#{{ i won't mention my thoughts in complete detail in the tags but i do have a little bit i wanna share }}

[frozenambiguity]

Kaeya 🤝 Furina

playing their role in a never-ending performance.

[fangirl-dot-com]

The Inheritance

Guys, I keep messing up the timeline. So here we go. Christian, Geri, and Mitch find out about Lorenzo and your parents disowning you at your last F2 race. Max finds out about Lorenzo in this chapter (although not written in detail). Max then finds out about your parents in chapter 18 “All For You.” 

This is proof that I listen to my readers :D @dreamy-state-of-mind asked to see how reader bought her cars and this chapter was created! I can't do every ask for an idea but I try to listen to what y'all want!

Y'all are being fed...two chapters in a row (which means the next one won't be out for a little bit - so I apologize!)

Like always comments, questions, concerns, reblogs, and likes are always appreciated! Enjoy!

TAG LIST IS CLOSED

Your hands were in your pockets as you walked around the open room. You had somehow lost Max, Vito, AND Christian. It wasn’t like you meant to walk away, you just did on accident. How could someone know that the foreign car dealership was this big. Well, you would know, but that’s beside the point. 

It was quite cold in Germany. Thankfully, you had packed extra layers, something the men seemed to not know how to do. You were sure that Max would have worn his Red Bull polo if you didn’t mention to Kelly where you were going. Sure, he could dress on his own, but who would want that? 

Your eyes gazed at all of the cars on the floor. Most were the common stock models. Audis, Mercedes, and even Volkswagens littered the area; yet, the cars you were looking for were nowhere to be found. You kept heading in the same direction, hoping to at least find a familiar someone who looked like they worked there. 

Your ears picked up on some German words. Feet taking faster steps, you rounded a corner. Ah, there they were. 

Somehow you completely missed seeing that the Porsches would be in a different room. You gingerly stepped farther into the vast open-ceiling room. Your hand itched to touch them, but you knew better. 

Looking at the cars brought back some great memories of the first time your godfather took you here. Yes, he could have gotten any Italian brand of car that he wanted. Everything was at his fingertips. Yet, he brought 11-year-old you to Germany to get his imported cars. 

Your eyes landed on a familiar model. If you thought hard enough, you could hear the imprints of Lorenzo’s and your laughs as he took you to do donuts in abandoned parking lots. 

“A beauty isn’t she,” a voice scared you, causing you to fall on your ass. Your cheeks burned at the thought of being caught. Yet, when your eyes met familiar friendly ones, the redness left. 

“Hi Seb,” you greeted as you took his outstretched hand that he offered. He pulled you to your feet and into a hug. After you were done, you pulled away to turn back to the car. This time, you let your hand gently grace the older door. 

“Enzo had one,” you simply stated, leaving it at that. Most knew you didn’t like to talk about the man, since it brough on so many emotional memories. 

Sebastian took a couple steps and stood next to you. 

“Do you still have the keys to the garage?”

You grinned up at the German ex-driver. “Of course I have the keys. You know he left me the entire house.” 

He bumped your shoulder, head jerking to lead you away from the car. You followed without hesitation. 

“What do you plan to do with it?” 

You cocked your head in thought. “I’m going to keep it for now. I don’t want to sell it. It’s not like I need the money anyway.” 

He chuckled. “I forget that you’re like a multi-millionaire at 20.” 

You just shrugged. “Not my fault that I was basically his only family. I never asked for it.” Your eyes dropped to the shiny floor below. A hand was placed on your shoulder. 

“I know. I’m glad that you’re well off. Makes me feel better about not seeing you as much.” A sad smile graced his face as he looked at you. 

You tried your best to give him a genuine one in return. “I’m doing much better than I was.” 

“Have you showed Max your vast array yet?” 

“Nope.” You popped the ‘p’. “I plan to soon, actually. I told him that I needed to go to Italy after this.” 

Seb raised his eyebrows, but didn’t say anything else. You went to talk, but familiar voices echoed in the big room. 

“Kid!” 

“Seb?” 

Your head whipped toward the sound. Ah, there they were. 

And they brought an assistant with them. 

Max and Christian looked at Seb in question as Vito brought the German into a big hug. You stood toward the side to watch the two friends reunite. The assistant took this opportunity to approach you. 

“Ah Miss L/n, so good to see you again!” 

“Again?” Max questioned, looking at you. 

The assistant turned to the Dutchman. “Yes. Miss L/n has been a patron at this establishment for years now.” He turned back to you. “I have the two models that you called ahead for. I will lead you to them.” 

The man turned on his heal and began to walk deeper into the room. 

Sebastian was now talking to Vito and Christian, which led to Max walking by you. 

“I didn’t know you’d been here before.” 

You looked up at him with a sly smile. “My godfather bought a lot of his cars from here and would take me with him. Some of the cars at the front are a part of his collection that I donated when he passed. He left me so many, I didn’t know what to do with them.” 

Max stopped in his tracks as you kept walking. Once he got over his shock, he sped up to catch you. 

“So many?”

You placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“Maxie, how much money do you think I have?” you asked, an innocent look on your face.

“Couple thousand?”

You shook your head. 

An eyebrow rose. “A couple hundred thousand?” 

Another shake as a mouth dropped. 

Max looked around before whispering, “Millions?” 

“Bingo. We’re going to tour my house when we go to Italy.” 

You kept on walking, leaving the even more confused Dutchman. 

“House?” 

A few steps more and you had caught up with the group of four men. Christian whistled at the sight of what lie before him. 

“Thank you Mr. Klein,” you shook the assistants hand as you looked at the two dark green cars in front of you. “Did the payment go through well?” 

The man nodded. “Yes it did. Mr. and Mrs. Fischer send their best regards and also thank you for the donation.” 

The four men (minus your manager) gawk at you. Yet, you were too busy beaming. 

“I’m so glad. Tell them that I will reach out the next time I’m here for longer. I want to see their children again, I miss them.” 

With a couple more goodbyes, weird stares, and going over plans to ship your Porsches to Monaco and England safely – you were on your way to Italy. 

Thankfully Sebastian wanted to join, saying something about how he hadn’t seen the house in forever. Which brought on more questioning looks from Max. 

However, Christian had to sadly say goodbye as he had a connecting flight to go somewhere else for business. You promised you’d send some pictures when you could. 

A chauffer had met you at the airport, names written in fancy calligraphy on a starch white piece of paper. 

The man gave you two cheek kisses as you greeted him. 

“Guido! Come stai amico mio?” (how are you my friend?) 

Max couldn’t wipe the look off his face as you began to talk to the older gentleman in perfect Italian. Vito only patted his shoulder. 

“You’ll get used to it. She’s definitely someone to unravel. You’ll get there.” 

The four of you then followed the man to the Rolls Royce that was waiting in the parking area. Suitcases were loaded in, and the three of you were on your way to your house. 

Or, more like mansion/estate/castle that Max found out as the car pulled closer. He turned to you. 

“Kid?” 

“Inheritance Max. Inheritance.” 

Your door was opened once the car was parked. Multiple people came out of the house, wanting to greet you. 

“La mia famiglia! Mi siete manvati tutti!” (My family! I’ve missed all of you!”) 

A couple of the staff took your bags as you walked through the giant doorway. Once you were through, you turned around and opened your arms. 

“Max, welcome to Casa di Lorenzo Alessandrino.” 

Max’s head was in a state of looking upwards as he walked in. He would have held his mouth open, but the interior seemed to demand respect as power and poise dripped from its walls. Now it was turn for Max’s hands to itch, wanting to touch everything.

Once everything was settled, you gave Max a tour as Vito and Seb went to go get some drinks. Your fingers twirled a special key ring as you led Max to your garage. 

You turned to him and gave a smile. “You ready?” 

Let’s just say, Max was not ready to see so many cars. Max let his jaw drop. 

The garage was deep and long, probably housing close to 40-ish cars. Your eyes glimmered as you looked at the older cars that you missed dearly. 

“You can go look you know,” you told Max as you made your way down the little staircase to the floor. Your heels clicked and echoed with each step. Max was quick to be on your tail. The Dutchman made his way quickly to each car, stopping for only a second before getting distracted by the next. 

You hummed as you looked at the empty spot among the Ferrari’s on the back wall. You pointed to it when Max came up beside you again. 

“The only car Lorenzo never had in his collection was the F40. I need to talk to Charles or Carlos about seeing how I can get one ethically. I want to complete the collection, but not pay far more than what it’s worth.” 

Max nodded, soaking in your words. He was about to say something, but a flash of orange caught his attention. His eyes sparkled as he looked at the spaceship looking car. 

“What kind of car is that?” 

You smirked as you gazed on your most prize possession. 

You walked closer and clicked the keys, making the car roar to life only for a second. (You don’t want to give you and Max monoxide poisoning.) 

Your hand ran over the orangey hues that covered the car.

“This is the Apollo Project Evolution.” 

Max looked down at the hyper car. 

“What that a V12?” 

“Yep. A Ferrari V12 to be exact. Three million dollars, one in ten made, over 700 horsepower, and completely street legal. I’d take you for a ride, but I would rather keep this between me and whoever knows about it.” 

You turned on your heel to start walking toward the door where you walked in. “I bought it because it reminded me of the spaceship from Guardians of the Galaxy.” 

Max snickered as he could imagine you at 14-years-old, watching that movie and falling in love with the space craft. Then, he imagined you last year, trying to find out how you could get your hands on it. 

He took one last glance at the big room, before following you back into the house. He softly shut the big door behind him. 

“Does Arthur know about this place?” he asked as he caught up to you, not wanting to get lost. 

You softly smiled at him. “Yes. I brought him here after Lorenzo passed away in 2020. I just didn’t want to be alone. Vito was here as well.” 

Max returned your sad smile. You and Vito had told him about the place on your way here. Tears were shed, hugs were given out, but you’d get through it. 

But then he suddenly pouted at the thought of you not bringing him here earlier. 

You tutted. “Don’t worry, Charles hasn’t been here if that’s what you’re pouting about.” 

That brought an instant grin to his face. You rolled your eyes at his childishness. Soon, you joined Vito and Sebastian in the kitchen. Aperol Spritzes lined the kitchen counter. Your hand reached one, before Vito was thrusting an different one into your hands. You pouted when you realized that yours was probably nonalcoholic.  

Sebastian snorted. “Let the kid have one.” 

“Vito, what do you think they do for podiums? Make sure mine isn’t actual champagne?” 

Vito rolled his eyes and handed you one from the kitchen counter. You quickly smiles and took a sip of the bubbly drink. 

“So kid, did you show Max the garage?” Sebastian raised an eyebrow as he took a sip of his own drink. 

You nodded as you placed your cup down. “Yep!” 

“And the track?” 

“You have a track!?” 

y/n.89 has posted

y/n.89 glad to be back to my home away from home. Italia, quanto mi sei mancato. conserverai sempre ricordi preziosi e non posso ringraziarti abbastanza per amarmi da bambino. quando tornerò sarò sul podio, ne sono sicuro

(translation : italy how i've missed you. you will always hold precious memories and i can't thank you enough for loving me as a child. when i return, i'll be on the podium - i'm sure of it)

liked by sebastianvettel, vito_official, y/nlover, and 58,204 others

y/n's_fav who was going to tell me that our girl knows Italian?

y/n_updates she speaks it fluently! her godfather was Italian and taught her when she was growing up! y/n_on_top all I'm hearing is that her, Carlos, and Charles can now talk shit about Max if needed

charles_leclerc quindi Max non riesce a capire? (so max can't understand?)

y/n.89 no, quindi è ora di svelare i segreti dell'infanzia, Charlie (no, so spill the childhood secrets Charlie) carlossainz55 abbiamo molto da dire (we have a lot to tell) maxverstappen1 I CAN READ MY OWN NAME - I KNOW YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT ME y/n.89 senti qualcosa? (do you hear something?)

vito_official così felice di essere a casa. possiamo restare ancora un po'? Guido e Luigi dicono che gli manchiamo troppo (so glad to be home. can we stay a bit longer? Guido and Luigi say they miss us too much)

y/n.89 mi mancheranno così tanto. torneremo presto! (i'll miss them so much. we'll be back soon!)

sebastianvettel glad to have been able to go with you! I'll see you soon kinder!

y/n_in_italy NOT HER HOUSEKEEPERS'S NAMES BEING GUIDO AND LUIGI

TAG LIST: @fionaschicken @glitterquadricorn @laura-naruto-fan1998 @treehouse-mouse @sam-is-lost @kagatinkita @fangirl125reader @megatrilss1885 @myxticmoon @angsthology @cmleitora @agent-curt-mega @graciewrote @ashy-kit @slutofmultifandom @aexitizen-ln4 @sugarvibez @vellicora @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @cashtons-wife @hoetel-manager @xcharlottemikaelsonx @jayda12 @ilove-tswizzle @justme2042 @itsjustkhaos @nikfigueiredo @stopeatread @cha-hot @sadg3 @iloveyou3000morgan @s4turnsl0ver @alessioayla @torchbearerkyle @leptitlu @awekbachira @shreks-sugar-daddy @v1naco @stan-josie @mellowarcadefun @badassturtle13 @beskardroids @callisposts @poppyalice2001 @juniper-july19

[sameschmidtdiffname]

heyyyy can I pls req something where Mike tries to make it up to the reader after he says something wrong in their 1st fight as a couple? like “I don’t want to lose you” as an apology and they get back together or something along those lines? tysm I really enjoy ur work :))

But of course!!!

Wanting, Waiting

Mike Schmidt x Gender Neutral! Reader

Summery: Overworked and underfed, you'll go to sleep once some decent work is complete. However, a late night turns into a day long fight.

Tags: No use of Y/N, no gender specific pronouns for Reader, pre-established relationship, argument, cursing, Reader and Mike both got some shit going on, hints of an eating disorder, overworking, hurt/comfort, crying, mentions of: suicide/death, depression, drugging, and kidnapping. Vulnerability is gross.

Notes: 'Slip' walked so this could run full speed into a brick wall. I feel as though I may have redeemed myself.

                     ▪︎◇{¤♧■♧¤}◇▪︎

This page is mocking me.

The hour is late. I stopped checking the clock around 2:00 A.M., and there's a cup of cold coffee right next to me on this table, several rings on the inside from where the coffee had been left sitting far too long. It's cheap, the flavor sticking to my teeth in a way that settles my lips into a slight grimace as I try to convince my hand to move my pen across the just as cheap notebook paper that has been sitting in front of me since I came home.

Come on. It's words. What the fuck is hard about this?

'It's not hard if you can actually get your head out of your ass and do something,' I think to myself. Not helping.

I have an irritating collection of drafts. Oh yes, I can start them and I can certainly plan out the works before me. But actually writing is somehow impossible, and even though I can feel how thick the block is in my mind, preventing me from communicating my feelings properly, I just can't get break myself out of it.

Come on. Finish one draft. Then everything will click together for the rest.

For the past few weeks it's been just like this. Come home, sit down with projects, and try. But no matter what I do, I just can't focus. It's as though my head simply won't allow it. And this house, quite frankly, isn't helping. It's admittedly unsettling atmosphere, the loud noises born from nothing. It's as though I can feel the weight of the dead that used to sit at the same glass table as I watching me over my shoulder, pressing their non-existent weight against me, making my chest tight with pressure I cannot voice because that's not fair to the ones still here truly haunted by their presence. I'm just a guest who overextends their stay, quite frankly.

Just a page. Just write a page and you can get up for a moment. Ignore how loud the fridge is at something clunks inside of it.

A page. Get a page. Come on, you imbecile, how hard is a fucking pa-

"I thought we talked about this."

It's a testament to my mental state how high I manage to jump in my chair, my tired and over-caffinated heart set off to make me dizzy with over exertion from fear, turning to see who has come to voice their thoughts and damn us both with them.

"Mike," I sigh. I place a hand on my chest, rubbing slightly at the spot where I feel my heart pounding against my sore ribs. "Don't do that."

"Have you slept at all?" Mike asks disapprovingly. His arms are crossed against his chest, heavy bags under his eyes from another night of restless dreams. He can't sleep, I won't sleep. If he'd allow it, we could actually get shit done this time of day.

"A little," I lie. He's just worried. About everything. He always is, which at first was something I loved about him. And usually I still do. It's an admirable trait, to care about someone and love them so much it's only natural to fret over them, to check and make sure they're taken care of properly.

Except it makes me feel guilty.

"Oh yeah? What time?" He asks, narrowing his sleep swollen eyes at me.

Details. Fuck.

"Ah, uh- I don't know, I wasn't looking at the clock," I say sheepishly, trying to flash a disarming smile and make my own bags look like ones of bare minimum rest instead of self neglect. Mike's jaw tightens slightly.

"Oh?" He says in a dull voice that is not raised, yet managed to ring throughout the room nonetheless.

I hum affirmatively, pressing my lips together and fiddling with the cheap pen in my hands, glancing down at it in an attempt at trying not to give myself away.

"Yeah, I don't know. Just like, laid my head on the book and... y'know... drifted off for a couple hours," I try to say casually.

"Ah," he says as though that were enough, leaning now against the doorframe of the hallway, looking at the other wall as though the paint were interesting. "How long after I went to bed, do you think?"

Keep your breathing even. He can smell fear. "Like, a couple," I answer with a shrug.

"Or, like, not at all," he says, turning his head back to stare down at me with a glare.

"I slept," I insist.

"Bullshit. You give me unnecessary detail about your shits post mexican take-out, but you can't tell me what time you fell asleep?" He says accusingly.

"I was asleep! I'm sorry, do you want me to lie and give some time because you need it for some reason?" I ask evenly, shrugging as though to ask what he'd like me to say, blinking at him and adding a tired tinge of a croak to my voice to match his.

"I'm sorry?" He asks, eyes still in narrow slits yet somehow widening slightly, his leg uncrossing from over the other and planting firmly on the floor as he stands straight.

He's not that tall. Kinda short. But he looks much bigger when mad. Kinda like an iguana. I told him that one time and got bit. Jokingly, of course. It's not like he'd just reach over and sna- You know what? Irrelevant.

"I'm just saying," I say, starting to turn back to my notebook as though the conversation were finished.

"No-no, I'd like to hear that again," he says. I can hear his footsteps pad against the flat, tan carpet, my shoulders stiffening slightly as I train my decreasingly neutral eyes on the wrinkled, lined paper in front of me. "I liked the part where you made me sound like some insecure teenager for calling you out on your shit. Very original."

My lips press into a thin line, my grip on my pen tightening slightly.

"It's not that serious, Mikey-"

"Don't bullshit me, and don't use some cheap nickname as a cop out via sympathy," Mike snaps, standing now on the opposite side of the table, pressing his hands now against the glass surface that dirties so easily. Trust me, we've had to clean some prints off of it.

There's a line, and at some point I'm going to cross it. The problem is it's hidden under mental sand that makes me unclear of exactly where it is.

"Michael-"

"That's formal," he says, leaning forward on the table, his tone the same as an interrogating mother just waiting for the moment where no one will blame her for finally tearing you to shreds for what you've said to her outwardly innocent statements. A trap.

"I'm sorry, I thought you didn't like cheap nicknames?" I say, fighting the irritation in my voice, barely managing to remain even as I click my pen to begin writing.

"What's wrong with just Mike?" He asks. He reaches across the table, placing all five of his fingertips on my paper firmly and dragging it back across the table towards him, withholding it from me.

"Would you like me to use just Mike?" I ask.

"I'd like you to make eye contact while you lie through your fucken teeth," he says calmly, not moving as he continues to stare me down.

"Okay, Mike. And what exactly does my sleep schedule mean to you?" I ask slowly, trailing my eyes from his hand, slowly up his arm with pronounced veins and muscles, to the white cotton shirt that was two sizes too large and usually what he wore to sleep in, until I meet his dark and slightly hateful eyes.

"We had a conversation," he starts.

"A conversation," I repeat.

"About a month ago, do you remember?" He asks, cocking his head slightly in that way it does when we both know I'm not going to dare to answer with anything other than he wants.

"You ha-"

"I had a concern," he interrupts me, now looking down at the notebook and studying it as though it were a piece of fine art. "Which involved how absolutely awful your ability is to take care of yourself properly."

"Mike-"

"Shut. Up." Mike says with disturbing calmness. "I'm talking."

Fine.

"It's fucking rude."

Not saying it's not.

"Like your attitude when I try to just help you because clearly, you can't help yourself," he says, now slapping down the notebook to gesture at me as though it were obvious why he was concerned.

I could speak. I'd like to. And he gives me a long enough silence I could. But instead I decide I will simply give him the floor.

"No opinion on this?" He asks shortly.

"No," I say with a dismissive shrug. "You seem to have them for me."

Mike laughs at this statement, and if the sparkle in his eyes didn't seem to have the same dull shine as the glass table between us I'd feel a bit better about it. But I think there's a six foot hole in the backyard I just signed a lease on that makes his disturbingly convincing smile much more worrisome.

"You're funny," he says affectationately. "Get up."

"What?" I ask, blinking.

"Are you deaf now? Up," he says in irritation, beginning to cross back around the table. "This isn't a negotiation."

Before I can speak his hands dig in under my armpits, roughly pulling me to stand and bringing me close to his chest. I should have energy to fight back, I've only been sitting after all. But a physical confrontation would be too loud, first of all. Abby is asleep in her room, and I don't want to make a scene to wake the poor child. Number two, my bones are sore, my head is aching and I generally just do not feel well enough to protest. Physically.

"Put me down, you son of a bitch!"

Verbally, I'm fine.

"You're going to bed, that's final!"

"I have twelve drafts due that I have to get done or else this project-"

"You have four hours of sleep you can get before you have to take your candy ass to work in the fucken morning, or else I'm gonna beat it into you," he hisses directly in my ear, his breath cold and loud so close to me. Jesus, fuck. What did his parents feed him as a child? It shouldn't be this easy for him.

"Oh, I don't do what you want and now you threaten physical violence. Very mature," I mock, reaching out to grip the doorframe of Mike's bedroom, purely to piss him off.

"Save me the dramatics," he snaps in a whisper, wrapping one arm tighter around my waist and using the other to bat my hands away from the frame. I can tell he's genuinely trying not to hurt me, his grip on one wrist firm but careful.

"Just let me write one page," I try.

"That's what you said last night," he says, still trying to pull my hand away. My nails have dug into the frame, making it slightly harder. I can sense his irritation growing. "You got two hours of sleep."

"That's not going to kill me," I argue.

"You haven't slept for more than two hours in a week," he says.

One nail breaks against the frame, making me lose my grip and sending pain down my arm from the awkward angle at which the pressure had snapped it off. I wince slightly, which gives Mike slight pause as he checks my hand, but decides I'm alright before he begins dragging me towards the bed in earnest.

"Why is it so hard for you to just take care of yourself?" Mike asks in frustration.

"I take care of myself!" I say defensively. Mike drops me onto the bed, standing in front of me to prevent any new attempts at escape.

"No, you don't," he says, quiet but firm. "You sit and stare at your notebook and you don't do anything else if you can help it. You sleep for two hours, you go to work, you hardly eat, you don't have energy anymore." Mike's hands are planted firmly on his hips, his nostrils flailing as he tries to take collected, calm breaths. "I care about you. Why can't you?"

"Michael-"

"Stop!" Mike snaps, groaning and turning away from me with a sharp spin on his heel. He buries his hands in his hair in frustration, now pacing between the bed and the door, quietly shutting it so we can argue in peace.

"Why are you so upset?" I ask, genuinely confused.

"Because I don't want to see you live like this. I am concerned and every time I bring it up you dismiss me, you joke, you don't care and I hate that," Mike says, temporarily stopped in his tracks to point at me as he seethes. "I'm watching you waste away and you know what? I'm starting to think part of you likes it."

"Excuse me?" I say, astounded. I cross my arms in front of my chest, cocking my head at him in a way to say 'I dare you to repeat that.'

"You heard me," Mike says, taking a step towards me. "It's like you cannot for one iota of a second conceive of some world where taking care of yourself is a good use of your time. You work, and work until you've burned yourself out so horribly you rot in bed for a month. And unless you're staying here, I hear nothing from you. Not a call, not a fuck you or whatever. It's like you're punishing yourself."

"Now who's being dramatic?" I say.

"See? I can't even point this out without you getting defensive, which just shows you know you're in the wrong!" Mike turns away from me once more, resuming his path of restless walking.

"Why do you even care?" I ask genuinely. This makes him pause again, his glare once more returning to me as he mentally questions my intelligence.

"You know what, I don't know!" Mike snaps, his voice gaining volume. "You are insistent in this fucking- slow method suicide and I'm trying to help you, but you won't let me!"

"I never asked you to care," I scoff, rolling my eyes.

"I never asked to care!" Mike nearly shouts, leaning in close to my face and sneering at me.

This breaks the tension.

His face falls as soon as the words are out of his mouth, his eyes widening slightly like my own eyes. This comment shouldn't really sting. I shouldn't let it. But it does. And for a moment, I do. And he sees that clearly.

"... oh," I say softly, my arms relaxing and shoulders sagging ever so slightly as I drop his gaze, trying to shut off my emotions before they're obvious.

"I'm sorry," Mike says quickly, stumbling to his knees in front of me. "I didn't mean that-"

"It's fine," I say, trying to remain as blank as my pages on the kitchen table.

"I just said it to be hurtful," Mike says quickly, his hand reaching up to cup my face. I take it away, turning my head to the side slightly. There's a new chill in the air, one I can feel seizing my chest.

"You weren't," I say. "I'm going to sleep."

"Please, I don't want-"

"I'm going to sleep," I say forcefully, shoving him away and turning to begin undressing from my work clothes that I still wore. Mike is silent behind me, probably thinking, and I'm close to not being able to hold myself together anymore.

"Get out!" I snap, flinging my shirt at him in a rage and beginning to stand from the bed to chase him out. He doesn't need anymore prompt, quickly scurrying out from the room to wherever it is he'll sleep now. Probably on the couch even though there's another room down the hall. A self induced punishment. Knowing him he probably won't even allow himself a blanket or pillow, feeling the cold air fitting for his selfishness.

Good.

-

When I wake that morning, I can smell breakfast in the air. My stomach hurts from skipping meals, but I don't want to eat. First of all, I haven't worked for a meal. There's still plenty to be done with my drafts. And food is a good encouragement to keep working. Second, I didn't ask him to care. And he didn't ask for it either. There probably isn't enough for me, and if there is, he and Abby can debate between the two who will have it. I need to shower.

I take forever washing myself. If that's what you want to call it. It was moreso standing under hot water, letting it run cold until I couldn't stand it anymore and hoping my deodorant is able to do some heavy lifting today. I barely have enough time to get to work, passing silently by Mike and not turning when he calls my name, walking out the door as fast as I can without running.

He follows me outside, something shaking in a bag behind me. When I finally open my car door I'm forced to have my gaze in his direction, his body between the door frame and my car door, presenting me with a bag of lunch.

"Please eat," he begs, placing the bag in my lap unceremoniously and then quickly stepping away and shutting the door himself.

There's a small moment where he and I just share at each other through the glass, time slipping away without notice. He hasn't slept, he'll be late for work if he doesn't get dressed soon, and the bag on top of my thighs is warm. Fresh. A petty part of me wants to roll down my window and throw away the meal, back out of the drive way and let that fester in his mind out of hate. He thinks words can hurt? Actions are so much worse.

But there's something in his eyes. Defeated, resigned. Childlike is almost the word I could use. In front of my car is the 12 year old boy who tried to chase down his brother, the 18 year old who decided to sacrifice his life raising his little sister while saying goodbye to his parents, and the 27 year old man who's just trying to keep everything together.

I don't know what to say to this child. Or to the man.

So, with the turn of my key in the ignition, I don't.

-

It's late when I come home. When the manager had asked me to stay late I almost called Mike to break the silence and tell him this. But there was still a part of me that didn't care whether or not he knew. Really, I didn't have to return home tonight. I could go back to my apartment and just let him rot in bed the way he claims I do. How could he say such a thing, anyways? I rot in bed? What about the days I've walked into the house and he hasn't slept all week, where he's claiming he's trying to kick his medication and he'll get the hang of it soon. Where his sister is eating every meal almost burnt because he can't think straight enough to remember time. Where I've had to coax, beg, demand of him that he just takes a pill because he's laying on the side of the bed, small and curled in on himself, dead eyed and obviously tired but still not sleeping. One time I slipped it into his food. And I felt awful. Do not think for a moment I wanted to do that. There was a betrayel in his eyes when sleep began to overtake him. I hoped he wouldn't notice, but he must've. Some tell in the drugs effect that made him aware his rest was not voluntary. But I didn't care. I stroked his hair through the night, and I'll do it again. He could hate me however long he needed to, he just needed sleep first.

The irony still hasn't struck me when I walk through the door of his house, well past dinner, Abby in the bath. The door was left unlocked, which is unusual for this time of night. Mike jumps from the couch the minute I open the door, standing with his hands by his side anxiously pulling at the edge of his oversized sweater.

Everything's oversized with him. The thought occurs to me that his father was slightly bigger.

"Don't leave me," he says quietly, his voice small and pathetic like him. But I don't say that with hate.

"I just got home," I say. "Be a bit odd to leave again."

I try a smile, but it's artificial and we both know it's only for his comfort. It doesn't touch him, his eyes glassy and lips slightly parted the same way a child's is when they're trying to breathe as their sinuses spring to life in wake of forming tears.

"I didn't mean it," he says, still standing in the same place. If I was a better person I'd probably run to him. But I'm not.

If I were a better person, I'd say I believe him. But I don't. And suddenly my throat is swollen with hurt, my own bottom lip is sticking out and now we're both trying not to cry because this is so overly taxing. We're adults but emotions are hard. Vulnerability is hard. It is a damnation that we both detest, both avoid. In better states we would joke about this, would laugh and tease the other for not having the emotional capability to voice our thoughts. But we're not. So we don't. And now we're crying openly in the off-putting, attempted to look cozy living room that we can never fully relax in.

"I don't wanna lose you," he says between small hiccups, hands now balled into fists that he buries under opposite armpits, shifting his weight so that he doesn't look so small. His glances bounce between me and the hallway table, never fixing on either of us as he tries to state his mind like an adult. "I've barely had you."

In my heart there has been a constant ache, hurt flowing and pumping through my veins like the blood that ran cold last night at his hurtful words. His apologetic words make the ache somehow worse.

"I don't mean to be a burden to you," I say softly, feeling a small, stray tear break the fluid barrier of my waterline to race down my cheek, allowing a pathway to the fatter drops that threaten to quickly follow.

Mike's face shifts, stepping towards me and holding out his arms.

"No, never," he says just as soft, trying to comfort me. I freeze as he approaches, my body stiffening as I try to swallow the lump and convince myself that I can survive his touch. His touch that I normally crave the moment I'm around him, that I seek in the dark of night even when the bed is overheating, that I'd go insane without.

"I've never asked you to care," I say, voice breaking and tears rolling freely now.

"I know," he says into my neck, which is wetting as he shakes around me, his grasp firm and careless of whether or not it's too much.

"I don't mean to cause problems. I just...." I don't know what I mean, how I wish to finish the statement. If I was clever, I could. If I was clever, I wouldn't even be in this problem to begin with.

"I'm just scared," he chokes out, his breathing horrible as he struggles to keep his crying from being obvious. "You look sick all the time and I don't want that."

He's told me the story. His mother wasting away, thinning and slipping, starving and dying. How he'd returned home to a baby wailing in her crib as their mothers body lay in a pool of blood he never really got out of the carpet. He lied to me initially when I saw it the first time, said it was wine. It wasn't until we had a few glasses ourselves that his eyes glazed over and he told me. It was disturbing how neutral he kept himself to the subject. A habit he'd developed much too long ago to break.

"Mike-"

"I try, and I try and if something doesn't give soon I'm gonna fucking lose it," he sobs into my skin, arms tightening around me.

"If what doesn't give?" I ask softly, trying to pull him away to look into his eyes. But he doesn't budge, sobbing a little bit harder and gripping a little bit tighter. He doesn't respond, simply shaking as he breathes heavily against me through his mouth.

"Hey," I say softly, trying to wrap my arms around him, failing and giving up as I realize his grip is too tight. "I'm not going anywhere."

His mouth closes a little, quieting his breathing slightly as he sniffles.

"I'm an idiot, but I'm not suicidal," I say softly, trying again for a joke. He doesn't laugh, but he does pull away slightly to look at my face, lips swollen and quivering as he blinks at me.

"You scare me," he says quietly, not quite meeting my eyes. He's watching my lips, but I think that's because that's the closest he can get to making eye contact.

"I scare you?" I ask, furrowing my brows. I lick my dry, cracked lips for comfort. "Why?"

"Because I love you," he says shakily, sighing as though it were exhausting to admit while still holding that nervous flicker in his eyes. "Because when I think about not being with you the house seems colder. And I can't go back to hating this house."

I open my mouth to respond, but there's more.

"Because I love your stupid smile when you're excited, or how you do that cricket leg thing when you're falling asleep. Or how if you want my attention you'll bury your head in my chest and pretend you're doing it in your sleep even though I won't judge you for doing it while you're awake."

"I don't-"

"I love how defensive you get over things like that," he says, bringing one hand to cup my cheek, resting his thumb that smells like the creamy lavender handsoap next to the bathroom sink on my lips. "I love how you look waking up next to me, how you play with Abby. And for a really long time I didn't see myself ever having kids, but when I see you curling her hair at the kitchen table I think maybe it wouldn't be so bad if I just took up another job and saved money so that we could-"

"Mike-"

"Stop cutting me off," he says gently, his eyes finally meeting mine with just the smallest smile. "It's rude."

At that I do stop, my body finally relaxing into his grasp as I lean into him and his touch.

"I want things I haven't wanted since before Garret went missing," he says, stroking my lip. "And I want them with you."

Dinner was just as delicious as lunch, even if it was late. And the bed is soft like our voices as we make plans for years down the line. And after a week long break, the pages are finally filled once again.

Just like us.

                             ¤▪︎{♧}▪︎¤

Literally had a come to Jesus moment while writing this that not only do I fear being vulnerable irl, but in writing too. Nearly threw up while writing this. Book aable feet.

Taglist:

@cassiecasluciluce @gh0u1ishly @joshhutchersons-slut @schmidtsbimbo @sugarevans @wompwompwomp57 @jhutchissupercool . Thank you for your support pookies!!! <3

               •▪︎Masterlist▪︎•

[dovithedarklord]

Stucked - Part 2

You're trapped in a game and a new threat is lurking.

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Pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish x reader

Tags: Mentions of death, Mentions of blood and gore, Blood and Violence, Sexual Scenes, Alternate Universe, No use of Y/N, Not Beta Read, AFAB Reader

Trigger Warning: Contains violence, blood and smut, and some dubcon. Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

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Author's Note

I watch too many horror movies, so I thought I write a part two for this small story.

I have some more ideas for this, so I might write a few other parts for this.

Have fun! :D

Part 1

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You raise the glass to your mouth with slow movements, and as you take a sip of the whiskey resting in it, you can barely register how the liquid is burning down your throat. Because it's much more interesting to study the man in front of you, laughing with peaceful glee, who, although exudes the role of the innocent host with every pore, he cannot deceive you anymore.

The more you think about it, the more certain you are that you weren't imagining it when Johnny deviated from the script a few hours ago and whispered something in your ear that he shouldn't have done according to your experiences so far. Although the events of the previous night could have served as a warning sign, you’re now sure that something has changed. Somehow, the thread of the story slowly drifted away from the usual path and began to flow in a direction where you have no idea what will welcome you at the end. But one thing is clear. That you won't let this satanic place screw with you. You will fight and outsmart it, even if you have to try a thousand times over.

"Oh, this house is so beautiful, Johnny! I envy you so much that you managed to buy it!" Pam blabbers excitedly, and the warmth of the alcohol permeates her voice, which makes all her enthusiasm fall out much more loudly from her red lips. If she knew that this man was looking for an abandoned cabin in the middle of nowhere, hundreds of kilometers from civilization, so that he could indulge in his bloody hobby in peace, she wouldn't be nearly so cheerful.

"The credit is not mine, one of my friends found it." Johnny notes modestly, and a wide smile appears on his mouth, which you know is his only sincere moment during the entire evening. Whoever this friend was, whom he had referred to so many times during dinners, he hadn't paid his respects so far. And you know that in a game like this, every word the characters utter has weight, each one could be a vague hint to another clue. But you haven't been able to figure out the identity of this unknown friend just yet, and it occurs to you that maybe this little detail is what’s missing to make the picture complete. But you don't have time for that now. You have more important things to do.

The key hidden in your pocket almost burns the skin of your thigh, and every single nerve of yours tenses in anticipation, waiting for the story to reach the point where you can finally jump into action and move forward to discover what this little trinket opens. Because you're convinced that if Johnny hadn't distracted you earlier, you wouldn't have died, and would found something vastly valuable. And now you're not going to let anything hold you back before you expose what's behind the door.

Rebecca's phone rings, and she excuses herself with her usual panicked stuttering, only to rush out the door into the embrace of the dark night. And this means good news, because it seems that despite the oddities, everything continues as it should. And for the first time, you're glad that this nerve-wracking, repetitive drama is happening once again, because it gives you a chance to regain control. At least you hope so.

And you fix your eyes on the man silently, who is deep into a lively conversation with Pam, because the alcohol is almost gone from the bottle, and it's time for him to leave. And you follow his every move with unmoving attention, in case you find something that might indicate that he will deviate from the script again. Of course, you know that when he takes on his less likable persona and tries to kill you with one of his many creative methods, he becomes frighteningly unpredictable. But until you get there, he's like a tame lamb. As far as appearances go. 

"What's the time?" Pam suddenly asks, and you snap out of your sinister thoughts to look at her in bewilderement, because this dialogue should happen much later. Normally she decides she had enough of the night's fun only when Johnny has long since retired to his room. "Jesus, it's that late? I better go get some sleep if I don't want to look like a corpse tomorrow morning!" She yawns, after checking the time on her phone's screen, and you've seen every single movement with which she stands up and stretches out her tired muscles a dozen times, but still, as she throws you a last "good night" and sets off towards the path leading upstairs, your chest fills with icy shock.

Because this way something that has never happened before takes place, and after the disappearance of your two companions, you’re left alone with the man, who waves goodbye to the girl, only to turn all his stressful attention to you a second later. And you just stare at the long-empty stairs, frozen in surprise, as if the steps could answer what the hell is going on here.

"What's wrong, Bunny?" He inquires, and you carefully shift your gaze to him, as the dread slowly crawls under your skin to envelope your conciseness. Although the game initially lulled you into a false sense of calm with how slyly it followed the main storyline again, but now everything continues to change yet again. And due to the rampage of the doubts that arise in your head, you're unable to put the broken pieces of your sanity together and figure out what should you do now that you’re stuck with the enemy who you know is just waiting to gut you like the prey you are.

"I…" You stammer nervously, and your tongue rolls in your mouth with such clumsiness, as if the leaden heaviness creeping into you from terror would paralyze it as well. And it's probably the case, because for a few torturous seconds, you only gape at him with the elegance of fish, before your body is able to recollect itself enough to form coherent sentences. "I just thought she would stay a little bit longer." You hesitate, forcing lightness into your tone, and your mind tries to gather the facade of calmness with desperate speed, because when you see that characteristic, almost pitying shadow pass over the man's face, you know you have fallen into a trap.

"The driver needs the rest too." Johnny remarks simply, and although there is still a remnant of the friendly smile at the corner of his mouth, the cold glint moving into his eyes kills all warmth from his expression. And you know that look all too well to realize you have to flee as soon as possible, because it's usually the last thing you see before he takes your life with his own hands.

Your body moves almost instinctively, and you spring up from the festive table so suddenly, that your chair cries out with a loud creak as it slides backward on the floor from your momentum. You grab the plates stacked on the middle of the table with shaking hands, and you concentrate with every fiber of your being so that your behavior does not encourage the man sitting on the other side to do anything rash. But he just cocks his head to the side lazily and watches you with interest, and even though your eyes are strictly trained on the crumpled napkins, which you hastily pile on top of the cutlery, you can feel his penetrating gaze burning the sensitive skin of your face.

"I’ll clear the table." You declare, and you don't give him time to object, because you’re already heading towards the kitchen to get away from him as fast as possible, since every cell of yours can feel that the storm is approaching, which will strike if you stay next to him. "I'll wash these up! You can go to bed!" You throw it back over your shoulder, and you're unable to expel the desperate quaver that settles in your voice, because you know that you fled from him like a chased animal, and you only dare to hope that he doesn't attach more importance to it. Because even though he seems like a very real person, he's just a fictional character and doesn't have enough self-awareness to properly evaluate your behavior. Or that's what you try to calm yourself down with.

And as you step into the embrace of the empty kitchen, with a soft sigh, you blow out the air that has been trapped in your chest, straining painfully against your ribs until now. You stumble to the counter, and it's almost a strange miracle that nothing falls out of your hands, even though you're gripping the goddamn cheap china with such force that your palms start to ache. You quietly slip the plates into the sink and anxiously peer back behind your shoulders as they land clattering on the metal. Because every little misstep can alarm the enemy, and now you need a minute of precious solitude to work out what the hell is going on.

But nothing else comes from the living room except the warm light of the crackling fire in the fireplace and the motionless silence. A few more nerve-racking moments pass, until your paranoid mind finally calms down and you believe that you don't have to be afraid of Johnny coming after you just yet. And when you’re finally able to tear your frightened eyes away from the door, you turn back to the sink, trying to muffle your panicked panting. You feel the nervous breakdown slowly creeping up on you, and wild dizziness moves into your head, as you realize that last night set in motion a series of events that will slowly tear apart the fragile certainty in which you have navigated yourself somewhat confidently until now. Because even though this place is cursed, it has consistently followed its rules so far, and you have been able to progress in it despite the many pain-filled miseries you had to suffer through. But now something went very wrong, and none of the thoughts running through your head can find an answer to what could have been the little mistake that started this avalanche.

Resting your palm on the cold stone of the counter, you try to pull your mind back from the edge of hysteria, and your fingers grip the cool marble with desperate strength, as hovering on the verge of crying, you try to fight the calmness back into your body with a few pitiful breaths. Because even though every single nerve cell of yours screams and strains against consciousness, you cannot allow yourself to panic now. This is exactly what the game wants. For you to get confused, make a mistake, and die, over and over again, until one day you dive so deep into this nightmare that you won't want to leave because you won't even remember what's waiting outside. It may be trying new ways to crush you, but you must not let it win. That would mean your fall and possible eternal torment.

You need time.

You open the faucet quickly, and as the lukewarm water caresses your fingers, you feel that confidence slowly returning to your battered brain. If you pretend to clean up after the party like a helpful guest, you hopefully drag out this ridiculous task just long enough for Johnny to get tired of waiting and leave. You need him to disappear, because as long as he's out there lurking, you have no chance to investigate further. And you must not forget that your number one priority is to find clues. And no mean tactics can dissuade you from this. Not even when despair seeps into your bones like a contagious disease. 

As you slowly get to work, you mechanically start listing the steps you need to take in your head. You have to go back upstairs and get into the room that the lock hides from you. You have to be on the lookout because you're not sure if it was Johnny and Pam's steamy moment or your own attempt to open the lock that invited the masked killer. Maybe the death flag was activated because you weren't fast enough. Every time you take too long to get to the next safe spot, you die because your clumsiness gives one of your attackers enough time to find you. As if the game would punish your failure with this. But even if you're quick, you can't be completely sure that he won't show up again, so you have to be prepared to defend yourself. If you don't manage to open the lock in two tries, you have to hide and see what happens, so that…

Out of nowhere, the distinctive, woody scent hits your nose, breaking you out of your planning in an instant, but you’re unable to react in time, because when you feel the burning heat of the body snuggling up to you, your hand holding the sponge freezes with the distress of a trapped animal. You forget to breathe from the stunned shock creeping into you, as you see huge hands spread out on the counter from the corner of your eye, blocking your way of escape, as if he knew that your first instinctive thought would be to run. But even if you wanted to, you wouldn't be able to act fast enough, because the moment the man's hard muscles press against your back, you know you have no chance of fleeing, and this painful realization short-circuits your brain.

"My hardworkin" wee Bunny... Ye left so soon." Johnny murmurs, and you feel his deep voice resonating through his chest, because suddenly all your nerves can only focus on the tense proximity with which he presses himself up to you. "Ye didnae just want to run away from me, did ye?"

Anyone would think that it's just kind, friendly interest, but your ears can sense the dangerous edge behind his words, with which he tries to force out the reason you left him alone in the living room so unexpectedly. The soft gurgling of the water echoes in your head like a deafening noise and drums on the metal like an ominous melody, deepening the raw fear moving inside you. What is he doing here anyway? Why didn't he go to sleep already?

"No... I just... " You stutter softly, and even to yourself the whimper that comes out of your mouth seems pathetically weak, but you’re unable to pull yourself together because the panic is awakening with too much force. "I didn't want you to be left with the cleaning after you've already thrown the dinner together." You finally bring yourself to speak, and you hastily swallow the terror rising in your throat, which leads the bitter taste of stomach acid in your mouth.

And you don't like the low, malicious chuckle that sounds next to your ear, because every single hair on your back stands up as you feel the air fanning over your neck in small waves from his amusement. You don’t dare to move, because the danger is too close, and you're afraid that every reckless act will lead to your death in the next moment. And even though you know that you'll get back into the car and start all over again, you can't get rid of the doubt in the back of your head that tells you, from now on you can't be sure about that either…

"It's okay, this will do too." He hums casually, as if giving himself permission to engage in what was born in his twisted mind. And you frown in confusion, because you’re unable to understand what is that he wants to achieve with this. If he wanted to kill you, he would have done it already, and although he's no stranger to playing with you before the main event, he has never resorted to such tricks before. This is different now, this is some threatening new twist that you’re not prepared for.

"What do you mean?" The instinctive question bursts out of you, because the uneasiness arising in your mind creeps onto your tongue much sooner than you could suppress your curiosity. And for a moment it seems as if he might hesitate, because for a few agonizing seconds, nothing happens. But before you can feel the relief that maybe he’ill stop playing this horrible game, you feel the light touch of his nose caressing the sensitive skin behind your ear, and it makes your heart jump in fear.

"I love yer scent." He breathes, and the moan that escapes from his mouth sounds almost longing, when he buries his face in your neck and takes a deep inhale of your hair. And you can only hope that you imagine the shiver that runs through his body. "So sweet. Full of fear." He grumbles, and goosebumps rise reflexively on your back, as you feel the burning touch of his lips on your skin, which makes you light-headed for a moment, and the world starts spinning with you from confused panic.

"Johnny, what the…" You gasp and try to make eye contact through the glass of the window in front of you, but you regret it soon enough. Because when the gaze of his reflection flashes on you, you see nothing but darkness in them, as if the deepest recesses of hell have moved in those beautiful, vivid eyes. In the yellowish light filtering in from behind, he looks like an inhumane shadow as his strong figure towers over you, and you feel pitifully small in the embrace of his body swelling with strength. He would be able to break all your bones with one light movement, like a twig dried in the summer sun. You know, because he already did. Not just once.

And this is enough for the first wild desire to escape to wake up in your body, and when you try to break away from his suffocating proximity with a frightened step, he only presses himself even closer to you, and you involuntarily hiss as the sharp edge of the kitchen counter bites into your stomach. And the horrified realization strikes you, that the hardness that slowly pushes against your lower back is not the product of your imagination.

"Shh, calm down." He coos, with an almost condescending edge in his voice, as if he would want to soothe a terrified child, but you can see the twist of a cruel smile at the corner of his mouth, which makes him look more like a predator that has found its prey. "We're just playin' a little. Ye need to relax too." He states, and you don't like the way a wolfish grin creeps onto his face, enjoying the way your eyes slowly open wide with terror.

Before would be able to register it, one of his hands begins its lazy exploration, and as his long fingers travel along the bare skin of your arm, you shiver from the feigned tenderness with which he touches you. Like a gentle lover trying to ingrain the fine lines of your body onto his memory, but you know him better than that. You know what kind of bloodlust lurks behind that handsome face, you know what kind of beast nests in his chest, which can burst out at any moment and tear your throat open to paint his teeth crimson with your flesh.

"Stop it..." You finally find your voice, and although the wavers from the fear that crawls into your stomach, it rings just loud enough to draw his attention to the fact that you might have started to defy him. But even this little courage fades away when you feel his large palm slide onto your stomach, and as his fingers teasingly caress the top of your pants, the plate you've been clutching falls out of your hand with a reflexive movement, so you can grab his thick wrist in alarm before he could move forward with whatever he wanted to do. The porcelain breaks into a thousand pieces with a deafening clatter, splitting the deceptive silence of the night in two. And for a moment, time freezes, the rustle of the wind blowing outside falls silent, and the shining of golden light reflected in the window fades. As though the continuity of the game would break for a minute. As if you've disrupted something important with your rejection.

"Stop what?" He tilts his head to the side, and although you see a completely innocent expression appear in the dim reflection for a moment, you can make out the disgusting vileness that shines in his eyes. "I'm not doin' anythin' you wouldn't need, bonnie." He says, as if he honestly wouldn't understand what he did wrong by appearing in this godforsaken kitchen.

You're about to open your mouth to protest further, but his free hand finds your neck with such suddenness that all the fleeting sounds of your defiance boil onto your throat at the warning squeeze of his fingers. And even though he doesn't cause pain, it's just enough of a threat to drive the spark of resistance out of your limbs by forcing them into automatic obedience. Because a whole new kind of worry takes over you when he closes every millimeter of the already miniscule distance between the two of you, as though he would try to merge into one with your paralyzed body, and because of the helpless shock, you allow him to continue with this sick game as he pleases.

His hand, which wanders over your stomach, crawls under your jeans with nerve-wracking sluggishness, and you cringe at the roughness of his palm, which only elicits a lustful growl from him. He smooths his mouth on your neck with a wet kiss, and you’re unable to tear your eyes away from the scene unfolding in the window, as if you were just watching a movie, and you wouldn't even experience first-hand how his tongue slowly traces the faint line of the vein running under your skin, in which your desperately racing pulse continues to pump fear into your body. But as you feel his hand suddenly move lower, and his fingers skim along your clit hidden in your underwear, then you tense up with an instinctive shock and try to pull away from him a second later.

He must really enjoy your thrashing, because he thrusts his hips forward with a grunt full of pleasure, and as his cock presses against you, the throaty moans escaping from his mouth burn your skin along with his hot breath. And as his fingers start to write small circles on the sensitive bundle of nerves, and he begins to grind himself against you through your clothes with feverish movements, like a fucking, horny dog, then the anger flares up inside you along with the heat that awakens between your thighs. Because this dirty, perverted scumbag isn't going to distract you from getting out of here with this damn stunt. No matter how troubling it is when the first suffocating wave of lust rushes through your treacherous body.

"Stop, you motherfucker!" An angry cry breaks out of you, and your hand finds a piece of the broken plate in the sink, and you grab it with such speed to stab it into the man's arm emerging from your pants like a venomous snake. He lets go with a painful roar, and this gives you just enough opportunity to break free from his arms and back away from him with hasty steps, fixing your eyes sparkling with poison on him.

However, his surprise doesn't last long, because he pulls out the piece of porcelain pierced in his hand amid colorful curses, only to throw it on the floor, shaking off the angry red drops of blood slowly emerging from the tiny cut. The whole ordeal doesn't seem to be more than a passing inconvenience to him, because the next moment he has that godawful smirk on his face again, which makes your stomach shrink to the size of a tennis ball. But you don't give up, you look for the knife, which is lying on the counter in the exact same way as usual, and grabbing it, you raise it in front of you angrily. This is the first time that you try to fight instead of running away, and the adrenaline rushes through your body with a force that you have never experienced before in your life.

"Look at ye, how brave ye have become!" He exclaims amusedly, and as he takes a few slow, menacing steps towards you, like a big cat ready to attack, you hastily move to the other side of the table in the middle of the kitchen, hoping that this is enough of a barrier between the two of you. "You've let me play with ye so willingly so far... But it's okay. I like how fiery ye are!" He continues his rambling, and you can feel the patronizing edge in his voice, as if it would amuse him and fill him with pity at the same time that you think you finally have a chance to hurt him. And your brain is too busy with your escape, slowly dragging you out of the kitchen, to understand what an impossible statement is hidden in his words. Because then you would have to face the fact that he's not as unaware as you thought.

"Shut up." You snap at him with clenched teeth, and you focus on him with every nerve because you're afraid that if you lose sight of him even for a minute, he'll throw himself at you and you'll lose all your chances of survival. Even though the logical side of you knows that it would be easier to let him kill you and start this horror again. But the pulsation of fury is too strong in you to yield to the deceptive lure of the simpler path.

"I wanted to taste yer pussy. But I think I'll have to settle for yer blood for now." He taunts cruelly, and now you know that this whole wicked game was just another tool to torture you. Because he always wants the same thing, no matter what cunning methods he uses. He wants to enjoy the sight of your lifeless body. "Maybe next time." He promises, and he charges towards you so suddenly that you just blindly swing your hand clutching the knife at him, and even you yourself are surprised when you succeed in slicing the strong line of his chin in the heat of the moment.

He hisses as fresh blood gushes out in the wake of your attack, and you gain just enough advantage to start running like a frightened doe, bolting desperately from the kitchen's threshold. You run across the living room, out of breath, and from the stress hormones raging in your body, you almost tear the front door open to stumble into the cool night. In your panic-stricken brain, it occurs to you that this will be a bad idea, but you have no other option, you have to trust that the darkness of the forest will hide you from the madman, whose pounding footsteps can be heard behind you, as you rush forward in the thicket and get swallowed up by the tangled cavalcade of trees.

Your pulse thumping on your eardrums joins in as the background noise for your sprint, and your lungs start to burn slowly, as the cold air gnaws at your trachea in the middle of your rush. The leaves crunch under your sneakers, and you don't even realize how the branches dig into your face and tear at your hair, because you have only one goal in front of your eyes: To get as far away from Johnny as possible.

But your escape attempt is short lived, because two hands reach out from behind one of the trees so swiftly that you don't have time to dodge it. They loop around your waist with a vise-like grip, and your mouth opens to a frightened scream, but when you try to free yourself from the shackles of your attacker, you almost feel your ribs crack, as the strong arms wrap around you tighter, pressing you to a massive body with deadly determination.

You glance back in terror, and when you see the skull-like mask, it's too late. One of his hands lets go of you, and even if you had a momentary chance to get away, it immediately disappears when the hunting knife sinks into your stomach. You let out a startled whimper as the agonizing pressure builds when he slowly twists the blade inside you, and you feel the warm, red liquid bubbling out of the torn flesh.

You fall to the ground like a rag doll as your attacker releases you from his grip, and you sprawle out in the mud coughing up blood as the pain shoots through your every nerve. And through the blur of the ever-increasing blood loss, you only dimly perceive how a familiar figure appears next to the masked man, but even hovering on the edge of unconsciousness, you recognize Johnny's cheerful laugh, with which he pats the other killer on the shoulder.

"I almost got her!"  Johnny laments, and with your weak and foggy brain, you can't comprehend the inscrutable emotion in his voice. "Never mind. Next time, it'll be different!"

And when the darkness envelopes you in its weightless embrace, you have the last fleeting thought that this game is taking more and more fatal turns.

~ ° ~

Gasping in alarm, your eyes open in the back seat of the car, and you smooth away the cold sweat from your forehead with shaking hands, as you realize that you're back at the beginning of the game once again. Surrounded by the chatter of your two companions, you try to overcome your disorientation, because dizziness invades your head in a way you've never experienced before, as if you've brought a little of the horror of your previous death with you when you restarted this misery.

And when the dull pain in your stomach hits you, you pull up the thin material of your T-shirt in fear, and your brain goes blank for a fleeting moment when you see what is waiting for you there. A palm-sized black spot spreads across the soft blanket of healthy skin, and you're pretty sure it's not just your imagination playing tricks on you when you recognize a skull slowly taking shape in it. Like a carving of a cruel reminder, so you don’t forget who ended your life this time.

It doesn't make any sense... you've died twenty-four times, yet this is the first time something strange appears on you, as though the game would try to convey something. As if your killer had marked you with his signature... But why?

But you don't have time to ponder on this any longer, because the car stops, and you pull your shirt down in panic to cover the new sign, before it catches the eyes of the two girls and they start asking questions. You could explain yourself, but at this point, you're not entirely sure if it wouldn't start something with another set of fatal consequences.

The girls hop out of the car in the middle of their excited conversation, but you stay put, trying to overcome hyperventilation and regain some semblance of your composure. You need to be more careful, you made no progress yesterday, and if this continues, you will never get out of here. And you can't allow that. Never.

However, when the door opens and Johnny's cheerful figure appears on the doorstep, you know that nothing is going to be all right. Because behind him, a tall figure, whom you have never seen before, slowly emerges from the house. The light of the autumn sun shines golden on his dark blond hair, and although his face is half covered by a black medical mask, you still recognize the threat in the unfamiliar man. Because as those dark eyes settle on you, as you hesitantly step out of the car, every single fiber in your body screams at the same time: RUN!

But you know you can't run away. You're forced to go further in this hellscape because that is the only way to get out. And whoever this new stranger is, he won't stop you. No matter what happens.

[night-dazai]

Hi there. I just read "Beautifully Destroyed" and it was so good! I really like your writing style..

I'm interested in requesting a Fyodor x reader fic, with some religious themes, where they're having their first time together and he's starts out soft and vanilla but slowly gets rougher and more aggressive as he keeps going.

Please feel free to ignore if this makes you uncomfortable. Sorry if there are any grammar mistakes, English is not my first language

and thank you for your time.🍓✨️

Falling for you

Hey, it was such a lovely request while writing this I just realized that I really love writing and reading stuff where the reader is a virgin. And plus thank you so much, I am honoured that you enjoyed my previous work. Thank you любовь💕💕💕

Tags: reader virgin, rough sex, mentions of little blood, female reader, manipulation but sweet aftercare.

Also thanks to @inconspisheadreams for helping me proofread this, but if there are still any mistakes found do let me know. ❤️

When you first explain to your friends what your type is, add all the details on appearance and personality. little did you know that you were just subconsciously attracted to Russian men. More especially religious Russian men, meeting Fydor was a complete accident no it was a destined meeting, something you humans could not control. 

Little did you know that it was all planned from the first time the Russian saw you at the club, sitting in the corner with a tissue covering your drink? Innocence is seen in your bright eyes and clumsy behaviour, running to your friends when a guy hits on you “Please I said I am not interested, “ you would mumble holding your friend's dress as they told the dude to back off. 

The moment he saw you he knew he would protect you, and also make sure to create a world where you won't be bothered by such things and your innocence can be safe, slowly making accidents for you two meet in cafes and book shops you frequent. The way your eyes widened at his appearance, you were not very short but the little height difference was something Fydor found very cute. 

After a whole year of careful manipulation, he had you become his girlfriend “Fyda …” you started out fidgeting with your top “ что за проблемная принцесса? “ (what's the prob princess ?” ) his voice so gentle rough big hands holding yours. “I…..I always wanted to lose my virginity after marriage “, you said blushing just at the word. 

He was not surprised but kind of, he did expect you to be inexperienced with the way you reacted to his advances but still, the fact that no man has ever touched you made his blood rise “You have not even kissed хомяк ?” (hamster).

His hands traced gently on your bottom lip which quivered under the rough skin contact “ Y...yeah “ you said nodding your head. The black Russian made a note “Marriage, first night “, and from that day on your extremely peaceful life started. 

College got over you got the job at the place you always wanted, Fydor was busy working and you never bothered to ask what it was “ Fyoo!” you exclaimed running into your shared house and thinking about the message you got from him “What-” you words stopped short. Fydor was in the most beautiful white suit you have seen his long hair loose eyes sparkling, on one knee he opened the box “Will you, хомяк ?” (hamster ). You could not control the tears “Yeah!” you nodded and leaped into his arms.

The wedding was short with close friends and people you guys wanted, with Sigma and Nikolai right next to your husband, who was a bit too eager to get his hands on your pure body. 

“What will he think? will he like me? He told me it's fine so it must be right ?” you thought pacing in the bathroom and looking at your reflection. Dressed in a full white gown you stood, the neck was a bit deep and the soft silk showed your curves very lustrously.

Glamping down the lump in your neck you walked out to your bed sat in the corner and waited for your husband. 

Fydor walked into the room, and his proper eyes caught you sitting on the edge of the bed playing with your dress.“Love”,  he said walking towards you. Raising your head you see him all angelic in white “According to the rules of a married couple we must make sure we are married .” his hands roamed your exposed neck as he took a seat next to you “And do you know what that means right ? I will be touching you in very intimate place “ his voice had the same gentle tone but something in it made you shiver. All you could do was nod your head, his lips crashed on yours, soft plump. The kiss was a bit rough is what you felt, it was not the same way he kissed you in front of everyone. 

His rough hands roamed your body and his weight pressed down on you, in all the years of your dating you guys never did anything and even if you slept in the same bed the max was his hands on your waist but now it held a firm grip, unlike his fragile appearance. 

Your head hit the white pillows “I am removing the clothes “, he said sitting back on his heels to remove his shirt, all you could do was sit back and admire the view in front of you “So hungry хомяк “ he teased not removing his pants “ your turn “ he said and moved the dress up your head dropping the only piece of clothing you had. 

Your hands instinctively went to cover your chest “Don't hide dear “, he said moving your hands to admire the view, “ only I can see and feel this “ he thought and gently massaged your breasts. 

It felt weird, you were not sure if that was the feeling of lust but your legs rubbed instinctively “It's soft love “ he mumbled face nuzzling against your neck leaving hot wet kisses down your inner jaw from your neck to your chest while gently holding and twisting your nipples.

Weird noises left your mouth no matter how hard you tried to hold them in it did not work, Fydor’s leg between yours made you feel even weirder you felt scared “Fyda…” you mumbled trying to hold his shoulders “ Fyda..” you said a bit louder making his stop his actions. 

“It feels weird “ you said with wet eyes lashes wet, face red you covered your chest again. 

He wanted to go slow, yes he did, slow and make sure you enjoyed it, he did not want to force you so much that after the first year, he stopped all his tricks thus, the mastermind criminal fell in love. But how can he stop when you lay under him all naked crying just from a few kisses? like not even his fingers but a few kisses, he could not stop and he would not. 

Kissing your forehead he leaned in “Love, it's alright you will soon learn that this is pleasure “ he said moving your hands again but this time his place fingers slithered down to your wet core. 

That feeling you felt when his hands touched your slit, you realized that whatever this person was going to do to you would surely be nothing but pleasurable. You opened your legs a little bit earning a chuckle from your husband “Good хомяк “ he said moving his head down and licking the little hard bud. 

Shots of current and pleasure moved through your body “Fyda…” you moved his name like a chant holding the sheets like it was your lifeline you let the Russian lick and suck all he wanted and for heaven's sake, it felt soo good, it felt heavenly. 

Suddenly you felt a knot in your stomach “ mov..move” you said trying to push his head, it felt like you were going to pee you struggled to move his head but it was too late. Fydor just sat next to your cunt as your squirted for the time in your life, your body shook and trembled in the effect “No..” you sobbed thinking the bad. 

But Fydor was quick to come up to your face and kiss your eyes “It is not what you think, this means I did a good job, you felt good right ?” he asked making you peek at him from your fingers which hid your face ” Yeah “. 

“ The next things will feel even better “ he said slithering to your hole and slipping in, and you could have never wished for anything better. After making sure you had cum twice on his fingers alone he decided that you were ready. 

Removing his pants he let him free, your eyes widened seeing a dick for the first time in real life “It's fine nothing to be scared of it will soon feel good “ he said and pressed the tip at your opening. 

As he entered slowly the pain shot right up your abdomen to your spin and felt like your neck was full your body was getting split into half, hot tears fell on the white already stained pillow, you held on to his arms digging your nails in them. 

The blood was visible on his dick mixed with your juices and cum, it was a dizzy feeling “Was I supposed to go soft? She can take it right ?” he thought pulling his dick out and in with every slow movement seeing the bloody shaft vanish and reappearance. The promise of going slow and not wanting to hurt your innocence all left his mind “I will be one and teach you everything “ his mind went a bit too blank for your good. 

With a sudden thrust, he pushed his full length in making you whimper and hold his arms tighter feeling the burning pain, his thrusts did not stop Pace rough hands holding your hands down making sure you were not squirming or moving as he moved in and out of your bloody cunt. 

“Slo..slow down “ you moaned pain slowly fading and something new settling in, it was weird but felt weirdly nice and …full. Fydor threw his head back and kept moving at his own pace as your words and please fell on deaf ears, he was busy chasing his high in your tight cunt which was almost suffocating him. 

It was not long before you held his hands tighter shouting you were cumming soon he followed. “phew …” Fydor moved his hair back opening his purple eyes to look at your fucked out face, it was not that he did not hear, he did not want to hear. Your pleading voice was music for him, your little grip was like a peck on his hands, and your tears turned him only more. Pulling out he let his cum mixed with your flow out of your cunt as you lay there twitching. 

The white bed stained with drool, tears, sweat and cum look beautiful with the tiny drops of your blood which were mixed with your cum “ хомяк ?” he asked. Getting his rational mind back Fydor realised his actions “You could not even handle a simple pinch and would yelp shit !” he thought and moved your hair from your face “You alright ? I am sorry love “ he said soothing and kissing your checks. 

“Yeah… it hurt but…later felt nice..” you yawned sleep and tiredness taking over your exhausted body you pulled him with the only strength you and he let you “It's fine …sleep,” you said closing your eyes and holding his neck. 

Never in all his life did a man like him expect to meet someone like you and have you to himself “Sleep хомяк you did so good for me “ he said. Not sleeping you moaned answering him “I…я тебя люблю “(I love you ) you mumbled and went into slumber your body relaxing against his chest as his eyes widened in surprise. 

Did you learn Russian for him? A genuine smile formed on his thin lips “Good night and я тебя люблю “ he said getting up cleaning you hugging your naked body and drifting into the best slumber he had in his entire life. 

[god-i-hope-so]

The BoBs really think Ryan confirmed their ship is happening because he said "whatever happens happens" and he didn't outright say it wouldn't happen. Uhm he did say that in his "Eddie is a heterosexual man, Buck's straight friend that he came out to, and it's so nice that a straight man and a bi man can be friends" interview and y'all didn't believe him. Not to mention JLH telling them it wasn't going to happen, and then backtracking when the BoBs went crazy.

But we're the deluded ones for shipping bucktommy after just three episodes and Tommy being a plot device (apparently).

Hey, anon!

Well. People are free to think what they want, obviously. I don't even see much of what the BoBs are saying, only what is shared in the buck/tommy tags because I value my peace way too much to go look into the chaos.

"Whatever happens happens" means "you don't get to decide". Also how do they know that it's not Ryan who said no eventually?

They're angry because they now realize their fantasy won't become canon and like a bunch of toddlers who realize they won't have the toy they thought they would get, they throw a temper tantrum. And I can understand the disappointment. But not the reaction. Not the violence in their posts. There's no love for the show there, for the creative minds, for the effort of representation, for the people who work hard to make it happen. They're not fans. They just saw two cute men and projected their fantasies on them, whatever the story or the character development.

Yes, some choices don't make much sense in canon, I even myself would have enjoyed to see Eddie and Buck together at the beginning. It would have been cute, with Christopher loving them both so much too. But that's not what happened and they definitely wrote them in a way that doesn't leave any doubt if you don't try to read so hard between lines that don't even exist. People need to accept a story for what it is, and if they don't like it, they can live in complete denial of it. There's no shame in that but do it with respect. Your fantasy is yours.

The hate against Tommy is also their problem. They can hate him all they want but they twist everything about him to fit their hateful narrative. Queer characters deserve respect. Well, most of them, a queer pos is still a pos. But Tommy has been brought back into the show and written with respect for the character, for the story and for his purpose: being Buck's new romance. Not only he already existed in the show but also has history with the 118 and has a significant shared story with Hen and Chim. He's already a characters in itself, he just came back.

Having a character like Tommy is also more than just a interesting character. It's a necessary character. He fits the cishet macho mold so perfectly: veteran, pilot, firefighter, buff, confident, professional, brave. But he's GAY AF. And everything he does is respectful and kind. And haters have to rely on lying to show him in a bad light because so far, there's nothing. Imagine what this kind of character looks like for the average audience? It's great representation for us queer.

In the end, BoBs can hate all they want, Buck and Tommy together is canon, Tommy has only shown positive traits so far, he's shown sane boundaries and respect for other's. When haters have to rely on details, and still twist them, to justify their hate, you know they know they're wrong. They know, but they can't give up now that they've reach this level of hate.

All I would ask of them would be to stop the hate against real life people and stop pulling them into the drama (the live with JLH was NO THAT. Shame on them). Let the fandom be at war between ships if you need that to feel something but leave real people out of that, especially actors and Lou in particular. They're paid to play and this is not a service. You're not a client they have to satisfy because you paid for a specific performance. The bullying and entitlement need to stop.

[mellowwillowy]

Detective I (fatui)

Yandere Fatui (?)x ?? Reader (their gender is confusing, see more on notes)

(feel free to insert whoever you want but I'll go with every Fatui in my tags bcs I'm nuts)

(OC version's link is ⬇️⬇️⬇️)

Notes : reader's gender is ambiguous until the end, sometimes perceived as a man, a woman, or just neither. Also it won't be a trivial matter if reader is understood and identified but hey, it's what they are feeling.

Warnings : major character death, yan got killed and defaced (details details, it's bloody), yan and reader are delusional in the end, reader is forced to eat their favorite animal, reader is drugged, fucked up term of love overall, intercourse, angst?? Yan will show up in the end of the story retelling (read summarizing) the whole past,

separate details for each harbingers (bundled)

For those who might complain :

Reader is AMAB, the mention of period is to ticks reader off. Also one word, Umineko.

___________________________________________

"ᵀʰᵉⁿ ᴵ ˢʰᵃˡˡ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗᵒᵒ, ᵐʸ ᵈᵉᵃᵈ ᵈᵒᵛᵉ"

Hitting the keys of the typewriter at random, your fingernails are completely well-trimmed in a sense now. No, it would make even more sense to say that your nails have been scrapped from typing over and over. The scripts that would always be read by someone despite being filled with nothing but gibberish is now lying all over the floors. The current scripts contained the Truth of your heart. The person who'll always read it for you is in fact, dead and defaced. After all, you've been taught by them about love. This is love. They taught you so. Ahh, from where should we start? Let's start with our first board.

___________________________________________

i. Window

Snow. Everywhere. It covers the ground outside from the window into white. It'll leave footprints if you were to walk out. But it doesn't matter when you can't even leave this room, this cell. What starts with an exchange of conversations turned into the downfall of your whole existence. Had you known about this you would have avoided involving yourself with them. But God didn't let you. God only watched you fall into their grip, broken into pieces with your limbs toyed with and moved by them as though you were nothing but a marionette. God is cruel and yet he is also unforgiving, you thought. It's a shame that the subject of God's madness was you and not someone else.

"Longing for the outside world won't do you any good, dove"

They walk into your room with a tray of the bowl with steam coming out of it. They smile at you as they place the bowl on the table. You don't have to guess what the content inside the bowl is anymore. It's a dead animal for you to eat, this time it's all boiled into a soup. An animal you are familiar with because you are so fond of them, and now, they'll forcefully shove it down your throat as proof of love. You hold your stomach. It still makes you feel sick. The thought of them living inside your guts, it's unbearable.

At least they are not heartless enough to kill your pet.

To call it a pet wouldn't be the right term. It wanders into your room one day with a tag on them. You knew they were going to be killed for you to feast again but after they saw you played with it, they decided to let you keep it. It's only a pet because they acknowledge it to be so.

"I won't take what I've given you, and that pet of yours would be the proof"

Now, they slowly bring a spoonful of the soup into your lip after blowing the steam away. You know better than to stay persistent because hell, they are even much more persistent. Slowly, you open your mouth to swallow down the soup, it tastes like herbs you thought to yourself although another foreign taste is always there to invade your guts, scrunching it into disgust. This goes on and on until you finish everything up, having you clenching your stomach in confusion. Are you disgusted? Are you terrified? Are you mad? Are you... feeling normal about everything?

"Oh, my dove, my chimera... you truly are the only one I'll fancy for eternity..."

Chimera. Chimera they said. How ironic of them to call you a chimera when you are under their grasp already? Or perhaps you are not in their eyes? The all-seeing eyes that could unveil what's going on with your body, can't understand that they've had you under their grasp?

"I actually plan to use this today but let's not do it today hm? It's that time of the month again"

A bottle of aphrodisiac in their hand. For what? It's clear as the day already. But even so, you hate the fact that they have to press the 'that time of the month' to your face when you, as a matter of fact, will never be able to get that. They know that better than anyone. They are the ones who unveil the truth after all. This body is cursed in every way.

"But even so, a company wouldn't hurt. Let's head to bed now, dove"

Pantalone, Pierro, Capitano, Arlecchino

Doesn't mean to remind you of your old life as a woman. Only wishes for you to feel more like one by playing along with the period-time.

Childe, Dottore, Scaramouche

Only one word, a menace. Said that line just to tick you off. To remind you of your hopelessness with your own body and identity so that you break down even more.

Columbina, Sandrone, Rosalyne, Tsaritsa

Understands how you've been living as a woman until now and instead of playing along like the first one, they are actually very natural? about this. Will give you all the kinds of things that will soothe down your imaginary cramps instead of just, "oh you are on your period"

ii. Mystery Novel

In your hand is a novel, a mystery novel that was bought by them for you to kill time with. The riddles in it never fail to fascinate you. Truth after truth, piercing the lies into nothingness with the Culprit executed in the ending, whether figuratively or literally. Whenever you start reading it, your whole world shifts into one that is akin to the novel itself. You are the Detective and you are here to solve the riddles posed by the Writer.

But is the Writer truly just the Writer? One who only writes fictitious tales?

Looking back at yourself, you can also be the Detective in this world, reality. The riddle? Them. The detective? You. The Culprit? Them. Yes, with just a much more distorted view of reality, you'd be able to see them as a character from a novel, solving the riddles of 'what are their motives?'. Yes, by just wrapping an imaginary veil around your eyes, one that'll allow you to see everything as a riddle and plot, you'd be able to play as an actress, the Detective.

"I'm back, my dove"

Yes, the play begins now. This room is no longer a cell but instead, a stage of a theatre with lights following you and them. It's time for the Detective to reason and solve the riddle in front of them.

".... Welcome back, enigma"

iii. Typewriter

Today too, you type endlessly without anything in your mind. Gibberish. Almost none forms a word at all. Your eyes empty as your fingers play eagerly. Nevertheless, they'll always read it, drowning themself in your scripts. A plotless script, an unreadable curse, or a poem blocked by a language barrier?

"Today too, you write magnificently"

They say with an earnest smile plastered on their face. The face that says they understand everything despite the scripts only showing gibberish. How can they understand it when you yourself can't even understand it? How are you supposed to solve the riddle when you can't even understand yourself? Why does it feel so.. reversed now?

"Ah, I love this part the most"

They point at a word, a readable word. You examine the word, yes, examine. It takes you a while before you look back at them. This is not the first time they point at a word. How many times have they pointed it out? You are not sure, you don't want to remember it. But it's not the same for them. For them, it's a string of a curse. If they could combine it then it'll mark the end for them. A riddle for them.

"I'm looking forward to the next answer, dove"

It's ridiculous. Answer? You were only typing mindlessly and yet they consider it as a riddle? Your whole life has been a riddle itself. Perhaps you are just annoyed at how the Culprit in front of you is taking your role as the Detective. Yes, that's the only logical conclusion you can come up with, a reasoning. You too are looking forward to the next answer.

Pantalone, Pierro, Columbina, Capitano

The scripts are hidden by them whenever they finished reading them, placing them inside the bottle of wine. The bottles that are filled with your scripts are hidden somewhere inside the room that will be found by you in the end.

Childe, Sandrone, Rosalyne

The scripts that have a word in them are framed and nailed onto the wall, allowing them to read them freely whenever they wish to. Has a wall full of framed scripts.

Dottore, Capitano, Arlecchino

Will compile all the scripts into some sort of book for them to read when they are bored. It allows them to study the way you are typing even more in a way. Will slip in flower at the page where it shows certain words.

iv. Intercourse

The disgusting dinner has been laced with aphrodisiacs. You can feel your body heating up, twitching at every contact your skin made with. This is, of course, heading to bed and a make-out session will break out again.

"If I don't use this, you won't be able to feel any pleasure at all, dove"

Is it a woman's body, or a man's body instead? Either way, that doesn't shut the possibility of someone being able to feel pleasure by being touched right? They want you to feel how they feel, alas making you gulp down the aphrodisiac. With just a light touch from them, a whimper falls out of your mouth. The night is far from over, you thought to yourself. Unbuttoning what's covering your chest, only reveals a chest that a man would have, and yet what's down there is never one that an assigned male at birth would have. It would make sense if you are only 'flat' in a rare way but the fact that your period never came is enough to shut the possibility of you being a woman.

A body that can't even love someone completely and yet, they wrap their arms around your body in a way that shows their earnest love toward you. Maybe to simplify it, a body that can't even give love for them. A body that can't even be identified. And yet, they stare at it longingly, clouded with adoration and lust at the same time.

"Ah... this is the body, of the person I'll love for eternity..."

Unnecessary NSFW (pls skip minors or if you are not OK with it) but hey; I can team Pantalone, Scaramouche, Childe, Arlecchino, and Columbina going down there with your prostate while Capitano, Pierro, Rosalyne, Sandrone, and Tsaritsa being the sensual one

?. Devices and Plans

(Feel free to skip this part, it's mostly about the details of the plan)

Another script. Another investigation. Another plate of what you love for dinner. Another bottle of aphrodisiac. It's repeating to the point that it's sickening. Clues, you need clues. There's no narrator, no spectator, no observer, no system, no nothing to guide you. The Writer, the Master, the Game Master, is not here to guide you toward the answer to this accursed riddle.

The large line of everything would be first, they kidnapped you, second, they want you to love them, third, they say they haven't gotten what they want which is you.

In terms of you being in a mystery novel, this progress is ridiculously frustrating and boring. It's repetitive. You can't find any clues at all. What are their motives? There's nothing that stands out from you at all to attract them. What do they mean by chimera? It's irritating when they call you that, as though something inside you is howling whenever they call you that. It's suffocating. You need to find a way out, forget about all these riddles, it's time to play with violence. In this room are only a typewriter, an enigma, and furniture. Swinging furniture at them who can just overpower you and expect to win? A pie in the sky bullshit. The window? No luck in breaking them open. The door is always locked. No hidden or secret passage, a perfectly locked and closed room.

But, you know you have a chance against them. Inside the closet is a box of a flintlock. It's not like you are not familiar with it at all, in fact, you are well-versed in it. There is no problem with it at all, you can even guarantee it works perfectly without ever trying it. The only problem lies in how to shoot them. It would be hard to shoot them off guard with how you have to reach out to the flintlock first.

It's impossible for you to hide it in your clothing's pocket for they'll always wrap their whole body around you which allows them to notice it.

It's impossible for you to just place it on the table and let them see it. They'll confiscate it the moment they see it.

The only chance you have is to hide it somewhere reachable and time everything well. They can notice every movement you make which makes things even harder for you. Their head will turn to you for every movement you make. There's no way they'll just let you shoot their brains out. You may be fast but they are just as fast as you too. Their reflexes would be good, in fact, they'd be able to dodge any kind of tricks you show them. But, in the end, it's nothing but a gamble.

Although your pet (doesn't matter its size) can help you as a distraction for them. To buy you just a second is already a generous donation from them. You are fast, just as fast as them but in strength? There's no hope for you at all. Nevertheless, you are not going to sit here being an incompetent actress.

A man has to take risks sometimes. It's time to spin the roulette of your fate. You are incompetent as a detective but that doesn't mean you are incompetent as an actress.

You only switch your role from the Detective to a Murderer, that's all.

v. Miracles

Another show of them reading your script, another show of them shoving the remnants of what you love into your throat, another show of both of your bodies linking to each other. Today too, all of that will happen again with the exception of a bottle of ink on the table.

"I've been buying you lots of those brand new clothing for you, dove. Let me show it to you"

It's now or never. The moment they turn their back to get the bags, you already walk to the table and grab the ink and keep it inside your pocket. They've 'checked' you so their suspicion about you hiding something inside your pocket decreases. Just as you suspected, they immediately turn back to look at you, a shame you are just as fast as they would be when it's time to dirty their hand. You too are about to dirty your hand with their blood.

"What's wrong, dove?"

Your pet comes just right in time, distracting them for a split second until you splash the ink right onto their face. Is it a miracle that they didn't dodge it?

Something is off. You can sense it. Something is

The ink invades their eyesight immediately just like you expected. What you expected for them to fight back is completely crushed down when all they did is just wobble around. Their hand never leave their eyes, giving you lots of openings to attack them. And so you did, you take the flintlock that you hide under the bed and shoot them.

You shoot at their thigh instead of busting their brain immediately.

They stumble down onto the carpeted floor while trying their best to regain their vision back. The next moment they open their eyes, they are greeted by you straddling their limp body with the flintlock in your hand.

"You noticed that there's no fountain pen lying around the table, no?"

Their eyes widen at your statement. True they've noticed how odd it was for a bottle of ink in the middle of the table without its companion, a fountain pen and a paper. Now, seeing the glint coming from your left hand, they know where the pen is now. You punch down at them with the pen in between your fingers, grazing their cheek. They didn't dodge at all and in fact, it was you yourself who dodge for them.

"The flintlock too, there's no way you'd just forget about it and let it stays inside my room. You are someone who'll always check my closet and it's almost impossible for you to not notice that foreign box"

There's only one possible reason for this, they purposely left it wide open for you to see and use.

And yet why do they look so dazed at your statement?

Their eyes travel to the object in your right hand. A flintlock.

"... I don't remember seeing that flintlock anymore though? It's been ages since I've seen it, the last time I saw it was when you were still **?"

Now it's your turn to feel confused. Not because of the statement of them not being the ones who leave it inside your closet, but rather their words that indicate a past relationship you two once had. When you were still **? Despite being able to just shove you away, they stay still on the floor, never nudging you away as though they are immobile.

"Dove, what's wrong-"

They are silenced immediately when you press the flintlock against their forehead. Your face is pale with sweats dropping down, horror washes your whole features, disbelief evident in your widening eyes. Your mind is no longer clear, what's supposed to be your objective? To kill them for kidnapping and breaking you down mentally? To execute the Culprit for you are the Detective? Or...

"... the last script's line was 'Ending the Hell'"

Word?

"It's a string of curses just like I expected. Despite typing everything at random, your deepest thought manages to flow out and form a word from the string"

the infinite monkey theorem? No.. it's not, at least yet

"Sure it's not a tale but rather, a hatred in the middle of your cry of agony, begging for someone to save you"

How long has it been since the last time you cried out for someone to save you? It was terrifying, the first month they broke you down was hell. You are entirely unfamiliar with it, alas making you wail nonstop. And another way for you to express your emotions is by typing like a madman on the typewriter, mindless about what you are trying to tell.

"And would you believe it if I relish in the feelings of reading that all? The you who can't even understand anything but just focus on your feelings?"

You can't understand anything anymore.

"To simplify everything, first, I did not even know that the flintlock still exists until today. Second, it seems like your mind can't keep up with your insanity anymore again, ____"

No one will save you. You have to save yourself. You convince yourself over and over to kill them before they

"Had I not dragged you myself, you would have solved the epitaph and found out about the one Truth"

The first hit with the flintlock lands on their face. With each hit you give them, it still doesn't stop them from talking their way out.

"That day, I visited you and you were playing with your flintlock that was given by the Master of the manor, as usual, shooting at the cup lining up in front of you"

You can't remember anything at all.

"Then, I just so happen to stroll around your manor when I met the master of the house talking with Lea's mother"

Lea? Her name does sound familiar.

"Would you believe it when I overheard them saying how that lady has to take you in as their legitimate child?"

Your hand works even faster now and yet they never dodge your hits. Your eyes dilate in horror and fear.

"Long story short, the lady was horrified by this news. Oh how funny it was for you to be pushed down twice from the cliff"

Your head starts throbbing in pain.

"It truly is a shame, I couldn't do anything to prevent that hag from pushing you down, and yet, some sort of miracle happened. You survived"

Surely the Witch of Miracles might have truly despised you to save you that day. If this were to be some kind of theatre show then you can see 2 narrators commenting on their statement with eagerness. Who won't be when both the actors are currently ascending to the great truth?

"You fell into the river and your body was tended by the people around there"

Everything snaps back to you now. Ah, you remember who they are now.

vi. Execution

They won't stop smiling as their words flow out of their mouth despite all the pain of having their face beaten over and over. They've probably swallowed some of their teeth but who cares? Even they themself don't care, in fact, they are very happy with the fact that 'you've finally loved them'. Each word you hear from them means having the pain inside your head grows even more unbearable for you. Their hands never leave your hips, and one of their eyes stares into yours with adoration, of how beautifully broken you are inside. The truth must have pierced your heart in half.

The Detective showed the Culprit the truth.

With one last blow, you shoot their brain out to silence them for eternity. Eternity.

They stop talking. Their hands fall from your hips. Their eye still staring at you.

You stand up and walk away from their body, your eyes never leave the door. Finally, a way out. Your hand touches the door's handle and... it won't open. It's still locked. You are locked with your pet and a dead body. Desperate for an escape, you search for the key, and yet you couldn't find it. Every corner of the room is checked and all that's left is the dead body. As much as you hate it, your hand slips into their pocket and..

You found it! It's... destroyed...?

You slump down. They probably destroyed it the moment you begin your execution on them. There's no way in and there's no way out. The window? It's impossible to break it open. The same goes for the door, it's impossible. Laughing to yourself, you know this is your end already.

Everything returns to what it used to be. Typing mindlessly and endlessly, you type everything out. What they said to you, what they confessed to you, what you remembered, what you are feeling, and what you are hoping for. A miracle.

Hunger is inevitable. Your pet will be the only last thing you'll eat before you blow your heart with the flintlock.

vii. Truth

"Ahhh, Lucius, Love does not boast, it does not envy!"

"Ahhh, Lucy, Love is merciful! Love is generous!"

What once looks like a room filled with splattering blood and brains, a dead body that has been cut open with half of its guts eaten by someone, now turns into a wide stage with lights shining toward one subject. The said person was defaced and shot to death. The Culprit is also the Detective.

"This is weird, it certainly violates the seventh decalouges of Knox! The Detective is not the Culprit!"

"Oh no no, Lucy! This pitiful soul is the Culprit of our Guest's creation, or should we call them as...."

"Theeeee Readerrrr???"

The person stands up and looks straight toward the empty seats in front of them. Taking a deep breath, the person speaks up,

"I am the 'Culprit' of his abduction but if we are going to talk about the Truth of their heart then I am the 'Detective'"

The sound of someone clapping their hands echoes within the theatre, acknowledging their statements.

"Allow me to retell everyone this pitiful tale again"

It all starts with how close you two have always been.

Details :

Pantalone

Despite his pitiful situation, he's still allowed to roam into the manor by the Butler because he's considered the only friend you have back then (aside from the other children from the manor). Is really fond of you because of how kind you were to him when he was in trouble with almost everything. You often share your things with him whenever you go out from the manor for school.

Childe

Childe is allowed in the manor because he's the friend of Lucas, one of the Master's grandchildren. Occasionally flirted with you because you are the only servant who's a child around their age.

Columbina, Sandrone, Rosalyne

Is the friend of one of the children from the manor. Invites you to play with them because you are the only servant who's also a child.

Arlecchino, Capitano, Pierro

Is friends with you from the same school and is allowed to visit you by the Butler because you don't have any friends aside from them. They really appreciate how similar your personalities with theirs.

Dottore, Tsaritsa, Scaramouche

Is close with you because how you two share the same perspective of the world. Ofen talked with you about how the stars. Is allowed in the manor because they are the only friend you had with the Butler.

"Ahhh? What a lovely relationship you two used to have!"

"And yet, what tore you two? This is pitiful! A shame to the name of Love! Even anyone could realize how there were love blooming inside of you two!"

They resumed their tales.

You and they were once an inseparable lovebird. Even if you two couldn't meet each other that often, the feelings that you both shared were mutual. You are the illegitimate son of the Master of the manor and due to a few circumstances, you were handed to the master's daughter-in-law who has to take care of you with the reason of her being unable to conceive an heir. The Master of the manor couldn't just take you in as the legitimate heir of the family and so he decided to introduce you to her as an orphan that was handpicked by him.

"It truly is a shame, that baby was pushed off from the cliff along with the servant who was carrying them. And yet by some Miracle, the baby survived while the servant didn't. The fall damaged their genitals and this incident was only known by the lady, Butler, Master of the manor, the Doctor, and the old servant. The Master of the manor was only announced by the fact that the baby died in the fall"

How did they learn about this? Simple, they are the Detective and a Detective's job is to solve a case, the riddle. By using their influence, force, and bribery, it was really easy for them to learn about the truth. The diary of that lady explains everything in gruesome details while the Butler had no choice but to reveal the truth to them after using you to threaten him.

"Ahh, Lucius! Look at all these scripts! It's just like what they said! It's the Truth!"

The scripts. The last thing you were only able to do after killing them before you finally devour your pet and yourself. You who typed endlessly about everything. About how you and they used to be close friends. About how you two used to share mutual feelings toward each other. About how everything started to shatter down when the Master of the manor realized that the baby that was announced dead 12 years ago, survived.

"Ahh, Lucy! How tragic it is! It's written here that the tragedy happened again for the second time!"

The Master of the manor wish to repent and acknowledge you as his legitimate heir. How did he recognize you? On your left foot is a scar left from the operation to treat your polydactyly. The Master of the manor saw it when you were careless enough to spill a boiling soup all over your leg, resulting you to take off your sock and allowed him to see the scar. The Butler was not blamed for his action in hiding your survival and the old servant and Doctor were let off from the hook as well. Starting then, the Master of the manor gifted you a flintlock that your Grandmother used to play with.

"Oh! This certainly is a beautiful flintlock!"

"Careful Lucy! That flintlock has been used to kill people!"

"Just like I said back then, that woman didn't want to admit him as the legitimate heir and as her son. Her ego forces her to push him again."

You survived the fall by Miracle. You fell into the cold river and yet you did not freeze or drown to death because there were people who witness your fall and immediately came to rescue you. Truth be told, the Butler had not completely trusted that the Master of the manor truly saw you as his child.

The 2 demons look at each other. The Master of the manor couldn’t see you as his child? The person standing in the middle of the stage nodded at the demons.

Scaramouche, Pantalone, and Childe will sympathize with how similar your conditions are to theirs. A child that is not acknowledged, taken care of, or just portrayed as something/someone that is not you. Scaramouche who was not acknowledged was betrayed by his own mother, Pantalone who was supposed to be a child that is showered with parental love had to suffer in poverty and Tartaglia was no longer portrayed as the sweet and scared boy that he once was.

“In her… no, their body… flows the dirty blood of the Master and their mother…”

“Humuu? Isn’t it only natural for a child to possess the blood of their father and mother?”

“That should have been the case but… in their body, flows the Master’s daughter's blood”

Applause erupts from the gallery’s way. Due to the poor lighting, their face could not be identified. Their hand holding theater binoculars onto their eyes as their leg hangs around by the edge.

“Ahhh! A forbidden love! Unforgivable! We do not accept this!”

“We live for True Love! Be it forbidden or not, we are only here to shatter the illusions of Love! Those who believe in their own illusion of Love instead of a True Love shall be shattered down by us!”

It truly is pitiful. To summarize things, the Master of the manor had an affair with a woman that was hidden away from his family. His lover passed away after she gave birth to their daughter and

“That man couldn’t see his illegitimate daughter as his daughter, with how their mother starts to grow more and more alike to her mother, that man committed an atrocious sin”

And so your mother conceived you and passed away right after giving birth to you. This is the beginning of the Butler’s seed of distrust toward his master.

“The gears start spinning madly to the point I have to stop it from reaching its fateful day and yet the obsession inside my own heart is maddening. I want to save and break them at the same time.”

Had they not kidnapped you first, you would have solved the epitaph that will lead you to the ultimate truth, your own heart’s execution. The epitaph that will lead you to the gold ingot's location. What begins with how you are only visiting the manor because your ‘friend’ wanted to show you something to observing the riddle that was meant to be solved, it truly ignites the Detective heart and passion for mystery and riddles you have.

“In a world in which I’m not there and in a world in which I’m there, the ending will still be the same. If they solved it, the tragedy will happen. If they didn’t, they’ll forever be unaware of their heart”

“A heart is nothing but a hindrance for one person, so much to the point I have to shoot it to stop it from beating”

The stage light shot toward the source of the voice, you, sitting by the stage’s gallery with the theatre binocular in your hand. You look just like how you used to be and yet, something is different from you. One who looks at you will be reminded of the animal you have always been so fond of.

“Should I be thanking you or not for preventing me from dirtying my hands and the others to help me commit the mass murder, Detective?”

“The main star is here! Oh Lucy, look at them!”

“Dear star! It’s time for you to speak as well! Or perhapssssss you want us to speak as a behalf of you?”

“A behalf would not be the right answer. You two are them”

You snap your fingers and thousands of scripts fell from above. Right before your death, you only typed out your entire heart out before you stopped your heart from beating. Unfortunately enough, the hell that they forced you into soon turned into an oblivion in which there’s only a typewriter waiting for you to type. Hitting the keys of the typewriter at random, your fingernails are completely well-trimmed in a sense now. No, it would make even more sense to say that your nails have been scrapped from typing over and over. The scripts that would always be read by someone despite being filled with nothing but gibberish is now floating into the depths of oblivion.

“To be stuck there for thousand years, I have to type endlessly like a monkey”

The Infinite Monkey theorem.

You typed out a miracle and were freed from the oblivion in exchange for your amazing scripts filled with a tale that pleased the Game Master, allowing you to break free from the oblivion. Just right after your freedom, an invitation was sent out to you, guiding you to a huge theater by the forest in which the Twin Moons are lighting the night. Who would have known you'd be greeted by the sight of the person you've despised for millenniums?

"Who sent me this?"

The demon narrators shake their heads but the person in the middle of the stage raises their hand, making you lunge at them immediately. With your bare fists, you punch them over and over.

"Because of you! I couldn't break free from the oblivion because of you! Because! I! Believed! In! You!"

You spend your time typing out deductions and tales of someone else placing the flintlock into the closet, and yet your scripts were not approved by the GM. It took you long enough before you finally realized that you'd been tricked by them. The moment you realized it, you started typing out different deductions and tales until it satisfied the GM to free you. Under you is them panting in excitement and eyes filled with adoration,

"That's exactly what I wish for! You thinking a way out while trying to understand how everything works, you who had no choice but to understand me in order to break free from the depths of oblivion, you who had to think and understand everything about me! This is love! An ideal love that one yearns for!"

-Childe, Columbina, Dottore, Sandrone, Scaramouche

"In the end, you have to understand me in and out to break free no? In the end, your missing heart had to search for mine and understand everything about me"

-Pantalone, Pierro, Tsaritsa, Capitano, Rosalyne

The demon narrators chuckle at their words, levitating around you two. You who are showering them with love and them who are so blinded by their own term of love.

"Yeah right, love..."

You snap your fingers and one of the floating scripts flies toward their face, allowing them to read it. A string of gruesome things will be done to them in order to prove your love for them. Instead of shaking in fear, their eyes lit up into one that shows excitement. Leaning down to kiss their bloody face, you whisper to them,

"I shall love you in our way, you who love me despite my body condition, you who do not want me to dirty my hand, you who avenged me by slaughtering everyone,"

A single strand of tear falls out from your eye. They even killed one of your loved ones...

"That's why I will love you completely as well... my enigma"

No one knows aside from you yourself whether you truly love them with a veil of illusions wrapped around your eyes or not. Perhaps you despised them for letting their obsession runs free, breaking you into pieces, forcing you to do things you never consented to. Perhaps you don't because you've forgotten what's supposed to be normal and what's not. How many millenniums have you been staying in the depths of oblivion?

Long enough for you to lose your grip on reality and sanity.

The demon narrators look at the spectators' seats, eyes focused on you. Chuckling, they hug each other and speak directly to you,

"What do you think, everyone? Have they finally reached True Love? We live for True Love and we shall shatter the fools who believe in the illusions of Love!"

Whether it's illusions or not, you and them, are bound to each other, for eternity.

All in the name of Love.

𝓕𝓻𝓮𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓬𝓪 𝓐𝓭𝓸𝓻𝓪

𝓑𝓻𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓮

[friendofcars]

Please drop the essay you refrained from writing in the tags and would also love to hear your thoughts on the mask dream! I think it's one of the most interesting dreams ronan has, especially in tdt. Always really enjoy your thoughts and meta :)

hi so first of all thank you for this very kind message and second of all the 'essay' i mentioned was in fact about the mask dream. and third of all thank you for waiting for my belated response. i wrote the remainder of this post over multiple weeks and didn't proofread any of it and i'm almost positive it gets incoherent in places so please let me know if you want anything clarified.

so, the post i'm referencing is this one by parrishwife about adam and ronan's rather unhinged desire to simultaneously become and be with each other. i coincidentally read it immediately before reading chapter 17 of the dream thieves for the trc book club and my brain exploded a little because i think the mask nightmare plays with the same idea- not explicitly, and maybe not primarily, but there's an element of ronan both fearing and desiring the possibility of adam becoming ronan (or at least like ronan).

i think the most straightforward and plausible interpretation of this chapter is that ronan fears losing adam (to post-traumatic dissociation, to his bargain with cabeswater, as a rejection of ronan's desire for him, etc.) (btw parrishwife also has a brilliant post analyzing the mask dream.) i'm also suggesting that he has a simultaneous fear of adam reciprocating the attraction, which, for ronan, comes hand in hand with self-loathing; desire is fear, it is horror, it is anger; he fears rejection and miscommunication while also fearing that adam will experience self-hatred too. because ronan hasn’t realized his second secret yet, the fear/desire/self-loathing/projection is particularly muddled. This interpretation hinges on my observation that adam is profoundly ronan-like in the dream.

because of my complete inability to omit details, i’m going to put the meat of my observations + analysis under a cut:

first, before i write an absurdly long response, here was my initial comment in the trc book club server after reading the chapter:

and my follow up after some discussion:

and now after musing on this chapter for the past month, here’s a more detailed analysis, almost line by line:

first, in the dream, we're told that “the mask was his father's.” it's ambiguous as to whether niall dreamt, made, or bought the mask, but it's as if ronan has inherited the mask (along with the secret keeping, dreaming, perceived imbalanced devotion in romantic relationship, etc.). the important detail, aside from mask, of course, is father: a) ronan's self-hatred, grief, and depression are directly tied to guilt over niall's murder, all of which inform the way he dreams, unguided and alone, b) adam's bargain with cabeswater kicks off a plot that serves as a metaphor for adam's healing from trauma from his own father, which informs the way he isolates and hides himself from others and c) here we have two boys, traumatized by their fathers in different ways but still with the consequence of repression, with ronan fearing that adam will break/succumb to the fallout of his dual sacrifices (pressing charges and leaving the trailer/giving up his hands and eyes to cabeswater). i mention all of this to start drawing connections between ronan and adam's experiences, how they relate to one another, and how in which ronan's self-hatred manifests in a concern for adam ending up hating himself too (becoming [like] ronan).

we can also consider the setting of the dream: the original mask is at the barns, out of reach in multiple ways (hung high on the wall, on a property from which ronan is banned, and his subconscious won't let him return home in his dreams either) but the consequences of the dream do lead him back to the barns (he manifests the night horrors, which he buries at the barns with his friends; enlisting gansey to help literally kill his demons and everyone else to dispose of the bodies brings him home- it's something he can't do alone -> recurring fear of isolation, the magic of connection, etc.). but ronan already has access to the apartment at st. agnes- adam already lets him sleep there, on the floor, and he's only there in the first place because ronan helped him move there. ronan plays an active role in establishing and maintaining the apartment as adam’s home. and in the dream, the mask is at eye level, both within reach (and, of note, probably where you'd hang a mirror). greater proximity to ronan = greater risk of adam realizing (and reciprocating, or mirroring) ronan's attraction towards him.

all of this is to say that ronan's subconscious is asking him: what if adam was within reach? would you squander the opportunity? what if he's too far gone to cabeswater, out of reach in the wake of abuse? what if keeping adam close is putting him in danger? (there's a line about their changing proximity at the very end of the raven boys that i'm thinking about as i write this.) what if he falls and cuts himself on ronan?

like i mentioned, I think the more straightforward reading of the dream is ronan's fear of losing adam, whether via adam’s trauma responses/dissociation/bargain with cabeswater or as a rejection of ronan’s romantic interest. i'll try to be briefer here since i know it's been discussed (reading this a couple weeks later…i was not brief at all lol). shortly before the dream, cabeswater goes missing. due to the ambiguous consequences of adam's bargain with cabeswater, there's reason to fear adam will also disappear (or at least his hands and eyes, or what they represent -> his skill, his perception, his survival instincts, etc.). then there's the fear of the figurative consequence: adam disappearing in the sense that he completely withdraws and isolates himself from ronan and the others. gansey fears that adam's spirit will break; adam fears he will turn violent (which is why he withdraws). it's not clear which ronan fears, but it might as well be both, given the obscuring nature of the mask and adam's violence in the dream. i don't think ronan fears that adam will purposefully hurt him (given his prophetic refusal to hurt adam, even to save his own life) but he fears he will hurt adam by confessing feelings to him, or by trapping him in henrietta, etc.

in the dream, ronan tells opal (at this point, orphan girl) that cabeswater is gone, which triggers adam’s appearance in the dream (to emphasize the possibility of adam disappearing too). adam says, “far away isn’t the same thing as gone,” which is probably a rare display of optimism from ronan, especially as a counterpoint to the dreamt miniature white plane that is lost to the lake (this symbolizes the potential outcome of losing adam in the context of adam’s doubt/disbelief, which is dismantled by the end of the book when he figures out that ronan paid the rent and loves him, which coincides with ronan realizing he doesn’t hate himself, that the world will not end if adam knows how he feels, and thus the white nigh horror is born as a symbol of adam’s capability of belief in ronan and both of their acceptances of ronan’s feelings). whew.

we then get a description of adam in the dream. he's wearing his aglionby uniform, perhaps to represent a repressed adam hell bent on assimilation to pursue his ambition, but in my interpretation a detail that clues us into some mirroring/becoming of ronan. i'm specifically thinking of the flashback in trb chapter 20 in which adam recalls the catalyst for pursuing aglionby: a confident, affluent, friend-possessing aglionby kid who probably wasn’t but might as well have been ronan. as a counterpoint to the aglionby uniform, adam’s fingers are black with oil, an obvious nod to adam’s fear that his job as a mechanic and poverty betray his attempts at escaping his roots (side note- sacrificing himself to a sentient forest literally roots him further in henrietta/on the ley line), but i can’t help but draw a comparison between the oil mentioned here and nightwash- something we don’t even know whether ronan has canonically experienced yet, but still a visual parallel that signifies limiting, restricting factors in each of their lives (class, disability, etc.) that anchor them to henrietta. if this connection is a coincidence, which it very well could be, the shame both adam and ronan experience remains true in the text, in terms of adam feeling stained by his non-academic yet necessary-for-survival work and ronan’s complex relationship to dreaming. ronan also endures unmaking/nightwash in trk after adam, demon-possessed, chokes him and ronan has the same “will not choose hurting adam to evade death” experience, so this really does all connect in my “no coincidences in trc” brain.

adam takes the mask without asking permission nor hesitating, which seems out of character and ronan-like (read: impulsive), although adam does indeed reach for the mask without asking first when they visit the barns. in trb adam is constantly asking permission, clarifying invitations, hesitating, etc. until he makes his sacrifices, so perhaps ronan’s dream is exploring an adam that acts more and fixates on consequences less (which is quite ronan). the summative effect of these details is ronan’s perception of adam’s own insecurities, curiosities/introspection, etc.  which, perhaps unintentionally, make me simultaneously consider ronan’s own difficulty with reconciling his home life, identity, secrets, social position at school, etc. the touching without asking might also prod at a warped sense of intimacy for ronan, especially regarding the nature of ronan’s relationship with kavinsky, but i feel like i need to consider this perspective more before elaborating further.

then, adam holds the mask up to his face- nobody puts the mask on adam; it’s an autonomous choice. autonomy and choice are critical to both of their character arcs, especially in trb for adam and in tdt for ronan. then, adam “becom[es] something else” and the distinction between adam and the wooden mask dissolves as a nod to the concern that adam will become indistinguishable from cabeswater (also predominantly of wood). lots to comment on here: that adam must eventually accept that he isn’t cabeswater, much like he isn’t his father; adam becoming less human and ronan grappling with his human-ness/creature-ness, ronan grappling with the distinction between himself and his manifested dreams, which include cabeswater, etc. if adam is merging with cabeswater and cabeswater in its forest form is inherently an aspect of ronan/his heart/his soul/his mind… much to chew on, even if its founded on their insecurities. adam becoming a creature, like ronan; becoming magic or getting intertwined with it… also rolling around the concepts of a wooden mask, a wooden boy, lies (secrets), autonomy, atypical creation, etc. in my head and coming up with pinocchio which is probably absurd but. i had to admit this. ronan wanting to be a real boy (greywaren choosing humanity) is not not canon in td3. on adam seeming to be carved from wood, maybe a brief exploration of a fear of a lack of distinct identity (ronan fearing adam becoming cabeswater or a part of himself against adam’s wishes); Adam wants to be self-made, not made by anyone else…maybe references pygmalion, galatea, etc.

in the same paragraph, as adam becomes even less-adam like, his teeth become hungry, his jaw starves. teeth are frequently mentioned when describing the lynch brothers, and hunger is a predominant theme for both adam and ronan (“they were both hungry animals, but adam had been starving for longer), and chapter 11 of tdt loops in the gray man and the concept of a hungry knife; i'm not articulating this well but there’s something to say here about ronan being raised to think of himself as a weapon and him fearing adam will succumb to the same, and sharp teeth are the imagery by which i'm connecting these dots (?). adam’s eyes are “desperate and incensed.” he is not only afraid but angry (a very ronan combination of emotions), and the adjective “incensed” even links to ronan’s internal experiences being frequently described as fiery, burning, etc. a vein stands out from adam’s neck; veins stand out from ronan’s body later in the chapter when he’s awake but not yet back in his body. vulnerability, anger, desperation, tension, vitality. the physical parallels are numerous. or maybe just repetitive writing, but i read trc very generously in terms of assuming intention.

then, the dream becomes a nightmare. the mask becomes indistinguishable from adam’s face- anger like a second skin, second secret, tamquam alter idem, horror movie twins, double-headed night horror and all that- it’s a nightmare BECAUSE ronan could be into this (and by “this” i mean the conflation of adam returning his attraction and them becoming more and more like each other), and at this point in the narrative, this desire to be and to be with is obscured by ronan’s depression. adam is described as a creature, a word used to describe ronan too (a genuine compliment from gansey, but an alienating burden of a descriptor for adam and ronan). adam becomes a night horror, which, like cabeswater, is a manifestation of an aspect of ronan- like calls to like, and this is terrifying to ronan.

the night horrors are explicitly described as representations of ronan’s heart and are “in love with his blood and his sadness.” the word choice of “in love” when the night horrors are manifestations of self-hatred and depression and shame is more proof of ronan conflating desire + guilt. ronan’s heart is auto-cannibalizing. do you know what I’m trying to say. as a side note, the mentioned rhythm of ronan’s heartbeat works as a physiological and metaphorical tie to the very feeling of a nightmare. just some nice texture in the nightmare for me as a reader! re: adam, “adam was the horror now” -> adam has become inextricable from ronan/cabeswater/magic -> adam has become one with ronan’s self-hatred adam isn’t the horror for trying the mask on, he’s the horror for realizing and reacting to the mask (here i had a lightbulb moment and had to close my word doc to calm down lol)… and if we equate ronan himself to the mask (the teeth! the hunger! the eyes! a psychological prison only the prisoner can break!) and the nightmare is built upon this dream adam’s rage and terror at his union with the mask… we circle back to the two-headed fear of adam’s rejection AND reciprocation of ronan’s attraction. of course the merging of adam and ronan takes on a completely different connotation in greywaren when they are both eager to merge souls and their codependency and inability to maintain a stable reality without the other is… a lot to think about. Re: “toothful king” more teeth = lynch-like, as we’ve established, but ronan has also been described as a king in his dreamscape; this usually implies creative power but is that what Adam has here? maybe king is more intended to throw focus towards his power over ronan? also, in a ater paragraph, “tooth upon tooth upon tooth” makes me think of rows of teeth…which is sharklike. like the bmw (“if it was sharklike, it had learned how from [ronan]”.)

i'll also make a couple comments about the line “to think about it was to be immobilized with the horror of watching Adam be consumed from the inside out.” 1. the immobilization, whether literal or figurative, is notable in the context of ronan, who is often kinetic, restless, hyperactive, adrenaline-seeking, etc. but is also immobilized post-dream manifestation; taken together, ronan in motion and ronan frozen tell us that for ronan to stop moving and obscuring the secrets he hides in a maelstrom of posturing is to make him vulnerable- and this line is shortly before nightmare adam attacks him. to stay still is to look truth in the face and confess it and bear his heart to it- and his heart itself is the secret. ouroboros. i don’t know. also, cannibalism, probably. that's not really my wheelhouse but it’s in here a little bit. and ronan dreams creatures to love- chainsaw, matthew, opal. he's revulsed by the possibility of creating an adam that loves him, that is made of him or in his image, that lacks autonomy/mobility in relation to ronan.

then comes the violence. before it, ronan takes adam’s arm (as he does at the barns, later) and says his name- saying adam, not parrish, presumably, which is another marker of vulnerability. this line reminds me of “cabeswater: call it by name” or an act of creation, affirmation, that adam is adam (human, a man), and not a monster. despite this act of tenderness, of acknowledgment of independent identity, nightmare adam lunges for ronan while simultaneously trying to remove the mask from his own face (this brings me back to the idea of duality, violence vs. love wielded inwardly and outwardly, double edged swords, the two headed night horror, the self vs others, etc.). his fingers hook ronan the way the night horror hooks in the following chapter- a premonition that gets subverted with the eventual declaration of “claws and beak”/”unguibus et rostro.” adam's face is gone and the mask becomes invisible- the distinction between ronan’s feelings towards adam and adam’s feelings toward ronan is gone. however, perhaps condradicting what I literally just claimed (lol), ronan cannot kill bring himself to kill adam, even this nightmare version, but has not yet realized that he doesn’t want to kill himself either.

“the mouth gaped, door to bloody ruin.” the mouth, not adam’s mouth, not the mask’s mouth. disembodied. there's a whole thesis to write on adam’s relationship to his body and his dissociative experiences, the reintegration he experiences as he repairs the ley line, etc.  an open door, especially a door-like mouth, is a confessed secret (think of ronan’s closed door at monmouth), and here, a path to the worst possible outcome.

ronan removes the mask from adam and discovers that it’s easily removable, that the distinction between adam and the mask and that which it represents can be recovered simply and gently, but the removal still ruins adam. a petal peeled from a flower-he loves me, he loves me not… and the strange beautiful flowers ronan dreams… that love is beautiful and not inherently violent… something adam and ronan must individually learn for themselves. adam must distinguish himself from his trauma, from his family, from his bargain with cabeswater. his self-loathing creates an additional prison within the limiting circumstances of his poverty. but as gentle as the removal is, ronan’s heroic action still results in gore- his father’s, rather than his mother’s, account of his birth. adam is reduced to muscle, bone, teeth, eyeball- a collection of parts, but no holistically integrated face. a miracle of moving parts but gruesome. life leaks out of him like nightwash out of ronan. unmasking, confession, secrets you can’t take back, irreversible bargains… ronan says he’ll put the mask back on, will restore adam’s dignity and grant him a shield against vulnerability, but the damage is done. we get a rare “please” (“please work”) from ronan, maybe a prayer, maybe in the same vein of the “please” he thinks when he sees adam for the first time (cdth chapter 5).

and finally, the lab blood dna line around which i will talk in circles because I can’t do it justice, but after ronan wakes with the bloodied mask he wonders “whose dna…would a lab find in that blood?” this is THE merging of adam and ronan line imo that makes all of my tenuous claims that the nightmare is about adam becoming ronan hold actually hold water. it’s like if the narrator in kevin atwater’s my blood is your blood hated themselves and their partner too because their love felt like violence and guilt. and because both adam and ronan, due to their (father-related) trauma, struggle to distinguish between pain and attraction and desire and resentment, there’s an implication that reciprocated feelings between the two of them would also be mutually inflicted harm- that they’ll both make each other bleed. spring awakening word of your body. it reminds me of when dogs get into a fight and in the aftermath it’s hard to tell whose blood is whose, if one is bleeding or just covered in the other’s; ronan’s nightmare explores: who is capable of harming (loving) the other. because ronan’s refusal to harm adam as nightmare adam harms ronan is love, even if twisted up. ronan can’t extricate desire from violence at this point since he hasn’t woken up to his second secret yet (and undergone the character development required to realize it). the blood might as well be both of theirs.

Some other assorted details: the overlap between ronan’s self-hatred and his projection of this onto adam (ch 9: ronan had seen a face about to break in the mirror etc. terrible paraphrase but you know what i mean) so his nightmare is an exploration of him projecting onto adam; there’s a dual desire for adam/reciprocation but also a fear + assumption that adam is simultaneously terrorized by his own feelings (which tbh is not wrong) so adam being the horror in the nightmare is to say he’s Ronan since the horrors are an extension of Ronan’s depression, grief, guilt, etc. esp. regarding his faith and sexuality which are symbolized via the dreaming, and since ronan could not kill him (it wasn’t a choice! foreshadowing! he sees himself as a corrupting force on adam, etc.), ronan is eventually subconsciously led to the realization that he cannot kill himself either- he has to believe in himself (cheesy, but since the climax of tdt crucially involves adam’s belief in ronan and the dreaming and the second secret, it’s real) and to believe that his love for others is beautiful rather than dangerous, and that this love can be wielded back at himself too. “why do you hate you? I don’t. he woke up” is the same damn thing as “it was only for adam it had been a prison.” pretend i pasted in the spiral eyes emoji 1000 =x here. (adam’s own self-loathing, isolation, bargain w cabeswater, etc…. so very eight of swords. if only he would take the blindfold off etc.)

and this all ties back to the two headed night horror… tdt opening with ronan’s secrets and the plane and adam’s doubt in ronan’s dreaming and the first introduction of the black night horrors and the eventual acceptance of mirrored attraction or at least acknowledgement of ronan’s second secret and adam witnessing the manifestation of the white night horror which is double-headed and signifies both internal and external love/acceptance… i’m running out of steam here but it all ties together. it’s all connected I promise.

but in this chapter, before the plot of tdt plays out in full, we're left with the conclusion of what if adam reciprocates ronan's attraction? that's what he wants (this is why he pays the rent. this is why the dream is in the st. agnes apartment, where ronan has put adam.), but because at this point ronan can't differentiate between desire and self-loathing, adam wanting him back would make him a mirror of his desire and self-loathing, and the fear of this is explored in the nightmare. i hope this has made sense!

i think this was pretty comprehensive and perhaps too speculative but aside from opal's role in the dream, which i'm still thinking about, but i'd love to hear someone else's take on her in this chapter (or anything else about the mask nightmare!).

[vickyvicarious]

I didn't want to clog up your post about being barefooted but it reminded me that now following Dracula Daily after having read the book many years ago, I have been clocking similarities+parallels between Jonathan and Lucy in several things such as vulnerable youth, condemned while betrothed, restless dreams, performativity, secrets, stolen innocence. I've seen -not on tumblr, other places- comparisons between the two girls, but honestly it looks like there's interesting comparative readings between the first two main victims to be had so I'm looking forward to re-reading Lucy's arc semi-blind after Jonathan's.

Yes! I completely agree, Lucy and Jonathan have a lot of super interesting parallels. I won't talk about it too much here - both because you're looking forward to going in semi-blind and because I also want to do a closer reading as we go along to see what I catch - but there have already been some really cool echoes/mirrors between them. Specific stuff like:

Jonathan's mirror getting broken/Lucy musing about looking into her mirror

The three vampire women attacking Jonathan/the three suitors proposing to Lucy

Dracula touching Jonathan without consent/the suitors taking Lucy's hands in a reassuring expression of friendship

Dracula deciding Jonathan's fate by giving him that deadline/Lucy choosing her own by picking Arthur

(There's specific posts in my "lucy westenra" tag talking about all of those, often in greater detail from people who noticed them first and elaborated really well, but I digress.)

And of course that is just so far and in addition to bigger themes and roles like the ones you've mentioned. The one I have been especially interested in watching is the (in)ability to speak freely and how that manifests in each of them when under Dracula's influence (a BIG thing with Lucy; for Jonathan, there are two different answers during and after the castle, both of which compare to Lucy in very interesting ways).

The performative one is super cool because I haven't thought about it in that specific way before but you're so right. Jonathan and Lucy both put on a really good act and try to hide their true feelings, but the circumstances and ways in which they do so is at the same time quite different and bearing some major similarities. I may have to think/talk more about that in the future once we get to a certain letter from Lucy.

I also love the mention of condemned while betrothed together with that stolen innocence and vulnerable youth, because they both have this big cocktail of that mixed together when they're attacked. Both of them are leaving one stage of life behind them (clerk, teen girl living with her mother) and have just embarked upon a new one (solicitor, engaged to be married - that one both but marriage is also equivalent to Lucy's career in a way) when they meet Dracula. But neither are settled into it yet. This is Jonathan's first big job and he's away from home, Arthur isn't there with Lucy and she's still preparing for the wedding. Both times, Dracula comes along right on that cusp of the life they've chosen and are looking forward to, and he tries to take it all away from them.

I'm starting to get more spoilery/talk about stuff I want to when it's fresher so I'll stop here for now but I am absolutely with you on finding a lot of interesting comparative readings to be had with these two specifically, and I too will be looking for/enjoying them as we go along!

[duplicitywrites]

Thank you so much for replying to my other ask! I completely understand not wanting to revisit a fic you had wrote when you weren't doing the best, and I hope you're feeling better now! 🩷 I adore 'evermore' so much even though it's quite depressing aha 🥲 The way you wrote Harry's mental health and escapism was so good and Id love to hear some spoilers if you were up to it 😅

One thing I love about fanfic is the freedom of it all, and like you said "What is fanfic if not an ode to writing that felt unfinished?". Your interpretation of Harry as an abused child at his core in works like "damaged" always get to me. It always felt weird in the HP book series that Harry had such an awful childhood and was as well adjusted and happy in the future.

Another one of your works I was really interested in is 'perfect boys with their perfect lives', the Harry/Cedric aka a certain dark lord one. It really had me thinking about what could have happened in the graveyard if Harry hadn't escaped 🫣

i am, thanks! it was around covid, which was an awful time for everyone i'm sure, with weird life stuff piled on top of it.

i was going to answer all of the ones you mentioned, but evermore is actually one of few stories i have planned out in detail. this is why it has a planned chapter count (though that hasn't stopped me from going overboard before lol).

i guess i'll just give you the whole thing in case i never finish it kljsdgkljdgs it's pretty long, so under a cut it goes! but first some context for everyone else:

🍃 Evermore

Tags: Alternate Universe, Unhealthy Relationships, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Manipulative Relationship, Infidelity, Past Child Abuse, Dream Sequences, Depression, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Plot Twists, Happy Ending, Surprise Ending, Healing

Summary:

Harry is a married man who is living a charmed life. He has no need for the fantasy potions gifted to him by the Weasley twins—or so he thinks. After falling asleep on the train ride home, Harry dreams of the perfect man, a man named Tom Riddle. As Harry explores his dream life with Tom, he realizes that his actual life is not as charmed as it seems. The pristine image of his faultless marriage shatters, revealing a darker reality, and Tom Riddle becomes an oasis, a sanctuary for Harry to escape to. However, no sanctuary is eternal and no oasis is truly perfect. Harry must eventually confront his demons, inner and outer, before he can find real happiness for himself.

Notes:

these notes are arranged in order from where the most recently posted chapter left off.

there are probably some divergent points that occurred during the actual writing process, but this plan below (i'll admit i'm not quite brave enough to reread it all) is what the general storyline will be.

-

reality four - right where you left me

maybe harry's been harbouring fears of his potions being found? :thots: or his husband's made note of his changes in behaviour, accuses him of not spending time/being devoted

they get into an argument where harry gets a looooot of shit for stuff he doesn't deserve to get shit for, stuff that's not even true

harry yells back but gets hit, idk if by magic or not :thots: and he backs down, distraught. then once he's alone, he goes straight for the dream world

dream four - no body no crime

it'll be a much shorter version obviously, and the character roster won't be the same

i hadn't nailed down the specifics of the background and so i'm not sure how it'll look, exactly

harry is NOT married in this dream, he knows dream-husband but they are only friends

dream-husband is ginny's role in this particular iteration

but the climax of this scene is where harry is snooping around in the house, where he happens upon the dream-husband's diary

he's been looking for evidence to prove the murder

harry reads through the diary

and in the diary are tragic entries describing depressive thoughts, details of emotional (maybe even physical) abuse, etc.

this is a pivotal moment for harry, who up until this moment has been in denial about the failings of his real life marriage

reading this in the framing of it happening to someone else is enough for him to realize that it's wrong

what happens to him is not okay

but of course it's not that easy to just, shrug off years of marriage all at once; harry once again exits the dream, thus ending that particular dream universe

he's partly in denial but it's not as bad as before

he's been using the dreams as a coping mechanism up until this point

i've made it sound kind of frustrating but the dream worlds that harry goes to are meant to be very lush, romanticized

while we realize that harry's dream worlds are not ideal, he doesn't realize it right away

he thinks he's still doing something wrong

reality five - coney island

uh so next is probably another real life scene which shows tension between harry and his husband, only harry is no longer acting the way he did before aka accepting things without question

after the dream, harry starts to... notice things. he picks up on the slights, on the manipulative behaviours. he doesn't argue back for most of it, because he's still figuring it out and he's in shock, but he does start acting differently, which is noted by his husband

it escalates things further, a landslide of 'harry is no longer listening to me, is no longer under my control' type of deal where it results in more attempts to manipulate, which harry now sees is bad

voldemort grew addicted to power, made deals with politicians, gained a following

he looks back on past events and picks out the red flags, realizes that his marriage is not a marriage of equals. but just because harry knows these things, doesn't mean he knows what to do. he goes back to the dream world for comfort/answers

dream five - cowboy like me

this one is 'cowboy like me'

harry is there with his husband staying at a hotel, they happen across dream-husband, who is a con artist attempting to swindle an older woman

either harry is also a con artist in a similar vein, or he is mistaken for one - i'll probably decide once it's written out and i get a sense of the vibe

but he and dream-husband have some interesting conversations, flirting, etc

the theme of this dream i think will be further strengthening the similarities between harry and the dream-husband he's made up in his head

this dream ends with a bittersweet farewell

something along the lines of, despite their attraction for each other, they must part ways? :thots: or some other thing

but there will be a bit of a cheeky 'see you soon'

aka referencing the fact that it's a dream/dream world, that the dream-husband is a recurring character in harry's mental space

reality six - happiness

harry's down to two vials now, the bittersweet farewell of dream five has him realizing that time is running out in the metaphorical sense; we understand that soon he will need to make a choice

i might loop back to infidelity at this point, maybe in an attempt to bring harry to heel, his husband starts flaunting an affair? :thots: cause in the past, flirting with other people probably worked to make harry upset and easily manipulated

but y'know now harry is armed with his brand new knowledge of Marriage Should Not Be Like This and also he's got some shiny self-worth stored up, courtesy of dream-husband

dream six - ivy

in this dream world, harry is married to his current husband, but he is having an affair with the dream-husband; not in the sexual sense, but in the emotional sense. drawing on the dream five, harry is seeking comfort and solace from his bad marriage

this dream is meant to remove more of harry's doubts and encourage him to see that his current situation is bad

and i imagine we start to break through the fourth wall; dream-husband speaks directly to harry, referencing real life events that have occurred

he encourages harry to leave

harry is doubtful, obviously. this is all he's known and he's been gaslighted, manipulated, mistreated

he's terrified he will be found out and punished for it

but the dream-husband reassures him, promises him that things will be okay, etc.

he makes harry promise to take care of himself

and i'm thinking in true romantic sense, maybe they spend the night together? :thots:

reality seven - closure

we solidify that harry deserves better, that what has happened is not his fault, etc all the important, healthy things

we have harry reaching out to the people that have been slowly pushed out of his life (mostly by his husband). he’s reconnecting with them, being healthier, i think this section would end with harry going to ron and hermione and telling them the truth, telling them everything

harry is down to his last vial, so he's been saving it

like, he could obviously go and get more, they would give it to him for free, even, but you know it's kind of like

he shouldn't have to rely on that as a coping mechanism any more

dream seven - evermore

i'm thinking harry goes for one last dream, they sit together outside(?) or somewhere else that has significance for harry

they hold hands, harry talks about how much the support has meant to him, what he's learned about himself, what these dreams have taught him

sometimes things don't work out

he knows he needs to walk out and move on

i'll probably cry writing all this so you know it'll be good

the end - it’s time to go

then like i mentioned before, there will be a scene of harry signing divorce papers. his friends are with him, telling them they support him, and he feels... relief. he feels hope.

the story ends with harry attending a party, this time by his own decision. he's here to genuinely mingle with people, with his friends, and have a good time

and then he sees someone

much like the previous dream, it's someone who he once knew

they talk, they catch up, but this time it doesn't feel odd or uncomfortable

harry feels secure with himself, and we end on the hopeful note that this could go somewhere good

[emotionallychargedtowel]

10 comfort shows

I was tagged by @imlivingformyselfdontmindme for this thing. Thanks! The instructions are simple: "List 10 comfort shows and then tag 10 people." But I'm not a big tagger, and a lot of folks I know have done this already. If you haven't, though, and you're interested, please do!

The instructions said "10 comfort shows" not your favorite 10 comfort shows or the ones you watch the most often. So I made a list and I picked the ten that I immediately thought of something to say about. i'm all about comfort viewing and watching things repeatedly so I had to leave quite a few things off of this list.

Future Boy Conan

I've lost count of how many times I've seen this series. It really is one of the most life-affirming, wholesome (in the real way) pieces of media I've ever encountered. The first time I saw it, I went into it expecting to see a fairly run-of-the-mill anime series with some early glimmers of Miyazaki's aesthetic and themes. But it's a frickin' masterpiece. Themes and visual mannerisms you see throughout Miyazaki's career are already here, full-blown, but it's also distinct from his other work in a way that makes it feel really fresh even if you've gone through his whole movie oeuvre. Mostly it just always has its heart impeccably in the right place.

Pride and Prejudice (1995)

Don't talk to me about that movie. This is the adaptation against which all others must be measured. Faithful as heck to the book in most respects (we won't talk about Wet Darcy either), with an incredible cast, not to mention the costumes, set design, and locations. Watching this miniseries as a teenager could be the reason I'm still obsessed with shows and movies where half of the story is told through meaningful glances.

To My Star (1&2)

I really lucked out having this show as one of my first BLs, except that I nearly squandered the opportunity because I wasn't paying close attention and missed a lot of the subtle details. And this is a show that is full of really subtle details! Talk about telling a story through meaningful glances. There's a lot going on on a nonverbal level in this one. It helps that the leads have such a great, nuanced kind of chemistry together and both just seemed to show up for these roles ready to dig deep and be present. Thank goodness I went back and rewatched this one after that first attempt! I know for some folks the second season premise was really painful, but I found it to be completely worth it in the end. I'd happily watch a third season if they made one. In the meantime, I continue to rewatch both series (sometimes in movie form) regularly and I notice different things each time.

Spaced

This show was there for me at a time in my life when I needed comfort shows the most, when I was rebuilding my life after the abusive relationship that consumed most of my 20s. It's usually described in terms of the various pop culture references it uses, the movies the director and one of the co-writer/co-stars went on to make, or in some kind of generational terms as representing a demographic.

But I don't think those things are what make it interesting and rewarding. I guess the thing it boils down to at the end of the day is that it's very much a found family story. And an unconventional love story in which the two leads may or may not get together--after the series--but no matter what type of relationship theirs turns out to be, it will have changed them both for the better. In the meantime they’re facing their fears, honestly fixing their mistakes, and broadening their horizons, and they’re always lovable while being riddled with personal flaws.

Also, after having been raised on Coen Brothers movies and coming of age during the heyday of The Simpsons, I'm a sucker for a really quotable piece of media.

Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy (1979)

When it comes to adaptations, I usually have a strong preference for one while writing off the others. In this case, there are things I appreciate about the Tomas Alfredson film that this adaptation doesn't do as well, but this version has a great deal to say for itself too. The adaptation really captures Le Carré's voice, the cast is incredible, and the whole miniseries just has this wonderful pervasive tone to it that's not like anything else. (The soundtrack is unobtrusive but very effective, and it has a lot to do with that.)

I don't know if it's the fact that this series came out when I was a toddler and has the look and feel of a lot of shows my parents would watch on PBS when I was a child (heck, I bet they watched this very show on PBS), but this suspenseful spy thriller makes me feel relaxed as hell. Having seen it a ton of times helps, too. There's never anything resembling a surprise. But even if this type of series doesn't feel like your childhood and even if you're going to be surprised right and left by the plot, I think it's an incredibly well-constructed piece of work that almost anyone could enjoy.

Emma (2009)

I'm very picky about my Austen adaptations. Emma has been adapted quite a bit, and I've found at least something to like about every version I've seen. But this is the best one by a good margin. I always love Romola Garai in anything, and she's lovely here--assertive, vulnerable, annoying when she should be and charming the rest of the time. She does a wonderful job portraying all of the subtle gradations of self-awareness that build in Emma throughout the story.

But I think the decisive factor has to be the screenplay and direction (not to mention other behind-the-scenes aspects). The folks behind this version just seem to have prioritized capturing the subtleties of the novel more than others. There are a few points where this is particularly apparent. One example is how this adaptation treats Frank Churchill. The 2009 version of Frank shows what a capricious, moody, immature person he is, but it also shows his good nature and the ways he tries to be open (in the novel, he attempts to tell Emma about his engagement to Jane Fairfax on multiple occasions and mistakenly believes she understands him). Hewing to the novel makes for a more complex, engaging character than the two-dimensional cad most other adaptations make out of Frank. The portrayal of the Box Hill incident is another example. This version of Emma has the most uncomfortable, unsparing rendering of Emma's insulting comment to Miss Bates that I've seen, but it also tempts us to laugh along with Emma. The scene in the novel is exactly the same way--it's complicated and makes us acknowledge our ambivalence. This adaptation keeps all of these strands alive in the story and the miniseries is better for it.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

It's weird looking back now on how BtVS seemed back when it was new. Our standards were different for a reason. TV really wasn't as interesting or as progressive as it is now, and the range of both was narrower. Having a cishet white dude showrunner who would willingly utter the word "feminism" seemed like a remarkable piece of good fortune. And of course, we didn't know what was going on behind the scenes.

I imprinted on this show like a baby chick back then. It's not really possible for me to be objective about it. If I think it's good, how much of that is its actual quality and how much is the fact that it seemed like such a gift back then compared to what we were all used to? Well, some of it at least was actual quality, but I can't tell how much. So this show is special to me partly because it's grandfathered in due to circumstances and partly because it's actually good.

I remember when it seemed wild to me that there were people who could talk about  a TV show and discuss episodes by title. BtVS was the first show I did that with myself. Eventually, it didn't seem that remarkable. Basically, this was the show that made me into a fan.

This is another show that was there for me after my abusive relationship ended. I remember at times when I was lonely (which happened a lot; not only was I newly single, I also had to start almost entirely from scratch when it came to friendships) I would look at my little dvd binder thingy with my pile of Buffy discs and tell myself, "If all else fails, I have all these shows to watch until things improve."

She-Ra

There’s that found family theme again! How could you go wrong with a story that starts with foundlings raised by a witch and a clone soldier to fight in their evil army, then follows them as they slowly get their consciousnesses raised and find their own identities and meaningful connections? It's a remarkably subversive and deeply queer show. We were in a miniature golden age for high-quality, politically progressive, LGBTQ+ friendly American animated series for a while there, and this show was not only a part of it but a particular highlight. It's been tapering off for a while now and it's sad to see it come to an end, but at least we got shows like this one and we can keep watching them and introducing people to them.

Star Trek: Deep Space Nine

I don’t know why a series that’s so steeped in existential dread feels so cozy to me, but it does. Well, I guess it’s because the show is about finding your people, your coping strategies, and the unapologetically weird little hobbies that will help you to muddle through war, loss, spiritual crises, and the challenges of long-term love.

That, and it reminds me of my mom.

A lot of ink has been spilled over this series so I won't try to explain beyond that why it's so special. But I will say that it is absolutely the best Star Trek series. It's unpopular with a certain type of fan, but those philistines dislike it for exactly the same qualities that make it so great.

Kikai Sentai Zenkaiger

I'm indecisive and bad at picking favorites, so I'm not sure what I'd consider my favorite tokusatsu series or even just my favorite sentai series. Zenkaiger would rank pretty high up there in both at the very least. But this is a list of comfort shows, not favorite shows or the best shows, and that's a category in which Zenkaiger is completely unbeatable. It's hopeful, funny, idealistic, and more than anything, definitely the sweetest toku show I've ever seen. It's also easy to pick a random episode and watch it out of context because of the villain-of-the-week thing (not that the larger-scale arc of the series wasn't also compelling).

This is yet another found family show. Families of origin are still very important in the series. The central characters are all trying to find, help, or learn about one or more of their family members. But it's also about blending your found family and your family of origin into a group so inclusive that it includes aliens and robots.

I'm only picking one gif for each show on this list except for this one. I couldn't pass up having one for Kaito, one for Stacy, and one for Zox.

(Edited to add: I switched out the three gifs here for a single replacement because I realized two of the ones I originally used were made by someone who requests that others not repost them.)

[eikaprime]

Hi Eikaprime! I love your way of doing the hypnoshades, but if you chose to not have them be that way, how you would execute Callie's story in splatoon 2? (Okay yeah this is from Popsicles wanting to possibly hear more about that concept you mentioned a while ago - if its okay! Feel free to go 'i wanna keep that a secret' and all)

*uncontrolled, unhinged giggling from the back of the throat that slowly turns to absolute maniacal laughter bordering on hysterics*

How would I do them? Because there are so many possibilities. There are just. SO MANY. Possibilities. I don't even remember what possibility I mentioned. My brain is a black hole of thoughts, ideas, and Terribleness.

Seriously, the possibilities are endless. But maybe the best sort...

*deep breath in, slow breath out* okay, thoughts, line up here. In my Snapshots series (and presumably also in Lucky, though it's never mentioned) Callie gets the hypnoshades as a gift during Final Fest. They're from some anonymous fan, and she thinks they're neat, and puts them on completely unknowingly, and in Snapshots you get a detailed look at how they make the person see and hear things--specifically, whatever the shades are programmed to let the person see and hear. But without those?

Without those, Callie is alone.

That's where it starts. That's where it holds. With Callie and Marie apart. Marie, radio show. Callie, filming. Marie, music show. Callie, talk shows. Long days talking and laughing across a table in the news studio become late evenings, night owl Marie stumbling in exhausted around when early bird Callie wakes up, the two more or less having supfast together. Becomes telephone tag. Becomes answers on messaging machines, never actually catching each other.

They have a schedule for agent business. Gramps and Three are away, doing something important. Someone has to feed Octavio. Someone has to check the kettles. Every day, one of them--cranky, exhausted, overtired--goes in, takes Octavio's dirty dishes, gives him more food, walks around Octo Valley (but no time to search the kettles) and leaves. Callie falls asleep there a few times. It's... comforting, really. Even if it's Octavio, there will be someone there when she gets up. Someone to eat next to. Someone to complain, to tell about her and Marie's schedules, how it never matches up.

And one day, Octavio says he wants to show her something. Callie laughs, because really, what could he show her? He's in a snowglobe. He can't get out. But he says Marie gave him something. And, okay, she'll hear him out.

Marie gave him an opportunity. The real gift is the phone-like object in his hand, with too many buttons, showing Marie. In her radio studio. Where there shouldn't be any cameras. And Octavio says, very calmly, that eight splatoons of elite Octolings have been following Marie's movements. They can take her out at any time. Would Callie like to see? And his tentacle moves to a button.

NO.

Well. Perhaps we can come to an arrangement.

From in the tree, where Callie had slept--a place so obvious she hadn't dreamed to look--dropping down on silent feet are elite Octolings. All have weapons; all weapons are holstered. One holds a pair of sunglasses.

Callie has a choice, he says. She can free him now, and accompany his troops below. She can accept the shades and do whatever he tells her while wearing them. Or she can watch Marie die. And trust him, there are ways to keep a squid from respawning.

Callie's sobbing. She's terrified. Not for herself. She has her roller, she could defend herself. But Marie... she'll take the shades. If she can buy some time, she can stop this. She can find a way to keep them from Marie (because who's to say they won't both be killed if Callie goes with them? Who's to say Octavio will keep his word and not hurt Marie when she's not around?). If she ever decides to join them, she should press the switch on the arm. Just tap it. Not even hard. It'll be okay then.

Never gonna happen. She can stop this.

But as Callie puts on those sunglasses--taking Octavio through Inkopolis (and whoever else is watching through those shades), to her dressing room at the movie theater, even into her own apartment, she keeps seeing... flickers. Movement, a flickering shadow that *shouldn't be there* on set. There are Octolings in Inkopolis--just there, in the cafe, not looking at her when she walks by but there. When she tours Inkopolis Power, there's someone watching from the catwalk. When she jogs through the park in the early morning, there's a rustle in the bushes. When she finally gets to speak to Marie in person, alone for the first time since... since... but why was Marie talking to Crusty Sean for so long? Why does she feel these eyes? Octavio said he'd know, and they have a window, and their neighbors... the skin crawls on Callie's back.

She puts in her schedule the day Marie will be gone. Marie will be in Calamari County. She will be safe.

Callie cancels her own train.

She goes below, to stand in front of the snowglobe.

And presses the button on the shades.

@possiblycringe

[bulliness]

(cw for mentions of sexual assault) Speaking of, it's been driving me CRAZY because I've seen not one but multiple LGBT people proudly "come out" as pedophiles recently and then claim they were only getting hate for being LGBT like if y'all don't read the fucking room... "thought crime" my ass. I really don't vibe with the idea that because someone is sexualizing something on the Internet that means they can't possibly be doing that crime in real life. My older sibling was in online spaces regarding anime, furries, fandom etc. I won't go into details but he sexually abused multiple children, family members, and animals. Whenever I see someone bragging about these things and showing no remorse online I can't convince myself they aren't doing it irl! I know it's my trauma but it really happened to me it does cause real harm, I have PTSD and am constantly suicidal. "thought crime" im sure child abusers are giddy as hell about the pro pedo sentiment that's getting more popular in spaces that used to be more safe. I feel like I'm going to chew off my arm. Sorry, something about imaginary sister in your post made me go !!! bc I was the sister but I definitely wasn't imaginary, yk? In the past couple years I keep seeing these 4chan esque morally reprehensible arguments that make no sense. "kill the cop in your head that says assaulting people in their most formative years is wrong" bitch do you hear yourself?! I've been here a long while and I miss the days you could talk about wanting to kill your rapist when this site was, at the very least, larping as feminist. I'm literally too scared to bring this up on my own blog bc sometimes pedos will send ppl who disagree with them csam. Also I'm not trying to start the most triggering rancid internet shit storm ever in my notifs :/ I did not mean to write out this much omg. You dont have to post this btw lol

No you're fine!! I completely agree that people have gotten way more comfortable being open about being into these things in the name of "queerness" and it actively detrimental to the community.

There was a time when even I was being accused of pedophilia baselessly, that thankfully didn't result in any harassment because all my mutuals called the anon on their shit. So like, yeah, there's baseless accusations and hate campaigns against innocent trans people (mostly women).

But the whole point is that these women DON'T have "MAP" or "big sister" or whatever in their bios. The second you do that shit, you stop being a victim to me because you thought what you jerk off to was more important than the safety and comforts of people that faced abuse.

It's just really frustrating having to scan every tag and post on a blog before following, just in case they're a secret freak. He'll, the reason I didn't know about this blog is because her tag for it wasn't something I'd thought to check on her blog. Actually pisses me off.

Anyway I hope you can avoid this stuff as much as possible. This is quite literally the first time I've been caught off guard like this, because everyone I follow is chill and rarely get into arguments with these people. Good luck 💜

[backgroundagent3]

for the grishverse asks…just all of them, if you’re okay with that ofc!

Thanks for the ask! This was so much fun to think about. 💙

There's some that I'd already answered, so I tried to give new responses. It got quite long, and there's a lot of spoilers, so keep reading under the cut.

Shadow: rank all the Grishaverse books you’ve read.

Six of Crows. Almost tied with Crooked Kingdom. This is one of my favourite books ever. The characters are some of my favourite characters ever, and the ships are perfect. I love how detailed their backstories and personalities are, it makes them so believable and nuanced. I'm a sucker for heists and plot twists I can barely comprehend, so this is the perfect book for me.

Crooked Kingdom. More of the characters, ships and storylines I've already fallen in love with? Yes please. I ate up all the Kanej content, and I was so sad when it ended, it's such a great duology.

King of Scars. Another great book. Maybe the plot wasn't as good, and it felt a little slow, but Zoyalai? The Grisha Triumvirate? Genya and David? Perfection. Honestly a book can have the most boring plot ever, but as long as I get interesting characters with great dynamics I won't care, I'm here for them and them only.

Ruin and Rising. I remember the original trilogy very vaguely, but I thought this was the best book out of all of them. It definitely wasn't perfect, I found the storyline of the tunnels so suffocating, and every time someone mentioned the Apparat I wanted to throw the book across the room, but overall it was a nice conclusion to the trilogy.

Shadow and Bone. It's not perfect, but clearly good enough to get me hooked. I was instantly amazed at the worldbuilding, and I liked the way we're introduced to the different elements of the Grishaverse. Sometimes it's too much information at once, or you get confused because something hasn't been properly introduced, but Leigh Bardugo did a great job of that, and paces it well.

Rule of Wolves. I liked most of the book and I absolutely loved the moments focused on Zoya, but it completely ruined Nina for me. I loved her so much before, but here I got bored on every chapter that was about her. I think a lot of her character development was ruined on this book, and her ending was so bad.

Siege and Storm. The only reason this book is ranked last is I can barely remember anything. I liked Nikolai, but Mal and Alina were so annoying.

Bone: have you seen the show? What’s the best part of it?

I have seen it, and even though it's far from perfect, it's one of my favourite shows ever. Even though it's hard, I do have to separate it from the books to be able to enjoy it properly though, because let's be honest, it's not a very good adaptation. So considering that, I loved the cast and the times the crows were on screen. I think my favourite part overall was during season 2, when the crows and Zoya went on their little side quest to Shu-Han. I also loved Genya and David, they were adorable, but I'm gonna have to go on to the next question before I start thinking about them too much.

Siege: if you got to kill off one character, who would it be?

I don't know, the Darkling? I couldn't believe he was still alive in King of Scars, and it felt a little forced to be honest. Or Tante Heleen.

Storm: share and tag your favorite fan art.

My favorite fanarts these Six of Crows and Crooked Kingdom papercrafts by @rosiethorns88. The level of details is insane, I could look at it for hours. I also really love @kayadraws and @chemdoodles artworks. I couldn't choose a specific one because they're all so cute and fun, and I love the styles in which they draw the characters.

Ruin: favorite character?

Like I said, Leigh Bardugo writes amazing characters, so this is a really tough choice, but overall I have to go with Inej Ghafa. Honorable mentions to Zoya, Kaz, Nina, Genya and Nikolai.

Rising: what’s the best ship? Canon or otherwise.

Again, a lot of amazing ships, but Kanej will always be my favourite, closely followed by Zoyalai.

Six: favorite Grishaverse quote?

I've answered this one here, but another quote I love is this one from the King of Scars duology:

Zoya of the lost city. Zoya of the garden. Zoya bleeding in the snow. You are strong enough to survive the fall.

Both quotes hit really hard as I read them, cause they were such defining moments for Inej and Zoya, where they realise their potential and who they really are, so they were very special to me.

Crow: which crows do you most and least like?

I answered this here, so I'm gonna do my second most and least favourites. My second favourite is Kaz. I think it's really cool how he's such a complex character but in a way that doesn't redeem him, if that makes any sense. Like he might be willing to change and improve himself, but he's still very much a ruthless criminal. I also love how he is completely aware of that, especially when it comes to Inej. As for my second lest favourite, I guess Wylan? Don't get me wrong, I still love him, but the other crows are just perfect to me.

Crooked: if you got to rewrite the first chapter of Six of Crows, how would you do it?

I don't think I'd rewrite it, I'd just have another chapter before that one, with at least one of the crows and an introduction to the plot of Joost's chapter. I remember reading it and being so confused, because it jumps straight into what's a pretty complicated story. If I did have to rewrite it, I would write it from one of the crows' perspective, because it was really confusing not seeing Joost at all during the rest of the book, and I don't think it would have been very hard to have maybe Inej sneak into the Van Eck mansion to spy.

Kingdom: pick a character and give them a theme song.

I've answered this one here, but recently I've been thinking of Jesper whenever I listen to Little Lion Man by Mumford & Sons.

King: what’s your favorite idea for a new series in the Grishaverse?

Maybe not for a new series, but I like the idea of continuing Rule of Wolves where they left it, so we could have another heist with the crows looking for Sankt Feliks's heart, which would tie in the Six of Crows and the King of Scars duologies together. I think it would be such a great story for so many reasons. For starters, it gives a reason for the crows and the King of Scars gang to interact more, which I'd love to see. Genya would be able to heal from losing David and maybe get a cool storyline focusing more on her. We'd get to see more of Zoya as the queen, and her relationship with Nikolai. Heist shenanigans. Wesper being dragged into a new mission. Kaz trying to trick the Ravkans. Zoya not having any of his nonsense. Kanej. Inej as Captain Ghafa. Kanej. Tolya and Tamar meeting the crows. KANEJ. And above all else, a chance to fix Nina's ending. So. Much. Potential.

Scars: which character deserved better?

Well on that note, I'm gonna go with Nina. Also Genya and David!!

Rule: favorite book cover?

Six of Crows. I love how the crow's feathers also act as the silhouette of Ketterdam.

Wolves: sort all the characters you can into Hogwarts houses, (or choose to give them zodiacs, mbtis, alignments, etc—).

I'm gonna go with Hogwarts houses because I know nothing about zodiacs or any of those things.

Kaz Brekker: Slytherin.

Inej Ghafa: Ravenclaw.

Jesper Fahey: Gryffindor.

Nina Zenik: Gryffindor.

Wylan Van Eck: Ravenclaw.

Matthias Helvar: Hufflepuff.

Kuwei Yul-Bo: Ravenclaw.

Alina Starkov: Hufflepuff.

Malyen Oretsev: Gryffindor.

Nikolai Lanstov: Slytherin.

Zoya Nazyalensky: Slytherin.

Genya Safin: Hufflepuff.

David Kostyk: Ravenclaw.

Tolya Yul-Bataar: Ravenclaw.

Tamar Kir-Bataar: Gryffindor.

The Darkling: Slytherin.

Ketterdam: change the ending of one of the books.

I think I'd just have something at the end of Rule of Wolves that indicated that there was definitely going to be another book about that heist I was talking about. I also said about how much I hated Nina's ending, but honestly, I don't think that could be fixed by just changing the ending, especially after spending two whole books undermining her character development.

Os Alta: when did you get into the Grishaverse? Tell us all about it.

It was in July 2021, and I went camping with my friends and family. Every night my friend read me and my other friend a bit of Six of Crows, which she had recently discovered and was obsessed with. We got really into it, and she convinced me to read the books. As soon as we got back home I started reading Alina's trilogy, then the duologies. Because my friend had only read the Six of Crows duology, I convinced her to read the rest, so full circle moment.

Djerholm: what pair of characters would you kill to see interact with each other?

Inej and Zoya above all, but also Kaz and The Darkling, cause I just think it would be hilarious. Picture the most powerful man in the world, who's been around for centuries, practically rules over a country and all the magical people in it, and is responsible for the most dangerous and horrific creation to ever exist. Now picture an emo teenager who's into magic and calls the love of his life an investment. The Darkling would not stand a chance.

The Unsea: what type of Grisha powers would you want to have? Or what crow’s skills would you want to steal?

If I was Grisha I would love to be a Tidemaker. As for the crows I think Inej's skills would be fun to have.

The True Sea: rant about whatever Grishaverse thing you want to (a hot take, something that bothers you, something you love, etc).

I think I've ranted enough for one post, and I'm too tired to think right now, but I would love to talk more about any of these things, just pop back in my ask box whenever you want.

This has been so much fun to write, so thanks again for the ask! 💙

[farfromstrange]

Foreigner's God: Chapter 52

Main Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x OFC

Chapter Summary: It's the morning after she reached her breaking point and Matt is there to catch her as she breaks down. He doesn't leave her side as they somehow try to find a way to navigate out of this dark hole she has slipped into, and his devotion is ever so unwavering.

Warnings: ANGST, panic attack, self-doubt, mentions of self-harm, mentions of injury & blood, talk about therapy, crying, mentions of anxiety, description of a depressive episode, emotional hurt/comfort

Word Count: 6.2k

A/n: I hope you guys are feeling alright. For this chapter and the next one, too, keep an eye out for the warnings and make sure to take care of yourselves! Thank you all for your support and I hope you're all doing okay. This is a dream come true and to still be writing this for you, even though updates are irregular and my chapters have gotten shorter, is an absolute honor because people read it, people like it, and I am on cloud nine over here. Thank you!

Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @lina-mar (& if you want to be added too, fill out this form!)

Read Chapter 52: Say You Won't Let Go here on AO3!

Lost. It’s not as much of a feeling as it is a state of mind, but to Eliza, it has never felt more like an emotion. She felt completely and utterly lost, her soul an empty wasteland with miles of void space. She was running until she wasn’t, running out of air and water, and when she turned around the world only seemed to have grown bigger. She couldn’t escape. She was trapped. She felt lost with nowhere to go and it scared her shitless. 

She stood in the wasteland of her dreams, of the happiness she thought was finally hers, but instead, the pain came and overshadowed everything. There was no more silver lining, only a black hole in the vastness of space, but even that space wasn’t part of our solar system, it was somewhere far away where no one could have possibly found her. 

A voice called out for her. Physically, she was on earth and reality was… well, it was real, but at the same time it wasn’t. The voice sounded familiar yet alien. The hand that touched hers was warm yet cold. She heard a familiar prayer whispered into her ear, and the words sent shivers down her spine because even God was connected to memories she would have rather stuck down the garbage disposal. 

Her eyes were heavy. She didn’t want to wake up. The world was cruel, but so was sleep. That was the truth; she was lost and even the points of escape that were offered weren’t exactly an escape, it was just more pain atop pain until eventually, the water managed to drown her completely. 

The more aware she became of her physical state, the more agony seemed to spread through her knuckles. Slowly but steadily, she blinked against the protruding sunlight. Her eyelids were heavy and swollen, the salt of the previous tears burning her skin. Something wet and tight was wrapped around her knuckles and it smelled like copper in the room. 

Copper and sweat stuck to the walls of her nose and refused to let go of her; she wanted to puke. The temperature in the room was treacherous because how was it possible for it to be hot and cold at the same time? And why did her head hurt so much? Did she fall? Her mind was full of millions of thoughts faster than she could think them properly, and yet her head had never been more empty. Everything was empty yet heavy yet oh so painful and she already hated that hopeless feeling that seeped into her bones. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of useless fighting, she opened her eyes. Her vision was blurry and it took her a while to make out the details around her, the furniture of Matt’s apartment and his distinctive silhouette next to her, clutching her bandaged hands and praying to a God she didn’t believe in, and his faith seemed to be swindling too. He sounded tired, and he looked just as awful. She didn’t even want to know what she had done. This was her fault, whatever it was, and she wished to pass out again. 

Matt, ever so attuned to her body, lifted his head. His teary, unfocused eyes fell on her. He squeezed her hand gently with both of his own. “Hey,” he said, his voice barely above a relieved whisper. “Hey, you’re awake. How are you feeling? Are you okay?” 

Eliza opened her mouth, but she couldn’t answer. Was she okay? She didn’t know. 

He brushed the sweaty strands of hair out of her face. “Sweetheart,” he called out for her again, trying to coax her into a state of proper consciousness. 

She looked at him, taking a deep breath. The oxygen rattled in her lungs like an old motor. 

“Hey,” he gave a broken smile, “There you are. You had me worried there. I thought… God, I was so worried, baby. Don’t ever do that to me again.”

She was missing some context. She remembered falling asleep in his arms and that was it. She couldn’t even remember how she got from the bed to the couch or why her knuckles would possibly have needed bandages.

“What–“ she croaked, her voice hoarse. 

Matt reached for the water bottle on the coffee table and held it to her lips to drink. She took a desperate sip. 

“You don’t remember?” he asked softly.

What was she supposed to remember? Judging by the look on his face, it was serious. He couldn’t even hide it for her sake. 

“Can you talk?”

“Yes,” Eliza breathed out. “I just don’t… What happened?”

Her eyes were full of fear as she looked at him. He could smell the fear seeping out of her pores, the uncertainty in the way she held his hand impalpable. 

He softened his gaze. “You had a rough night,” Matt tried to explain, trying not to break or scare her further, but he could feel her pulse quicken as her brain slowly started to wake up, and the realization settled in. 

She looked at her hands. The dream hit her with full force. She remembered the blood on her hands, and Viktor’s condescending words as he called her weak, forcing her to kill over and over again until she was strong enough for his liking. It felt so real. The blood felt so real. 

She remembered shying away from Matt, slipping into a haze as she scrubbed her knuckles open. There had been blood, but it had been hers. If her victims' blood became one with hers, she wasn’t sure, but a dream was all it had been and she took it too far. She took it too seriously because it had never felt that real before. She was back in the White Room and she was so helpless. 

“Did I…” She didn’t finish her sentence. 

Weakly, Matt nodded. “But you’re okay,” he said. “It’s okay, I promise.” He was struggling with tears, she could tell, trying to convince himself more than her. 

“Oh, God,” Eliza choked out. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to… I promise I didn’t mean to.”

“Hey, I know. I know.” 

She tore her hand out of his and covered her face, her body trembling with fear and the salty ocean that started building up its way behind her closed lids. “I don’t know–“ she swallowed. “Ugh! I don’t know what’s happening to me. I don’t know, Matt. I don’t know…”

He got off his knees and sat beside her. His arms opened and her crying frame fell into them. He cradled her close to him, his hand resting on the back of her neck. Her sobs echoed in his mind, seemingly breaking glass and tearing the apartment apart. Her pain broke him, and there was nothing he could do.

“Shh,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her scalp. 

Eliza shook violently in her arms. He was the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely. He caught her while she was falling, and he saved her life in the process. She owed him so much and the fact that bad things kept happening in ways she couldn’t understand terrified her to the point of no return. 

She clung to him, her hands clawing at his shirt, and he tightened his hold on her as he whispered sweet nothings into her ear. Her heartbeat sounded so loud and fast, her breathing coming in labored puffs. He rubbed her back, hoping it would soothe some of the initial aches and bring her back to him, but the more she cried, the further she slipped into the black hole he was trying to save her from. He was trying to save her from herself.

Another strangled sob escaped her throat. She tried to utter something, but her vocal cords were twisted. She couldn’t move. His voice moved into the background. Instead, alarms started blaring in her mind. Her muscles locked up and her vision blurred. She couldn’t breathe. 

“Hey, hey,” Matt said, firmer now, squeezing her tighter, “Breathe, sweetheart. Breathe.”

She managed to shake her head as if to say, ‘I can’t.’ He noticed her distress. 

“Take deep breaths. In through the nose, out through your mouth.”

“I c-can’t.”

“Please.”

Her quivering lips parted in a silent plea, “Help me.”

Matt tried his hardest not to cry with her. He hooked his arm under her knees and picked her up, carrying her shaking body into the bathroom. “Okay,” he muttered to himself. He turned the shower on, the water cold but not too cold as he lowered the shower head from his preferred height to one that would accommodate her. 

Her sobs came only in broken bouts and he set her down on the cold tiles. She gasped, her lungs filling with the first breath of fresh air. He gently coaxed her under the stream and she yelped at the sudden change in temperature, her clothes getting soaked the moment she found herself under the water. Although when she opened her eyes, the world around her went quiet. The water formed a bubble around her, tuning out everything but the sound of the droplets hitting the tiles. Her tears mingled with the water and she focused on the cold feeling on her heated skin, the reminder that she was alive and that the world around her was real. 

His hand caressed her thigh as he looked at her. “Breathe,” he told her, “and focus. Tell me five things you can see.”

It had become a familiar routine. She listened to his voice as he told her what to point out to him and in return, she focused on her surroundings as hard as she could, focusing on what her senses could pick and what his couldn’t. She told him what she could see, hear, smell, and taste. She focused on the cold water, the cold shower tiles, and his soothing hand on her thigh. Her limbs quivered, but her breathing began to regulate, and she finally found her way out of the box she had been trapped in. She stopped running into walls and found the hatch, breaking out of confinement into the world. 

Her body slacked against the wall and she exhaled yet another shaky breath. Amid the chaos she had caused herself, a sliver of peace rolled around the corner.

“There you are,” Matt smiled softly at her and asked, “You okay?”

She licked her lips and nodded slowly. 

“Can I turn the water off now?”

“No,” said Eliza, “Need it on.”

He nodded in agreement and sat down next to her, a position he often had been in before and had gotten used to it at this point. It wasn’t always as serious as that night, of course, but he didn’t mind the cold as long as she didn’t have to feel alone, and he knew she often did, even when he was around. 

He gently took her hand in his, stroking his hand over the soaked bandage. He could smell the copper of her blood stuck to the fabric and running down the drain mixed with the shower water, and it was completely wet with different kinds of fluids at this point, but she wasn’t in pain. At least he couldn’t make out any of her usual signs of discomfort, her muscles were merely sore and her head hurt. He kept stroking her hand, listening attentively to her heartbeat as she focused on his breathing and began to calm down. 

“You scared me,” he dared to admit. 

She swallowed. “I know.”

“I was so worried about you. For a second I thought… last night, I thought you were gonna hurt yourself.”

The sanctuary of the water raining down around them seemed like the right place to pour his heart out. It was something he could no longer deny, and she didn’t deserve to be lied to either. 

“I’m sorry,” was all Eliza found in herself to say. Another wave of tears stood close by, ready to fall and break her down again. “I’m so sorry,” she said. 

“You remember everything?” he asked. 

She nodded. 

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No. I can’t…”

“It’s okay,” he squeezed her hand again, “I understand.”

“It felt so real.”

“I know.”

“But I never wanted to hurt myself. That wasn’t… whatever you thought happened, it wasn’t me, it was…”

“Viktor?” he finished for her. 

Eliza shuddered at the name, but then she nodded and said, “Viktor.” Saying his name sounded foreign, even though she had multiple times before. 

Even dead, he still haunted her. 

They sat there in silence for a while. Matt eventually turned the water off, but they stayed there, hand in hand, sitting on the wet floor of the shower. She stared blankly ahead, trying to sort her thoughts and emotions, and Matt listened. He always listened. 

Softly, she called his name. “Matt?”

“Yes, baby?” 

“I think-” she said, swallowing. Her thoughts were still a mess, but hearing the fear in his voice before and the pained look on his face just from experiencing her pain taught her something she should have realized the day before, or perhaps right after watching the life drain from Viktor’s eyes. “I’m not okay,” she said. Her voice bordered on a hushed whisper. 

He turned his head in her direction. There was no surprise on his face, only understanding. Claire was right when she said he had to listen to what Eliza wanted. He knew her better than anyone and she always came around, sometimes sooner than later. 

“I’m not okay,” she repeated and met his unfocused eyes halfway, “and I think I need help.” She cracked. 

Wordlessly, he opened his arms again. She scooted closer and melted into him, placing her head on his now-wet chest. He rubbed her shoulders, trying to soothe the comforting ache of the cold that kept her grounded in reality. 

Matt pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “Okay,” he said. 

“I don’t want to be a burden. I know you were scared, I know I hurt you just as much as I hurt myself, and I know there is so much we said we had to do before I… before I slipped. There are so many unanswered questions and I know you put Daredevil on hold for me. You pushed your anger away for me. You stopped going after the guy whose name you were told. You did that all because of me, just to be by my side the past two days, and I don’t know how to repay you for that, so I’d understand if you said you want to go out there tonight and stir some shit up. I’d understand if you said the city needed you more right now because truth is, this guy is dangerous and the night at the hospital haunts me as much as Viktor’s face does. I want to know who this guy is too, I want to understand, and we don’t, so we need to find a way. Or you do. I can’t keep you away from this part of yourself any longer and I couldn’t possibly want you to,” she said. 

He cut her off by lifting her chin and forcing her to look at him. “Don’t,” he said. 

She frowned, sniffling and trying to blink away the tears. “Matt-”

“No, you’re not a burden. You’re right, I chose you over Daredevil. I chose to take care of you. But I don’t regret it. I chose you because I love you, and I won’t leave your side until I know you’re going to be okay.”

“But this guy-”

“He’s not gonna touch you because I’m not leaving your side. Not until I know you’re fully yourself again, which you’re not. I love you,” Matt pulled her close and rested his forehead against hers, “and nothing matters more to me than you do, Punisher be damned. And he can’t hurt you here, I’m not gonna let that happen. You get that?”

All Eliza could muster was a weak nod. 

He pressed his lips to her forehead. "I made a promise to you, and I intend to keep it. We'll find a way to figure out who this guy is and understand what's going on. But right now, you're my priority. Your well-being comes first, and I won't let you go through this alone. We're in this together."

Her breath hitched. The familiar burning in her eyes intensified. She wasn't strong enough to stop the silent tears from cascading down her already wet cheeks. Matt was by her side, and while guilt was a cruel son of a bitch who always managed to suck the good out of everything she faced, she could feel his love through the invisible string that connected their souls in a whirlwind of emotions.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice filled with a vulnerability she hadn't shown in a long time. "I just don't want to lose myself. I don't want to hurt you or anyone else."

Matt wiped away a tear that escaped from her eye. "I know, sweetheart. And you won't. I promise."

Eliza clung to him, her grip tightening as if he was her lifeline. And he was. He was the one thing keeping her from drowning. 

“For now, we just have to focus on making sure you get better, okay?” 

The softness in his voice caused another tear to slip down her cheek and land on his finger. 

“I love you,” he said, “more than anything in this godforsaken world and I will never give up on you. Never.”

“I love you too,” she whispered back. 

He kissed her forehead again. “I know. Let’s get you dried off, get you some fresh clothes, and rebandage these knuckles, hm? And then maybe you can try eating something. You need sustenance.”

She nodded. 

“I’ll call Mrs. Darcy for you and make sure you get an appointment for tomorrow. You need your rest today. And then tomorrow, you can talk to her about what’s been going on and maybe she can help you find a way to navigate this without losing yourself any further than you already have. Deal?”

She nodded again. 

“Good girl,” Matt hummed against her cold skin. “Now come on, you’re freezing.”

He helped her up, gently peeling the wet clothes off of her body. She protested when he turned the water on again, making sure it was warm before pushing her back under the stream. She relaxed almost immediately. He got in after her, washing her hair and smoothing a sponge over her reddened skin. She let him do what he felt she needed, and she loved every second of it. 

Her body temperature returned to normal when he guided her out of the shower and wrapped her in a towel, drying her body and her hair. She closed her eyes, letting it happen. She was too tired to fight, and perhaps it wasn’t all too bad to have someone taking care of her. She wouldn’t have done it on her own. He was simply making sure she was alright and taken care of, and she appreciated that in a way she wasn’t sure how to express except for giving him a gentle peck on the lips. 

Matt couldn't erase the scars of her past, but he could offer her solace in the present. He did a good job, she had to admit. He always had and he always would do a good job at taking care of her. His love had no limits and exceeded most expectations she'd had of relationships before he came around. She still often believed she didn't deserve him, and it was true; Matt was too good for her, but God, did she love the man with all she had, and there was no currency in the world she could repay him with because his love was priceless and she didn't know how to act. Even after all this time, she was as clueless as before, and he still loved her, even though she sucked at it. She couldn't understand why. She wanted to understand, but his loving her seemed like a chore and she needed to know why he was still clinging to her, even when she turned into such a mess, someone not worthy of such a dedicated love because what she gave back couldn't possibly match up.

Her mind slipped into darkness, the demons taking over and their voices were so loud, it frustrated her. Tears sprung to her eyes, but he caught them before they could fall. "You're safe now," he whispered. 

"It's not that," she admitted as he led her to the bedroom and pulled out a pair of his sweatpants and a -shirt, all carrying his scent, his essence, and connecting her to his being. He knew she wanted nothing more than to be swallowed by him on bed days. It comforted her. Another display of love her mind reeled with, and the demons screamed again.

Eliza closed her eyes. She fought with the voices in her head, trying to quiet them for just a moment, but they wouldn't stop. Her movements as she got dressed were still heavy with the burden she carried.

Matt tilted his head. "What then?" he asked. "You can talk to me, baby. What's on your mind?" He could tell she wasn't quite present, and it wasn't the fog from the panic attack or the night before. She was thinking, and she was thinking loudly. 

She managed to slip her arm through the sleeve of her shirt. Exhausted, she lowered herself down on the bed, dropping her head in her hands. She wasn’t crying, but she whimpered, the fight against the noise in her head becoming futile because she wasn’t going to win either way. She couldn’t say anything against the cruel words thrown her way because even she, in her lucid state, found them believable. 

She took a deep breath, which quickly turned into a groan. Eliza met Matt's concerned gaze, and her voice trembled slightly as she began to speak. "It's just... I don't understand, Matt," she said. 

"What don't you understand, my love?" he asked, lowering himself next to her.

"I don't understand... I don't get why you love me so fiercely, why you're still here even all I've put you through, and I continue to fall apart every time shit happens and it's always you who's here, always you who has to catch me, and I... it doesn't seem fair, and it's not what I want you to feel like you have to do. I just don't understand why you stick around, you know? I don't and it's so fucking frustrating because... I don't deserve this kind of love. You keep saying I do, but I don't. I can tell you I'll be there for you all I want, but in the end, it's you who has to catch me, not the other way around. So I just don't get it because I don't deserve this unwavering devotion. I don't." 

Matt's expression softened. "This again?" He wrapped an arm around her, but she shied away. 

"Eliza," he tried again, his voice sincere, "I love you because of who you are," he said. "I can see the strength in you, even when you can't see it yourself. You've faced battles I can't even fathom, and yet you keep pushing forward. You still find it in yourself to love others and give back even when you're falling apart, and that is so admirable. That's what I look up to in you, that's what draws me to you. It's like nothing ever truly destroys you because you won't let it, no matter how many times you say you're broken. I didn't understand it before, but then Claire said there is no benchmark on how much pain a person can endure, and you have endured so much and you're still standing, it just shows how fucking strong you are, and it... it hurts me to see you hurt, but that doesn't mean you burden me or that you don't deserve my devotion. That's not true, sweetheart, and you know it. I know you do. Deep down, you know."

She swallowed, allowing him to touch her shoulder this time. "But," she said, "what if I can't love you the same way you love me? What if my love is tainted? What if I can't give back what you give me and I hurt you? I don't want to hurt you... and I hate that I think that way, but the voices... these stupid voices, they just won't stop!" Eliza dropped her head in her hands again. 

Shaking his head in response, Matt gently lifted her chin, ensuring their eyes met. 

"Eliza, love is not a transaction. It's not money. It's not an actual currency that can be compared. It's not about matching up, giving back equally, or measuring worthiness. Love is about acceptance, understanding, and being there for each other. It's messy and imperfect, and sometimes it hurts, it really does, but it's also the most beautiful and transformative force in the world. Everyone loves differently, but you always give more than a hundred percent, and you love with all of your might, and that is more than enough because I feel so loved by you, I sometimes feel like I am not deserving of you. That's what love is, not whatever you think you have to match up to, sweetheart. You're doing the best you can and that is enough. You are enough."

Eliza's eyes welled up with fresh tears again. She wanted to believe him, to trust in his words, but she couldn't shut out the voice in her head, no matter how far Matt kept pushing it into the background.

"I want to believe you," she whispered, she longed for it, "but these demons in my head... they make it so hard. They tell me I'm not enough, that I'll only bring you down in the long run. And I'm starting to believe it."

He gently brushed away a tear from her cheek. "Well, I'm not going anywhere," he said. "I choose you, every single day. I would choose you again and again, not someone else because I love you and I feel loved by you, so you're not getting rid of me. Not again. Not happening."

Love isn't conditional, it's supposed to be a guiding light and help you grow with it. 

"You are worthy of love, Eliza. Don't let those demons tell you otherwise."

She wiped her tears with the bandage around her hands. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, slowly but steadily letting herself fall into his arms. 

He hugged her close to his side, his nose brushing through her hair. “Don’t apologize,” he said. 

“I just want to be enough.”

“And you are enough.”

“I’ve never been enough.”

“As I’ve told you before, your past doesn’t matter anymore. I’m here now. You’re not alone and you have never been more than enough.”

She leaned closer, feeling his heartbeat against her cheek. “I love you,” Eliza whispered, her voice barely audible. 

Matt smiled, pressing his lips to every inch of skin he could find and reach. “And I love you,” he said. 

“I’m sorry, I’ll try to-”

He shushed her with a gentle kiss to her lips, cradling her face in his hands. “Unconditionally. That’s how much I love you.”

She nuzzled her nose against his.

"Things will get better and life will get easier.”

“You’ve said that before.”

“I know, and I’m sorry all of this keeps happening to you, but not once did I consider giving up on you, and I still won’t. I'm here and I'm not going anywhere, so you better get used to that. I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.” 

She sighed, keeping her mouth shut. 

“Now," he said and took her hands in his, "let's take care of those knuckles before it gets any worse.”

Matt cleaned her wounds with gentle precision, his touch tender as he rebandaged them. "There we go. Good as new, almost." He made sure the bandages sat perfectly before pressing a tender kiss to each knuckle. 

“Thank you,” she said. A tear mingled with a bittersweet smile on her lips. “I may not understand why you love me so much most of the time, and I’m not sure I ever will, but I am so fucking grateful that you do…”

He smiled and moved his lips from her knuckles to her face, kissing both of her swollen eyes, licking away the tears, caressing her cheekbones, and returning to their throne on her lips. 

She melted into the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck. He cradled her head in his hands as he kissed her gently, making sure not to push her too far, and the weight on her shoulder lifted. Matt's kisses were the medicine to her pain on stormy days. 

Pulling away, their forehead remained pressed together as their heartbeats and breaths intertwined, becoming one with the invisible string that was always there, keeping them tied together. Especially now she could feel it, craving his touch more than anything, and she recharged in his embrace, choosing to cling to the little bit of hope he seemed to want to transfer onto her. 

He smiled softly, sensing the way her muscles started to relax under his fingers. “That’s my girl,” he breathed. 

She shivered, moving impossibly closer. 

Matt stroked her head back, kissing her softly on the lips again, lingering for a second before pulling away. “You hungry?” 

She was hungry, but she didn’t have an appetite. 

“How about I make you something while I call Mrs. Darcy and you just lay back and rest?”

Eliza succumbed to her hunger and the exhaustion of the past few days. She nodded, crawling back into bed as he tucked her in, pressing another gentle kiss to her forehead. 

“I’ll be right back,” he said. 

She laid back on the pillows, closing her eyes. The demons in her head momentarily silenced, and she listened to the sound of Matt’s movements in the kitchen. 

She was brought back to the present by the sound of his footsteps approaching. Opening her eyes, she saw him carrying a tray laden with a plate of food and a cup of tea. “You made my favorite,” she pointed out when she saw what he was carrying. 

He smiled. “I made your comfort food because you need comfort.”

“And tea.”

“Yeah, you need it.”

He was right, she did need it. 

She ate and drank slowly. Her stomach protested at first, but after the initial ache subsided, she managed to swallow the bites of her sandwich better, and the tea flowed effortlessly down her esophagus. 

Matt rubbed her thigh as he sat next to her. His fingers painted absentminded pictures on her skin, her muscles relaxing under his touch. He was a magician with the ability to peek beneath the surface, and he acted on her needs without needing words. It came naturally to him, almost. Taking care of her was a reflex, and he carried the ability to read her like an open book with the utmost pride because when it came to Eliza that was a rarity. She wasn’t an open book, at least not to most people, but no matter how well she locked herself away, he always found his way around her defenses. He had this way of getting under her skin and into her soul, and she could push him away all she wanted, he was confident enough now to keep her around because he knew she didn’t want to push him away, she simply wanted to protect herself. 

She wanted to protect her fragile little heart and she wanted to protect him from the person she could become when the world became too much for her fragile little heart, but Matt was the last person to shy away. He, too, was broken. He couldn’t possibly judge her or see her as a burden when he was just the same. So he stood by her because it felt like the most natural thing to do, knowing that if life hit him as hard as it did her, she would do the same for him, and he didn’t even doubt it for a second. He knew her well enough by now, even better than she knew herself. He wanted to protect her heart; she couldn’t do it by herself anymore. She needed a shield and he would offer it to her. 

He loved her with a passion that exceeded the powers of the universe, and he was sure that they could overcome anything with the strength they shared through the connection of their invisible string, something he had yet to understand, but that was something he would concern himself with if it ever became important enough to become an issue. For now, their connection was a once-in-a-lifetime gift, and broken human beings like them needed each other or life would surely find a way to end them. The invisible string saved their lives and there was nothing more to it than that. It was plain and simple, almost, but deep and vulnerable just the same, like the ocean’s tide. 

Eliza placed her hand on his, her eyes closed. She took a deep breath. He was scared and tired, but he was trying for both of them. She could feel his devotion deep in his soul. It kept her grounded, making sure she wouldn’t slip from the precipice again, not without a rope to save her just in case. She needed his calm, she needed his love, and at that moment, she felt everything. 

His veins glowed a distinctive red when she touched him. Time stood still. The world outside didn’t exist. Everything else melted away, the pain and the fear, and then it was only them left and endless possibilities to lean on each other and breathe. She breathed and he breathed and their heartbeats aligned. Their souls became one. Their connection deepened. She was in him and he was in her. He lived in her heart and she found a home of her own in his. They built their defenses back up together, but this time there was no differentiating when it came to seeking solace from the prying eyes of reality. 

“What’s happening to us?” Matt dared to ask. His voice bordered on a whisper.

Her grip on his hand tightened. “I don’t know,” she admitted, “I just feel you, and that’s enough for me.”

He felt her. He felt all of her. It was a vulnerable feeling. His soul lay wide open and exposed, as did hers. 

“You feel me?”

“Yeah.”

“I feel you,” he whispered. 

“You do?”

“Yeah, all of you.”

Their foreheads pressed together like magnets. Matt reached out to stroke a strand of hair out of her face and she shuddered at the touch.

“I miss myself,” her vulnerable confession hung in the room like the red smoke that clouded her vision.

The red in his veins subsided, but the strength of his hold never wavered. “I know it feels like you’re not,” his fingers moved from her forehead to her lips, “but you have never been more yourself.”

“I’m scared…”

“Shh, I know.” He shushed her with a gentle kiss on her lips. “I’ve got you.”

“I’m just so tired.”

Her exhaustion was more than evident, and he would have been able to tell even without his heightened perception. Her heart was beating, but she hardly felt like it was. She couldn’t find a pulse. Her heart and muscles weighed heavy. Her limbs were dragging on the floor, too heavy for her to lift, and she was slowly melting into a puddle from the painful fire in her soul that started to turn her skin into wax. She was falling apart without actually breaking, like an unfinished cake collapsing in on itself. 

Matt put the mug and plate aside. He began scratching the puddle that she was off the floor by pushing her back into the pillows. He tucked her in, the blanket enveloping her like a safe cocoon. The comfort warmed her sore body and functioned as a balm to her shattered soul, as did the love he poured into every fleeting touch. His hand lingered on her cheek, brushing his thumb over her cheekbone which had become more protruding over time. 

Pressing a kiss on her forehead, he got up. “You need to rest,” he told her. “I’ll take care of everything else. You just lay back and try to close your eyes for a few minutes.”

But Eliza caught his hand and her teary eyes gazed up at him with utmost devotion. “Thank you,” she whispered. 

He squeezed her hand in his. “Anything for you, my love.”

She didn’t protest when he stepped out, closing the bedroom door behind him only enough to keep the sunlight out. There was a small gap between the frame and the door, a small point of escape if she started to feel trapped. She appreciated his consideration. The words got stuck in her throat and she gave up, succumbing to the warmth of their shared bed and the silence that finally settled into her mind and the world around her. It was a peaceful silence, a welcomed moment of peace without the usual chaos raging inside of her like the dead sea. 

[memorydragon]

So I thought I was going to take a day off from ranting about how mental I am because of these gay cops, but nope. Normal levels have not receded.

First of all, I really do adore Bu Chonghua. He's a condescending prick at times, but I love him and I love how Huai Shang lets him be so very wrong at times.

Even when that wrong hurts like fuck.

There's this moment when they're both out of town-ish to interrogate someone and they stay in the same room because it's too late to go back. That morning, Bu Chonghua sees Wu Yu walking around, half asleep and shirtless and completely relaxed, and he realized that at some point, Wu Yu has marked him as 'safe'. And yes, I'm normal about that, but the point is, when exactly did Wu Yu mark him as such?

I made that post about misunderstandings being well done in this plot, but I need to clarify that there are sometimes Bu Chonghua is a condescending prick and Wu Yu is very correct when he's calling acab. The first time I read through it, I was like, yeaaaaaah, Hua-ge, I love you, but you're really being a condescending prick. And Wu Yu was well deserved in bitching him out.

The second time I read through it, it hurt like a fucking truck. Putting aside my personal flashbacks of being othered by someone who thinks you're part of 'them' while being completely and totally dismissive of my identity, when Bu Chonghua tries to draw the line between criminal scum and say they don't change, he was off. He was so off by miles and Wu Yu sneers and says he'll never become like Bu Chonghua because he really, really fucked that one up.

Which is why not even half an hour later when Wu Yu gets triggered so badly he's throwing up his stomach lining (onto Bu Chonghua's shirt XD), it had to be so jarring. Because Bu Chonghua correctly assesses his ptsd (which he knows, because he's been living that same empty life and have I mentioned I'm Normal about these trauma kittens?) then says 'I want to pull you back from that.'

If you saw my post from yesterday, yes I've been thinking about this all day to the point I can't even keep reading because massive fucking ow. Now, if you've been following me for a decent length of time, you're probably aware how I feel about spoilers. Namely, I don't care a wit about them. You can spoil me anytime and I won't care. Honestly, I prefer spoilers on some things (not to be hipster, but I was into tgcf before any of my friends and I would have really liked a spoiler about certain things but had no one to give them to me) and my enjoyment always comes from the journey rather than the destination in most cases. My spoiler tag is a polite accommodation for everyone else, which I sometimes completely forget to do, but I do try to keep up with it. (On that note, I'm so sorry, tgcf donghua second season was completely untagged for that. I completely forgot. -_-;;; ) That said, what I'm about to discuss is one of the few times I've actually danced around a major spoiler, because this one is quite big. I've avoided mentioning it explicitly in my previous posts about Tun Hai, but I'm about to mention details. So this is your warning, I'm about to talk about a spoiler that even I consider to be a significant one. If you don't want spoilers, scroll past and don't click the read more.

Because the only two people in his life who have ever genuinely cared about him and not who they thought he was wanted to take him out of that hell. Because his aunt gave him a name he can no longer use, because Xie Xing came back just for that promise. Because he's been forced to live someone else's life, the life of the only person who gave a damn, because he wants so badly to escape to a place where poppies aren't grown and he can't do that as himself. Because he's carrying Xie Xing's wish that he lives on for the both of them. And just fucking ow, little fish, please stop breaking my heart.

And this is where Bu Chonghua is marked safe, even so close after he fucked up so badly, because that's the one thing he's been promised by people who actually see him, that they're going to take him out of that hell and into the light. And Bu Chonghua just casually says this, not understanding why Wu Yu is stunned by something that to him is just normal amount of caring. Because two people died before they could make good on that promise, despite how hard they both tried, and how hard Wu Yu knew they both tried and died in their attempts. And I'm so fucking unhinged by this.

Because when before Bu Chonghua has even realized it, he's put himself along side what only two people have ever tried in in Wu Yu's life. All of that night, when Wu Yu shows him his favorite 'movie' (this little fish, Wu Yu, baby, why are you like this XD), when he follows Bu Chonghua out, when he watches Bu Chonghua basically take on a whole street gang while venting, only stepping in when Bu Chonghua was actually in danger, when Bu Chonghua is sitting there thinking by himself that Wu Yu deserves so much better, and when he realizes that Wu Yu can occasionally stick his head out of his shell and look around if someone is patient enough to wait (Abso-fucking-lutely feral). All of that time, Wu Yu has marked him as safe and I'm so Normal about Them.