. As you turned around, ready to unbuckle your seatbelt, you were outrun by katsuki as he unbuckled the belt for you, and then his. sensing your confused glance onto his back as he opened his car’s door, he quips:

“You need assistance, so you’ll better let me accompany you without being such an annoying brat.”

And that’s how you find yourself being tended by him all afternoon, never leaving your side, and if he does by chance, he keeps you near him or steal glances at you to make sure you are doing good. You know why katsuki is acting like this, you saw his face once you woke up on the hospital bed. He was scared, afraid of losing you. That’s why you don’t complain nor tease him about his clinginess, you just let him be, plus you always like it when he gets clingy, even when it comes with a tinge of guilt. Because he always gets clingy whenever something bad happens between you two. You brush that thought off as you remained on the couch while he is making dinner, reminding you of your time in UA common rooms, when you and all your friends lounge together in the living room while katsuki cooked , but now, it’s just you and him. 

When katsuki finishes up making dinner, he beckons you over to the table, almost acting like he owns the place and that the house is his , not yours. As you sit down, you both eat in silence until he starts to glance at you, that’s when you know he wants to initiate a conversation, so you look up and he begins:

"Just what the hell was going through your mind when you decided to face that villain?"

You look straight into his eyes, your posture radiating confidence even when you really don’t feel it at that moment, fake it till you make it I guess.

"What do you mean? I am a prohero katsuki, of course I would go against a villain. What do you want me to do? Watch you defeat them yourself?"

Katsuki scrunches his face as he starts to get mad. His expression is a clear indication of that.

"I know that you are a prohero, but that does not mean that you should just jump infront of villains with no plan whatsoever and take their blows."

You lowers your eyes and look anywhere but katsuki’s face, all the initial confidence in you blew away after his perfect response, damn he caught me!

Katsuki sees your look as a signal to continue, probably because he knows that he caught you right where he wanted to.

"I know that you want to beat as many villains as you could, and I have always appreciated the dedication that you have to beating villains asses, but you should be careful so they don’t beat your ass up instead. I won’t always be there with you on missions to save your ass so you better not do this anytime soon, I want you to use your brain and think before jumping to action, got it?"

Katsuki then stops to analyse your reaction, glancing right through you, your eyes widen for a second as you process his words, and then, you look up and smile at him. His heart melting at the sight of it, he never wants you to lose your smile, he never wants to lose you.

As you look up at him, you smile, your heart melts with his words, even if he talks in that way, you always see right through his words, he cares about you, and you do too. You trust him with your life. 

So you decided it’s time. 

It’s now or never. 

You look straight at his beautiful, ethereal crimson eyes and say.

"I love you, katsuki.”

That’s how you find yourself, as a new day begins, under your sheets, with the man whom you have always and will pour your love into, and he will do the same if not more. 

As you look at his sleeping face, he is slowly arising from his sleep, almost in command. 

    because whenever you look at him, 

    he would always be there, 

    at your service. 

And then his eyes meet yours and the first sentence he utters is:

"I love you most."

copyright © 2024 altgojo. do not copy, remake or edit any of my works, you can reblog it but do not reupload on any platform, thank u.

[hencheri]

18+. mdni.

pairing: mean toxic bf!haechan x fem!reader

warnings: noncon, toxic relationship, gaslighting.

wc: 1.2k

.

you're watching a movie in the living room, but you're distracted, focused on your thoughts instead of the flashing screen in front of you. it's 3 a.m. and you can hear haechan playing video games in your bedroom.

he hasn't talked to you for hours, hasn't said a word or even looked in your way. it's bothering you a lot. you have a constant knot in your stomach and your heart accelerates at the mere thought of haechan ignoring you.

you hate when he does this, it makes you feel bad. so fucking bad.

you get up from the couch, going to your bedroom. you push the door open, hesitantly walking in. you need to talk to him.

"hyuck?"

he stares at his computer's screen, pressing down on the keys of his keyboard, concentrated on his game. his has his headset on, maybe he hasn't heard you.

"johnny!" haechan calls into his microphone, "quick, come save me."

"hyuckie..." you stand beside him and you know he can see you from the corner of his eye. you bite down on your bottom lip, waiting for an answer that doesn't come.

he continues to play like you're not there. it upsets you so much, could he not be petty for once?

"we need to talk, please," you demand, still trying to get his attention. you know he hears you now since he's quiet.

a few seconds pass before he replies back, "we have nothing to say."

you sigh, exasperated. there are plenty of things you need to discuss about actually, and not just what happened a couple of hours ago. it makes you cringe thinking about the previous events, but you can't just brush it off, especially when haechan's still sour about it.

you were both in bed about to go sleep soon. he made a move, touching your hips up and down, pressing his crotch against your butt. you weren't in the mood, so you told him to stop. he didn't at first and you pushed him away, which really offended him.

he then turned on his pc before you could say anything and you went to the living to watch a movie, a poor attempt to forget about this ridiculous fight.

"but-" you begin, a little annoyed, "we do."

your voice is covered by johnny yelling something to haechan, once again ignored by your boyfriend. "here, here, here! i need to heal you," he yells back, fingers hurriedly pressing down on the keys, "shit, these guys are rough."

"hyuck-" you try, placing your hand on his arm, but he grabs your wrist before you can and shoves your hand away.

you frown, hurt by his action.

"what? we won!?" haechan exclaims, brows shooting up in surprise. you hear johnny talking back without deciphering his words. "ah, they missed the base," he laughs, "yeah, it was close."

he removes his headset and puts it on his desk. but he still decides to not acknowledge you, even when his game is done.

"please," you beg a bit desperately.

"what's the matter?" he sighs loudly, throwing his head back against the headrest of his chair.

"haechan! you've just ignored me the whole night! you can't always do that," you explain to him even though he'll probably only understand what he wants as usual.

he rolls his eyes, "yeah and it's always my fault, right?" he says.

"what- no, that's not-"

"it is," he affirms. he turns his head to you, "every time we so 'need to talk' it's about how i'm wrong, how i shouldn't do this or that, how i should just agree to everything you say and shut my mouth."

you're agape. is this really what he thinks you do? that you only want to complain about him?

"that's not true," you deny, "hyuck, i just want us to communicate, it's important."

he scoffs, "no, you're always the one talking. you don't actually want to hear what i have to say." he looks at you like he's hurt and you start wondering if he might be right. are you really that self-centred? "that's not really what i call communication, you know."

"do you ever ask yourself how i'm feeling? how constantly being rejected makes me feel?" he questions, his gaze not leaving you.

"i don't constantly reject you," you rectify. "sometimes i'm simply not in the mood to sleep with you..."

haechan winces upon hearing your words. "because you are for others?"

your eyes widen and your mouth falls open. that's not how you should have said it. "no, that's not what i meant-" but your boyfriend cuts you off, rising up from his gaming chair.

"yeah, no," he shakes his head, "you know what? i've had this feeling that you don't love me like you say you do." he goes around you and you follow him, wanting to reason with him, but he isn't done talking yet.

"we haven't fucked in days and the only thing you let me do is jerk off with your hand. how- how should i interpret that, huh?" haechan sounds genuinely hurt and upset, but that was never your intention to make him feel this way. how could he even doubt your love for him?

"hyuck, please, sit down," you ask, wrapping your hand around his arm to pull him back against you, but he slips away from you.

he turns around and faces you. "are you seeing someone else? is that why?" he suddenly bursts out and you're totally shocked.

"what? no way, how can you think that!?"

he approaches you and this time, you're the one stepping back until the back of your thighs hit the edge of the bed. you look up at haechan, heart beating faster and faster.

"you're not denying it," he points out, now only a few inches separating you from him. "you're cheating on me... how can you be so fucking heartless?"

you shake your head from side to side, gulping down. this isn't true. you've always stayed faithful to your boyfriend, but the knot in your throat prevents you from speaking up, eyes swelling up in tears.

he clasps his hand around your bicep, digging his fingers into your flesh, pulling you flushed to his chest.

"i can't believe it," he breathes out, "my girlfriend is a fucking whore."

you're still in shock when he crashes his mouth on you, smacking his lips to yours and pushing his tongue inside. your whines are muffled, weak hands pushing on his chest to get him off of you, but to no avail.

you fall on the bed and haechan crushes you with his weight, trapping you under him. you squirm around, not liking the way he doesn't listen to your protests and how he forces himself on you.

his lips descend to your neck, planting quick kisses as if he's in a hurry, going down to the valley of your breasts.

"hyuck, please, stop," you cry, but he doesn't listen.

his fingers hook into your shorts, pulling them down with your underwear, too. your breath is caught in your throat, only exhaling when you feel the familiar push of his cock inside of your unprepared pussy.

"you're mine," he moans, the squeeze of your cunt around him making him frown, "when will you finally understand it..."

[sweetestcaptainhughes]

“Don’t touch me. We’re fighting.”

Quinn pleaseeee 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

I'm gonna put a warning on this because I like it so I don't feel like rewriting it. Warning: shitty relationship with father.

Drabble Masterlist

"Don't touch me. We're fighting."

Quinn didn't seem to care that you were pissed. But pissed didn't even describe the soreness in your jaw from clenching it so tight or the fact that your body temperature was elevated or that all you wanted to do was scream. Glancing over as he stood on the other side of the kitchen island, his face was as it always was calm, his thoughts were probably collected while your brain was firing off things to add to the fire if needed, he looked like he was in control of his body while yours was being controlled by the rage inside you. Looking at Quinn only pissed you off more so you just looked away.

After a minute, you decided it was best to walk away and cool off before you said something you'd regret. Quinn on the other hand, wasn't done fighting he wanted you to understand his point of view and he didn't wanna wait till morning. As you made your way down the hall you could hear Quinn's footsteps behind you.

"Wait Y/N, Let me explain." He went to gently touch your arm in hopes that you would stop walking away from him.

He got his wish, you turned around talking through your teeth you grunted. "Don't touch me. We're fighting."

Quinn has never pulled away from you so quickly before. Even with how angry you were at him it still hurt you how fast he pulled away. Quinn was looking at the floor, for the first time showing emotion since your fight started. "I was just trying to help."

All you could do is sigh. "By telling my father off?" you question defeat clear in your voice. "Quinn I've been over this with you, my family isn't like your family. You can't just voice your opinions to my dad, especially if it's you disagreeing with him or his choices."

Quinn looked up at you finally, he frowned his eyebrows in annoyance but you knew it wasn't at you. "Well I am mad at him. He shouldn't be allowed to talk down to you and blame you for not getting along with your stepmom when all she does is talk down to you. I couldn't sit there and let her talk down to you at dinner. Okay. And I guess I'm sorry for how it came up, but I am not sorry for standing up for you."

"Quinn I know you were trying to stand up for me. But I don't need you or anyone to stand up for me, especially against my family. Okay?" you ask waiting for him to acknowledge you.

"No. I'm sorry because how can you let them tell you that you aren't as far in your career as you should be as if they helped at all with the cost of college. Or the fact that all they did all dinner was telling you everything you were doing wrong with your life?" His tone was accusing and you found yourself taking a step back, your body was exhausted and all you wanted to was get out of this ichy dress and go to bed.

"I don't wanna have this conversation tonight." you begged.

"I just don't understand why do you even keep him around Y/N!"

"Okay since you seem to not be able to understand why I let them talk that way to you let me explain it to you so we never have to talk about this again got it?" you ask waiting for Quinn to nod his head before you continue. "Look my dad might be a piece of shit, but guess what he's my piece of shit father not anyone else's. Everyone always ask me for years 'Y/N if I were you, I'd cut him off why don't you.' For a long time I didn't have an answer for them but as I got older I do and it's this. Because he might be a piece of shit but without him I wouldn't be standing here physically because he is physically half of me. And I know you have lovely parents Quinn and brothers. But not everyone does and I am terrifed that if I do cut him out all the way vs seeing him three times a year like I do now. That one day I will get a call and he will be dead and I will have regret for not at least having him in some capactiy in my life. So because of that fear of regret because I know many people who have it now since their parents passed. I keep him around and if you can't understand that fine, not everyone does."

Taking a step closer to Quinn you add, "but whether you agree or not, you don't get to judge me for the choices I've made when it comes to the relationship between my father and I. Because that is exactly what it is." Pointing to yourself. "It's MY relationship not yours and you also don't get to make it more shaky then it already is by yelling at him in the middle of the steakhouse."

Quinn and you aren't sure how long you stood in your apartment hallway, it could of been seconds it could of been minutes. At some point Quinn looked at you and said "agree to disagree." All you did was nod and you both said true to your word you never talked about your father and your relationship ever again.

[fallenneziah]

hello!!! Sorry to bother or bother you, but I was wondering if you could tell me Tmnt Bayverser's reaction to a reader doing parkour? like they are very good at it, but as no one is perfect sometimes they end up with some marks on their bodyfor example, the reader reaches out to greet Bumblebee and the Optimus eyes fixate on the purple bruise on the reader's skin

Optimus: You're running again, aren't you?

reader: yes!!! I broke my record!!

At first I was a tiny bit confused since you seemed to reference Ninja Turtles but then you brought up transformers... So I'm assuming you want Transformers. Thanks for the asks anon, I apologize for this being stuck in my drafts for so long. 😓

Transformers x Reader who does Parkour.

I'd like to think that they aren't that new to the concept. Thri seeking, tricks, jumping around on things and still doing it even after getting hurt.

I'm sure other than the very extreme gladiator pit and other training arenas that they had things like that on Cybertron.

Although you are different from them, so Optimus doesn't totally understand why you would do something that would cause you pain.

When he saw your bruises and callouses when meeting you he was curious.

He bent down, looking at you, scanning you. Then he introduced himself. "My name is Optimus Prime," you do your best to shake his hand, holding onto his finger. That's when he noticed a bruise on your bicep.

He hummed thoughtfully. "You're injured." You looked down and chuckle. "No, I'm not, I'm actually just a sporty person. The bruises are normal."

"Do you need medical examination?"

"Nah, I'll be alright." You smile at him, and Optimus nods.

Overtime of your friendship with the team they come to understand more of what you do. Bumblebee will drive with you to the outdoor climbing park so he can watch you from some feet away as you do your thing.

He used to be something of a parkour artist on Cybertron as well I would think. But they did become much more concerned for you.

You returned to base early, huffing and puffing, covered in sweat when you saw Optimus, his attention stolen by your state. "Y/n, I'd wondered if you'd disappeared. Are you alright??"

You nodded, bending down and settling your hands on your knees. "I'm good, big guy- phew- oh man that was fun."

Optimus raised an optic ridge and approached, kneeling down to you again. "You've been running again then?" You nod, leaning against his hand that he offers so you can relax. When you grab on he notices a few setting bruises.

"Seems you've been busy."

"I had to break my record." You pant, looking up at him with an electrifying smile.

Optimus firmly nods, hearing the sound of bumblebee coming over, noticing you. His radio going off with a "Hallelujah everybody!"

You chuckle breathlessly and smile. "Hey 'Bee! I broke my record!!"

Bumblebee revs his engine and bends down next to Optimus, who leans you back up and steps back for some space.

"Oh yeah 'Bee." You showed him your watch, which had recorded your time. "Look at that 😄"

Bumblebee whirred loudly, giving you a fist bump.

He noticed the bruises, whining softly, checking them. "Oh they aren't too bad 'Bee. I'm just a little banged up."

Your way of explaining bruises to the team had been it's essentially buffering, the dent stays for a bit until your body buffers it out.

'Bee nodded, gently patting your head.

Now, If Ratchet ever saw your injuries you know he's be ready to lecture you. Telling you how humans are inherently stupid for getting themselves hurt all the time. Unless you point out how they fight and get hurt all the time... Then he'll shut up and just look you over.

He doesn't dislike you, he cares for you and your fragile human body very much.

Overtime they get used to you coming back with minor injuries like bruises. Bumblebee even gets into how big can the bruise get?? And you entertain the idea while the others just... Watch in disbelief of you two.

And then one day you come back with a little more than a bruise. Bumblebee came to pick you up, whirring when he saw the wrist guard you were wearing.

"It's ok 'Bee, just a sprain."

'Bee whirred his engine. and on the way back to their little hideout you told him what a sprain was.

Yeah, don't even get me started on what happened when Optimus saw that. Sauntering into base without a fully functioning hand!? Off to Ratchet!

"Y/n, you need to be more careful." Optimus said while leading you to Ratchet.

"I know, but we've got medical tools to help me heal Optimus, it's not like I'm dying." You teased.

He shot you a look, a brief note of frustration, before resting his expression again. "I am still going to let Ratchet look at you."

You gulped. Aw man...

When Optimus brought you in, Ratchet reacted how you can expect. He crossed his arms and took a look at your hand. "You aren't being careful." He said firmly.

"I am-"

"No more running, even after you heal." He said firmly.

"Yeah, well you can't ban me." You also crossed your arms.

Optimus sighed softly, giving his old friend a look. They didn't understand, but hey, if you wanted to do it, they couldn't stop you. They just worried when you got hurt.

[merwgue]

Tamlin is one of the most misunderstood and controversial characters in the ACOTAR series, and while some of his actions—like locking Feyre up—were inherently wrong and abusive, they stem from deep-rooted trauma and manipulation, making his story much more complex than people give him credit for.

1. Trauma from Amarantha – 50 Years of Hell Tamlin spent 50 years under Amarantha’s rule, being groomed and manipulated. He was powerless to save his court and the other courts from suffering, and that burden fell squarely on his shoulders. For half a century, Tamlin lived under the constant pressure of being the one to break the curse, with everyone’s freedom hanging on him. He was traumatized, broken, and desperate, having endured endless torment. This trauma shaped his every decision when it came to Feyre, and while his actions—like locking her up—were wrong, they were driven by deep-seated fear and an overwhelming need to protect her, which he saw as his only chance at redemption.

Tamlin’s fear wasn’t just about control; it was about trying to keep Feyre safe after having lost control over everything else for decades. But, of course, that doesn’t excuse his abusive behavior. It was wrong, but it’s important to understand where that behavior came from—trauma, manipulation, and the belief that if he failed to protect her, he would fail once again.

2. Reactive Abuse in ACOWAR – Feyre Deliberately Provoking Tamlin In A Court of Wings and Ruin, Feyre plays a dangerous game of provoking Tamlin to make him react in ways that paint him as the villain. This is reactive abuse. She comes back to the Spring Court with the intention of tearing it down from the inside, manipulating Tamlin’s emotions and pushing him to his breaking point. She does things deliberately to make him angry and hurt him, knowing he will react out of frustration and heartbreak.

While Tamlin’s actions in earlier books were abusive, Feyre’s calculated manipulations in ACOWAR cannot be ignored. She deliberately enrages him, knowing exactly what buttons to push, and when he reacts, he’s painted as the bad guy. But let’s not forget: Tamlin was already mentally broken and reeling from losing Feyre, and she intentionally took advantage of that vulnerability.

3. Feyre Destroying His Court – Overkill Feyre’s decision to destroy Tamlin’s entire court is a massive overreaction. Yes, they broke up, and yes, Tamlin made mistakes, but wiping out his entire kingdom because of a failed relationship? It’s spiteful and malicious. Feyre didn’t just want to hurt him emotionally—she wanted to ruin his entire life, his legacy, and everything he had worked to protect. And for what? A breakup? The level of destruction she brings to the Spring Court is wildly disproportionate to Tamlin’s mistakes. She knowingly and willfully destroyed the home and people he loved, leaving him with nothing but ruin.

4. Tamlin Saving Rhysand’s Life in ACOWAR – And Still Getting Trashed Tamlin’s good deeds get completely overlooked in favor of villainizing him. In ACOWAR, he literally saved Rhysand’s life during the battle. Rhys was on the brink of death, and despite everything, Tamlin stepped in to rescue him. Tamlin put aside his grievances and his heartbreak to do the right thing, proving that despite his flaws, he still cared enough to save someone who had wronged him.

But instead of gratitude or any kind of recognition, Rhysand continues to trash Tamlin in ACOFAS and ACOSF. He makes snide comments, mocks him, and even invades Tamlin’s court just to taunt him. It’s infuriating when you consider that Rhys wouldn’t even be alive without Tamlin’s help. How can someone who owes his life to Tamlin continue to treat him like dirt? It’s an example of how skewed the narrative is in Rhysand’s favor.

5. Rhysand’s Hypocrisy – His Own Crimes Ignored Let’s not forget that Rhysand literally murdered Tamlin’s family. Yes, Rhysand’s family suffered a great loss, but they initiated the blood feud by attacking first. Tamlin’s family was killed in retaliation for Rhysand’s father and brothers attacking them, and yet, all the sympathy is directed at Rhysand’s loss. Tamlin’s pain and trauma from losing his entire family is brushed aside, while Rhysand’s grief is front and center, as if only his loss matters.

Rhysand is glorified, and his family’s death is framed as this great tragedy, but Tamlin’s loss? Barely a footnote. It’s a double standard, especially when you consider that Rhysand’s family brought the conflict on themselves. Tamlin’s trauma from losing his family is completely ignored in favor of building up Rhysand as the hero.

6. Rhysand Telling Tamlin to Kill Himself – Beyond Cruel Rhysand’s treatment of Tamlin post-ACOWAR is downright despicable. Tamlin is left broken, suffering from depression, having lost his court, Feyre, and his family. Instead of showing any empathy, Rhysand invades his court and tells him to kill himself. This is someone who is already at his lowest, and instead of being left in peace, Rhysand shows up just to make his suffering worse. It’s not just toxic—it’s cruel beyond measure. For someone who has supposedly suffered so much himself, Rhysand shows an astonishing lack of empathy for someone else in pain.

7. Tamlin as a Victim of Trauma – Deserving of Understanding In the end, Tamlin is a victim of years of trauma, manipulation, and immense pressure. His actions were wrong, but they were driven by fear and desperation, not malice. Tamlin suffered from Amarantha’s grooming, lost his entire family because of Rhysand’s blood feud, and had his court destroyed by Feyre’s revenge. He is not a one-dimensional villain; he’s a deeply flawed character who was broken by his circumstances.

While Tamlin’s mistakes should be acknowledged, it’s unfair to completely vilify him while Rhysand gets away with far worse. Tamlin’s trauma, pain, and losses are real, and they deserve to be treated with the same understanding and empathy that Rhysand’s story receives. At the very least, Tamlin deserves recognition for the good he has done—saving Rhysand, fighting for his court, and suffering through immense trauma without any support. Tamlin deserved better from both the narrative and the characters around him.

(This took me an hour to write I better see NO ONE discrediting me🤣)

[autumnmobile12]

My Hero Academia AU: What Happened on Friday

An Ambush Simulation comic.

Fair warning, this is not one of my usual lighthearted ones. If you’ve read the fic, you’ll know the scene, but if you haven’t, be warned there is brief domestic violence and some blood. Nothing more serious than what's already in My Hero's canon.

Read right-to-left.

Ah, yes. The inciting moment for The Summer Camp Ambush Simulation.

Addressing the reason why things escalated so quickly, since the answer is not really given in the accompanying fic either, we need to look at Endeavor’s point of view. He’s invested twenty-three years into his goal of trying to complete his perfect successor. He has almost succeeded with Shouto, except the events of Hosu City nearly jeopardized that beyond repair. Shouto is his last chance. He can’t have another kid, it’s unlikely he can train a grandchild to succeed him. (You can’t tell me he didn’t consider that.) Shouto being charged with vigilantism and having that black mark could have ruined everything he’s worked so hard for.

And now Touya, his past failure and current problem child who has been charged repeatedly with vigilantism, is stepping between him and Shouto and mouthing off. He’s interfering, just like his mother did.

Old 'habits' die hard.

...

I thought about cutting the comic short with the brothers heading to the bathroom, but I thought it was important to also include Touya's toxic behavior. Yeah, he has PTSD, abandonment trauma, and who knows what else, but acting like this isn't healthy either.

In Chapter 2, Touya fixates on the fact that Endeavor hit him. He barely pays attention to the fact Shouto was there.

In Chapter 3, Shouto is the one whose pov provides the whole picture. He was being scolded and then Touya stood up for him. Touya has never stood up for him, nor does he really understand why he did it. During the confrontation, Endeavor hits Touya. Endeavor has never done that before. Two of Shouto's 'normals' got overturned in the span of two minutes. He's confused, but he still tries to do the right thing by his hostile sibling.

And rather than accept his help, Touya lashes out at him again once the shock wears off. As he is in canon, he is still spiteful, self-destructive, and a bit self-pitying and returning home after the coma in this AU did little to change that because the core issue is Endeavor being a bad parent.

...

And if there's any confusion as to why Shouto sees Rei briefly after Touya is knocked to the floor, this is a bit of dialogue from the fic it's from:

"I spent my entire childhood listening to my mother crying because you hurt her over and over.  I refuse to live through that again with my brother."

...

Fun fact: I did not draw these pages in order.

Through the whole bathroom scene, all I could think was, "Shouto...baby...gloves."

...

Further comics for this AU, click here.

[chuuyascumsock]

Bury Beneath this Filth they Call Skin and Turn it into a Garden || MINORS DNI

Summary: I made a hurt/comfort fic for Chuuya, I might as well make a comfort fic for Dazai too cause he’s my soft spot.

Tags: Dazai Osamu/Reader, GN reader, Angst, Comfort, No One Is Safe, Mentions Of Self Sabotaging, Self-deprecating Thoughts, Mentions Of Dehumanization, Mentions Of Suicide Attempt, Dazai Highkey Has Bad Hygiene Because I Know He Canonically Reeks Of Liquid Ass (I Still Love Him But Honey—), Brief Description Of Self Harm Scars, He Takes Off His Bandages, Non-Sexual Nudity For A Bit.

Dazai doesn’t remember when you started to keep an extra pair of clothes in your bottom drawer just for him.

He doesn’t remember when you bought an extra toothbrush for him either, the item sitting in a small cup on your bathroom counter so intimately close to yours. He doesn’t remember when you started to stock your cabinets with canned crab or an occasional snack he had stolen from you before and said it tasted good. He doesn’t remember when you began preparing meals big enough for two. And he doesn’t remember when you started to look at him the way you do.

Those eyes that so fondly trace over every inch of his frame like he’s capable of being loved— like he’s not a silver-tongued beast of a man, his words filled with more teeth than his bite ever could. He doesn’t deserve it— he knows he doesn’t— so why does he find himself at your doorstep every time he fails his attempts in ending his miserable existence?

“You’re going to get sick if you keep this up,” You sigh out, stripping away Dazai’s soaked clothes until he’s shivering in his sopping wet bandages and boxers. “And you smell horrible every time…” Your nose slightly scrunches at the lingering smell of hydrogen sulfide and mucky water from the Yokohama canal.

“Whatever do you mean, dear? That’s just my natural musk,” Dazai gives a lopsided grin, attempting to lighten the mood. His grin falls into an uneasy look when he notices the brief side eye you give him as you toss his clothes into the washer.

“My water bills spike every month you do this, you know,” You point out blamelessly.

“Sorry,” Dazai mumbles with a weak smile. He always made a promise to try his hardest not to inconvenience anyone while making his attempts— making it up to those who he had done so with such as Atsushi. But he’s burdened you countless times, not realizing until now. Before he mentally promises himself to never return to you like a pathetic, mangy stray dog— you come into his view again.

“Don’t be sorry, but please come to me when you feel the urge to do these things, ‘Samu. I worry about you.” And Dazai can’t help but to immediately let his previous thoughts fly away. Who was he kidding? He’d never be able to stay away from you.

Your hands carefully reach to begin unwrapping the bandages sliding off Dazai’s body. Flinching, Dazai subconsciously moves a hand to stop you from taking his bandages off. There’s a momentary standstill between both of your movements as you look into his eyes with a reassuring gaze before his hand relaxes and falls to his side. It’s not the first time this has happened, but Dazai doesn’t think he’d ever get used to the feeling of having his protective cloth shed to reveal the myriad of scars that are engraved on this once blank canvas that humans call skin.

And when all is removed, you still look at him as you always had with an unwavering fondness that leaves him subconsciously leaning into you, yearning to be swallowed and drowned in your gentle affections. He doesn’t understand why you do the things that you do, such as loving him no matter how many times he tells you how much he doesn’t need you because it’s always been like that— lonely— or why you even put up with any of his shit for that matter. But you do. And he thinks he’ll never know why, because he’s terrible and doesn’t deserve what you do in return to his horrid behavior.

He slips into the tub without needing guidance, face tilting up to look at you without his usual charming grin, expression replaced with a quiet pleading, begging for any sliver of attention you can offer. And you give into his pleads, sitting by the tub while running a hand through his dark tangled hair before reaching for a washcloth to bathe him. There’s a lack of cheeky comments and flirting from Dazai as you rinse away the grime sticking to his tainted skin, his eyes flickering from distant to focused in a matter of minutes before glancing back over to you and melting further into your reverent touch.

Even after exiting the tub, he says nothing, allowing you to wrap a towel around his shoulders and place a tender kiss to his forehead. If this had been any other day, he would’ve teased you to no end about how you had to stand on your toes just to reach his face, but he merely softly smiles in mild amusement and lets you lead him into your room to get dressed.

He wears the extra pair of clothes you keep for him at the bottom of your drawer, shirt loosely hanging off his shoulders and pajama pants dragging along the floor each time he takes a step forward to follow you to your bed. He was used to sleeping on his futon, but he much preferred your bed and the comfort your body brought when he tangled his limbs in yours.

You don’t scold him either when he buries his face into your neck like you used to the first few times he had done so— complaining about his hot breath on your neck. Now, you reach a hand back to scratch your fingers through his damp hair in an affectionate manner, sighing out softly in what he can tell is contentment.

Even as Dazai drifts off, he can’t help but think about the irony of hating dogs as much as he does, yet he can’t help but love you like one.

[vashs-turtleneck]

Reverence

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Pairing: Sinister!Vash x Reader Summary: Vash isn't the monster people say he is. They just don't understand the lengths at which he'll go to save humanity and the plants. A few... sacrifices are necessary to make a world like that, but you will always be his loyal follower. CW: smut, blowjob, religious imagery, god/follower dynamics, blood. Word count: 1.4k AN: wanted a sinister Vash where he's trying to save everyone but in a very delusional way. this was originally supposed to be like a 200 word thing....what happened...

They call him a walking disaster, the humanoid typhoon, the diablo, but you know better than anyone else that it's not true. People are wrong about Vash the Stampede.

Everything he does is for mankind. He strives only for the betterment of No Man's Land, a world where humans and plants can live together in harmony. Can't they see that? How blind can the people be to his blessings that they place a bounty over his head and deem him a demon? The people he hurts, the lives he takes, the towns he destroys, it's all for their benefit - small sacrifices to make for the interest of the many. He doesn't want to hurt people. He doesn't want to take lives, but it's a sin he's ready to bear for everyone's sake. They don't see him in the late hours of the night, when he wipes the blood from his hands and sorrow fills his eyes, his tears mixing with the crimson smeared along his cheeks. Yet, they call you a fool, call you crazy for following him the way these people follow their false gods. At least you know your god is real.

And he always keeps you close. You're not allowed out of his sight, lest you want to be punished. Luckily, you're always right behind him, following constantly at his heel, giving him every ounce of your devotion. You know it's for your own sake that he keeps the leash tight around your neck. He only wants to keep you safe, after all. Whatever he does, you know he has your best intentions in mind. You'd strip and bark like a dog if he told you to because you trust him so completely. That dazzling smile would never deceive you, even if it doesn't meet his eyes.

So when he tells you to drop down to your knees, you do so without hesitation, falling down to the hard wood floors with a resounding *thud*, but you don't mind. The bruises it leaves behind will be a testament of your faith. 

“Always so good. So quick to listen.”

It's instinctual, the way you lean into his touch when he pets you, metal fingers running through your hair while his hand of flesh and bone works to unbuckle his belt, followed by the low purr of a zipper being undone. You watch in awe as Vash frees himself from those tight leather pants, his perfect cock leaking pretty beads of precum down along his shaft, and you have to fight back the urge to go against his grip and run your tongue along the length of him, to savor every drop of him. He pulls you in closer by your hair, brushing the tip along your cheek and leaving behind a wet trail of precum - a promise of what's to come.

“Open wide, mayfly.”

Your lips part immediately, and he gives you no time before every delicious inch of his cock is thrust into your mouth, the tip slamming against the back of your throat. He lets out a long, shuddering sigh that heats you up to the core, and he keeps himself still for a few moments, savoring the warmth of your eager mouth around him. His fingers card through your hair, a dark, breathy chuckle leaving the humanoid typhoon before his hips reel back and slam back against you. He falls into a feverish rhythm, rutting himself against your mouth with his tight grip on your hair pushing and pulling your head back and forth for his own pleasure.

“Suck. Suck hard.”

And you do. Of course you do. Your cheeks hollow as you accept him fully and unabashedly into your mouth, your tongue lavishing the scarred underside of his cock, tracing every vein and mapping out every inch of him with your lips. Even as you choke and gag and tears stream down your cheeks, your gaze stays focused on the man standing above you. He looks down at you with a wide smile, showing off those sharp canines that have left their mark on you too many times to count, his lower lip caught between his teeth, and those dark, hooded eyes fixed on you.

“So pretty with your mouth full like that.”

Every bit of your discomfort is worth it when those saccharine words fall from his lips. 

“So beautiful when you're struggling. You'll swallow every drop I give you, won't you?”

You can't reply when your mouth is being used as a toy for the humanoid typhoon, but the way you mewl so desperately for his cum is more than enough of an answer for him.

“Haah… That's right. Take all of it.”

He tightens his grip on your head, pushing you down on him all the way to the hilt and keeping you still. You watch as Vash throws his head back with a rumbling groan, spending himself down your throat and flooding your mouth with his cum. You moan at the taste of him, and you have to stop your eyes from rolling back, lest you miss even a moment of his pleasure. You gather every savory drop of him with your lips and tongue, swallowing it all down with hungry enthusiasm. To waste even a drop of such a generous offering would be a terrible sin. 

“Mayfly.”

Vash suddenly pulls you up on your feet by the hair with his metal hand. He cups your face and pinches your cheeks between his fingers, forcing your lips to purse as he trails the tip of his tongue up along your cheek, tasting your tears and leaving behind a scorching path along your skin.

“Such a mess. You look delectable, sweetheart.”

He pulls back with a growl, his eyes scanning your face, taking in the view of you looking so completely and utterly wrecked, and he hasn't even touched you yet. He crashes his lips against yours, knocking your teeth together in a hungry kiss. He pushes his tongue into your mouth and caresses it against your own, invading every one of your senses. Whether it's his tongue or his cock, your mouth molds itself to him. Everything you have to give, everything you are, it's all for him. He consumes you, mind, body, and soul. 

“Fuck,” he groans as he pulls away, a trail of saliva connecting your mouths for a moment before it breaks.

Oh, he's being so generous, letting you have a taste of both his lips and his dick tonight.

“I could devour you, but I’m not done with you just yet. Back on your knees. Now. I wouldn't wanna have to punish my precious little bug for being disobedient.”

You lick your lips clean of his flavor and settle back down on your knees. Your hands mindlessly clasp together in front of your chest, akin to a devotee praying at their place of worship.

He cups your cheek in his large, calloused palm, guiding your open mouth back onto him. This time, Vash's pace is much slower, much more gentle. His hips glide in a deep, sensual rhythm, giving you the time to feel every ridge and every inch of him. You've taken care of his initial hunger, that burning need for release, and now he rewards you by letting you take your time with his cock. You hum sweetly as you continue to pamper him, your tongue swirling along his cockhead and teasing the slit with the tip of your tongue, groaning as you taste the remnants of his release.

“Oh, mayfly,” he coos, his thumb swiping away a fallen tear from your cheek. He looks down at you with such tenderness that it makes you whimper. 

“You're so good. So good.”

You want to be good. All you want is to be good to him, show him that despite the venom spat his way, you will always be at his side. You live for him, and you'll die for him.

“My precious little mayfly. I'll be…so sad the day I have to kill you.”

Poor, sweet man. Your heart aches for him, for the martyr he's been forced to become. But you're still here. For now, anyway, and you'll sing his praises to the heavens as long as you draw breath. It doesn't matter how much your throat burns and your eyes sting, as long as you're pulling those deep, succulent moans from him, as long as he praises you so sweetly, you'll be on your knees for him, worshiping him like the angel you see him as.

divider source.

[wilcze-kudly]

Using the Avatar state scenes as an example and saying this is katara relationship with aang is so vile 🤦‍♂️

https://www.tumblr.com/sunandmoongobrrr/662596151677190144?source=share

Ugh this take again. It honestly always exhausts me to see this because the thing about Aang going into the Avatar state is that it is, at it's core, a defence mechanism. Aang goes into it in life threatening situations, or otherwise, incredibly distressing situations. I've even pointed out its similarities to panic attacks:

Katara is an incredibly empathetic person, and she is able to emphasise with Aang's pain. Because a) she's just that type of person and b) her and Aang share the trauma of genocide and loss.

Katara's interactions with Aang when he is in the Avatar's state aren't based around tempering his anger, but providing comfort and reassurance. It almost seems that Katara just reminding Aang that she is there and that she cares is usually enough to calm him which makes sense. Because, at the core of it, Aang's greatest pain, likely the root of most of his nrgative emotions is that he is the last airbender. His people are dead, have been dead for ages. He is alone, the last of his kind, and it destroys him.

Aang: [To the winged-lemur.] You, me and Appa; we're all that's left of this place. [Looks at the lemur.] We have to stick together.

Enter Katara, who reassures Aang that she is with him, that she cares, that she won't leave him. Because she sees that he is hurting. She hugs him as normal people hug their friend when they are upset, and later, when their relationship is more established, it's just enough for her to make eye contact with him and remind him that she's there.

Katara : Aang! I know you're upset and I know how hard it is to lose the people you love. I went through the same thing when I lost my mom. Monk Gyatso and the other airbenders may be gone, but you still have a family. Sokka and I! We're your family now!

And I truly don't think Katara does this out of a sense of obligation or fear. She does this because she sees her friend, and later, romantic partner, is hurting. And she knows that pain intimately. So she offers her comfort. Of her own free will, because she cares.

Katara : Do you remember when we were at the air temple and you found Monk Gyatso's skeleton? It must have been so horrible and traumatic for you. I saw you get so upset that you weren't even you anymore. I'm not saying the Avatar State doesn't have incredible and helpful power ... but you have to understand ... for the people who love you, watching you be in that much rage and pain is really scary.

I think the emphasis on "the people who love you" is important here. Katara isn't afraid of the Avatar state itself. She is saddened and scared for Aang, because she knows he is in pain. And he is someone she loves, be that platonically, or romantically.

Side note; I always found it so cool that when Aang went into the Avatar State in the Avatar State episode and wreaked havoc on general Fong's base, Katara, who was literally in the middle of it, remained completely unharmed.

See, the theme with Avatar is that holding onto anger and pain can be incredibly self destructive. We see this, of course, with Zuko, but also with Aang and Katara.

Of course, we're shown how one's anger affects others, but we also see how painful it can be on oneself. Which is a very poignant theme that isn't often explored.

This is what Aang was trying to communicate to Katara in The Southern Raiders. And this is what people like this, who commented under OP's post don't get.

Oh, something crazy? Like for example going against her entire morality and do something she might regret for the rest of her life? That type of crazy? Hell, look at how strongly "The Southern Raiders" ties back to "The Puppetmaster", an episode about a victimised Southern Waterbender driven to near madness by her grief pain, and rage.

Aang isn't stopping Katara from feeling anger, he's trying to make sure she doesn't do something that will weigh on her and compromise her morals and ideals, because he knows how important they are to her.

Aang: The monks used to say that revenge is like a two-headed rat viper. While you watch your enemy go down, you're being poisoned yourself.

Hell, he even supports and believes in her, letting her take Appa and believing she would make the choice right for her. Which she did, in the end.

Aang: I wasn't planning to. This is a journey you need to take. You need to face this man. But when you do, please don't choose revenge. Let your anger out, and then let it go. Forgive him.

And no, I don't think he was trying to save face, since he has never had a problem disagreeing with Katara before, for example in the Avatar State episode, where he followed his sense of duty as the Avatar, despite acknowledging and valuing her criticisms of the matter.

Aang and Katara's relationship is one of mutual support, particularly in helping alleviate each others pain, since they are both genocide survivours, both lost a parental figure to the fire nation, both value their cultures and desperately try to perserve them etc.

I think some excellent aymbolism of this can be in how Aang tries to help Katara with her dismay and discomfort around losing her mother's necklace, something she's expressed was very valuable to her due to her loss. First by making a symbollic replacement, and then risking himself by retrieving the necklace from Zuko.

I also genuinely enjoy that in both of these instances, Katara put the necklace on herself? Like it would be so easy to just make a cliche meaningful scene where Aang puts it on her and "proposes" but theres almost something more appealing to me of Katara taking the necklace from Aang and putting it on completely on her own.

Katara does not need Aang to calm her down when she's angry, because, with the exception of the Southern Raiders, her anger is usually benign squabbling which is completely normal 14 year old behaviour. Wheras for Aang, his anger usually rears its head on rare occasions when he's in deep distress.

But Aang is there to comfort Katara, to bolster her confidence, to support her, make sure she's having fun almost whenever she needs it.

These are just a few examples of Aang providing comfort to Katara.

These actions may not be as bombastic and awe worthy as Katara ripping Aang out of a state of deity like power, but they are nonetheless important to Katara and make a big difference.

Aang and Katara's live language with each other is providing comfort, in any way they can. Be it by alleviating anger and pain, making the other feel good about themself, or connecting over the horrific genocides that brutally deprived them of their loved ones. You know, just normal couple things 💗

And this is where I could slander Zutara, but I'll simply tactfully say that Zuko... prioritised things other than Katara's comfort and happiness.

Also, incredibly rich that one of OP's examples of Aang going into the Avatar state out of anger was in the comics. OP neglected, however, to include the scene leading up to this where Aang is extremely calm and nonconfrontational until Zuko grabs Katara and refuses to let go of her despite both Aang and Katara telling him he's hurting her and then attacking Aang after Aang knocks him away from Katara.

Like hun this is not a good look.

And another point I'd like to raise is this persob in the comments who apparently watched the show blindfolded.

why are we still here just to suffer etc etc. Like have you folks even watched the show why do you have beef with a twelve year old who commited the crime of loving a girl his age. If you're that fucking upset about it you can just not have him do that in your mind palace you don't have to pick violence.

Aang is a genuinely amazing character who deserves so much more than what his haters say. It's fine if he's not your fave character I just don't understand why people have to be dicks about it.

Genuinely the only good thing I get from examining this type of bullshit rethoric is that it lets me inspect Kataang more closely and find new things I genuinely love about it.

[mage-ical-character-person]

He doesn’t know what a target audience is.

Sir. Child does not understand mannequin soap opera. You cannot expect mannequin soap opera to appeal to average child.

That doesn’t mean you have to make THE SLOP! I love children’s programming and this is insulting. You parodied blues clues you referenced the muppet show you should know better. Become Sesame Street! Become Yo Gabba Gabba! Become Storybots! NOW!

Genuinely though. Such a good episode. I love how pathetically lonely this guy is. Favorite genre of guy. Meggy’s incredibly mixed feelings on him. It’s great.

Genuinely so excited to see where this bit goes.

I think it’s notable that… Puzzles didn’t really do anything all that bad here? He’s at rock bottom and the worst thing he does is yell and children. Which is of course bad, but very tame considering his track record. Nobody got kidnapped, or brainwashed, or forced to be an actor against their will. The only one who got hurt is Puzzles.

He has NO ACTORS. He is using mannequins and chicken nuggets as characters. And he can suck people into his head even when he doesn’t have the ratings power. He does it in Mario the Exploro when he’s half dead.

and the fact that he asks.

Sure, he’s being a smug jerk about it, but he asks. He doesn’t force anyone to do anything.

I guess once you get a taste of someone actively and genuinely choosing to be around you, it’s hard to go back to keeping only brainwashed company.

(Also don’t act like something can’t be both profound and a dumb meme. Ironic enjoyment is still enjoyment even if they don’t “get” it. Bring people joy. Throws Potato Knishes at you. Little King John… the flood…)

[thelordofgifs]

For the prompt thing, number 24 on the Silmarils list; choked with weeds and slime? IDK seems like a line you could do something interesting with.

Another one I’m answering a year late, but have some War of Wrath-era Elros and Elrond growing slowly apart! Thank you for the prompt 💕

“Just a little further,” Elrond says confidently, raising his torch. It does very little to illuminate the dank forest path ahead of them, but he does not seem deterred. “We’ll know it when we feel it.”

“Elrond,” Elros says quietly, trailing after him. He is not used to this position – not used to being the one to doubt. For so much of their lives it has been the other way around, has Elrond followed Elros charging head-first into wherever his will led them.

“You remember,” Elrond insists. “Naneth told us that the air inside Melian’s Girdle was cleaner and purer than any she had ever breathed since.”

Elros inhales, takes in the stench of rot and decay that clogs the forest, and thinks with longing of the clean salt air of the Sea. “The Girdle was fallen almost before Naneth was born,” he says. “It is not here, Elrond.”

“The forest will remember it, even so,” Elrond says. “Doriath was once the most blessed realm in Beleriand – and we its last heirs! It will remember us.”

Too often these days, in Elros’ view, does Elrond’s talk turn towards the power of memory. It makes him uneasy: he does not like to feel the edges of a rift between them, to understand so little the drift of his brother’s thought. Perhaps it is the knowledge of burned Sirion, and all that was lost with it, that haunts Elrond now – or perhaps the long shadow of Amon Ereb, that mausoleum in which they came of age, where the sons of Fëanor mourned the lost days of their glory, and Maglor’s every lullaby was half a dirge.

Beleriand was splendid once, it is true – but the land is breaking now, and the interminable war drawing into its final act, and Elros is more concerned with building something from the ashes than weeping for what was burned. But he does not know how to say this to Elrond, who is still leading him towards the forest’s heart, where Menegroth once flourished.

“Do you even know how to enter the city?” he asks instead. The path, choked with weeds and slime, clings unpleasantly to his feet and makes a squelching sound with every step. “The hidden entrance may now be lost.”

“Not lost,” Elrond murmurs, his voice losing a little of its bravado. “Perhaps it has forgotten itself – but we can call it back.”

“And how long will that take?” Elros argues. “Elrond, my men are waiting for me. I have not the time for a fool’s errand.”

Elrond turns back to look at him for the first time. For a moment Elros is oddly glad of that, that he might still capture his brother’s attention with a sharp word: but the thought is almost immediately followed by a hot flash of shame, for hurt flickers briefly in Elrond’s eyes. It is the sort of thing Maedhros used to do, in his worst moods – goad and goad until at last Maglor gave him some reaction, often too imperceptible for the twins to see. Elros does not want to be like Maedhros. Does not want to think of Maedhros, wants to shake off all the clinging ghosts of his childhood and look now to the world ahead.

But: “It ought not take long,” is all Elrond says, mildly.

They walk in silence, Elros breathing through his nose. He thinks again of the Edain under his command, whom he left waiting at their new outpost a little south of the forest. It has been long enough since he and Elrond last went away on an adventure of their own, for Gil-galad cannot often spare his brother from his duties, and Elros too is a commander in his own right. Besides, he did not think his men would understand their object: most of them have grandparents too young to remember Doriath before its fall. Still he does not like to abandon them, does not want them to think him just another elvish princeling, a stranger to mortal troubles and mortal woes.

But nor could he have let Elrond set out on this quest alone.

In the silence Elrond begins to sing a canto of the Lay of Leithian, of Lúthien dancing in the forest glades to Daeron’s music. Elros joins him, for their voices yet ring stronger together than apart – but he can put little conviction behind the song. The forest that his foremother loved is dead now, and so is she – they cannot resurrect her with their poems and their songs, necromancy dressed up as memorials, she is fled where they cannot reach her. Elros wonders if she was glad to do it.

Elrond’s eyes keep flitting between the dark, foreboding tree-trunks, as though he cannot quite understand why they do not become green and fair again under the influence of his song. At last he stops singing, a little frustrated now. “I cannot find a way,” he says, “it is all dark and rotten.”

“Well, there have been all manner of foul creatures crawling through these forests since Doriath fell,” Elros says sensibly. “I would be surprised were it not polluted.” 

“Why will it not cleanse itself?” Elrond says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Why will it not remember how it used to be?”

Every two years or so Elrond will come to Elros with a plan to reach out to Maglor and his brother, and bring them before Gil-galad to face justice and redemption. Each time Elros tries to make him understand how impossible the idea is – and it works, for a year or two. 

He is not accustomed to thinking of his brother as childish – not accustomed to feeling so very old as he does right now, seeing the stunned bewildered hurt on Elrond’s face.

“It is tired, Elrond,” he says. “Let it sleep.”

For a moment Elrond’s face crumples, and Elros thinks he must weep; then he says, quite calmly and cheerfully, “Well then, we had best be getting you back to your men,” and sets his course for the forest’s southern border.

The victory feels hollow, to Elros: but then, they all do. 

[talesfromawannabejournalist]

Demon in Disguise

Here it is @kittenfangirl20, hope you enjoy part 1

Adam sighed as he waited for Lilith to make her appearance in the embassy. Adam was summoned by a letter from the Queen herself requesting an audience with the first man himself. Though Sera, the woman he looked at as a mother as she looked at him as her son, warned him against this meeting. However, Adam's will be strong, and he wishes to know what the snake wants. It didn't help that tensions were rising what with the sinners starting to rise. Adam's knee slightly bounced from underneath the table as he crossed his arms over his chest. Though he'd never admit it to anyone other than himself it always sent a shiver down his side whenever it was only just the two of them. Suddenly the doors opened and in walked Lilith all with the grace of a queen, and the slithering motions of a serpent. Her amethyst pierced Adam's soul as they locked onto him.

Lilith: Ah Adam just the man, or first man, I've been meaning to see, how are you? Doing good? Heaven sure does seem to be treating you good.

Lilith stated while her gaze turned directly on Adam's chubby belly. Adam scowled already wanting this meeting to end.

Adam: Cut the crap and just say what you want Lilith

Lilith: Very well, I've come here for a proposal. I understand that Heaven is getting quite antsy as of late due to my people beginning to rise up. I also understand that they are looking for solutions, well I have one that will solve everything.

Adam: And that is?

Lilith: I remove myself from my title as queen, Hell's military, leave Hell, and be given a spot in Heaven.

Adam was silent for a moment until he laughed out loud even banging his fist against the table.

Adam: Ok, and what makes you think that anyone in their right mind would allow you to stay? Not to mention me ever giving you free range of upstairs.

Lilith: You are still close with Sera, correct? Then she can help forward this deal. I also have something that you want more than anything

Adam: And what might that be?

Lilith: Lucifer's child

Adam: ...what?

Lilith: I'm sure that your little...birth defect is still present even as an angel, yes?

Adam glared at her wording but slowly nodded. Not long after Adam's creation his creator, God helped shift his body so that he then had both parts of a man and a woman. Though he didn't know why he did it, he didn't hate his body in any way, despite Lilith doing her hardest to make him back in the garden.

Lilith: I'll collect Lucifer's seed and have it implanted in your womb then you'll finally have the precious baby that you always wanted with your dear guardian angel.

Adam: ...Lucifer is alright with all of, this? You leaving him and me being impregnated with his sperm?

Lilith: But of course, after all, he does want what's best for our subjects, not to mention that if there is less interaction in Heaven ten the less, he'll have to see you. Plus, with you not only in Heaven but also supported by

Adam didn't know what to say, on the one hand, he'd finally get his dream of being a mother. He loved all his children when they were on Earth and loved being their father even when...the incident occurred and afterward. However, ever since Eden, he wanted to be with Lucifer, his Luci, his sweet angel, and have a family with him. On the other hand, it hurt him to his core that this was the only way. But...the pros outweighed the cons and on the plus side not only would he get his dream, but he'd also finally be putting a stop to any uprising from the denizens of Hell since the fire was only filled with Lilith there leading the charge.

It seemed Lilith could tell what his decision was and smirked.

Adam: alright Lilith, I accept your deal.

[herbofgraceandpeace]

Re: Flavian’s outburst to Christopher about how he (Christopher) has been an unfeeling, stuck-up brat—Flavian’s not exactly right or wrong here. I think Jones is demonstrating that Christopher is so caught up in his (very real) powerlessness to control his situation, he doesn’t realize that he DOES have the power to really and truly hurt others. He’s so caught up in his own misery that he (selfishly) forgets that others might be miserable too.

This is part of growing up! Christopher hasn’t really been taught empathy, and he hasn’t really had it modeled for him either, outside of Tacroy caring for him, but that doesn’t excuse his behavior. He’s so focused on how the people at the castle aren’t caring for his conscious wants that he entirely ignores the ways they ARE intentionally and deliberately attempting to care for him (I think at least a little classism privilege is at play in him ignoring the maids—he’s only ever known his parents’ mistreatment of servants, but presumably he should have been paying attention to how the castle folk treat the maids differently)

However, I think the adults at Chrestomanci Castle are guilty of the exact same kind of blindness and self-focus as Christopher. They HAVEN’T been meeting his needs emotionally (which has led to their inability to physically protect him either), and whatever their intentions throughout his stay, they did not try to get to know or understand Christopher as a person at his arrival, and they’re paying for that first impression. He’s a CHILD. a child from an unloving and neglectful home, who’s just been ripped away from his friends and his home at school, a child’s just DIED for the second time, and he’s a child with hopes and dreams and self-will, all of which have just been casually, thoughtlessly stripped from him. The castle folk are so focused on their OWN need of a successor for Gabriel that they treat Christopher as an object to be formed to meet their needs instead of a person with needs of his own. They’re so focused on their search for the Wraith and the hell he’s wreaking on others that they miss the very real hell they’re imposing on Christopher. All of their attempts at care are based solely on their perception of what he SHOULD need and want because! They never! Ask him! What he needs or wants!!!!!

What’s that post about how some people act like “if you don’t give me the respect I think I deserve as an authority figure, I won’t give you the respect you deserve as a person”? I think that’s basically how the otherwise decent and well-meaning adults of Chrestomanci Castle treat little Christopher Chant. Confident in their own virtue, they presume that of course this boy who doesn’t know them will trust them immediately. Confident in their work for the greater good, they are indifferent to the suffering of the individual before them. It’s clear that they care about him and his well-being, but without treating him like a real person at all, and it’s never more obvious than in the scene where Gabriel takes his spare life away. They are taking tangible, drastic steps to protect him because they are very worried on his behalf, but throughout the whole process they have no real knowledge of the horror and terror he is experiencing because they are too busy making choices for him to ask him why he’s making the choices he does (and again, Christopher doesn’t TRUST them. But they never empathize with him enough to realize that.) Another example is how Miss Rosalie and the others keep chasing Throgmorton away from Christopher when he’s laid up. They’re so focused on how uncomfortable Throgmorton makes them feel that they don’t care at all they’re isolating Christopher and depriving him of his only companionship.

But none of their bad conduct exonerates Christopher of Flavian’s charges of being rude and unfeeling towards them, even though Flavian is STILL presuming to know and understand Christopher’s motivations and choices despite being completely in the dark about them. The very personhood Christopher wants the others to acknowledge in him is the reason that Christopher is responsible for his own actions towards the castle folk.

And that’s the tea on human responsibility in The Lives of Christopher Chant. (thanks for coming to my ted talk)

[dullgecko]

I love a trans Riz moment and one of my headcanons is that goblin names are gendered by the number of syllables (Pok, Sprak, Riz all being one syllable, Sklonda being two).

And we all know that middle school Riz was Going Through It in terms of bullying so he was almost certainly also misgendered constantly by the other kids.

I think that’s part of why Sklonda is so against the other Bad Kids using nicknames for Riz because The Ball is two syllables and they’re accidentally misgendering Riz (according to goblin grammar) and she has had enough of other kids misgendering her son because they think it’s funny.

It’s also why Riz hates the multi-syllable nicknames like Rizbert and Rizwalda and keeps insisting it’s “just Riz”. But equally he also doesn’t want to come out. He’s sure it would be fine, but he doesn’t want to risk it just in case things go wrong. So he doesn’t know how to explain it so he doesn’t say anything, but it definitely hurts every time they do it.

(I think at some point he does deserve to snap at them though, as a treat).

(I’ve been trying to write a fic about this for ages but the words aren’t wording right, so I offer it up as a humble headcanon to be rotated in other peoples brains)

Goblin biology is different from humans or elves or even half-orcs. They're goblinoid not humanoid after all, their anatomy was different and their ancestors could be traced all the way back to the fae realms in eons past. Like with most creatures of the fae realms their relationship between their biological sex and gender is fairly loose, or more realistically practically non-existant. Hells, if you want to be a different biological sex the switch is incredibly quick and easy. Just go and talk to one of your hordes elders and with magic you'd be done within half and hour. Simple.

Riz grew up in Elmville though and Solesians tended to be weird about the whole thing. Sex and gender seemed to be intrinsically linked for some reason and, in order to naturalise better, goblins tended to stick with the gender that most-accurately reflected what was expected of their current biology.

Riz was six years old when he told his dad he didn't want to be a girl and that was that. A quick jaunt up to his families ancestral home, dinner and a minor name change and he was back in Elmville ready for school on Monday. It should have been as easy as that but even after explaining that he was a boy now the kids at his school just didn't seem to understand. They constantly kept calling him by his old name, some of the Helio kids even going so far as to corner him and preach at him about how what he'd done was evil. The bullying lasted for years and followed him all the way through middle school, only adding more ammunition to what he was already dealing with just by being a goblin in the first place.

He thought he'd managed to leave he worst of the bullying in the past when he finally made it to high-school. None of the kids who knew him in middle-school had come to Aguefort so no-one knew that he was a girl before. Just to make double sure though he made sure to dress the part. No one would call someone in a suit a girl, it was the most masculine outfit he could think of after all.

Honestly it was going better than expected. He did wince initially at the whole The Ball nickname but that was fine. His friends didn't know the multiple sylables were a thing in goblin, though his mom still drew her lips into a think line and glared whenever she heard Fabian call him that. They didn't even call him that in a teasing way anymore, it was more of a title so he felt like it didn't have the same kind of connotation.

At the moment though they were teasing him a little bit. It was all good-natured, someone having commented that the nickname Fabian still used for him was weird and they should really think of another one. They'd rotated through quite a few humerous titles but had somehow strayed dangerously into nicknames playing off his own name which he protested.

"Oh! What about Rizbert? Or Rizmothy." Fig waved her spoon towards the goblin, swallowing around mouth full of icecream even as Riz winced.

"Guys no. Just Riz is fine. Or The Ball. I dont mind The Ball. Plus you keep making my name longer aren't nicknames supposed to be short?" He clutched at the glass of his milkshake, claws tapping at the glass as he tried to get them to change the subject.

"Yeah but you cant go shorter than Riz so we need to think of something else." Kristen nudged her shoulder against their rogue, the height difference meaning she just bumpd him directly in the head which made him make a quiet 'ow' and rub his temple where she'd clocked him.

"What about Rizzy?"

"Guys seriously I don't-"

"Rizriz?"

"Please stop."

"Rizbian, no thats too close to Fabian."

"Kristen honestly I don't like-"

"Rizgug! No wait same issue as the Rizbian one. OH how about Rizik."

The goblins eyes narrowed down to thin slits as the last name was said, Riz baring his teeth and slamming his glass into the table with a loud bang that made his party members jump.

"It's just Riz." He spat, venom lacing the short sentence as he pulled his ears back and down. Kristen holding her hands up in front of her in a defensive posture even as the goblin grabbed his breifcase off the seat beside him and slid down under the table.

Riz duck between his party members legs, not able to hear them calling after him over the sudden roaring sound of his own blood in his ears, and stalking out of the diner without another word. Milkshake dripping onto the spot where he'd just been sitting because the glass had cracked when he slammed it down with too much force.

They'd tried to follow after him but it was basically impossible after he left their line of sight, the rogue was incredibly adept at not being seen when he didn't want to be and he really didn't want to be right now.

He managed to drive his party into a mild panic after only a few hours, the goblin marking himself as offline in their group chat and declining their calls after a few rings (including Fabians, which did not bode well considering how pissed off he'd been when he had stalked out). Adaine had even tried to skry on him, but his wisdom was high enough that he easily slapped down her attempt and sent her a single text message consisting of the word 'no' before turning his crystal off completely.

They'd ended up splitting up to search for him across the city, heading for any spots he might go and promising to fill eachother in if they spoted him. Fabian had been circling the town on the Hangman for a while by this point, squinting down alleyways as he passed just in case he could spot their sneaky party member down one of them.

He'd passed the Strongtower Appartments at least twice before he thought to check there as well. Sure, it was a far too obvious a spot but maybe The Ball HAD just gone home.

Fabian hopped off The Hangman outside the front of the apartments, patting its seat and telling it to continue circling and searching without him as he stepped inside. He knew where Riz's appartment was, hells he even had a key these days, so he head there directly and let himself in.

He probably should have knocked before just barging in though, given that there was a rather pissed off goblin woman currently sitting at the dining room table glaring daggers at him. "Ah. Apologies. I did not expect you to be home. Have you purchance seen The Ball recently?" He had paused, half-inside the apartment with his hand on the doornob and very nearly backed all the way out again when she somehow managed to look more annoyed when he spoke.

"I'm not going to confirm or deny if I've seen Riz recently." She put heavy emphasis on his name, ears flicking as she interwove her fingers on the table in front of her. "But, if you have come to apologise I may see fit to pass it along when I do see him."

"Pardon?" Fabians look of genuine confusion made Sklondas demeanour shift, ears flicking into a more curious position rather than the angry one they'd been settled in before.

"You're not here to apologise for deadnaming him?"

"Sorry I'm not following? We were having lunch and he got pissed off and stormed out. We were looking for him because well.... we were worried and he switched his crystal off." Fabian entered the apartment completely, letting the door swing shut behind him with a click as he stood awkwardly in the entrance area.

"You called him Rizik."

"Kristen called him Rizik." Fabian corrected her, noteing that the normally open door to Riz's bedroom was shut. "Fig mentioned that you didn't seem to like when we called him The Ball and was trying to find a new nickname. I recall that may have been among them."

Sklonda rubbed her hands over her face, heaving a sigh before tipping her head back to look towards the ceiling as if asking a higher power for help. "Don't use that name again. Didn't you know it would upset him?" "No?"

The goblin woman gave him a confused look, pushing back her chair and heading over to Riz's room to knock on the door. Cracking it open slightly and chattering at the person hidden inside in goblin before shutting it again.

"Goddamnit kid. How are they supposed to know if you don't tell them." She donked her forehead against the closed door before turning back to face the fighter.

"Look he's fine and home. Tell the others that but he doesn't want to see anyone at the moment. I think he's mostly feeling silly about getting so pissed at you all and storming off because you couldn't have known it would upset him." She pointed a finger at Fabian before waving for him to sit down at the table. The half-elf pulling out a chair and sitting down obediantly when directed to.

"The kids at his last school used to call him Rizik all the time and thats because it was his name. He shortened it when he told us he was a boy and I'm only telling you this because he said i could. Don't tell the others."

Fabians eye went a bit unfocused as he tried to process what he was being told, eyebrows shooting high on his forehead when he finally put it together. "TOLD you he was a boy.... So he wasn't before... Ah. Deadname. Understood. I'll.... inform the others that that particular nickname is completely off the table."