#((his mind would absolutely make him panic and exaggerate reality like this))

[sharpandpointysonic]

[ sacrifice ] for your muse to get hurt protecting mine

Word Prompts - Accepting

@familylightfox

[ sacrifice ] for your muse to get hurt protecting mine

Sonic knew that sting along his back. Shit. Why did this have to be happening? Seriously. All they had been trying to do was explore, enjoy the autumn atmosphere. Volt and himself never could have expected to stumble into this group of old robots, all of which seemed to be shut down at first, but quickly activated as soon as they detected movement. And by then the two were surrounded. It was as if it was some old trap left by Robotnik and forgotten. Just their luck, huh?

The blue hedgehog had done his best to be careful, but all his quick movements, twists, and jumps, were already enough to have his back throbbing. Then...getting smacked into a tree had sealed the deal. Over all he wasn’t that hurt, but the pain was excruciating, enough to make him dizzy and disoriented. Moving more only made it worse. Still, he tried, one hand grasping at the tree to try to right himself, but as he opened his eyes he saw the robot that had hit him was already poised to do so again, metallic claws glinting in the low sunlight.

Before Sonic could even attempt to dodge there was a flurry of purple and orange, he felt himself being lifted and moved. Felt Volt jerk and stumble as he carried Sonic, heard the hybrid try to bite back a pained cry. Concern spiked, even though the haze of his disoriented state, Sonic was certain that robot had hit Voltage instead. “Volt-”

In seconds Sonic was set down again, only for Volt to run back toward the remaining metal nightmares. “Volt!!” Sonic yelled after him, struggling to his feet, but had to shield his eyes as a bright flash of purple and the cracking of lightning filled the area. He was at a safe enough distance, Volt had made sure of that. The robots, of course, were not so lucky. They were successfully fried, parts falling off of them as they sparked, some even exploding. The hybrid fell to his knees amidst the destruction.

“VOLTAGE!!”

Another scream as Sonic was finally able to run to his friend, not even feeling the searing pain in his back anymore. He skidded to a stop and scrambled to get in front of his friend, catching him by the shoulders just before he would have fallen into the dirt. His heart was pounding in his ears as he tried to look Volt over, breath panicked. “Volt! Volt, are you okay?? Chaos-” Green eyes widened as they fell upon the two parallel, deep, gashes in his friend’s left side, fear striking through him. He knew Volt had advanced healing abilities, but that didn’t stop his panic. That didn’t stop him from worrying about his friend bleeding out, or how much pain he had to be in. Especially with how much energy Volt just used. “Fuck-”

Sonic shifted the hybrid, now cradling him in his lap while holding him up with one arm, the other being used to press into the bleeding wounds. He was frantic to get some response from his friend, looking at his face with tears stinging his eyes, and while Volt didn’t seem to be entirely unconscious, he was out of it. “You- you’re gonna be okay, Volt, I’ve got you, I- I’m gonna- I’m gonna get help, just- just hold on, stay with me okay? Look at me-” Sonic nudged at Volt’s face with his muzzle, desperately trying to keep his focus. The blue hedgehog was shaking, chest so tight he almost couldn’t breathe. This was his fault. Volt got hurt protecting him, he should have been more careful, faster. A strained whine escaped his throat as he held his friend tighter, tears finally spilling over.

[bibbykins]

Insufferable

A/N: The long-awaited flashback is here! It's short, but it is here! I hope this can really show the turning point in Jungkook's and MC's relationship and I would love to hear everyone's thoughts. As usual, tips are not required but greatly appreciate. Hope you all enjoy and have a wonderful day/night!

Note: This is a part (specifically a flashback) of The Household's Bunny series, so I recommend reading at least the Prologue before this one

Word count: 3.6k

Pairing: Soft Yandere! Jungkook x Chubby! Reader

Summary: Roommates are bound to have arguments, especially when one of them is as temperamental as Jungkook, but you didn't expect the first argument to get so unbelievably personal.

Warnings: abandonment issues, mommy issues, allusions to past abuse, family issues, crying, yelling, vomiting, panic attack, exhaustion, some soft yandere thoughts, some possessiveness, jungkook is mean and the MC gets a little mean too

There was something so constricting about memories of a shitty childhood. There were times when looking in the mirror felt like searching for the child in you so you could give her the hug she desperately needed. There were times when waking up felt like a check to make sure you were no longer in the home you had to grow up in far too quickly. However, the comfort of being in a different home only came so far when you didn't have anyone beside you or even emotionally available enough to talk to.

You stayed in bed for hours before it felt like a good idea to move, almost waiting for the mirage of change to fade before it brought you back to the gym with your mom or your uncle's apartment littered with whiskey bottles and leaky tear ducts.

Sometimes putting your best foot forward each day felt so hard with all-consuming loneliness clinging to your heels.

You had started your day going through your memory box. Hindsight said that was a poor idea. The box was a sure way to get you into a bad mood. You liked to think you breezed past all the stages of grief, but just because you accepted reality didn't make it hurt any less. The box was a strong reminder of that much as it sat with a melancholic aura. The creme color faded and the thorned vines connected to roses only added to the malicious undertones of its existence to your mental health. It was full of childhood photos, your birth certificate, school achievements, and the last known address your mom had.

Ah, your mom. What a way to bring clouds to your sunny day. You don’t know why you put yourself through the turmoil of the memory box. Maybe you were hoping it would be easier by now. You were always wrong. Looking through childhood photos and finding no love in the eyes of your mother when she looked at you and watching the love in your uncle’s eyes fade with your mother’s presence. You got to the fated birthday card, thumb rubbing over the defunct address longingly. You held the envelope in your hand, inspecting the birthday card she sent you. Three words in the repetitive note written on the inside caught your eye, and not the ones you so desperately wanted from her.

Feeling a familiar pressure behind your eyes, you tossed the card aside and stood. It was time to eat, go on a walk, do anything other than this. You found your way to the kitchen and came across a silent and solemn Jungkook. His jaw was clenched, but it felt like it always was around you.

Your relationship with Jungkook so far was not very complicated, in the way it was nonexistent. He either didn’t care about talking to you or he actively didn’t want to, you really couldn’t tell. This didn’t stop you from trying, though. Like an idiot.

“I’m making food, did you want any?” You asked from your place seated on the couch, and the silence that was his response for deafening, “Okaaaay.” You sang awkwardly, “I just know that you usually don’t eat throughout the day and-”

“And what do you know?!” He snapped, blinded by his pure and unbridled, but most important unprovoked, rage of you. Your eyes widened and your body jumped. Holy shit, you had never heard him yell like this, “You don’t know anything about me, or in general, so just stop trying so fucking hard!” He was harsh in his tone and it lit your whole nervous system on fire. What the hell did you do to him?

You shook your head, not sure why he was yelling about, but it made your throat feel like it was going to close, “Look, I was just trying to be polite, but you don’t need to talk about me like you understand-”

“Understand?! What’s there to understand?” He challenged, eyes wide like he was expecting you to say something but he continued, “You’re some spoiled girl living here rent-free because your precious dad doesn’t want to take care of you.”

Your heart caught in your throat as it shattered. He was right, your dad didn't want to take care of you, but not in the way he thought. Why was he doing this? Has he genuinely felt this way all along? Was he just holding in his anger until you poked the bear a little too hard? “You don’t need to yell at me.” You stated firmly and it seemed to only make things worse.

“And you don’t need to fucking be here in the first place!” He spoke, temper long lost and you could hear his voice mix in with Jungyoon’s, all he needed was a bottle of whisky and a set of calloused hands, “You didn’t need to fucking live here-”

“You don’t know anything about me.” You spat out. Now, you were losing your temper. You could take a beating, but for only so long, especially as an adult, "And it's not like you're paying rent either, so what do you know about me or my living arrangements?" You hissed and you watched his eyes flare, making you nearly regret your provocation.

“No, but I know how you look naked-”

“Fuck you.” You spit the word out at him, something you haven’t done to another person for a while “Don’t weaponize my work or play a game that you absolutely will lose.” You warned, “I know all about you, and I can use that, because you’ve been a star since you were 15, and that sucks, that makes you mad, doesn’t it?” Your temper effectively lost as you ripped into the rage-filled man before you, “Yet you don’t know anything about me, and that must piss you the fuck off, huh?” You stood from the couch, tears building in your eyes before you could stop it.

“I know enough, spoiled rich girl.” He seethed and you laughed humorlessly at this worldwide pop star calling you spoiled and rich.

“Not only are you wrong, but you’re also a poor listener.” You shot back, “I’ve told you all before Jungyoon isn’t my fucking dad, he’s my uncle.” His mouth opened but you cut him off before he could start, “He can’t stand the sight of me so he travels for work.” Your tears are undoubtedly falling, but you can’t stop, “And you’re talking to me like this because what? You had a scandal or something?” You gave him his chance to talk and boy, he took it.

“Mona told me you know your mom.” His voice was like venom, “So, why the fuck are you here? You have your blood relatives.” He exaggerated the word like it meant anything to you, “Why are you here, disrupting our lives, acting like an innocent orphan girl around actual fucking orphans-”

“I never said I was or acted like an orphan!” You exclaimed incredulously before scoffing, “That’s why you’re mad? Because you never knew your mom and I did? Because I know who my blood family is?” You could laugh at how ridiculous that was, “I know them, so what? Where does that get me?” You looked at him expectantly but he didn’t talk, “I knew my mom, and guess what? She just didn’t fucking want me.” He was silent, but you still couldn’t stop, “I’m sure if your mom could’ve got to know you, she would’ve kept you, because you’re not insufferable to be around, you’re just a fucking asshole.” You wiped at your cheeks furiously, “But me? I had 15 years to prove myself and it still wasn’t enough. I still wasn’t enough. Jungyoon never wanted me either, he got stuck with me and had to cope.” Your voice began to break and you had to take a breath, “I was the insufferable one, so-” You stopped, finally as you regained your sense of reality and watched Jungkook who had an unreadable expression and the realization of the word vomit you spilled out to him hit you like a train as you exhaled quickly, rage in your voice quickly replaced with soft melancholy “I am the insufferable one here, so there.” You shrugged, face a wet mess, “Hope that brings you peace.” Your stomach was churning as you turned on your heel, unable to hold in your sobs. You couldn’t bear the awkwardness of waiting for the elevator so you opted to take the stairs.

You sobbed louder as the door slammed shut behind you, but you didn’t want to linger so you bolted down the stairs, the bile in your stomach signaling that you needed to find the nearest trashcan and quickly. You made it to the ground floor and spilled your guts into the small trashcan. Yelling always made you unbelievably ill, whether it was getting yelled at or yelling, the sickness it made you feel overflowed. The yelling only reminded you of-

You vomited again at the mere thought. You cried harder when you finally finished, breathing becoming staggered as you began to panic.

Fuck, they’re gonna kick you out, and then you’ll be alone again. You lost your temper, people don’t like other people who lose their temper. Why couldn’t you just mind your own fucking business and leave him be? You’re stupid. Why do you think you’ve been alone all your life? It’s because people don’t want to be near you. You’re-

“Insufferable.” You mumbled, numb, even if for only a moment.

Sure, Jungkook provoked you, but you knew better. You didn't go to therapist after therapist throughout your adolescence for nothing. You felt as if you set yourself back eons after that outburst. He didn't need to know all that about you, ever. He probably didn't even care to know, and you said it anyway, like you were gunning for gold in the trauma Olympics. You didn't want to minimize his struggles, you just wanted him to shut up and stop yelling at you. You let your eyes flutter closed as you cried. How can you complain about being alone when you're like this?

You don’t know how long you stayed there, sitting next to a trash can full of your vomit as you wallowed in your self-hatred. The all-consuming loneliness the boisterous house subdued returning with full force. Jungkook was right. You didn’t need to be here. You were only disrupting their routine.

You blew out a sigh as you staggered to the elevator, fully set on going up to your room and crying yourself to sleep after you clean up. You brought the trashcan with you, not having the heart to just leave your puke down there. You thanked your lucky stars when Jungkook was no longer on the second floor as you went to the kitchen and rinsed your mouth before going to take out the trash and take out your burnt oven pizza. Finally, you were headed back up to your floor. You watched the numbers tick by with tired eyes. You glared at the empty trashcan, electing to take it with you instead of making the trip back down to put it back. Surely, they wouldn’t need it for a few hours.

The elevator dinged as you grabbed the black plastic bin and then you were met with Jungkook. Relief flashed across his face before irritation settled on it, “Where the fuck were you?!” He asked hurriedly as you trudged past him, too exhausted to fight. You were running on autopilot the whole way up here, and you couldn’t bear another spat.

“I was on the first floor.” Your voice was low, trying to communicate you were done arguing as you lifted the bin as proof. You then set it down and went to your bathroom and began brushing your teeth.

He scoffed, “You were on the first floor for 30 minutes?” He asked as if he caught you in a lie but you nodded as you rinsed your mouth.

You were down there for thirty minutes? No wonder you felt so tired.

“Yep.” You popped the last letter before correcting yourself, “Well, I spent like 10 minutes cleaning up that bin, so not exactly.”

“Why?” He asked as if you were being ridiculous, as if he wasn’t the one on your floor demanding answers.

“I vomited.” You spoke simply and before he could ask, “Yelling makes me puke.” You were so blase about it he sighed in frustration.

You walked to your room and froze when you saw your memory box strewn about, and it was like a dam broke all over again. You looked at the photos, at the eager little girl looking for love in places she would never find it.

Old habits die hard.

Before you could even stop yourself, you sunk to your knees in garbled sobs and broken cries, “Hey, hey, wait.” Jungkook’s shaky voice did nothing to bring you back to reality as you cried. His hands placed themselves on your shoulder, making you flinch violently, much to his horror.

Fuck, he didn’t know how to do this. He didn’t know why you were crying, but he knew it was his fault, at least in part. Even if at this moment it wasn’t, his outburst surely didn’t help. Fuck, he’s so dumb. Fuck, he shouldn’t have talked to Mona just moments before seeing you.

The envy of even seeing your own mother’s face ate up at him and he took it out on you. Not to mention that he made you vomit from the yelling. He suddenly felt more like an arrogant asshole than he did before as his hands now hovered over your form and he took a moment to look at your room.

Scattered on the floor were childhood photos and ribbons from competitions. Things Mona kept in her own house, having a whole wall filled with every one of their achievements. Even Jin had a photo album of their things. And you, you kept all these for yourself. You were the only one who cared enough to save these things and he wondered how much you threw away to maintain space in the small empty box. Fuck, he didn’t know how to do this.

You sighed shakily, “You can just go.” You cried, “You don’t have to be here.” You don’t know what he could possibly gain from watching you cry.

“I know.” His voice was calm, even, “Can I help you up?” He asked and you wanted to look up at him in confusion but you didn't want him to see your tears.

You both had just ripped into each other, and here he was, wanting to help you. Why would he do that? Why would he stay when he doesn't have to? Why would he want to help you up after a fight?

Too tired to even think about questioning him and no longer angry at him, you simply scoffed, “Can you?” You sighed, not having the energy to stroke his ego and stand up without his help.

You never let people bear your dead weight, not wanting the awkwardness if they couldn’t carry you, but right now, you just wanted to lay down.

He snorted lightly, happy to hear anything other than a sob for you, “Don’t worry about me, you just cry and mind your business.” He spoke lightly, and the comment made you fight a smile. Then, he lifted you with so much ease, you figured he was trying to show off as he placed you on the bed. He looked at you after he sat on the floor before his eyes caught onto the gold foil of a 16th birthday card. You were wiping at your face as he read the card against his better judgment.

I know you must be confused, and I can’t help that. I wish I could pretend to be a mom, but I can’t. I can’t be your mom, and I never should have tried. It would be best if we forgot each other. I just can’t keep pretending, and I know you can see it, even if you don’t want to.

I’m so tired.

-Mom

Now, he felt even more like an asshole. He also felt a little bit angry that your mother could just leave you behind without so much as saying sorry. She wrote like she was a teenager and you were her mother. She obviously didn't put much thought into the seemingly last message to her daughter and it made his heartbreak for you, “That was the last I heard of her.” You snapped him from his thoughts and he looked at your puffy face, “She had left months earlier, and then I got that, but she moved before I could try to see her one more time.” There was a distant ache in your words as you looked at Jungkook sitting amongst your memories.

“Is she… still alive?” He asked, not sure why he felt the need to know.

“Not sure, but it doesn’t make much of a difference, I guess.” You blew out a sigh, before looking at your papers and folded posterboards, “I was cleaning out my memory box, and I’m not sure why I do it when I know it just upsets me.” You could still feel tears leaking from your eyes as Jungkook picked up a photo of you on your 14th birthday, posed between Jungyoon and your mom. You had a bright smile on your face and they looked at the camera with a tight expression, “You can really see how much they didn’t want to be there, but that's the happiest they look in all of the photos.”

He wanted to say you were wrong, but he could see it. He could see the happy little girl trying to make up for the unhappy adults around her. He knew he should’ve asked Mona why Jungyoon didn’t try to call or visit or why she was so eager to take you in if you knew your family. He should’ve just known better. Yeah, he understood how it felt to be alone growing up, they all did, but by the time they were all 17 they had a home that wanted them. You were going to graduate from college soon and you still felt unwanted.

No thanks to him.

“I’m sorry.” He blurted and you looked at him with wide eyes, “For being an asshole, I’m sorry- and for making you cry. I just…” He shrugged, “You’re right. I was jealous you knew your mom and I already was suspicious of you and I- I’m dumb, and I’m sorry.” He looked at you, eyes a bit glossy and you wondered when was the last time someone apologized for making you cry.

“It’s okay.” You smiled weakly, “You are dumb, but that’s okay.” You chuckled when he frowned, but eventually, he also broke into a short laugh, “I think… we’ve felt a lot of the same things in different ways, so I can’t blame you.” He wondered how you could be so forgiving, and he was scared of how many times that has gotten you hurt, “I like living here and I like all of you, so I hope I can get you all to like me too, even if just a little.”

“Don’t accept less than you deserve.” He spoke firmly before he started picking up your memory box, putting things neatly back in.

“Wh-”

He waved his hands nonchalantly, “You, sleep, I’ll clean this up and order some food.” He didn’t look at you as he said this, mostly to hide his blush, "If...If you want, I can give this to Jin. He has a whole place he keeps our stuff like this… he's really sentimental." He stumbled, still refusing to look at you.

However, he jumped when he heard you hiccup a cry. Ready to apologize, Jungkook was just about to turn to look at you until he heard you speak, "That… That sounds very sweet of you to do." You wiped a sentimental tear away as the blushing boy remained frozen.

"It's Jin's hobby, not mine." He deflected before waving his hand at you, "Sleep, I said." He frantically demanded.

You could see his ears getting red and you smiled, “Yes, sir.” You mocked in your work voice and made him freeze for a moment as you erupted into giggles while he whined, “Okay, okay, I’ll sleep.”

Eventually, you surrendered to your exhaustion as he delicately put away your papers and photos. He hummed lightly, smiling as he came across your debate team awards. No wonder he lost the fight before it even started. He turned around after lifting the box and sighed almost dreamily as he watched your sleeping face. You were beautiful, delicate, and puffy from the tears. He had the urge to keep apologizing for being such an asshole, but after looking through your achievements and your photos, he resolved to just keep proving it.

He wouldn’t let you get hurt again. Not by him or anyone, especially your mother, even Jungyoon was on thin ice.

His blood boiled at the thought of your mother for a reason he couldn’t understand. His hand extended shakily as he pulled the covers up to your shoulder and you hummed contently, making his heart melt a bit at the little smile you had. He wouldn’t fuck up with you again, not like this. He would be nice, at least a little, and first and foremost, he would order food you liked.

He froze.

Fuck, what food do you like?

He relaxed. Well, he could just ask the guys.

Fuck, they’re gonna ask questions.

Fuck, they’re gonna kill him when they found out he made you cry.

He looked back at your sleeping form, not having the heart to wake you up. He sighed, looks like he’ll just have to bite the bullet. He dreaded each moment as he quickly made an untitled group chat with the guys since you were added to their original one. He could only hope Taehyung wouldn’t change the group chat name to something stupid.

Tip Jar

[flying-nimbus-cloud]

Reasons why myself and others thought that Evan Peters was going to play Peter Maximoff in WandaVision:

(Cause I'm tired of people being like, "There were no evidence or reasons to think he was the Quicksilver from the X-Men." Or "Your expectations were to high." 😧)

They casted Evan Peters. I know they needed to make it clear to the audience that this was a "fake" version of Wanda's brother, so using Evan Peters would connect some dots. But it's the fact that he's actually a random person that's so odd. Let's just say if Agatha used anyone else other than Ralph Bohner in WestView, would Wanda have reacted the same way? I guess it didn't matter how Wanda herself reacted specifically, because the writers were counting on the audience to react and assume who he's supposed to be because of his previous role in the X-Men franchise. Like imagine that scene with a completely different actor, not Evan or Aaron, it wouldn't have been the same right? Marvel knew that unfortunately and played off of our previous knowledge and nostalgia for Peter Maximoff from the X-Men.

He was playing the role of "Quicksilver". This is immensly self explanatory but Evan Peters did play Quicksilver in the X-Men and in WandaVision he literally played a version of Quicksilver. Sort-of. In the behind the scenes of WandaVision in Marvel Studios Assembled, the name they put beside Evan Peters was Pietro Maximoff, without the quotations. Why not use the name Ralph Bohner??? That was his actual identity in the show according to the finale, right? Anyway, his role was so meta and fun that fans truly thought it should mean something more.

His outfits. The first time we see Ralph, he has the same aesthetic and fashion sense as Peter Maximoff. The goddamn leather jacket. What character prominently loves to wear leather jackets? PETER MAXIMOFF. The sleeveless shirt with boxers is something Peter might chill or sleep in. The Halloween episode LITERALLY HAD HIM DRESSED AS QUICKSILVER. And the modern smurf outfit looks like Peter struggling with modern fashion lol. Ralph even had a watch on his wrist at all times, just like Peter does.

The personality. I saw people saying that his personality wasn't anything like Peters, and I disagree. I think Ralph had an over exaggerated version of Peters personality. He was a goofball man-child which is essentially what Peter is. Ralph stole kids candy and vandalized property and squashed pumpkins using his powers....sounds like something our mischievous theif would do with his powers, right? And we know that Evan Peters is a very diverse actor, so it isn't his acting abilities at fault here.

Environment and habit. Peter Maximoff would somewhat mooch off his mother, lived in her basement and turned it into a mancave. Ralph Bohner mooched off his fake sister while he slept on her couch and even had a mancave of his own, but instead of the basement it was the attic of his house. Both have very similar vibes.

Comic Relief. Peter was literally one of the only comic reliefs of the new X-Men movies which all took themselves pretty seriously, character and story wise. In WandaVision despite it all being immensely funny, Ralph's character was like a heightened comic relief compared to everyone else. Similar to a sitcom, it was all a bit more cheesy and on the nose with his humor.

The Nexus Commercial. It was essentially saying that Wanda is a Nexus being. Which means for the Multiverse, Wanda is the one constant in every realm or universe. And now its confirmed that she does have powerful Chaos Magic that can take and shape reality. So the possibility of a alternate universe twin brother showing up in her made up reality Hex wouldn't have been that far fetched.

Doctor Strange: Multiverse of Madness. It was confirmed and told right to the fans that WandaVision would go directly into the Multiverse of Madness. So assuming that characters who've already been established coming over to the MCU to cause some literal madness felt sort of expected. I can't be the only one that thinks having an actor who played Quicksilver in another universe showing up in the thing that was said to lead into a literal Multiverse movie isn't that crazy.

Powers. If one other person tells me that Agatha can literally give people superpowers because "mAgIC", imma lose my mind. That's so OP and the fact that she can grant people literal superpowers is never addressed annoys me greatly. Also if Agatha is so powerful, why couldn't she make Ralph at least look like Wandas actual brother lol.

The alarm. (I forgot to add this one until just now lol) When Ralph shows up at Wandas door an alarm goes off at Swords base that causes agents and Darcy to run around in a panic. Quickie fans and myself thought that indicated that something or someone, possibly Peter Maximoff had just entered the Hex. But the show never addressed the alarm again.

The creators and plot. Marvel knew what they were doing when casting Evan Peters, they just never planned to pay it off. Which is such a shame. Because this show was one of the coolest things Marvel has ever produced, it was enjoyable and super unique. But they have to understand by having a shit load of red herrings and plot holes with almost no payoff will and did leave fans rather frustrated. The Ralph Bohner joke is one plot thread that most can agree on, was an absolute let down.

[fullmetalscullyy]

if you're still accepting prompts, could you do "shh, it’s okay. it was just a dream"?

always, anon <3 and it's funny u should suggest that prompt bc i just wrote something for it a few weeks ago! and you can find it here, already on ao3

so now, u have two for the price of one :') that fic was a young!riza pov, so how about a post-canon roy pov this time? tysm for the prompt and the ask!!!

rated: t | words: 1819 | tags: nightmares, angst, hurt/comfort, post-canon, royai, promised day memories

read on ao3

Roy’s body jerked violently in his bed. His legs kicked outwards, shifting the sheet off of his searing skin and knocking it onto the floor. The cool night air blanketed his body instantly, trying, but ultimately failing, to ease his distress. His dream continued to linger painfully, jolting him upright into a seated position, causing both hands to land flat by his sides to maintain some semblance of balance while his head swung from left to right, searching the inky black stretching out before him. Roy saw nothing, which only made him panic even more.

Am I blind again?

The thought appeared unbidden in his mind. A part of him knew he wasn’t, but he was so disorientated and startled by his nightmare that he seriously considered it. He couldn’t go through that again, though. The dream couldn’t have been real. No, he couldn’t be blind. This couldn’t be happening again –

A light flicked on inside the room, making him pause for a second. He blinked, seeing his legs and the rest of his bed stretched out before him, reaching towards the pale blue wall.

He was in his bedroom, not sitting on cold, brown bricks, devoid of any comfort or warmth.

A dream… It was just a dream.

Roy exhaled sharply and took another deep breath, gulping down the air as reality slowly started to trickle back to him. The second exhale left him at a slower pace, but it still rattled passed his lips as he tried to stop terror from constricting his heart painfully. Heat flashed across his brow and chest and that’s when Roy noticed the sweat. He was drenched in it, courtesy of the fear that still lingered inside of him.

“Roy?”

The voice was quiet and thick with sleep as she called to him. At first it was surprised, but then instantly alert. Not that Roy could focus on anything outside of the horrifying images – and also memories – still in his mind’s eye, but if he could, he’d have noticed the mattress shift next to him and dip as she sat up immediately, eyeing him with concern.

She had surely caught onto what had happened. To what had made him react so badly in the middle of the night. Roy knew he must have looked a state, and that was what had probably given him away, but he didn’t care, because she was okay. She hadn’t been hurt. She wasn’t dead. They were both safe in his apartment together, out of harm’s way and far away from any kind of danger.

Roy slumped back against his pillows and draped an arm across his eyes. His chest was still heaving with his breath while he struggled to get it under control and wetness seeped out from beneath his lids, dampening the skin of his forearm and wrist. The tears had followed him from his dream to a conscious state and Roy clamped his eyelids closed tightly, willing them to stop so he could try and get a handle on his emotions.

Shame flushed through him. Not because someone was there to witness his struggle, for he would lay himself bare for her without question. It was because he’d fallen for a trap. It had been a trick by the enemy. Even if it was a dream, it had cost him dearly, and his Lieutenant had paid the price for his failings. It had caused turmoil and upset to follow him to his waking sate, affecting him so deeply that when he awoke, he still couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t. The vividness of it had left him completely stricken.

His Lieutenant had almost died on him before, all those years ago, and his mind had decided to make him relive it, out of the blue, exaggerating all that happened and making it so much worse.

Nightmares were like old friends to Roy, but they were still a struggle. They never really got any easier to deal with or experience. Especially when they were as intense as this one had been. Especially when they involved her dying, either in his arms because he was too late, or while he was restrained by the enemy, unable to comfort her, get help for her, or save her.

Those were the worst ones.

A palm was placed gently atop his head. He flinched at the unexpected contact and his body tensed. Then, fingers came to rest upon his scalp gently and a thumb stroked over his forehead, right between his eyebrows. It moved repeatedly in a calming motion, relaxing his tightly wound muscles, and causing his mind to falter and trip at its racing speed once or twice.

Her touch brought him back down to earth.

“Shh,” she soothed him, “it's okay. It was just a dream.”

Her comfort was incredibly welcoming as her hands combed through his damp hair without protest or complaint. He could feel it clinging uncomfortably to his face and the back of his neck, but Riza freed him from it. The wet strands were pushed away from his cheeks and ears, making him sigh quietly as he started to feel some relief. Her voice was heaven-sent in that moment of strife for him. A buoy in raging waves; something to cling on to so he could survive and get his bearings. It was like a light rain falling over embers of pain of sorrow, washing them away like a salve being applied atop the charred ground.

She was his rescuer from the darkest confines of his own mind.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Her question was incredibly quiet, so she didn’t startle him.

Always so incredibly perceptive and considerate of others.

Roy shook his head and let out a shaky breath. If he opened his mouth his voice would break. He wasn’t ready to reveal all. He would happily tell Riza Hawkeye everything, but he couldn’t just yet. Not when he’d failed her. Again. Not when his mind was happily reminding him of that fact.

Shame flushed through him once more like an unforgiving storm surge.

“Take your time,” she announced emphatically. “I’m right here.”

And that’s all Roy ever needed.

He rolled onto his side and wrapped his arms around her waist. Riza had sat up in bed and remained there, watching over him as he tried to calm himself. His face was buried into her stomach as desperate hands clung to the shirt on her back. Riza placed both hands atop his head and stilled, letting him get comfortable before she moved them again. They continued to comb through his hair soothingly, offering a comfort only she could ever give him.

“It was a nightmare,” he mumbled against her. “Promised Day.”

Riza’s hands stilled for a second after his reveal, then continued their ministrations.

“I see.”

Roy nodded against her. They were well aware of how each other had struggled while sleeping in the aftermath of that day.

“It was…” He took a deep breath. “You,” he exhaled, as if that would answer all of her questions at once. And Roy knew it would. “What happened to you that day. And I… I was stuck. I couldn’t do anything –” Roy snapped his mouth shut, remembering seeing the light leave her eyes so clearly inside his nightmare, like a safety beacon that had winked out, leaving only darkness, despair, and horror in its wake.

“It’s okay,” she reassured. Her tone said it all. She sounded pained, knowing exactly how he’d suffered because his poor, broken, explanation had been enough for her to conclude what he’d seen in his dream.

“I was too late,” he whispered. It sounded deafening in the quiet of his bedroom.

Riza was silent as she continued to run her hands through his hair. She didn’t comment, but in some way that was worse. Roy scrunched his eyes up tightly for a few seconds before relaxing, pulling away from her.

He’d failed her again.

He didn’t get to retreat far, though. Riza’s hands followed his movements to the letter, anticipating them perfectly, moving from being buried within his hair to cupping his cheeks. She gently guided his face upwards, so it was finally facing her. Finally looking her in the eye. Fear licked around his stomach, twisting it, suddenly afraid of judgement for his lack of support. It was irrational – Riza Hawkeye would never do such a thing – but he was still shaken and distraught.

What Roy found made his breath catch. Her smile was small and soft. It was so her – nothing too flashy, but reserved and fiercely loving, just like the look in her eyes. It was a smile she saved only for him.

His breath hitched again.

“You weren’t too late, remember?” Her head shook from side to side slowly as she attempted to dispel his anxiety. Her hands dropped and latched onto one of his, guiding it upwards so it now rested over her beating heart.

The feeling was strong beneath his scarred palms, thumping inside of her with such strength – the same attitude she embodied every day in everything she did. Steady, dependable, and courageous.

“Like always, I’m right here. I’m never going anywhere.”

Roy leaned forwards quickly, overcome with impulse, and claimed her lips with his own. A hand buried into her short hair, cupping the back of her neck tenderly as he kissed her with such reverence and adoration.

“Thank you,” he breathed. His hand shifted on her chest to become more comfortable when his fingers bumped into and grazed over something solid and misshapen underneath her shirt.

Roy blinked, then slowly smiled knowingly. Riza returned it, realising what he’d discovered, but she also looked pleased his heartache had been banished and eased for a brief second.

It was the wedding ring he’d given her years ago, attached to her dog tags. The one that was identical to his own.

It was a reminder that they were tied together completely, and always would be. They’d set themselves on a path they could not deviate from, it was absolute, and they must succeed, but they’d do it together. They would remain as one throughout it all.

Their foreheads tipped together, coming to rest quietly against one another and Roy focussed on the sound of her breathing and the feeling of the ring. He tethered himself to them both, slowing his own breaths to match hers.

She was right there by his side, like she always was and had promised she'd be, so long ago. The odds had almost pulled them apart once before but hadn’t succeeded. Roy wouldn’t let his dreams get the better of him either. There were always demons to fight, but Roy was thankful he had her watching over him, and vice versa. There was no one else in the world he’d trust to watch his back. And they’d fight them all together, side by side. Unyielding and relentless.

[headcanontheshitoutofsoulsborne]

Lautrec Chain

Original Prompt: How Lautrec landed in that cell in the Undead Parish. We did it! Another chain is complete! A big thanks goes to all the amazing artists and writers who participated in this chain. Please check out their content and blogs.

@acebladespades

“A knight of Carim is nothing without his lady.”

He looked at the man behind the metal bars.

“You knew well what was expected from you.”

He took one step closer to the cell’s door.

“So why are you still alive?”

‐---‐-----------------------------

“I love you.”

His entire world came to a stop. 

Fina’s voice echoed softly in his ear. 

At first, Lautrec believed it was only a trick of his wishful mind. It wasn’t until he felt Fina’s arms resting on his chest, pulling him closer in a tender embrace, that he realized everything was true.

He closed his eyes and gently put his hands on top the golden arms of his cuirass. 

“I love you too, my lady.”

“Then, when the time comes, you won’t hesitate?”

Lautrec couldn’t answer. He knew his silence angered his goddess, but the question had caught him off guard. 

“I see.” Fina lifted her ethereal arms, leaving Lautrec alone with the metallic replicas of his armor. “Your ridiculous honor still means more to you than I, doesn’t it? How foolish I was to think that your love and devotion for me were real.”

“They are real.” Lautrec replied. “You know well you are my everything.”

“Lies. Your claims are nothing but honeyed and vacuous words. They are so typical of you mortals. If you truly loved me, you would have answered me instantly, without any trace of doubt in your voice; yet, all you gave me was silence. That’s not the way a knight should treat his lady, is it?”

“Of course not.” Lautrec smiled in a faint attempt to appease Fina’s temper.

Fina answered by resting her hands on his belly. At first, he mistook the gesture as a sign of forgiveness. His naïve perception changed when Fina dug her nails deep into his flesh and began clawing her way up to his shoulders.

The pain left Lautrec breathless. He fell to his knees, swallowing his screams and forcing himself to endure the punishment in silence. 

Even if Fina’s nails did not make him bleed nor they left visible injuries on his skin, the agony they caused him was real. 

Lautrec only dared to breathe again once Fina was done. The skin where she had touched him felt burning and tender, as if her ethereal nails had been covered in fire.

“If you wouldn’t treat a vulgar wench so rudely, what makes you can act with so much disdain toward your goddess?”

Lautrec didn’t answer. Fina didn’t gave him the chance, for as soon as she was done speaking, she embraced him again from behind.

The melted together, trapped in a blissful moment that Lautrec wished would never end.

“I love you.” 

Lautrec could feel the brush of her breath against his ear even through his helmet. 

“It pains me to hurt you like this, but you left me no choice. Please, my knight, do not make me do this ever again. All I ask from you is an answer.”

Guilt and regret kept Lautrec glued to the floor.

“So, I’ll ask you again.”

The ring on his finger throbbed with an invigorating energy that swiftly got Lautrec back on his feet. He remained still, with only the weight of his armor and the voice of his goddess keeping him grounded in reality.

“When the time comes, will you hesitate?”

“I won’t.” His answer came so promptly that his voice clashed with Fina’s. “Never forget that I am yours.”

“Oh, my knight.” Fina whispered so lowly that Lautrec could barely hear her. “My Lautrec.”

Though she couldn’t see her, Lautrec knew she was smiling.

 Underneath his golden helmet, he smiled too. 

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

“I must say I expected a more courageous performance from you.”

“My lady, it is one thing to fight a horde of Hollows.” Lautrec said once he was done rubbing of the filth off his helmet. “But to confront a ferocious drake, with nothing but a narrow bridge as our battlefield, wouldn’t have been brave, it would have been suicidal.”

“I suppose you are right. At the very least, I’m satisfied you didn’t end up becoming that beast’s dinner. You should be glad that its fire only brushed the surface of your helmet. Had it touched your skin, you’d be cursed with a burn that would never heal nor stop hurting.”

Lautrec had never believed such claims. He had always dismissed them as the exaggerated and baseless statements of antique books and scrolls. 

But he believed Fina.

The memory of the drake and the closeness of its fire formed a hole in his stomach.  

If there hadn’t been a secret passage underneath the bridge, the drake’s fire would have engulfed him whole, either reducing his body to ashes or leaving him covered in agonizing blisters. 

It was seldom that Lautrec felt fear, but there was something dreadful in imagining himself at the absolute mercy of a beast.

Forcedly, he dismissed his panic from his mind. The least he wanted was for Fina to notice how scared he was.

His lady, while gracious and merciful, did not take kindly to displays of weakness of any sort, and she took great pleasure in mocking Lautrec every time he failed to keep his mental barriers up and left his most hidden insecurities exposed.

Though her derision was always heartless and poignant, Lautrec did not resent his goddess for it. He knew Fina didn’t do it out of malice, and had he been in her place, Lautrec would have done the same thing. 

After all, he was a knight of Carim. To be always strong and resilient, especially when in the presence of his lady, was both his duty and his pride. If a lady mocked his knight, it was not to discourage or humiliate him, it was simply to remind him to keep the weakness of his heart in check.

Indomitable, stoic, dutiful, strong and steadfast.

Those were the true qualities of knighthood.

How Lautrec pitied the sentimental Astorans and the savage Catarinians for their deplorable and bastardized perceptions of what a knight was. They were pathetic, weak-minded and pretentious fools without a purpose.

None of them could ever understand what an honor it was for a knight to dedicate his entire existence to a lady. They couldn’t fathom the satisfaction a knight gained from being the eternal protector and the pillar of strength for his fated woman.

And if said woman was none other than Fina—

“Why are you laughing?”

“It’s nothing.” Lautrec said. “I was just thinking of how blessed I am to have you as my lady.”

Fina remained quiet. 

After a small moment, she chuckled.

“You are adorable.”  

She sounded amused. 

Lautrec waited for her to continue. 

When she did, it was only to order him to proceed with his journey. Far from being disappointed, Lautrec was pleased. Though his confession hadn’t given him the answer he’d wanted, he had succeeded in making Fina laugh. 

He had made her happy.

He couldn’t ask for anything more.

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

After getting rid of some meddlesome Hollows and infected rats, Lautrec managed to infiltrate the parish the drake had guarded so fiercely. He felt tempted to rest for a moment in a nearby bonfire, but Fina did not approve.

“I know you are tired.” She told him, so tenderly and motherly that Lautrec felt ashamed for having even thought about taking a rest at all. “But you cannot stop now. We are close to our destination. Once we are in Firelink Shrine, you will rest there for as long as you need. I want you strong and refreshed when your time comes to fulfill your duty.”

The reminder shattered all sense of peace and comfort Lautrec harbored. He raised his mental walls before Fina could sense his distress. This time, his weakness passed unnoticed by his goddess, but Lautrec still felt a boiling hatred for himself and his own feebleness.

Even if he could fool Fina, he couldn’t fool himself.

His rage and frustration fueled his attacks. 

Every Hollow and any other abomination that crossed his way met their ends at the touch of his swords. 

Lautrec fought his way through the chapel, but his streak of invincible prowess was cut short when the armored boar proved to be an enemy he couldn’t defeat.

The beast charged at him and sent him flying towards a wall of stone.  If it hadn’t been for his armor, the violent crash would have broken his spine in half.

“Don’t even think about dying now.” Fina told him as he struggled to get back on his feet. “If you die, do you know how long it would take you to arrive to this place again? Seriously, if I had known you were so frail and easily defeated, I would have allowed you to rest at the bonfire. No wonder that harlot you used to look after is long dead. She was cursed to an early demise the moment you were made her guardian.”

Lautrec couldn’t move. 

He felt as if Fina had dug a dagger into his chest and had ripped out his still beating heart.  He would have remained there, rotting in his own bafflement for all time, if the loud trotting of the boar hadn’t snapped him out of his trance.

This time, Lautrec avoided the charging attack of the armored animal. He lunged himself forwards and landed on his chest.

Then, his instincts took over. His former bloodlust was replaced by an urgent need to survive. 

He ran. 

He did not look back at the enemies he left behind. He continued running, making use of his blades only if he had no other choice. Many of the Hollows he was escaping from tried to follow him, but they were slow and clumsy creatures.

The few that managed to keep up with Lautrec had their heads severed from their shoulders.

To him, his escape was little more than a blurry vision. It was as if his mind had become disconnected from his body and dull to its surroundings. At first, Lautrec tried to convince himself that his numbness was the result of his exhaustion and stress. 

Like always, he failed to believe his own lies. 

He couldn’t think of anything else. He continued pondering on his weakness long after he was safe again, inside the confines of an abandoned church. 

How he had gotten there was only a hazy memory, as was his fight with the Hollow knights that lay dead at his feet.

His ring finger itched as if maggots were devouring it whole.

“See, my knight?” Fina told him. She caressed his chin, tracing a soft line along the bone of his jaw. “See how effective and lethal you are when properly motivated? Be thankful, Lautrec... for it is I who gave you the strength you needed to overcome your weakness. Go on, say it. Say that you are grateful to me for unleashing your best self.”

Fina rested her other hand on his chest, right above his heart.

“Say that you are grateful to me for being the only reason you are still alive.”

Lautrec’s mouth was bitter and parched. For the first time since he had become his loyal knight, he wished Fina would keep quiet and go away, if only for a moment.

All that Lautrec wanted was to be alone with his thoughts, but he was a knight of Carim. His time was not his to employ as he wished, it belonged only to his lady. 

“I’m grateful.” 

“Grateful for what?”

Lautrec clenched his jaw; he almost committed the offense of pulling away from Fina’s touch.

“I’m grateful to you for unleashing my best self.” 

Then, he felt it. He felt how Fina tried to pierce through the barriers of his mind. 

Lautrec strengthened his walls and hugged the arms of his cuirass.

“I’m grateful to you for being the only reason I’m still alive.”

“Oh, my Lautrec.” Fina kissed him in the cheek. The softness of her ethereal lips was followed by the sharpness of her voice. “If only I could believe you.”

Beads of cold sweat formed in Lautrec’s forehead. He didn’t know what scared him most, Fina’s anger or how easily she had seen through his façade. 

He remained trapped together with his goddess in a cold uncertainty that felt eternal.

“You’ve got nothing to fear, my knight.” Fina said, “As long as do as I tell you, you won’t be giving me reasons to forsake you. As long as you forget about that ridiculous knightly pride of yours, killing that fire keeper will feel as natural as the beating of your heart. The act will be quick, peaceful and pleasant. She will be grateful to you for freeing her from her cursed fate. She will enjoy it, and so will you, if you just let go of your past and embrace your present.”

Lautrec’s lips quivered.

“You are Undead.” Fina continued, brushing away the only tear that escaped from his eyes. “You’ve got no lady to satisfy other than me. The teachings of your homeland have no meaning in Lordran. I am your everything; you are my knight.”

“I am.” Lautrec muttered. He was overwhelmed. Not even the darkest piece of Humanity could have granted him as much peace and comfort as Fina did.

“Then prove it to me now.” Fina’s tone changed. It remained gentle, but now her words sounded like orders. “Over there, at the altar. Do you see it?”

He did.

There it was, at the other side of the church, carved in stone and untouched by time. Behind it, he could see the statue of a woman.

“Not just any woman.” Fina corrected him with a scoff. “It’s me. Approach it, my knight.”

Lautrec obeyed. He felt like almost like a child. 

The silly excitement he felt slowly vanished the closer the got to the altar, and it disappeared completely the moment his eyes understood what the strange figure laying on the altar’s surface really was.

Lautrec was used to the sight of corpses. He had been familiar with death since the time when he had been too young to become a page.

However, as unfazed as he remained by the decrepit state of the corpse before him, Lautrec trembled at the sight of the glowing orb floating just above the body’s chest.

“What a shame.” Fina said, “I would have preferred her to be alive so you could kill her, but it seems someone else already did the deed for you. You must be rather disappointed.”

“But I thought,” Lautrec swallowed before he could continue, “I thought the fire keeper would be at Firelink Shrine, locked for all eternity inside a cave, just like you told me.”

“Don’t be stupid, my knight. This fire keeper is not the same you will murder. This must be the tribute some deluded fool left here for me in a desperate attempt to earn my favor. Whoever he may be, the only thing he’s gained is my disdain. Does he honestly believe I would accept the offerings and advances of every man that comes by, as if I were a common strumpet?  The gall! Does he not know that Fina handpicks her knights and followers? Does he note care? Such offense will not go unpunished! If he ever dares to come back, you will fight him, and you will kill him.”

“I will.” Lautrec promised, wishing that the offender would return and give him an excuse to step away from the altar, but no one came.

“Regardless,” Fina continued once the worst of her flaring temper had passed, “it would be a waste to refuse this soul. I will not accept the offering of a stranger, but if my knight was to offer it to me instead, everything would be different.”

There was no need for Fina to instruct him further. 

Somehow, Lautrec managed to lift his arms. They felt heavy, as if they were made of stone. It took as much effort to get them closer to the corpse as keeping the barriers of his mind up did.

Yet, he could Fina trying to tear down his defenses and reach the deepest part of his mind. She wanted to see it.

She wanted to make sure that his heart was free of all regret and doubt.

Why shouldn’t it be?

Lautrec was staggered by the question as he asked it to himself.

To kill a fire keeper was the greatest sin a Carim knight could ever commit. It was an unforgiveable offense, a taint on his soul not even death could remove.

But he was not responsible for the death of this fire keeper. He had not taken her life; he had only found her rotting corpse on his goddess’ altar. 

He had done nothing wrong. 

He was following his lady’s commands.

So truly, he was fulfilling his duty as her knight. 

He was just—

“Take it.” Fina said in his ear. It wasn’t until then that Lautrec realized his hands had remained stuck in the same position for a while. His armored fingers were so close to the fire keeper’s soul that its gentle warmth could be felt through his gauntlets. “Do it.”

“I will.” Lautrec smiled. His pulse throbbed intensely in his temples. “I am yours, remember? I love you, Fina.”

“Shut up and take it!”

That he would. 

His rebellious hands had just started to listen to his commands when the blade of a rapier emerged from his chest. His blood covered the weapon, concealing the silver of the metal underneath a crimson layer.

Lautrec let out a soft gasp. It was the only sound his pierced lung could muster. 

Fina did scream on his mind; more than a mournful lament, her cry resembled a roar. She cursed the stranger for spilling the blood of her servant.

She damned him for damaging that which belonged to her.

The stranger, if he could hear her, ignored the goddess with sinful indifference. Instead, he focused all his attention on Lautrec. 

The stranger warped an arm around Lautrec’s neck and pulled him closer to him, further impaling him with the blade of the rapier. The weapon cut through the plates of Lautrec’s armor as easily as it cut through his flesh and bones.

“I witnessed your sin.”  The stranger said as he rested his chin on Lautrec’s shoulder.  “And it shall not go unpunished.”

“Kill him! Don’t you dare die without putting up a fight!” Fina exclaimed. Her voice resonated so loudly in his ears that Lautrec was surprised they didn’t start to bleed. “Kill this bastard, you useless coward! What kind of man are you? Are you even a real knight? Don’t you dare die, Lautrec. I will never forgive you if you fail me this way. If you die, I will forsake you and leave you to rot in this cursed land. I have no need nor use for weak men.”

The stranger removed the rapier from Lautrec’s body. His movements were quick, but they were not gentle.

Lautrec swallowed his pain and blood and tried to turn around. He would do as Fina said. He would not die in such a shameful way.

If a knight of Carim was meant to die, he had to meet death in the heat of battle. To perish under any other circumstances was the greatest humiliation imaginable. 

“My lady,” Lautrec stuttered as he tightened his grip on his swords.

Just when he was turning on his heels, the stranger grabbed him by his helmet and violently pulled him down to the floor.

He then grabbed Lautrec’s arm and pulled it behind his back until he let go the sword. The stranger kept pulling, almost snapping Lautrec’s arm from his shoulder.

“Useless.” Fina spat at Lautrec. Her voice was venom, and it spread across his soul like a blight. “Absolutely useless. What a pitiable excuse for a man, what a mockery of a knight you turned out to be.”

The stranger said something. His voice overlapped with Fina’s.

Lautrec tried to reach out for his goddess, but he had already sunk too deep into the darkness of death. His life was leaking away from him, taking with it all of his thoughts and his strength.

Soon, all that remained inside him was exhaustion and the phantom of his own despair.

Lautrec heard a distant, chilling laughter.

It was the last thing he perceived before death claimed him.

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

He got no response from the knight.

Oswald waited, but it was in vain.

He knew the knight was awake and could hear him. Oswald had defeated him; then, he had healed his injuries by forcingly feeding him Estus. 

Sinners like the knight did not deserve to be granted the peacefulness of death so easily. Death, contrary to what most people believed, was not a punishment or a sentence. To those with a clean conscience and an unburdened heart, death was a well-deserved rest. 

Yet, even if the knight had not sinned, to let him die would be an unnecessary waste of time. He was Undead, and for all Undead, death no longer had the same meaning than for those who remained free from the curse.

“You should have taken your own life the moment you lost your lady. That’s what was expected from you, or are you not a true knight of Carim?” 

Oswald said. The knight refused to acknowledge him, but Oswald did not care. 

“That fact you still exist when you’ve got no lady to protect is a sin in itself. How unfortunate that the Undead curse prevents you from fulfilling this last duty... or perhaps luck has nothing to do with this matter, and you sought a way to curse yourself in a pathetic attempt to preserve your life?”

Oswald listened as the echo of his own laughter spread across the church. The knight of the golden armor, however, remained quiet and indifferent. 

He had his chin glued to his chest. His hands were caressing the golden arms of his cuirass.

So, he was one of them.

Oswald’s smile almost hesitated, but he had long learned that to pour any amount of pity into those lost, deluded men was useless.

It was seldom that they broke free from their delusions, and most of them never tried at all. They became drunk on the promises of eternal love of the vainest of goddesses. 

They willingly fell for her empty words. 

Fina’s power over them was only as strong as the power of their own wills. 

It was no wonder she always picked the most broken and feeble of knights.

“Your failure to keep your former lady alive, whoever she was, is an unforgivable sin.” Oswald said. He took a step back from the cell. He joined his hands behind his back. “But that’s not the reason I am punishing you. Whatever sins and mistakes your committed back in Carim are none of my concern, but those you commit her in Lordran are my domain. And I saw what you did, so don’t even try to deny it. At this point, accepting your fault is the least you could do to salvage what little honor remains in your rotten heart.”

The knight did react to this. He lifted his head and looked at Oswald.

Oswald couldn’t see his eyes, hidden behind his golden helmet as they were, but he could almost feel the ice-cold glare of the knight.

“I did not kill her.”  He said. 

There was anger in his voice, but also a deep emptiness. He would go Hollow soon.

Oswald smiled.

“Perhaps you didn’t.” He conceded. “I have no proof, so I cannot thrust the weight of this sin upon you; but I saw what you did. I saw how you tried to take her soul for yourself.”

Oswald expected the knight to say something in return. He was prepared to counter his excuses and tear apart his arguments, but the knight said nothing.

His silence was all Oswald needed to know he had condemned a guilty, dangerous man.

“If you were willing to commit such a vile act, what will stop you from killing a fire keeper yourself the next chance you get?  Certainly not your conscience, even less your pride as a knight. That’s why you shall never leave this cell. You will remain here until you go Hollow.”

Oswald gave one last look to the disgraced knight before turning his back on him. 

“And then I will kill you. But remember this, knight, your death is not your punishment.”

He told him as he walked toward the stairs that led to the church’s roof.

“It is merely the fate you chose for yourself.”

Oswald laughed again. 

He didn’t so out of mockery or cruelty, but out of amusement.

Oh, Fina’s so-called devoted followers.

They would have been pitiable if they weren’t so pathetic in the first place.

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

Fina had forsaken him.

The bitter solitude of her absence had almost driven Lautrec to his Hollowing, just like the death of his first lady had come close to sink him into madness.

But he had endured, though not because he was strong. 

If he had been allowed to keep his sanity after losing everything, it was because he had never lost his faith.

Faith that he could make amends and regain the love of his goddess.

A faith that became invigorated after some poor idiot freed him for his cell.

A faith that was about to be cemented now that the second bell had tolled. 

It was time.

He had delayed the act long enough.

It will be quick.

Lautrec thought as he grabbed the fire keeper by the neck through the barriers of her cell. She showed no emotion in her blue Astoran eyes.

It is peaceful.

Her stoic semblance not once faltered, not even as Lautrec slit her belly with a long slash of his curved sword.

It was pleasant.

Lautrec did not trust this last thought, but when his eyes meet with the agonizing and defying stare of the moribund fire keeper, he could see a glimmer of happiness in her.

It was then Lautrec knew that Fina had been right all along.

The gaze the fire keeper was giving him was not one of hatred or resentment, but of gratefulness. In the last moments of her miserable life, she was thanking him in silence. 

She was grateful to him for freeing her from her everlasting torment.

She was enjoying the moment just as much as Lautrec was.

“You are welcome.”

Lautrec told the fire keeper before letting go of her fading corpse. He forgot about her as soon as her neck left his hand.

In his other hand, floating above his blood-soaked palm, there was her soul.

I did it, Fina. Can you see me? 

Lautrec held the essence close to his chest. His mind, devoid of all barriers now that he had freed himself from his past fears and insecurities, was touched by the soft whisper of a goddess only he could hear.

“I do.”

Fina answered. For the first time since his defeat at the hands of the pardoner, Lautrec felt safe in the tender embrace of his one and only lady.

“My knight.”

Lautrec smiled. 

He felt whole.

@pan-de-torao

@dbzespio

Lautrec leaned heavily on his knees, gazing deeply into the bonfire and its dancing flames. He sighed softly as his wounds began to heal up, and the strength returned to his body.

Yes, this bonfire had served him well. But now, he felt it was time to move on.

His posture still stooped forward, he turned his eyes upward to behold the firekeeper. 

Much like his, her helm hid her face from view, and so he could not tell where exactly her gaze was directed. She was rested against the wall, her body still with a certain poise, one that indicated she was not one to be trifled with. She could hop out of that position and into a battle stance at once, and all with the ease of a well-trained warrior; he could tell. 

He rose to his feet with a slight grunt of effort. 

No, it would not be worth the trouble. He already had one prize; he didn’t need more.

~~ 

Those damned archers…

Lautrec nearly collapsed in relief at the sight of a new bonfire. He practically dragged himself to sit before it, finally allowing his gaping wounds to heal once again. 

“Oh! There you are!”

Lautrec startled, snapping his head towards the voice. 

But it was only a fellow knight, seated there on the floor nearby, just far enough to still be warmed by the flames. The crest on his chest held no significance; the fool had likely painted it on himself in a fit of self-grandeur, or perhaps, sheer lunacy. He also appeared to be adorned with a feather or two and... was that grass? A lunatic indeed.

Lautrec faintly recognized him; he had likely summoned the fool to assist him in battle at one point or another. He merely grunted a sort of half-acknowledgement of the knight’s words and returned his gaze to the bonfire.

The knight politely waited a few moments before speaking again. He leaned forward slightly, his voice friendly. “You’ve been awfully quiet lately. Smooth summoning out there?”  

Lautrec slowly turned to face him again, wishing that his glower could melt through his helm. 

“Anytime you see my brilliantly shining signature, do not hesitate to call upon me,” the knight continued. “I must say: you’ve left me with quite an impression. I would relish a chance to assist you.”

Was that fondness in his voice? Truly a fool, this man was. 

Despite this, a modicum of camaraderie swelled a little within Lautrec’s chest. Fool though he was, this man was still an undead knight, trapped within this godsforsaken realm, no doubt charged with a quest similar to his own. He felt he owed the knight a warning, at the very least.

“Our futures are murky,” he finally told him, turning back to the fire. “Let’s not be too friendly now.”

“Nonsense,” the man proclaimed, the feather atop his helm swaying in place as he fervently shook his head. “You and I are bound together in not one, but two bouts of jolly cooperation!

“Whatever your quest, my good knight,” he continued, his fist held up in a firm resolve, “I feel certain you will see it through.”

“I already have.” Lautrec rose and readied himself to leave. “Now it is nothing more than a simple matter of delivery.”

~~

Breathing heavily, Lautrec willed himself forward before collapsing before the fire. 

That was too close. 

His eyes darted around wildly before settling upon the summon signs around him. 

So there it was. His answer to the ever-constant invasions…

~~

Lautrec and his posse had just cleared the hall when yet another invader formed before them. She was but a simple cleric, but her eyes smoldered with barely suppressed rage as she rose from the haze upon ground. 

“Oh, look! Another one,” Lautrec sneered, waving the others to attention. “How many times must these lambs rush to slaughter? Ah well… Let’s get it over with!”

Lautrec charged forward, his summoned warrior following in his wake. Just behind them, his sage readied his wand. 

The cleric immediately raised her shield, a flimsy thing, really, and certainly no match for his blades. It managed to reduce the impact of the sage’s magic bolts, but now, Lautrec was right before her. He reared back before striking her a solid blow, his curved shotel easily reaching around her paltry shield. The shield blocked his comrade’s spear, but the woman now looked rather breathless. 

“‘Tis a terrible pity,” Lautrec mused, trading his left shotel for a knife as he watched the invading cleric scramble to return her shield to her back. “Like a... moth, flittering towards a flame.

“You fellows… No? Don’t you agree?” He turned back towards his sage and briefly extended his arm towards his warrior, allowing the cleric a moment to ready herself for an attack of her own. 

As if she’d stand a chance. 

He chuckled darkly, watching as she lifted her talisman. She cast Force, which sent the spearman to the ground and the sage’s next magical projectile soaring back to strike him in the face. 

Lautrec himself stumbled before recklessly charging her again. If his companions weren’t able to strike her, it appeared he’d have to finish the job himself. 

She rolled away when he slashed at her with his shotel before charging at him with a knife that he hadn’t noticed she had been holding. He caught it with his own, slashing at her again with his free arm. 

Vulnerable as she was, and with no armor to boot, the cleric staggered from the devastating blow. Lautrec kicked her away, laughing callously yet again. The sage’s magical bolts peppered her several times as she struggled to recover. In the meantime, Lautrec traded his parrying knife for his second shotel, all the while watching her intently. 

Finally she knelt with talisman in hand. He recognized the gesture immediately as one of self-healing. “Oh no, you don’t…” 

With that said, he lashed out with dual strikes and chuckled as her form disintegrated into smoky mists. He helped himself to the humanities and souls she left behind before turning back to his entourage. “Well, well. I thought you were wiser… but I thought wrong.”

His summoned warrior lunged at her now formless remains with his spear. Poor fellow was a bit slow to grasp the reality of the situation. Finally he recognized she was gone and returned to Lautrec’s side. 

“Well, that was rather simple,” he scoffed and scanned the area. He beheld a glowing summon sign near the stairwell and went to examine it further. 

Ah, if it wasn’t the fool himself. 

Lautrec recalled the spearman, and summoned the warrior of sunlight. He arose with his arms in the air in a sun salute before facing Lautrec with a nod. Thankfully, he didn’t talk as much while in a summoned state.

Lautrec led them down the hall and pushed open the giant, double doors. He would have thought the room beyond empty, until he finally took note of a giant, stocky figure at the other end of the area. For a moment, they were so still Lautrec wasn’t quite certain whether they were human or statue. Either way, they wielded a hammer, nearly as large as themself.

Before Lautrec or the others could move in to have a closer look, another figure slowly and gracefully made their way to one of the balconies above. A single hand rested gently upon the railing as the knight, clad in incredibly intricate armor, gazed down at all of them. Within moments, the knight leapt down to stand before them, poised for battle. 

The one wielding a hammer hefted it upon his shoulder, moving the giant weapon with such an ease that it looked as if it were made of feathers. So then apparently this ‘statue’ could move after all.  

Lautrec faintly recognized the pair of warriors; felt certain that he had found their likenesses etched in marble somewhere within the city of Anor Londo. But it hardly mattered; if they stood in his path, they would be eliminated, all for the glory of the goddess.

The knight charged forward, his spear at the ready. Lautrec raced to meet him, easily moving off to the side to avoid the incoming spear. However gifted he may be, this spearman was no different from all others; he favored his right. All Lautrec needed to do was be careful to avoid that side and attack from the left, whenever the opportunity presented itself.

Meanwhile, Solaire focused his efforts on the giant. He would avoid the swing of his hammer with well-timed rolls and slash away with his sword while the giant struggled to reorient himself. He’d have to sprint away whenever his opponent decided to charge him, his hammer practically transformed into a whirlwind. And once his back was turned, Solaire would toss over a few lightning bolts in response.    

Meanwhile, Lautrec’s summoned sage would hurl magic bolts at the giant. He was a large, and therefore, easy target, after all. And with both Lautrec and Solaire keeping their opponents busy, the sage didn’t have much to worry about, so long as he kept himself far from the fray.

Before long, the giant man crumpled to the ground and took his last breath. Ornstein leaped away from Lautrec to stand at his side. He rested a hand against his fallen comrade’s body with a clearly remorseful weight to the action, despite how simple it was. 

But that simple gesture granted the knight a sudden surge in power. His very size surged until he grew to twice his height and weight. His spear sizzled with electricity as he held it aloft, reinvigorated to fight anew. 

“By the goddess!” Lautrec exclaimed as the spearman lunged at him. He rushed away; this time, it was much more difficult to avoid the weapon, given it too had increased in size. 

Solaire took the moment to lob a spear of lightning at the dragonslayer. However, it hardly had any effect.

The sage had prepared a more powerful spell, and this time, several magical bolts struck Ornstein at once. He momentarily flinched before rushing forward to attack the sage.

Lautrec and Solaire used the opportunity to move in close, slashing away at Ornstein’s legs. In response, the knight readied a lighting strike, charging up his spear with crackling electricity. Lautrec just barely managed to avoid being impaled, but his body shuddered as the remnants of lightning burned at his skin. He rolled away and yanked up his helm to chug a flask of Estus.

Meanwhile, Ornstein leapt high into the air, his body practically shining with excess electricity. Both Solaire and Lautrec were knocked off their feet as the dragonslayer crashed back down to the ground, sparks flying nearly everywhere. Even the sage, far from the action, staggered from the impact. 

Lautrec frantically rolled until he was far away, ripping back his helm to down not one, but two flasks of Estus. This wasn’t going to be an easy battle.  

But once he had his fill of Estus, he clenched his fists tightly around his shotels. He would not falter. For, after all, he had the favor of the goddess.

In the meantime, Solaire hurried to his feet and rushed in to attack Ornstein’s legs once again, determined to give Lautrec the time he needed to recover. He narrowly avoided another lunge; his body involuntarily shuddering from the excess electricity. How he longed to drink but a drop of Estus… But he had no time for that.

Meanwhile the sage had quickly gathered his wits and hurled magical bolts at the dragonslayer. He was too distracted with Solaire to fight back, so the mage continued his assault without interruption. 

Reinvigorated, Lautrec moved in to assist Solaire. Together the two kept slashing away at Ornstein’s feet, all while avoiding his near-constant barrage of lightning laden lunges. Ornstein was just about to recharge his spear when the sage dealt him one blow too many, and the mighty dragonslayer finally fell. 

Muscles buzzing with excess energy and skin burning from electrical buildup, Lautrec heaved hungry breaths of air as he watched the knight succumb to darkness. A glittering light was left behind, along with several other treasures.   

But before he could go to retrieve them, the foolish knight hurried to stand before him. He jovially clapped Lautrec’s shoulder until he finally lifted his helm to look him in the face. 

“A truly excellent bout of jolly cooperation, my good friend!” Solaire declared, no doubt a hearty grin beneath that helm. “Here; please take this!”

Lautrec already knew what the man was about to give him, and he didn’t want it. 

Regardless, Solaire found his hand and pressed a warm medal into it. Lautrec could feel the warmth even though the thickness of his armor; the object was indeed strange. But he refused to close his fingers, so the medal eventually fell to the ground once the golden sunlight warrior finally vanished into thin air. Lautrec didn’t bother to give the thing even the slightest of second glances. He simply didn’t need it.

Instead he moved in to receive his prizes. A gluttony of souls, along with Ornstein’s own, and a ring, a lion engraved upon it. He doubted he would find much use for it. Regardless, he tucked it away along with the rest. 

He wandered about the area for a while before coming upon a moving platform. He took it to find access to the balconies above, and to his great relief, a bonfire laid in wait. He took a rest there, allowing his wounds and aching body to heal.

Soon enough, he rose to his feet and made his way to the double doors before him. What laid behind them took his breath away.

There, her beautiful body draped across a plush chaise, laid the goddess Fina. The room was warm; soft light that emanated from the goddess herself wrapped the area in a gentle glow.

“Fina…” Lautrec breathed, immediately dropping down to one knee. 

Fina smiled and extended a gentle hand towards him. “Thou hast journey’d far, and overcome much, chosen Undead. Come hither, child…”

Lautrec blinked. ‘Chosen undead?’ ‘Child?’ 

Did she not see him?

He cleared his throat. “Fina, my beloved… It is I, Lautrec the Embraced. And I have for you a gift...” He procured the firekeeper’s soul and held it aloft.

She beckoned to him again. “Come hither…”

“As you wish…” Lautrec humbly rose, moved to stand just before her, and knelt down, all while holding out his treasure for her to take.

“O chosen Undead,” she continued, her voice soft. “I am Gwynevere. Daughter of Lord Gwyn; and Queen of Sunlight…”

 She had more to say, but Lautrec immediately stopped listening. Rage boiled up within his gut and spread throughout his body as he clenched his teeth.

The blasphemous wench! How dare she pose as the everlasting goddess!

Snarling, Lautrec ripped his shotel from its sheath and slashed the imposter, causing the unsuspecting woman to scream out. But his steel did not taste flesh; rather, he tore through naught but haze. 

The woman was but a mirage. A trick of his mind. 

Just as suddenly as the woman disappeared, the room went dark. It was cold here. 

Lautrec looked about wildly, but he was alone, left with nothing but a soft, almost fading light from the firekeeper’s soul. He dropped his shotel, and it clattered to the ground, louder than ever now. 

Was Fina… testing him?

He clenched his fist. No, it was that woman’s fault. She was a charlatan, a fake. Nothing was worse than impersonating a goddess. And it wasn’t as if he had ever seen a being as wondrous as the goddess herself in person before. How could he have known? 

Yes... yes. He was not to blame here. No, not at all.

In that moment, the silence was broken. 

I witnessed your sin, and it shall not go unpunished. 

Lautrec froze. Too afraid to turn and face the voice. 

Thou shalt perish in the twilight of Anor Londo.

No, this wasn’t happening. Everything he had done… it was all for Fina. 

He couldn’t have…

Slight footsteps from behind compelled him to whirl around. A blue phantom stood within the doorway; she was dressed in light armor, not unlike the painting guardians he had encountered shortly after he had entered Anor Londo. And just like those warriors, she was wielding two short blades. 

He would have bent to retrieve his shotel, but his limbs felt heavy, worn. And before his mind could have the opportunity to overpower his fading will, the warrior rushed forward, her blade plunging into his abdomen. She twisted the weapon, and he shuddered, the pain overtaking all of his senses. She kicked him to remove her blade, and his body easily crumpled to the ground. 

He laid there in agony, coughing up blood and wondering why she hadn’t yet finished him off. Once he finally opened his eyes, he saw her, tenderly holding the firekeeper’s soul. He must have dropped it at some point, or maybe she had taken it from his hand; he could hardly tell, much less remember, at this point. All he knew was that it was ill-gotten. That he had soiled Fina’s good name in taking it.

Before long, his helm was roughly ripped off of him. “This is for Anastacia of Astora,” the warrior stated, her voice cold. 

With that said, she lopped off his ear. “The Dark Sun will be pleased.” Her voice was soft now, devoid of the malice with which she spoke earlier. 

He watched her ready a black separation crystal. “You will not kill me?” he finally managed to ask.

“Killing you would only end your suffering.” She stepped on the wound in his gut and pressed down, forcing him to cry out yet again. “And my wish for you is to wallow in it.”

She finally backed away and activated her crystal, returning to her realm awash in shining light.

Lautrec, bloodied and broken, finally mustered the strength to drag himself out of the room and towards the bonfire beyond. 

But it was not lit.

He coughed again, blood spattering across the marbled floor. His vision blurred; the blood loss certainly wasn’t helping matters.

He crawled onwards, knowing full well he was too far gone to reach another bonfire. But he knew he must try. For Fina’s sake.

Fina…

He had failed her. 

No…! He would never…!

His fingers trembled as he continued to drag himself forward. Onwards.

Everything, yes, everything he had done, all of it was for Fina. For her glory. For his honor. For their love.

But…

Lautrec faltered and hissed. The pain was too great.

Fina was a magnificent, benevolent goddess. Death in her name would only serve to sully her beauty, her magnanimity. She would never allow it.

But the prize.

The endless souls… They would preserve her beauty forever; grant her with eternal youth.

Lautrec’s fingers hit into a wall. He could barely see straight; his body felt cold. He wasn’t certain how much longer he would last.

He pulled himself into a seated position, his back against the wall. He breathed deeply, as best as his tired lungs would allow. 

The ends do not justify the means.

He had failed his goddess, his love, by dishonoring her name. She would never accept any gifts, any love from a man drenched in sin. He knew this now.

He would perish within the twilight of Anor Londo.

As his goddess ordained. 

@lefrustemangaka

@taroris​

Silence always followed death. It was mandatory, as only death could rip things from this world with such coldness and leave a grieving void where the poor soul exhaled its last breath. Once the Shrine’s fire faded, not even the breeze dared to break the deathly quietness.

It took a while for Anastacia’s grasp around the metal rod to vanish; her delicate face contracted in a somewhat painful expression yet with relief under her lifeless blue eyes. Blue eyes which also stared at Lautrec with reproach; reproach because it wasn’t yet her time to leave, because she was supposed to die after fulfilling her role as Firekeeper, not in the hands of a knight who kept her company day after day until turning his blade against her.

With a swift measured move of hand, Lautrec cleaned the blood from his shotel. It was splattered on the floor in front of the rusty cell, which seemed to have been built in a rush by non-expert hands. Her frame paled in the light, not even a murmur was produced by the vanishment process. Then, the delicate soul of Anastacia jingled where her place has been for, perhaps, an eternity; tiny humanities dancing around the pure white light, happy, unbothered by the grim turn of events.

Lautrec picked them up and gave a look at the light and the darkness. Both antagonists floated pleasantly in his hand; darkness around light, light around darkness. The tendrils of Anastacia’s soul seemed to caress the humanities, as a mother would do to their kids. The humanities seemed to love the attention as they appeared to jump and shake their small bodies pleased. The somewhat peace these poor vestiges of a past life enjoyed was finally disrupted, for the image of the very safety and home meant nothing to Lautrec, whose real home was in the arms of a Goddess and the safety was only reached after the brief moments of offering the humanities he separated from Anastacia and placed inside his travel bag.

The Firekeepers' soul seemed to shiver when the mourning was over and the wind blew in the shrine, caressing its tendrils and letting it know of the newfound loneliness.

Truth be told, the reaction of the white soul was rather peculiar. With a tilt of his head, Lautrec observed how it reacted to its surroundings. How it seemed to know somehow that something was off. Maybe the pureness of the Firekeepers’ souls was the one to blame; souls remaining safe of the hunger that leads most Undeads, unbothered by the filthiness of the world that has no room for these same souls unless entrusted with the task to tend fire.

Lautrec scoffed. He was no innocent human, that was as true as the sky was blue. On top of that, he was hungry; hungry to please her Lady, hungry to give her everything she wished for. Staring at the soul wouldn’t do him any good. Then, almost in a whisper, a kind voice spoke to him. It spoke to him about time, about love, about forgiveness. For Lautrec, there was only one thing more absolute than death, and that was her Goddess’s words. He knew what he had to do next: complete his duty in the so-called city of Gods, but which was no home for his Lady. At least, not anymore.

The knight left the Shire, wherein the few beings remaining there barely noticed his leave. He, then, resumed his travel; going through the cathedral, through the burg, through the fortress made to break one’s soul but merely scratched his for the loving voice gave him the strength needed to prevail and move forward. It was such the faith in his Lady’s words that he even travelled through air (carried by nasty ugly demons) to arrive at his destination.

With utmost care, Lautrec inspectioned the place until finding the bonfire and, with the bonfire, the Firekeeper. He felt the arms around his torso hug him even in a more affectionate way, and the joy which washed over his body was almost overwhelming. Yet, he shouldn’t be carried away by those feelings, or he could end up imprisoned again, when the end of his task was within the reach of his fingertips.

When the Firekepeer spoke, Anastacia’s Soul shaked faintly in his travel bag.

“Mmh… You are a rare visitor,” she said once he walked down the stairs. In her voice, there was a hit of something Lautrec couldn’t place right away. “Welcome to the lost city of Anor Londo. If you seek Lord Gwyn’s old keep, exit here and head straight yonder. If you-”

“I will, for now, allow myself to take a rest,” Lautrec interrupted her.

It had been quite a while since he had been around a talkative Firekeeper. Instead, he had grown so comfortable with the silence around Anastacia that he had forgotten how annoying these women can be sometimes; with their gibberish and duties.

“Very well. After all, that is what the bonfire is for,” she muttered, with annoyance and that something which was still difficult to place in her voice.

Lautrec sat down near the fire. His tired legs sighed with the brief break they were given while his hands quickling unfastened the travel bag around his waist.

The moment to observe her came when he pretended to take care of his equipment, of his shotels and armour. It stood out that Firekeeper was nothing like the previous ones he had encountered before; all delicate ladies, sometimes blinded, sometimes too oblivious of the world around her. This woman, instead, looked like a warrior, and it was not because of the pretentious armour befitting of an even more pretentious place like Anor Londo. No. It was because of the aura around her, of the way she folded her arms, the posture she kept against the wall, the way tried to appear like she was self-absorbed but her eyes felt like daggers poking his skin.

It finally clicked. That something hard to place in her voice: mistrust. This woman was, by all means, different from the previous Firekeepers who always thought he was a well-meaning knight searching for their help and fire. This woman was dangerous, because mistrust made you be aware of dangers, of betrayal, and made offering harder. Lautred needed to find help, and by help it meant cannon fodder. For that reason he got up and announced it was time to continue his journey. The knight, then, adventured himself even further in the city, further into the high building.

His shotel cut through multiple enemies dressed in white clothes and who threw daggers. He got no reward from it and the voice whispering kind words suddenly started to rush him to go back to the Firekeeper’s place. Oh, how much he wished to speak with his Lady at that moment, to hold her delicate hands and promise her that she would have the world if only she gave him a moment to do what had to be done to cut the Firekeeper’s throat.

His steps lead him to a cathedral, wide, open, and filled with multiple enemies. Even if it cost him some estus, Lautrec prevailed and the colossals figures and Silver Knights ended up falling to his blade. When inside there was no more than silence (a silence aware of the knight’s intentions and which followed him as it followed death), Lautrec started to search for marks. For marks of unwaries who would have no other choice but to help him fulfill his role; perhaps serving as bait.

It didn’t take him long to come across a well-known yellow sign. Holding back a scoff turned out to be impossible for a solid second, as there was no point in summoning that crazy fool. Lautrec kept searching, avoiding the signs of Warriors of Sunlight as if they were infected with the plague. Then, finally, after walking up and down the hallway, he located it: two white summoning signs. A sorcerer and a spearman. That would serve him well. Lautrec touched the first white light, with black letters signaling a name that he couldn’t care less, before touching the second one. Two men appeared in front of him and spoke words of greeting, too cheerfully for his liking. He barely muttered some words to content them for there were more pressing matters to attend.

After the pointless greeting was over, the three of them walked to the entry, to the closed massive doors. With a sigh, Lautrec started to look for the mechanism to open them, locating a giant lever attached to some big gears.

Upon touching the handle, though, he felt it. The soft rumbling of worlds clashing together. His furrow deepened under his helmet and walked back to his comrades who were looking at their surroundings. Lautrec didn’t feel like playing the mouse and cat game at that moment, so, when the other two men looked at him wondering about his plan, he simply ordered them to wait until the dark phantom appeared.

And the phantom did so. After a closer look at the armour, an amused hum left his lips. The Chosen Undead straightened their back and when their gaze fell on the knight and his cannon fodder, they stormed towards them, sword raised in wrath. The same wrath that filled their voice when they spoke.

“Lautred, you bastard! How dare you kill her?! How dare you kill Anastacia?!”

The knight waited (hearing reassuring words of his Lady that ensured him the victory) for the Chosen Undead to run towards them and for his summonings to defend him, as it was a mandatory rule between the fool Undeads.

“Well, look at you,” he began, dragging out his shotel. “I thought you were wiser, but I thought wrong!”

@thefatladysang​

[makeste]

Are there any headcanons that you would like to share? About anything you want.

anon in the absence of specific guidelines I have managed to make this post pretty much entirely about Bakugou. I apologize if you really wanted to know all of my headcanons about Kouda or something lol. but all joking aside he really is the character I think about the most and so probably like 80% of my headcanons are about him, including close to 100% of the headcanons I actually have a solid enough grip on to put into words. anyway here goes.

he does not know how to tie a tie. he was a rowdy little free range knee-scraping grass-staining run-don’t-walk child whose parents only ever managed to wrestle him into formal attire a handful of times for special occasions when he was younger, and then he went to a middle school that used gakuran-style uniforms so he never learned then, either. his dad offered to teach him when U.A. rolled around, but he was all, “fuck off dad, I know how to tie a stupid tie,” because by that time he had grown into a cocky little brat confident in his own skill and naive as to the reality checks of the world, and he genuinely believed with the conviction that only a fifteen-year-old can muster that when the time came he would just magically know how to do it. on the first day of school he got as far as draping the loose tie over his neck and holding one end in each hand before staring at the mirror and abruptly realizing the hole he’d dug himself into. and so rather than admit defeat, he just straight up decided not to wear it. which became a permanent life choice once he got to school and saw how badly Deku’s tie was tied and realized there was no way he could ever risk that kind of humiliation.

in a similar vein, I know there’s a popular fanon that because of his parents’ influence Katsuki has a good sense of fashion, but my own personal headcanon is that this could not be further from the truth lol. it’s not that he has a terrible sense of style, mind you; it’s just that he doesn’t care about it at all. he’s a nerdy jock who spends all his free time studying and lifting weights. this kid literally only wears one color, and that color just so happens to be the easiest possible color to coordinate. he owns like three pairs of shoes max. he wears his pants three sizes up and they drag so much that the hems are all frayed from him constantly stepping on them (literally canon, and one of my favorite details from chapter 218). he just doesn’t give a fuck, so long as the clothes are comfortable and don’t look stupid. he has about a million things he’s more concerned about than what he or anyone else is wearing. in fact I’m 90% sure that his mom still buys most of his clothes, and about 70% convinced he does not even know what size he is.

he’s good at household chores (because he’s good at everything), but hates doing them. aside from cooking, which he enjoys, he will bitch and whine nonstop if forced to do tedious-yet-necessary things like washing dishes and folding laundry. that said, he is a perfectionist, and he also has a lot of experience because his mom made him do chores all the time during the seven trillion times he was grounded while growing up (that’s his estimate, btw, so it may be slightly exaggerated. he was not an easy kid to raise. when your kid’s fuse is about a millimeter long and he has a tendency to literally blow up whenever he throws a fit, you end up with a lot of objects in your house that have been replaced at some point), so if you do actually manage to get him to do the chore, rest assured that chore is getting fucking DONE.

when he was very little he watched an Avengers Endgame-style All Might film where a bunch of bad guys attacked earth and various assorted heroes tried and failed to stop them. then at the climax of the film, All Might showed up and said “I am here”, and everyone got super pumped up and excited because they knew the heroes were going to win with All Might on their side. this scene remains Katsuki’s favorite scene in anything. not the fight -- just the moment where All Might shows up and grins and the audience knows right there and then that he’s going to win. this is the feeling that inspired his dream. he wants to be the one who shows up and everyone is like, “we’re good now; Katsuki is here.”

when he was six or seven he got into a big fight with an older boy over that scene because he said it was fake and that there was no way All Might could have beaten those guys in real life. Katsuki insisted he definitely would have because All Might never loses. the other boy replied that everyone loses sometimes. Katsuki kicked his ass and got suspended for a week.

ten years later, Katsuki watched All Might battle All for One at Kamino and realized two things. one, that the other boy was right and that anyone can lose. and two, that he, the one who had so proudly defended All Might back then, was going to end up being the reason why he finally lost.

for a long time afterwards, he couldn’t bring himself to watch that movie again.

when he and Izuku were three years old their moms sent them out on a first errand (google Hajimete no Otsukai if you’re unfamiliar with this tradition, I promise you it is the cutest fucking thing you’ll ever see) to buy ingredients for katsudon. Izuku was full of bouncy childish enthusiasm and could rattle off the full shopping list of ingredients front to back, but when the moment finally came his confidence wilted as soon as their parents were out of sight. Katsuki also had a moment of panic when they first rounded the corner and he couldn’t see his house anymore, but rallied once Izuku burst into tears and he realized that he had to be the one to take charge. he proceeded to morph into an absurdly over-the-top caricature of his own mother for the duration of the errand, to the point where in addition to telling Izuku to stop crying he also ordered him to stand up straight and tuck in his shirt. the two of them went on to complete the errand flawlessly and their moms were PROUD AS FUCK and took a billion pictures. Izuku and Katsuki have only a few scattered memories of this milestone in the present day but it’s enough to send both of them absolutely reeling with embarrassment whenever they’re reminded of it.

he and his mom don’t often get along but sometimes they’ll bond over roasting a mutual target. they have watched many a trashy reality TV show together for this purpose. Masaru lives for these moments but never comments on them lest he spoil the rare moments of peace.

Katsuki is perfectly capable of using keigo (i.e. normal polite Japanese with no rude language/cursing), otherwise he would not be one of the top students in his ivy-league high school. code-switching is a thing guys! anyways his teachers are aware of this, because all of his essays and homework assignments are written normally. he merely chooses to go about his daily business acting like a wannabe yakuza stereotype because that’s just his personality, and he’s not about to start censoring himself and acting like some weird little goody two shoes robot person just to please people he mostly doesn’t give two shits about. but if you put a gun to his head and told him you’d pull the trigger if he said “fuck”, he would probably be all right; he’d just have to concentrate.

when he was little he went through a phase of collecting cicada shells and leaving them EVERYWHERE -- in the bathroom sink, on his mom’s pillow, you name it. Mitsuki often tells people this is when she started getting gray hairs. one time she opened a box of cereal and there was one in there and a little bit of her soul died that day.

he generally doesn’t care who calls him Kacchan. it doesn’t particularly bother him and it never occurred to him to pretend like it did just for appearance’s sake. also secretly for some reason the thought of Deku ever calling him anything else really bothers him. he’s not sure what it would mean if that ever happened, or what he would do.

all of his workouts are designed to strengthen his arms and back and shoulders because those are the parts of his body that take the most abuse from his quirk. other than that he avoids building up excess muscle anywhere else because the more weight he puts on the harder it is to fly around. for this reason he is never going to end up being a big bulky guy like All Might. one day Deku is going to surpass him in muscle, but he doesn’t care because he’ll still be a match for him in firepower and speed.

he’s one of those kids who will not so much as take a sip of alcohol until he’s twenty-five. partly because he’s experienced enough concussions that he doesn’t particularly want to give hangovers a try, and partly because he’s a control freak and honestly afraid of getting drunk and making an idiot of himself somehow. the rowdier members of class A try virtually every trick in their wheelhouse and then some to try and persuade him over the years, but not even the reverse psychology “aw, don’t worry, it’s okay if you’re... scared :)” thing works, because that’s only actually effective when he secretly wants to do the thing.

then one day he just wakes up and is all “you know what, I’m gonna try it”, and for the next few days his google history is basically just “how many drinks does it take to get drunk” and “how to avoid getting drunk” and “how to prevent hangovers.” somehow word gets out through the grapevine (he probably told Todoroki, who is the one person in class A you’d think wouldn’t be a big ol’ gossip but in fact IS) that Bakugou is finally going to get his drink on that weekend, and pretty much EVERYONE shows up at the izakaya that Friday night excited as FUCK.

Katsuki proceeds to drink a grand total of two beers over the span of several hours, and drinks like five glasses of water in between, and literally nothing happens to him at all except that Kaminari almost fights him out of frustration. the rest of class A never fully gets over their disappointment.

he actually knows like 90% of class 1-A’s names by this point. there are still a few people he doesn’t and will never know, though. twenty years from now Aoyama will still be “that weird fucking french kid” in his mind.

he had no idea who Eri was until the Christmas party. sometimes he’d hear the other kids talking about someone named Eri, and from context clues he somehow ended up thinking it was one of Aizawa’s cats. when Eri came to the party he had a brief moment of curiosity wondering if she was Sensei’s niece or something, and then he heard someone say her name and he was all “THAT’S ERI?!” and his entire worldview was briefly shaken up.

he pulled Kirishima aside to ask him and Kirishima basically gave him Eri’s whole entire life story which was way more than he actually wanted to know. he’s now kind of terrified of ever being in the same room as her for fear of having to interact with her because he’s pretty sure he’d do or say the wrong thing. most of the time being intimidating is something he strives for and puts a lot of effort into, including when he’s around kids (who are basically just smaller, sloppier adults in his mind), but he doesn’t want to be the guy who scared an abused kid, so he basically just hopes the others will have enough common sense not to ever go “oh hey you know who should totally interact with each other?? Eri and Bakugou!”

that being said, if circumstances ever arose which forced Katsuki to protect Eri, the two of them would totally bond and they would have a really sweet relationship in which Eri looked up to him just like she looks up to Deku and Mirio and the rest, and where Katsuki was constantly trying to be on his best behavior around her, like genuinely, sincerely trying, and kind of failing at it a lot but still being sweet in a gruff sort of restrained-disaster way.

...and after sitting there for a while trying to think of more I couldn’t come up with any so I guess that’s it! basically most of my headcanons are about how secretly boring Katsuki is. honestly if it weren’t for him having the vocabulary of a 52-year-old sailor whose foot was caught in a bear trap, he and Iida would probably be best friends.

[recentanimenews]

INTERVIEW: Miss Kobayashi's Dragon Maid and the Directors' Legacy

  Additional reporting by Kyle Cardine

  On July 7th, Kyoto Animation released the first episode of Miss Kobayashi’s Dragon Maid S, the second season of the Dragon Maid franchise. This marked not only the return of a fan-favorite series, but the comeback of the globally beloved studio as a whole. We wrote on Kyoto Animation’s indomitable spirit in our interview with studio president Hideaki Hatta last year, and now we see that spirit communicated through Dragon Maid’s incredible dual capacity for intricately animated sequences and depth of emotional expression. 

  On the occasion of both Miss Kobayashi’s Dragon Maid and Kyoto Animation’s latest return to anime, Crunchyroll News had the opportunity to talk with Tatsuya Ishihara, the director of the second season of the series, about Dragon Maid’s return, his responsibilities as incoming director and more.

      Ishihara the Director

  Tatsuya Ishihara is a long-time Kyoto Animation director who has produced some of anime’s sharpest comedy sequences alongside some of the most emotionally resonant, often in the same series. “I’ve had experience with works that combine comical and serious aspects, and I like them,” Ishihara said when asked about this continuing theme. “I find them rather fun and easy to do.” Though it may be humble, his answer gestures towards his immense talent for finding the poignant within the comedic, as well as the comedic within the poignant, a talent we can trace through his entire career with the studio.

  In 2005, Ishihara made his directorial debut at Kyoto Animation with the adaptation of the Key Visual novel Air. His philosophy of negotiating his own interpretation of a work with audience expectation can be seen throughout his career, starting with Air and continuing into adaptations of two more Key visual novels—Kanon and the acclaimed Clannad. “I’m not an artist trying to express my own sense of self. I’m thinking of the viewers and their expectations. My job as director is to marry my own interpretation of a work with viewer expectations,” Ishihara would later say in the Love, Chunibyo & Other Delusions limited edition box set booklet.

  However, the first title in which Ishihara’s incredible talent would truly be embraced by the masses in the West is inarguably 2006’s The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya. A series absolutely packed with incredible comedy, supernatural intrigue, disarming drama, and pleasurable slice-of-life, Haruhi is dense with directorial flair. Ishihara’s ability to deftly maneuver between comedy and drama truly struck the zeitgeist in mid ‘00s Western anime fandom, to the point where Haruhi cosplayers and “Hare Hare Yukai” flash mobs were inescapable.

  Ishihara’s credits continue on to include a second season of Haruhi, legendary comedies Nichijou (2011) and the aforementioned Love, Chunibyo & Other Delusions (2012), and the coming-of-age drama Sound! Euphonium. All of these series embody Ishihara’s talent for balancing drama and comedy as well as his philosophy of mediating between his artistic expression and giving the audience what they want in different, equally affecting ways, and it is this body of experience that Ishihara has taken with him into his work on Miss Kobayashi’s Dragon Maid S.

      Ishihara and Miss Kobayashi’s Dragon Maid S

  The relationship between Kyoto Animation and the Dragon Maid manga series was formed quite early. According to a Futabasha editorial representative we spoke to in the making of this article, the publisher received an offer from Kyoto Animation to produce the adaptation shortly after the first volume was released. In January 2017, the studio released the first episode of Miss Kobayashi’s Dragon Maid, quickly met with a warm embrace by fans.

  The life that Tohru and Kobayashi build together is one full of warmth and laughter, woven from the comedy and drama that comes from the differences between the humans and dragons of the series. Despite the supernatural beings that make up half of its cast, the true magic of the series can be found in the deeply touching depictions of everyday life, a place where KyoAni is particularly adept. “In the anime, Kanna’s familiarity with everyday life was more emphasized,” Dragon Maid manga author Coolkyousinnjya said to Crunchyroll News. “There were more details, and a lot of things amazed me when I watched it.”

  リリイベお疲れ様でしたー　すごくよかったです pic.twitter.com/FW5pkCtiD4

— クール教信者＠夏アニメ「小林さんちのメイドラゴンS」「ピーチボーイリバーサイド」「平穏世代の韋駄天達 (@coolkyou2) July 24, 2021

An illustration from Miss Kobayashi's Dragon Maid creator Coolkyousinnjya

  Before we begin to talk about Ishihara’s involvement in Dragon Maid, we must address a painful, necessary truth: Tatsuya Ishihara did not direct the first season of the series. Rather, it was the late director Yasuhiro Takemoto who first helmed the title. Takemoto directed many of Kyoto Animation’s most defining and iconic works, beginning with the initial two episodes of the 2002 Nurse Witch Komugi OVA (the only two that were produced by Kyoto Animation), 2003’s Full Metal Panic? Fumoffu and its 2005 sequel Full Metal Panic! The Second Raid. He then directed the lion’s share of the absolutely iconic Lucky Star (2007), Hyouka (2012), Amagi Brilliant Park (2014), and, of course, season one of Miss Kobayashi’s Dragon Maid. Throughout all of his work, but especially in Nurse Witch Komugi, Lucky Star, and Dragon Maid, you can see an absolute adoration for and celebration of otaku culture. 

  “I'm trying to keep the style of Miss Kobayashi’s Dragon Maid that the first anime series and the original work have,” said Ishihara. “I'm taking over from the previous series, so I'm trying not to change the atmosphere.” And, as any fan of the first season will tell you, he has succeeded. From the pitch-perfect fish-out-of-water comedy to the jaw-dropping non-sequitur fight scenes to the sudden moments of deeply human empathy between Kobayashi and the dragons—everything that worked about the first season works here, too. 

  “I think it is my role to take over and convey the ‘feelings’ of the staff from the previous season while directing this season,” said Ishihara.

    Yasuhiro Takemoto’s affinity for a specific period of otaku culture is woven through the first season of the series, especially with the protagonist Kobayashi and the characters Takiya and Fafnir. That aspect of the series identity is carried on in Ishihara’s season as well. “I thought I might be able to have an otaku talk with Takiya and Kobayashi-san, but their ages are so far apart from mine that I might not be able to talk with them,” said Ishihara when asked which member of the Kobayashi cast he would spend a night talking with. “That's actually been happening a lot in real life lately, which makes me sad. That's why I think it's Lucoa. She is kind and seems to be willing to listen to me.”

  The comedic set up of the question was undercut with a surprising poignancy at Ishihara’s admittance that otaku culture is moving on from the form he is familiar with. That same emotional resonance is coincidentally echoed in the first episode of Dragon Maid S, when Kobayashi says, “People don’t use the word moe very much anymore, but they’ve kept the spirit of those times.”

    Ishihara and the Core of Kyoto Animation

  When the name Kyoto Animation is brought up to me, I immediately think of Sound! Euphonium’s Kumiko Oumae, her face contorting in frustration as she runs through the streets of her town, unable to hold herself back from screaming “I want to improve!” out loud. I imagine, for many anime fans, similar scenes come to mind—pathos, love, laughter, tears, all written on the faces of characters rendered in ways few other studios can. To quote Clannad’s first ending theme, “All that’s happy and all that’s sad rolled into one.”

  The craft on display in Dragon Maid S is, of course, apparent to anyone that watches even a few seconds of an episode. Effortlessly shifting from subtle character acting and loving renderings of scenic everyday life to mind-melting supernatural battles featuring some of the best fight choreography of the year. 

    How can one team balance the demands of such polar opposite tendencies in a series? “Even in animation,” Tatsuya Ishihara responded, “if the setting of the work is close to reality, the movements of the characters will be limited to realistic theatrics. However, animation is supposed to be freer, and the designs, movements, and theatrics of the characters themselves should be exaggerated. In this respect, Miss Kobayashi’s Dragon Maid is a fantasy, so it is easy to make use of the original characteristics of animation. By exaggerating the movements and expressions of the characters, I try to make them even more humorous and convey their feelings.” Animation is the medium, not film, and Ishihara and his team are making full use of it.

  Animation, no matter how impressive, must be in service of a story to reach something beyond pure spectacle. The staff of Miss Kobayashi’s Dragon Maid S understands the characters and their feelings, their situations, their histories, and what they care about. Ishihara understands the power that can come from a story about two groups of people with seemingly irreconcilable differences coming together to build a life of found family.

    “It is normal that you and others are different, so it is important to accept that and to acknowledge each other's diversity,” said Ishihara. In the age of the Internet, I think we have come to realize that people around the world are not united, but rather that there are people with many different ways of thinking. One of my favorite lines is when Fafnir says ‘The common sense of this [human's] world doesn’t completely mesh with our [dragons'] understanding’ and Tohru responds to him by saying ‘but isn’t reconciling that kind of fun?’”

  For the past few years, increasingly, I have felt like we are all living in a broken world; People are divided by distance, ideology, and disease. The climate is changing. And reporting about these topics crashes against us constantly, each day feeling as if it brings more bad news than the last. But I have found refuge in the works of Kyoto Animation, as have many others. In the stories this studio has told, fans are able to see the beauty that can be found in life, no matter the circumstances. Sometimes, in the midst of a reality that seems grim and harsh, you need to be reminded that there is still love and fun to be found. Sometimes, all it takes to bring you to that state of mind is the story of a woman and the dragon that loves her. 

  TVアニメ「#小林さんちのメイドラゴン Ｓ」第1話『新たなるドラゴン、イルル！（またよろしくお願いします）』をご覧いただきありがとうございました❣ Illustration：石原立也（監督）#maidragon pic.twitter.com/49wE3HeLrS

— TVアニメ「小林さんちのメイドラゴンＳ」公式 (@maidragon_anime) July 7, 2021

Episode One Thank You Illustration from Tatsuya Ishihara

  “I’m sure many of you were worried, but we were able to release Miss Kobayashi’s Dragon Maid without any issues,” said Ishihara. “I would like to continue to create enjoyable works, so please have fun.”

    Cayla Coats is the Editor-in-Chief of Crunchyroll News EN. She tweets @ceicocat.

  Kyle Cardine is a Managing Editor for Crunchyroll. You can find his Twitter here.

By: Cayla Coats

[meow-bebe]

Elusive

The First installment of my Neo Classics collection, ‘Elusive’ is set in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby.

“Ten Lee throws the most extravagant parties in New York, though he rarely seems to be in attendance himself. When you find yourself in his mansion one warm June evening, you aim to find the elusive Ten Lee and get a bit more than you bargained for.”

Paring: Ten Lee x reader, Jung Jaehyun x reader

Genre: Roaring 20s au, Jazz Age au, The Great Gatsby au

Warnings: quite a bit of alcohol, general debauchery, mentions of adultery, mentions of smoking, this one gets a bit suggestive (heavy make out session, removal of outer layers)

Word count: 6.4k

Tonight’s soundtrack: Booty Swing - Parov Stelar, It Ain’t Over - Monsta X, Catgroove - Parov Stelar, Miss Jackson - Panic! at the Disco, Love Talk - WayV, Nicotine - Panic! at the Dicso

A/n: hiya! before you read, i’d just like to say that this fic is my pride and joy. Its my child. It took me over a month to plan out and write, is the longest thing ive ever written, and im very very proud of it. so please, if you enjoyed elusive give it a reblog! send me an ask! just scream in the tags, but let me know you enjoyed it! ill appreciate it more than you can ever know, and it will definitely help to give me motivation to keep working on the next parts of neo classics. 

“The bar is in full swing, and floating rounds of cocktails permeate the garden outside, until the air is alive with chatter and laughter, and casual innuendo and introductions forgotten on the spot, and enthusiastic meetings between women who never knew each other’s names.” - F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

In all of New York, fanciful, expensive, outrageous New York, there was one man known far and wide for his parties. Those in attendance always returned touting fabulous stories of more liquor than an army could drink in a week, of the celebrities that shamelessly showed their faces, and of the cover that night and perhaps hundreds of people could offer to those wanting to make a fool of themselves or sneak off with a mistress. It couldn't be denied that they were possibly the best parties in the whole state. 

And the man behind it all? The elusive Ten Lee. 

Ten was an enigma, a figure shrouded in mystery despite opening his property to all those who fancied a wild night most weekends. Very little was known about him to the general public. Even many of those in his own social circle knew little to nothing about the man. Supposedly he had inherited most of his fortune, and having only begun taking up residence in New York in the past year or so there was quite a bit of speculation that he was foreign. Despite being the topic of many a gossip column, Ten wasn’t exactly a public figure, and it seemed that this absolute lack of information about him bled into the atmosphere of his extravaganzas as well. Many of his regular partygoers never bothered to question his presence, or lack thereof. Ten had always interested you, and upon your invitation to one of his grand functions, you had decided that this was the night you would meet the little known Mr. Lee. 

Not that you were truly invited, but not many people were. Most just came anyway, saying they knew someone who was involved with Ten, or they had known him before he claimed his inheritance and became the Mr. Lee that all high class New Yorkers knew of. (Or was there a time before? Perhaps he had started out just as anyone else and his sudden acclamation of a large sum of money led him to spend on the most frivolous of things. Or maybe the man had arrived from his mother’s womb as the classy and expensive bachelor he was known as. No one seemed to know.) No matter what their story was, each attendee often brought along several plus ones. Automobiles would bear them out to Long Island, and they would flood onto the lawn, ready to dance and drink and make good use of all the expensive treats Ten provided. 

It was through a friend that you found yourself being driven out to the island one evening in late June. This was not your first Lee party, and it would not be your last, however you, unlike many of the other guests, held on to some shred of dignity and only showed up when invited. Even if you were only brought along because Irene didn’t want to be seen alone, it was something. Not that she ever kept to herself for long. 

Irene, a close friend of many years, was a self proclaimed rising starlet, although in reality she had been a very minor character in two films. She could be a bit dramatic at times (as her “profession” called for), and her title as “actress” was certainly an exaggeration. Still, she was a dear friend to you no matter how much she liked to stroke her own ego. And using her small claim to fame, Irene had managed to worm her way into the heart and car of a man who was also trying to make his way in the film business. You suspected he was about as in the public eye as Irene. Nevertheless, he had managed to get an invitation through one of his higher-ups and invited Irene to accompany him, which of course meant you would be tagging along as well. And truly, it wasn’t as if you minded. You enjoyed a night out as much as the next person, and Irene was your ticket into many affairs you wouldn’t otherwise find yourself attending. 

There were a few others driving out with you, all chattering amongst themselves and buzzing with excitement for the coming night. Irene, placed strategically in the front seat,  appeared to have latched onto the driver as her catch of the night. This was expected, after all he had been the one to invite her. You didn’t fool yourself into thinking she would stay by your side for very long anyway, Irene was notorious for ditching you as soon as a particularly good looking man showed up. You were fine on your own, and didn’t usually mind being left to your own devices. Depending on where you were you often got the urge to explore, after all the rich lead different lives, and getting a glimpse of that was always a good time. Irene often encouraged you to find someone of your own to pass the time with, and while sometimes you would find someone who could hold a half decent conversation, it was never very high on the night’s agenda. Though it seems tonight, in a rare break from your usual habit of flying solo, you had found someone. An attractive young man who had been introduced to you as Mr. Jung was seated at your side, and had begun talking quietly with you as the automobile sped along towards the island. 

“You look quite dashing tonight, Miss一?”

His voice was deep and soft, gentle and just a tad bit sultry.

“Y/l/n. Y/n Y/l/n,” you fill in.

“Miss Y/n Y/l/n,” Mr. Jung muses, and though you’ve heard them many times before the familiar words feel different when he says them like that, perfectly proper in his every action  except for the slight seductive tone slipping through his barriers. A pleasant shiver runs down your spine as he takes your hand and presses a chaste kiss to your gloved fingers, the black of the silk making a nice contrast with his pretty pink lips. “A beautiful name, though not as beautiful as the one who holds it.”

You giggle, raising the hand not grasped in his to cover your mouth, and reply, “Oh Mr. Jung, how you flatter me.”

“Please,” he lets your fingers slip out of his, “just call me Jaehyun.” 

Well, perhaps not entirely proper, but there was no denying that you were enjoying the attention he was laying on you. Finding Ten Lee might be the final goal of tonight but he could be notoriously hard to find, and even if you did have ulterior motives there was no reason you shouldn't enjoy yourself in the meantime. Jaehyun had been nothing but gracious and flattering, and it never hurt to have a gorgeous man’s arm to cling to. You chat idly with Jaehyun for the rest of the ride out to Ten’s mansion, words flowing freely between you the whole time yet each learning not a single note worthy detail about the other. 

By the time you arrive, just before dusk is preparing to settle herself over the bay, the party is already in full swing. Though the real festivities begin once night falls, many guests arrive in the afternoon, early enough to enjoy the section of the beach that falls on Ten’s property. They swim in the green glass waves of the bay and generally enjoy everything that the mansion has to offer while it's still light out before changing into evening wear in one of the many spare rooms and coming down the wide marble staircases in pairs, ready to throw themselves into the pulsing energy of the night. 

The beach is now empty as the unfamiliar man in the front seat pulls into the long drive snaking up the lawn and tries to find a place to park amongst the crowd of other automobiles. People dressed to the nines, still in their swimming suits, and everything in between trail up the lawn, bright light and the sound of many people talking all at once enticing them towards the house. 

The car comes to a stop, finding a lucky spot not too far from the house, the excitement rolling off each and every person surrounding you palpable in the air. Jaehyun opens the door and steps out before offering a hand to help you down. You take it with a slight smile, T-strap heels clicking against the pavement as you dismount and shut the door. The hand placed on top of Jaehyun’s quickly found its way to his elbow as he leads you up the lawn towards the french doors, thrown wide open and spilling the bright light that illuminated the inside and the growing noise of the party as people traversed in and out of the house. 

Irene and the driver were not far behind you, a familiar flirtatious bounce in her step as they traipse up the lawn. You knew from the way she looked at him一predatorial, like she was going to devour him but make him feel like he was the one doing the stalking一that you wouldn’t be seeing much of her after a certain point in the night. This wasn’t uncommon for Irene, she always said she liked the “thrill of the chase without having to do the chasing.” You supposed your own plans for tonight weren’t all that different, what with your search for the host. Usually that would’ve bothered you, as you didn’t particularly approve of Irene’s galavanting at events she shouldn’t really be present at in the first place, but tonight you were too wrapped up in the events unfolding to care all that much. 

The tiered silk of your dress swished against your calves, the heavy beading giving it a swing which accentuated the swing of your hips that grew with your confidence as you made your way up the wide steps leading to Ten’s front door. With each stride you take forward the noise inside seemed to dull a bit, fading away until it was just a buzzing murmur in the background. Your vision zeroes in on the mahogany doors, a small window to what felt almost like a whole other universe contained inside the mansion. You tended to get star-struck easily, but there was something different about the feeling tonight. An excitement burned in your veins, one you had never felt before, as if your body was in the know about some mysterious outcome or event of tonight. It felt as though you were surrounded by a bubble of water that hazed over the silhouettes of people and faded the harmonies of the symphony buzzing somewhere inside, laughter and the faint clinking of glasses tinny in your ears. 

There was something about the atmosphere that drew you in. You would never quite be able to explain the feeling, that odd tugging deep in your chest yanking you forward by some invisible string of fate. All feeling seemed to have left you except the aching want to throw yourself into the fray and dance until your feet fell off, drink until the sun came up, feel the burn of others’ cigarette smoke in your lungs until you choked, search for a companion until you found the right one. 

Time had slowed, and the usual clacking of your heels deepened to a hearty thud for each step you took. Every movement dragged you farther down under the surface, your sense of anything outside the confines of the house melting away until you had been utterly consumed by the muted liveliness of the party before you had even joined in. Everything happened so fast for being in slow motion, and before you could get the gears turning once again and recognize that you were no longer on the path leading to the steps Jaehyun was leading you through the double doors. The bubble popped. Imaginary water came crashing down around you, streaming off your hair and down your dress. The sensation was so strong you could swear that you felt the rivulets on your arms, the dampness of your hair on your neck. 

Everything was suddenly crystal clear, blurred forms regaining their sharp edges and an almost overwhelming surge of music and din of conversation assaulting your senses all at once. You look down at the ground, somewhat disoriented and almost expecting a puddle of water underneath you, drips falling from the hem of your dress, but there was nothing. The ground was dry, as it should be, and you shook your head slightly to yourself in hopes it would draw you back to reality a bit. 

As Jaehyun tugs you along, slipping nimbly through the crowds gathered in the tastefully decorated foyer, you simultaneously began to regain your wits and let your thoughts drift. An odd mix of cigar smoke, lust, and overbearing perfume hung in the air, threatening to put you in a trance and drag you away. There was always a feeling of disconnection with the world around you that creeped in at Ten’s parties. Often you would let it carry you away, but tonight you were here for more than just your own enjoyment, and so you clung to Jaehyun like a lifeline. He would glance back at you every few seconds, a reassuring smile on his face as your hand on his arm began to squeeze just a little tighter, the tiniest bit afraid you would lose him in the kinetic chaos of dancing and laughing. 

No guest goes without a glass of something to wash their inhibitions right down the drain, and many swipe the tiny sandwiches or pastries offered by butlers expertly balancing platters of hors d'oeuvres in hand as they expertly navigate through the throngs of people. You’re no black sheep tonight, for Jaehyun presses a glass of expensive champagne into your hand as you seek a somewhat less crowded place to enjoy the night, a replica clutched in his own. There are none who stand alone in this crowd, either surrounded by a group just as free spirited as themselves or paired off, hanging off their partners’ arms and not so subtly sneaking suggestive glances at each other. 

For each corner you turn you see a familiar face一an old acquaintance from school, a friend’s sister, the man who works at the bank. But just as quickly as you recognize them their  identities slip from your mind, partly from a combination of the overwhelming amount of people crowding around you on every side and the buzz of energy and alcohol. 

Ten’s parties were known for being quite anonymous to those looking for a good time. Those in attendance would always see people they knew outside the bubble of safety Long Island offered on night like these, yet no matter how scandalous their behavior it would never become public knowledge. Gossip was unavoidable, yet that was always how it stayed一mere gossip for the wealthy ladies to discuss over tea. As darkness fell over the bay so came a cloak of anonymity that drew in people like moths to a lightpost. 

An hour or so of aimlessly wandering the three story mansion, people have dispersed a bit which means that the rooms are a bit easier to navigate, though there is still no lack of bodies. You trail along through the groups of dancers, some getting drunk, all throwing caution to the wind (perhaps a little too much). The symphony had changed songs, now playing something with a bit more of a sexy tone to it and you sway slightly along to the beat as you walk. Idly chatting with Jaehyun, one hand on his arm and the other filled with a glass of something sticky sweet to replace the long gone champagne, the two of you traverse through Ten’s mansion, both surveying the rooms and glancing at the people passing by. 

He’s got quite the handsome face, and most people wouldn’t look past that on a night such as this. But he’s looking for something tonight, you can see it in his eyes. The subtle way his gaze flicks up and down the figures of women in dresses fancier than yours as he uses eyeing the crowds for a clearish path as an excuse to not be looking solely at you. The slight desire he holds as his eyes take in the people milling about matches exactly with the look he gave you when you first sat down next to him in Irene’s friend’s car, and the way he flicks nervously between observing the other women in the room and you, still holding fast to his arm, lets you know that he’s not yet sure if you’re what he wants. 

It doesn’t bother you though. He’s not what you’re looking for tonight either. 

You’re looking for Ten. Though you only vaguely knew what he looked like, you always kept one eye sliding over the many people you run across, hoping to see a face that would strike you as the one person that intrigues you most. You’ve always heard rumors that he never seems to be present at the parties he throws, but personally you have a hunch that he likes to hide in the cover of the crowds. You’ve done your fair share of research about the man, not that drunken recollections and idle gossip are much to go off of, but none of the people you’ve asked about him seem to care all that much. Free drinks, a good time, and the beautiful people that crowded into Ten’s mansion was enough to make most forget about the mysterious host within a matter of minutes. 

But not you. He intrigues you too much, and though you’ve been tempted to drown yourself in the pleasure offered up on all sides, your quest to find Ten is more important. 

Not so important that you can’t enjoy yourself as you search though. Jaehyun is good company, and the two of you mingle amongst the other guests. As you drift along, you meet people you would never believe were really there, had really talked with you, were it not for the reputation that Ten’s extravaganzas held and the fact that you had seen them with your own eyes. Actors, musicians, the richest of the rich, all to be found in the same house at the same time. Supposedly he knew many of them personally and had genuinely invited them. Many of the stories you’ve heard sounded more like they were just fantasies that had been made up with the help of some strong liquor and many expensive looking partygoers, but it seemed as though there was more truth to them than expected. Ten was a strange figure, and while most just take advantage of the numerous bars and sensually lit gardens, you’re itching to get to the bottom of the mystery that is Ten Lee. 

After several hours of drifting here and there in the house, you and Jaehyun find your way down to the gardens. The party still rages on the lawns, though there are a few less people and a bit more space. It's just as well lit as inside, and the alcohol flows just as plentily. Your surroundings are somewhat more tame, as people have more space to move around and less reason to do so. 

After exploring the gardens for a while, you nudge Jaehyun and tell him that your feet have begun to feel tired, after all standing around in heels for several hours isn’t exactly the most fun you’ve ever had. The two of you find a place to sit quickly, and you settle at a table already set up with a small group. A company of eight gorgeous figures sit there, several paired off with a partner equally as stunning on their arm. (You have to wonder; were only those perceived by the host as beautiful invited? What of those who just showed up?) Irene is among them, the reason you had decided on this particular table. She shares a drink with the driver from earlier, talking with you when necessary though most of her attention was focused on the man on her right. You sit to her left, with Jaehyun on yours. Swirling your drink around, you do your best to pay attention to Irene, although it’s not going so well. 

Something, or someone, has caught your eye. 

Your attention is brought back to the conversation you’re supposed to be participating in when Irene laughs一a high pitched sound that could be perceived as either mellifluous or grating depending on your temperament一as tonight’s beaux says something that’s supposed to be funny. You don’t think he’s particularly humorous but half heartedly play along anyway, eyes unabashedly set on the man sitting across the table and to the right a bit. 

He’s truly ethereal, both in looks and mannerisms. With a sharp and elegantly curved nose, dark hair swept tastefully to the side, and a sparkle of something dangerous you can’t quite place but find attractive anyway in his catlike eyes, he draws stares not just from you, but all across the garden. The sharp contrasting colors of his tuxedo seem to brighten his honeyed skin, his every movement graceful as he entrances you, all dazzling smiles and pretty features. 

You can tell that he’s so much more than that though. There are layers and layers to this man, all hidden just below the surface, and you feel the desire to claw your way into him and analyse every bit swelling somewhere in the back of your mind as he catches your eyes locked on him. His smile grows just the slightest bit before he turns back to the light flirtation he seemed to be pressing upon the woman next to him.

Though he had been an ideal partner for the earlier parts of the night, Jaehyun is almost forgotten in the presence of this new man. However, not so much that you don’t notice his attention drifting to another table. Watching his line of vision, you locate the young woman he has his eyes set on. She’s not hard to find, beautiful even compared to the other guests she’s gathered with. Wearing a slinky red dress topped with a fur shawl, she’s certainly quite the sight to see, and your companion has been observing her for a while now. 

It appears you weren’t what he was looking for after all. 

“Jaehyun,” you say, sipping on your drink delicately, “You should go on without me for a bit. I see how you’re eyeing the bar over there.” 

It’s a lie. His eyes flick from you back in the direction the woman in red was for just a second, and though it barely happened, a subtle movement that seemed instinctive, ot’s enough to give him away. Though he does his best not to show it you can see the recognition that you’ve seen through his show of keeping his eyes solely on you dawning in his eyes. 

“Ahh, but I shouldn’t leave you alone.” Still the same gentleman you met in the back of the automobile. Or perhaps he was just putting up appearances, there was no way to tell. It didn’t really matter anyway, you had your sights set on something higher than the possibility of the deeper fragments of this man’s personality. 

“I’ll be fine,” you wave off his concerns nonchalantly. “I’m not alone anyway, I’ve got Irene here!” At the sound of her name your friend looks over, leaning on the tabe slightly as she sends a wink at you and Jaehyun. 

You read the wink as more of a “I see you eyeing your man, if you don’t disappear with him it’s quite a shame and I might just take the responsibility upon myself,” although you were hoping Jaehyun, who you assumed was unused to Irene’s wiley charms, would see it as more of a “I’ve got Y/n, you go on now.” 

Either way, he seemed to take the hint, although he remained reluctant. 

You pat his arm, “You go and have fun, Jaehyun, I don’t want to drag you down.”

“Not at all,” he replied gently, and it seemed to you almost calculated the way his eyes didn’t stray from you in the moment. You weren’t sure why he was bothering to keep up the premise that he would be returning, that his interest in you hadn’t evaporated the moment the fur shawled woman pulled his attention to her the very first time. You both knew, and no one around you was aware enough of their surroundings to pay you any attention. But no matter, it wasn’t important to you.

“Well,” his words are hesitant, as if unsure of his decision, “if you insist. Would you like me to grab you anything?” 

“No, no, thank you but I’m alright.”

As he stands up and pushes his chair back into place, Jaehyun gives you one last look. It’s apologetic, he isn’t particularly proud of the way he was just leaving you for someone a bit more flashy and boisterous. But again, you don’t care. He can either deal with the guilt in the morning or drink enough to forget the whole night, it was no longer your problem. It hadn’t been since you locked eyes with the pretty man across the table. 

Before Jaehyun was even out of sight the man you had been watching across the table catches your gaze once again. This time he stands and sidles over to the chair on your left that Jaehyun had abandoned moments before, sitting lightly beside you. 

“Good evening.” His voice, low and silky with a hint of an accent you can’t quite recognize, would have knocked you right over if you were the swooning main character of some unrealistic romance film. He takes your hand and presses it to his lips, a coy smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“Might I ask whose presence I’ve been graced with tonight?” he inquires, and you tell him your name. “Miss Y/n,” he repeats. "Pretty." You raise an eyebrow at this, enjoying his efforts nonetheless. 

“And you? What’s your name?” 

He merely hums in response. “Has anyone told you that you look gorgeous tonight darling?” You let his avoidance slide, momentarily moving on. Some people wished to not reveal themselves, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t continue to enjoy his company.

“They have, in fact,” you say, thinking back to Jaehyun. You glance across the room but he’s long gone, the woman dressed in red having disappeared as well. 

“As it should be.”

Your attention is drawn back to your current suitor, and the nights former flirtations are quickly forgotten as conversation strikes up between the two of you. Every other word out of his is some flirtation or another, and you absolutely bask in the attention that the cat eyed man lays on you. His forearms are leaned on the table, and he’s staring up at you as if you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. You’re sure that your face mirrors his, but in your case it’s true. He really is the most strikingly beautiful human being you’ve ever had the pleasure to set eyes on. And for the moment, he’s all yours. 

There’s something oddly familiar about him though, and the fact that you can’t figure out why is rubbing you the wrong way. It would be quite impossible to forget a face like that. The feeling is not so much recognition as it is that odd niggling feeling of deja vu that plagues your thoughts in a situation that you know you’ve never experienced before. You try to stay slightly wary of his presence, but he’s downright entrancing and your focus slips to his stunning features every time you feel like you’re approaching the answer as to who he is. 

You’re unsure of how much time has passed when he leans closer to you, lips brushing lightly against the hair falling over your ear. “Perhaps we could find somewhere we could talk a little bit more一” He sets a hand on your waist and a shiver runs up your spine一 “privately.” 

You grin slyly as he pulls away, awaiting an answer with his own smirk. 

“It would be my pleasure.” You glance over to Irene, thinking you should let her know that you would be sneaking off for a while, but she was already gone.

And so, all suspicion tossed right out the window, you follow this handsome stranger. His arm tucked securely around yours, the two of you dash up through the bright gardens, whisking by the tables full of couples making eyes at each other and under the pretty strings of lights, up the lawn and once again through the french doors, still wide open, although with less people flooding in and out. You duck through the crowd of people still meandering around in the foyer, expertly weaving around dancers and drinkers. He takes you through the ballrooms and up a few grand sets of grand staircases, which you certainly would have tripped down were it not for the tight grip he had now moved to your waist. 

“You seem to know your way around quite well, do you come here often?” you inquire as you slip down a hallway that was mostly devoid of guests. 

That odd, dangerous glint you saw when you first caught sight of him reappeared in his eyes. “You could say that,” he chuckled.

Before you could wrap your head around what that meant he was pulling you into a spacious bedroom at the end of the hall and letting his hold on you cease to draw the door shut behind him. You turn away from him and marvel at the bedroom he had chosen. The room (which you assume to be a spare) is although fairly simple obviously belonging to someone extremely wealthy. 

A pretty chandelier hangs from the ceiling, and you have the feeling that the cufflinks scattered across the desk and the edging of the mirror above the vanity might just be real gold. You can see expensive velvet peeking out of the slightly ajar wardrobe, and just from glancing at them think the bedsheets to be silk. 

The only light in the room comes from the golden gleam of the gardens spilling through the french windows. The pretty glow gives the moment a sensuous and romantic feel, and you turn back to the cat-eyed man. He basks in the golden light, as if he knows that it's good to his complexion, accentuating the honeyed tone of his skin and shining in his hair. 

A hopeful smile works it’s way across your face, a gleam of eros in your eye as you take a step closer to him, hoping he doesn’t turn out to be a total bore like many of the men you meet at parties. A matching desire shows on his face, fingers reaching up to begin working at the black material of his bowtie. He expertly undoes the knot, and tosses the inconsequential scrap of fabric to the side. 

Placing a hand on your waist, he draws you towards himself as he takes small steps backwards, eventually landing against the wall with a slight thud. Your arms wind their way around his neck, and you press yourself up against him, sandwiching his lithe body between yours and the wall. 

As he traces your features with his eyes, a slight change occurs deep within them, a darkness pooling in his pupils and that familiar hint of danger from earlier making itself present once again. 

The corners of his mouth tug upwards slightly, and as he leans forward you tilt your head to nudge your nose against his, eyes fluttering shut. You meet him halfway, lips pressed together in a light kiss, almost as if you were just testing the waters, unsure as to whether you were truly interested. 

And, come to find out, you definitely were. His mouth was soft on yours, keeping your pace for the moment. You draw back for a moment, taking a breath and reinitiating the kiss, plunging yourself into his mysterious depths. 

He tastes of secrecy and some sweet cordial you can’t quite place, and you have never known something quite so heavenly. The heavy feeling of his mouth on yours is addictive, all your senses alight at once, and your hands grasp the lapels of his jacket, trying to draw him closer despite there being no space left between you. 

“What should I call you?” you whisper against his lips as you come up for air. His eyes flick open, meeting your own as you take a step back and pull him along to slip your hands under the shoulders of his jacket. He chuckles slightly, detaching your hold on him to undo the button and slip out of his jacket, hanging it over the back of the chair before the vanity. 

“That doesn’t matter.” His hands resume their rightful place on your waist, one sliding down to your hip and drawing you into his figure. “Just enjoy yourself.”

“Oh, trust me,” you press a kiss to his jaw, taking his hand and slinking out of his embrace to place yourself on the end of the bed, “I am.” (You don’t notice until later, but the sheets were in fact silk.)

You tug him along to where you sit, bringing him forward and between your knees. You tilt your head upward as your hands come to rest on his waist, sealing your lips together again. 

You lose yourself to him, the feeling of his thin, wandering fingers tracing your silhouette and the way he pays the same amount of attention to every inch of your body, as if he was trying to memorize every dip and curve of your figure under the silk of your dress. The sweet taste of his mouth entrances you, and when he moves to press his lips to your neck or the line of your jaw between long winded kisses you feel as though you’ve ascended. 

Time no longer exists in the muted bubble of a third floor bedroom in an unfamiliar house. Perhaps it’s only been seconds, and maybe you’ve been locking lips with a handsome stranger for hours, the party melting away to make way for dawn to dutifully traipse her way into the sky. Nothing matters anymore, you’re far too immersed in the passion of the moment to pay much attention to anything other than your unnamed lover. 

Though in reality it’s only physical, he’s explored you so much that you feel with each slide of his tongue against yours he reveals another one of your secrets, one of your stories, something only you know. Despite the intimate impersonality of finding a lover in a stranger, despite the illusion of invasiveness that his careful movements bring, you want to fully surrender yourself to this feeling. Breaking a particularly lengthy kiss, he presses on your shoulder to get you to lean back, and you rest your weight on one hand behind you, the other busy clutching at the silky strands of his hair. 

“You know,” you say, words broken in between the slotting of your mouths back together, “I came to this party in search of the ever so elusive Ten Lee, but goodness一” you press a particularly sloppy kiss to his lips, and he hisses as you tug gently on his hair一 “I do believe I’ve found something much better.”

“Oh, darling, don’t you see?” He presses on your shoulder again, and you fall back to sprawl yourself across the bed. He hovers over you, dipping to kiss the corner of your mouth. “I am Ten.” 

With a smirk that would haunt you for the rest of your days, he gives you one last mindblowing kiss before evaporating into the shadows of the room, straightening the black vest he wore and slipping his suit jacket back on. As you pushed yourself back up so you were supported by your hands behind you, dazed and trying to comprehend what he had just whispered against your skin, Ten turned to look at you. He threw you one last look, a dangerous, beautiful look, before slinking out the door, back into the whirlwind of dancing and debauchery. 

That night would never leave your mind. 

No matter how many parties you attended, no matter how many men circulated through your life, no matter how much you drank, you could never forget Ten. And you’ve tried. He would forever live in your mind, fleeting thoughts of a bedroom flooded with golden light, of his discarded suit jacket, of that gleam in his eyes the first time you saw him.

It would take you many years and much consideration to finally figure out what that look in his eye was, that strange mirth you had never seen another wearing. Later in life, when you’re much wiser and have experienced more than your younger self who met Ten could even imagine, it comes to you one day. You realise that he seemed to find as much pleasure in the facade he presented to the world, the fanciful rumors and scandalous whispers that followed him like a shadow, as he did in the heated intimacy you shared in a darkened bedroom one night of the Roaring Twenties. 

You would attend many more parties held in that mansion, sometimes dragged along by Irene, sometimes finding yourself there alone and unsure of why a somewhat faded memory keeps leading you back here. Every time, you held onto a fleeting hope that you could see just a glance, a sliver of the man you met that fateful night. But as much as you held onto the notion that you would see him again someday, you knew it was foolish. Ten’s reputation preceded him, and he liked to uphold that reputation. 

True to your logic, Ten would never make himself known to you again. For years you would search, a futile attempt to prove to yourself he wasn’t just something you dreamed up in the haze of alcohol and the feeling of weightlessness one can only find on Long Island Sound on Saturday nights as the extravagant parties thrown by a man who rarely showed his face rage on. 

Ten Lee, larger than life, beautiful, nebulous Ten Lee, truly was elusive, barely more than a shadow to his grand reputation.

[cerberus253]

How would Drago react to the trauma of a loved one? Drago does not seem particularly caring and hardly knows how, but this is an EXCEPTION. To some extent, his "property" and og is tied to this special person. He could?What if ... Drago accidentally injures him? Oh shit, I thought he would protect this person from Shendu?

Drago would NOT be the best with comfort, that’s for sure.

He’d probably try to brush aside the trauma-reaction the s/o expresses so he wouldn’t have to deal with it-- HOWEVER, it’s not because he doesn’t care, he just has NO idea what to do, so he’d rather push it under the rug instead of focusing on it so the Big Sad doesn’t stay and damage the s/o further, but of course, that’s not how trauma is helped.

Eventually he will have to acknowledge and face the s/o’s trauma, and most likely talk with and listen to them. He’d be obviously on edge, and that would make the s/o nervous and worse, but one must understand he’s afraid of saying/doing the wrong thing and screwing up. Drago’s go-to phrase would probably be “It’s fine!“ or “You’re fine!“ in a panicked and aggressive tone because that’s reassurance, right? Saying that everything is okay and whatever happened is all over, or it can be forgotten about because it’s not important anymore, right? WRONG! And you of all people should know that, Little Prince!

I’m not sure if Drago would ever Git Gud at comfort for trauma verbally without being like Prince Zuko’s, “That’s rough, buddy,“ but a lot more hesitant and uncomfortable because this is still very new to him and he has no idea if what he’s saying is correct. However, I do think Drago would be decent with the “being there“ part. Like I’ve said before, of course he isn’t cuddly at first, and only deep in the relationship he will be okay with it, but just being next to the s/o while they are going through something would be a lot easier for him. Yeah, he’d still be uncomfortable if one begins to cry on his shoulder, but he’ll reluctantly accept it, but like I’ve said, this is all new to him, so he will screw up a lot. Like, he may push the s/o away if they try to be physically comforted by Drago, but try it again, and he probably would accept it. Just warn him first, maybe? So he doesn’t freak out, which then in turn freaks the s/o out as well? He has no idea what to do, nor what to say; you can imagine the pressure he’s under, but also keep in mind he DOES want to help, he’s just...scared.

Now, going to what’s also in your question of what if Drago himself, or Shendu, did something to cause the s/o’s trauma.

Starting with Drago, and adding in what I just said earlier, he’d be even more terrified of screwing up AGAIN to make the s/o resent him. It would also make it more difficult for him to give physical-interaction comfort. Drago would actively be more reluctant with hugs because of his fear of hurting them AGAIN. However, AGAIN, I’m pretty sure you can convince him to do said comfort if shown you forgive him. Now, talking about what happened is more difficult. It is more difficult because he wouldn’t want to talk about it; he does not want to be reminded of what he did because he knew (after it happened) it was wrong. So, when trying to discuss it with him, he will be very aggressive, growly, and defensive during the conversation. It is entirely possible to talk to him about it, but the s/o needs to be calm and careful with their words so Drago doesn’t close himself off too much. Yeah, it sounds like a LOT of work on the s/o’s half, but like I said, that’s something you have to look forward to when dating a damaged person.

Next, let’s say Shendu did something to the s/o to cause trauma. Of course Drago would be furious with his Dad, but he’d also be furious with himself for not protecting the s/o, and the s/o themselves because, dude, why’d you put yourself in that situation in the first place?? You knew this was a huge possibility of happening! Drago would definitely confront the s/o first, being extremely upset, with yelling, roaring, a lot of exaggerated movement with the arms because he’s dramatic sometimes, etc. But, like I have said before, he’s mad not because of the s/o’s slight carelessness, but also because he’s absolutely terrified at the idea of losing the s/o. He could have fucking lost the only living thing he cared about and that made him feel accepted and loved. Like, dude. So, yeah, guilt tripping would be a thing, but remember he’s scared and has no idea what to do because this is all new to him and yadda yadda yadda. Of course the s/o would have to talk to him about how to verbally express his emotions without being malicious about it, and that’s a whole other conversation, but the main point to take away form this is Drago DOES want to help, he just has no idea how to, and that leads to panic, which then leads to aggression. More often than not he is very little blaming the s/o. He may sound like he’s blaming them, but in truth he isn’t. Well, at least deep down inside he isn’t. Being blinded by rage and fear makes one blame others around them, but once calmed down and thought about, they realize it’s not entirely the other party’s fault. Remember, kids, in reality, to some degree, it’s everyone’s fault, not just a single party’s :V

Oh, and, uh, Drago would probably try to “talk” to Shendu about what happened, but of course it’s just going to be yelling and screaming and violence, and nothing will really get done. Hopefully Drago doesn’t do/say something to get beaten by his Dad. Oof.

Sorry this took awhile to answer; I was surprisingly busy these past days, but it’s here now!

[et-lesailes]

safe place

pairing: chris evans x reader

word count: 3500 waow

summary: while clubbing in boston, you happen to see your favorite actor, none other than chris evans himself. unfortunately, his anxiety seems to be acting up again, and you can tell. you have a plan to help him out, and even though you know fully well you could embarrass yourself, you’ve gotta try it for him.

themes: this is just pretty chill n fluffy, highlights struggles with anxiety as well!

taglist: @viarogers , @evanstush , @chibi-crazy , @chalamet-evans , @world-of-losers , @songforhema, @sebabestianstan101 , @tanyam93 , @bval-1, @wonderwinchester , @little-miss-exo, @poerebel , @pining-and-tired , @gogomez-509 , @patzammit, @a-distantdreamer, @malthestorytellerblog, @rainbowkisses31, @jbug491writinghelp, @quaiderade

note: yeah kinda had sudden muse for this out of nowhere hence the longer word count, and i really luv discussing mental health so i thought it could be kind of interesting to talk about anxiety in this one. tbh i feel like it’s a lot of rambling so i apologize in advance! hope you all like it though!

It had been a while since you had been out with your girlfriends, but now that everyone was back home in Boston for at least some of the summer, it was a good chance to catch up with the friends you had made back in high school and reminisce on all of the good times. You had remained in Boston for work along with a couple of others, but everyone else had moved to all different parts of the country-- it seemed like a miracle in itself that everyone was able to make it back at the same time, but you had also all planned for this. To take the same week off from work, summer classes, whatever it was everyone was doing-- all to go back home and reconvene as one big group.

It was Friday night, and you were ready to hit the clubs. You inspected yourself in the mirror of your apartment where everyone had decided to gather to get ready, smiling satisfied at what you saw. A typical LBD was perfect for a night like this-- yes, it was cliche, but you didn’t care. You looked good. It was just the right amount of revealing, showcasing cleavage and legs that managed to look slightly lengthier thanks to the shoes you had picked for the night, and you had actually decided to do your hair for once. “Whew! You look sexy!” your friend Delia complimented, and you shot her a little grin. “Thanks, Del. So do you, red is really your color.”

After taking at least a couple more shots, you were all ready to go. Piling into an UberXL, you made your way deeper into the city where the best nightlife was, reveling in just the perfect amount of buzz and feeling ready for anything. You had been planning on dancing with a few guys tonight, maybe getting a little action in, but nothing serious. You definitely had not been expecting on meeting him.

_____________

As a group of young women, it was rather easy to get access to VIP. Besides, a majority of you had been brought up in Boston; by now, you knew people, had connections. You were currently lounging on a plush leather couch with a fifteen dollar drink in your hand, deciding to worry about the consequences the next day. Most of your friends were off dancing with other people they had befriended in the club, so it was just you and a couple others chilling, drinking, and talking-- and then you suddenly felt a rough nudge to your arm. “Ouch. Gabby, what the hell?” You wrinkled your nose though you were mostly exaggerating, looking to her with more amusement than anything. “What?” However, you were far more intrigued upon seeing the shock upon her face as she was staring at something a little further away. You followed her gaze, only seeing a crowd of people and iPhone camera flashes in the next couch area a few feet away. “What?” you repeated yourself, craning your neck trying to see what the big deal was. You could see a Red Sox cap sticking out from the center, but that was not anything interesting considering you were literally 3 miles away from Fenway.

And then the figure with the cap moved slightly, and you almost spit out your drink.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Gabby seemed to have found her voice again, her eyes widening. “That’s Chris fuckin’ Evans. Oh my God, should we go say hi?” You still had your eyes on him, unable to help it-- God, he was even more gorgeous in person. You were about to agree instantly, the awe practically taking over your inebriated mind. Of course you wanted to say hi. You had loved Marvel for years now, and Captain America was your favorite Avenger. Not only that, but you had taken a liking to Chris’ acting because of his Marvel movies, which had encouraged you to watch several others. Living in Boston, it had always been a hope of yours that you would somehow run into him, but you never imagined it would actually happen. And now here he was, standing about five feet away from you-- sure, he was surrounded by girls, but you and Gabby could totally squeeze through.

But then you stopped to actually look at him. Not in the fangirling, celebrity idolizing way, but just to actually look at him. You could see on his face that he looked a little tired. Like his smile was forced. It did not seem disrespectful to you, but more so that he was… overwhelmed. He was still taking pictures with every single girl around him, even making effort in having conversation, but you caught every single sign. The frequent looking around, eyes not focused on one thing or one person. How he’d take off his hat and run his hand through his hair, but practically every ten seconds. The slight inward tug of his bottom lip, and while he made it look sexy, it was obvious he was not doing it to be seductive. You had listened to interviews of Chris speaking of his anxiety, and considering you had faced it before and had friends who did as well, it was hard not to see the signs. Now, if anything, you were getting a little pissed at these clubbers surrounding him, even though you were almost quite literally going to be one yourself.

“He seems a little on edge right now,” you noted, frowning slightly. “Maybe we should wait a bit, yeah? It’s not like VIP’s that crowded anyways, so hopefully once those girls leave him alone we can have a chance to just say hi or something.” Gabby sighed loudly but nodded her head. “Okay, okay, fine. But I’m gonna head downstairs to tell the girls. You stay here and keep an eye on him!”

“Wait--” you started to say, not wanting her to spread the news, but she was already leaving in a tipsy fit of giggles and excitement. You sighed and looked back towards him. He seemed even worse than before, and it had only been five seconds.

And then an idea came to you, and you nibbled on your lower lip wondering if you could really be that drunk or if this was just actually a brilliant plan. No. No, no. It was crazy. Absolutely insane, really, and you would look like a total idiot if it didn’t work. Which it most likely wouldn’t.

And so you downed the rest of your drink, barely fazed by the bitter taste of alcohol at this point as you stood up, taking a deep breath. Walking right over, you called out as loudly and confidently as possible over the music. “Chris? Chris! Chris, is that you? Oh my God, it’s been so long since I’ve seen you last! I can’t believe you’re back in town, this is great!”

Everyone immediately turned around to look at you, and you prayed that your cheeks weren’t burning. God, what had you done? How drunk could you be? Part of you wanted to simply turn around and run away, it wasn’t like you’d ever see him again. But you watched his reaction, hoping your own expression was visible enough to him to show that you were very clearly hinting at him to go along with it. At least, if anything, this pressure was helping in somewhat distracting you from how damn handsome he looked up close. How was it possible that the camera didn’t do him justice when he looked so hot in all of his photos?

Yeah, maybe you still were a little caught up in how handsome he was.

He seemed a little confused for a second, but suddenly, the corner of his lips tugged upwards. Your heart raced faster. Was he about to laugh at you, humiliate you in front of his fangirls? Or was your plan working? “Holy shit,” he stated, lightly pushing himself through the small crowd to step closer to you. “I didn’t know you were still in town, that’s crazy! Fuck, how long has it been? A year? Two? I’m so happy to see you!” You could not believe it; there were at least a million thoughts running through your mind right now. He actually went along with it. He’s standing right in front of me now. He’s smiling at me, having a direct conversation with me. And he swore, oh God, he sounds so hot swearing…

You snapped yourself back to reality. This was not about meeting your idol at the moment, this was about helping someone with what could turn into a straight up panic attack if this kept on any longer. You smiled back at him brightly before looking around at everyone, clearing your throat. He might have had to be polite because he had an image to protect, but you did not. “Excuse me, can you please leave us alone? Chris is one of my friends and I’d like to be able to catch up with him. And I’m pretty sure half of you aren’t even supposed to be up here…” you commented with a raised eyebrow, eyes glancing towards the lack of VIP wristbands on their arms. There was a lot of scoffing, huffing, and bitchy glares, but they eventually turned away, all furiously typing away on their phones most likely posting photos on every social media site possible. 

You exhaled just as he did, looking up at him and clearing your throat. “I can, uh, leave you alone if you want. I swear I didn’t just do this to be able to talk to you too, I just noticed you looked a little… stressed.” You paused before quickly adding, “Not that I don’t want to talk to you. I mean, fuck, I love your shit, you know? I think you’re a great actor. But you shouldn’t be swarmed by fans or anything. So, yeah, I can leave.” After that word vomit, you decided the only proper way to do said leaving was flinging yourself off the balcony. But instead, he just smiled wider as he looked down at you, shaking his head. “No, no. Of course not. I really appreciate what you did for me back there, trust me.” He tilted his head, seeming curious. “Did I really look stressed?” You blinked but nodded truthfully, biting your lip. “It just looked like a typical bout of anxiety to me, if we’re being honest,” you told him, then wondered if that was somehow offensive. “I mean, I know just because you mentioned having it doesn’t mean you’re just always some anxious person, and I’m not trying to assume anything either but I’ve also had experiences with it too so it’s kind of easier to catch signs, you know? But if I was wrong then I’m really so-”

“You weren’t wrong,” he cut you off, but he was still smiling kindly at you. Damn, his eyes are beautiful. “Yeah, I was definitely feeling a little crowded back there. So thank you. Really. What’s your name? Can I buy you a drink?” You looked up at him somewhat shocked. “Me? Oh, please, you really don’t have to do that,” you shook your head, not wanting him to feel obliged to you in any means whatsoever, even though a drink would Chris Evans would probably be all you needed to die happy. “I’m sure you have friends waiting on you or something, really, it’s okay. I genuinely just wanted to help.” He raised an eyebrow, slightly stepping closer and it was taking you everything not to creepily deeply inhale from how good his cologne smelt. “And I genuinely want to buy you a drink,” he spoke with an amused grin, eyes twinkling even more than before. “Please. Or if you don’t drink, I can at least get you a--”

“Oh I drink.” You cut him off way too fast, then realized afterwards. “Okay, but like, I don’t mean I’m an alcoholic or anything, I just--” you finally just sighed loudly, looking down for a few seconds before looking up at him, silently cursing your brain for not allowing you to sober up at least a little. Despite the fact that it was solely your fault for having decided to chug a freaking vodka sour. “Okay, yes. Let’s do this. But-- unfortunately my friend is about to bring my entire horde of friends up here, so let’s try a different bar in this club.” He was laughing as he listened to you, but it did not feel mean or embarrassing; he simply seemed like he was actually having a fun time with you, almost as if he were a friend. He then blinked, curious and slightly confused. “In this club? Is there another one, besides the VIP one and the general one downstairs?” You laughed softly, nodding your head. “You gotta come back to Boston more! They just opened a rooftop one upstairs that’s way less crowded, but it’s pretty exclusive.” You raised a brow, continuing, “But I’m pretty sure we won’t have any problem getting in...” He chuckled and it was a deep rumble of heaven, but you forced yourself not to be annoying or even more triggering towards his anxiety. “Well, that would have been nice to know earlier, but I’m glad I at least get to know it from you. Lead the way….” he trailed off, waiting for a name to use. You giggled lightly at the slight flirtation, in disbelief that it was even happening but of course introduced yourself, lightly taking his outstretched arm and walking towards the staircase to the roof.

_____________

“Sebastian said that to you? Oh my God, that’s hilarious.” You laughed upon listening to a story he was telling you from a drunken night he, Sebastian Stan, and Anthony Mackie had shared in LA, a beam spread across your entire face. “You guys seem like such cute friends.” He laughed and nodded his head fondly, looking out towards the view. “Eh, they’re alright, I suppose,” he spoke playfully, and you giggled for the hundredth time within that hour, looking out towards the city lights yourself. 

The two of you had been chatting away, the peaceful nighttime air and breeze definitely helping you in sobering up a little more. Not that you had been absolutely trashed before, but you wanted to be as present in this moment as possible. You knew something like this would never happen again, but you were trying not to think about that. You loved that he was also asking you questions about yourself, and seemed sincerely interested, at that. He was so easy to converse with, so relaxed and thoughtful, you felt bad knowing what his anxiety could do to such a kindhearted person like him. You were sure he would have loved to be like this with all of his fans, but he had even explained to you himself that it was difficult for him to be in front of big crowds. “I know that seems kinda ridiculous coming from a Hollywood actor,” he said with a sigh, chuckling lightly, “but I can’t control it, ya know? I wish I could.” You nodded sympathetically, unable to even imagine what it would be like having to deal with such conflict in his current occupation. 

“But what about you?” he asked, surprising you again even though he had shown genuine interest in you and your life this entire time. “You said you’ve dealt with anxiety before, too?” You nodded with a sigh, taking a sip of your drink. “It used to be pretty bad for me in high school. I guess high school’s just a rough time in general, though,” you said with a laugh, shrugging your shoulders. “I still get attacks every now and then, but I’ve learned how to cope with it much better. Definitely better than hormonal, puberty ridden me, anyways,” you chuckled. He laughed too and you tried to ignore how adorable the sound as well as his face was when he did so. “Mm. Definitely don’t wanna reminisce on those days,” he playfully shuddered before tilting his head with interest. “How do you cope with it?” You could not believe Chris Evans was here asking you for advice, but you pondered this over. “I guess this is common sense and easier said than done, but I think I’m just a lot better at being able to mentally step back from a situation and think it through more logically when I’m feeling anxious. I just go through a rundown in my head and remind myself that it’s okay. It also helps distracting myself from it by talking to friends, like to call my best friend if I’m feeling down or weird about something.” You told him, barely biting your lip-- you had never really talked about such topics with any guys before, and it was crazy how it felt so comfortable with a celebrity. 

“Yeah? Well maybe next time you could call me, too?” he asked, and you were practically baffled. “Like, on my cell phone?” you asked rather dumbly, then closed your eyes as you rubbed your forehead. “Okay, yeah. Duh. My cell phone. It’s not like I own a landline. Who really does anymore, besides old people. But I mean--” you stopped and collected your thoughts briefly before looking up at him. “You’d really feel comfortable giving me your phone number? And you actually want to… talk?” He laughed again, even tilting his head back slightly before nodding with a wide smile. “Yeah. I mean, hell yeah, I do. I’ve had a lot of fun talking to you tonight.” He slid his phone out of his pocket, unlocking and handing it to you with a hopeful grin. You slowly smiled, nodding and taking it from him to input your number. Much to your delight, when handing it back he went straight to sending you a message, looking to you as he arched an eyebrow playfully. “You have my number now, right? You didn’t give me a fake one?” You blinked before laughing loudly, taking your phone out of your little crossbody bag. “Why the hell would I give you, of all people, a fake number?” You waved your phone at him to show him that the message had come up on the device, then looked down at it to save his number. You had assumed he just sent a “hi” or an emoji, something simple-- but you paused as your eyes scanned the words on your screen.

“Go on a date with me.”

You stared at it somewhat dumbfounded before looking up at him, knowing your cheeks were slightly red. “A-a date?” you asked; sure, the two of you had been hitting it off and flirting a little, but you had kept reminding yourself throughout the conversation that he was a celebrity. He probably had tons of girls in his life, you were someone who could just be an acquaintance. If that. But now he wanted to take you out on an actual date?

“I’m in Boston for the next few months. And I know that’s not permanent, but I really, really liked talking to you tonight, and.. I want to see if this works. Please.” You almost didn’t reply due to being too shocked that he was begging you to date him, but you quickly cleared your throat. “I’d… yeah, I’d really like that.” You admitted, feeling excited and terrified all at once. But that was how dating should feel, right? “But, um, how does this… work? Do you, like, not want me to tell anyone…? Do I not save your number at all, in case anyone hacks into my phone? Or should I just save you as a fake--”

“Okay, okay, don’t go all secret agent on me.” He interrupted you with a loud laugh, eyes twinkling fondly as he gazed down at you. “Honestly… I trust you. Call it a gut instinct, but I do. So tell whoever you’d like, or don’t. The only thing I’m more worried about is your own privacy, because it most likely won’t be respected if we’re not careful about this. But when it comes to people knowing about me taking you out, that’s fine with me. I’m allowed to have a love life, aren’t I?” he said with a smile, then glanced down at his phone. “Oh, shit. I need to go, my brother’s waiting for me. And I’m sure your friends are, too.” He looked at you and chuckled softly, probably at the disappointed face you wore. “Hey. Text me tonight, alright? Promise.” You smiled at that, arching an eyebrow playfully, teasing, “Wow, you’re already pretty needy, huh? Yikes, what am I agreeing to here?” He blinked before scoffing, though clearly amused. “You know what? Yeah, I am. And it’s your fault.” 

He suddenly took a light hold of your waist, gently pulling you closer to him and leaned down. You widened your eyes slightly but did not move away, looking up into his beautiful blue orbs instead silently confirming that you were alright with what was about to happen. 

You would remember that kiss for the rest of your damn life-- you were sure of it. 

[asgardianthot]

Fear of heights (sambucky)

summary: Bucky’s afraid of heights. Sam falls for him (pun intended). That’s it nerds.

Inspired by this picture:

A/N: ok! Ok so! In the comics Bucky is afraid of heights/of jumping from heights because his dad died in a parachute demonstration. It’s discussed in an early comic with Steve and mentioned a few times later, BUT then there’s that one sambucky interaction and I couldn’t stop myself, the premise is too cute, especially in the whole enemies to friends to lovers paraphernalia. Have a good read:)

word count: 2183

- - - -

"That's a-” Bucky let out and stopped to clear his throat, staring down. “That’s a big drop."

He and Sam were patrolling on a rooftop, routine procedure when sent out by the people on top. Facing down from the top of the forty-five-story building, Barnes couldn’t get rid of the knot in his stomach, as if he could slip any second now and meet a certain, gory death.

"You scared of heights, Barnes?" Sam mocked him, one side of his mouth curling into a mean smirk.

"Course not."

Yet his gut twisting and turning at the sight of the forty-five floors between him and the concrete sidewalk told a different story. Barnes wanted a signal: his earpiece ringing with instructions leading him to a more secure location, a robbery, anything that could be used as an excuse to get off that rooftop. He couldn’t simply step back and let the patrolling to Sam. Couldn’t stand a little further from the edge where he wouldn’t have to face the height. He swallowed hard and focused on steadying his breaths.

"I'm scared of falls.” He corrected himself. “There's a...there's a difference."

Sam turned to face the man he worked with. There was clear panic in his eyes, yet very well concealed panic. He could see it deep behind his clear eyes, where most people wouldn’t even notice. Sam had learned to read Bucky like that, having spent so much time together. Right about then, it seemed like no one understood him like Barnes did, no matter how annoying Sam claimed the man was, no matter how long it had taken for them to get properly along.

They were great mission partners. That couldn’t be denied. They had comforted each other when the time needed it, and they didn’t hide their feelings like the grown men they were, yet when whatever the problem was over, they went back to pretending they never liked each other’s company. They were great partners, just not great roommates.

And Wilson was beginning to think there was a good reason for that, other than their personalities. There had to be a reason why Bucky exasperated him so much, like a toddler who pushes another because he has a crush and it isn’t reciprocated. The thought crossed his mind, and suddenly, the one in panic wasn’t just Bucky.

- - - -

“Barnes, you have to jump!” Wanda’s voice was overheard through the earcomms.

Wilson’s sight was shifted to the helicopter in the sky, where the Winter Soldier stood. He was also flying, himself, safely and with his wings, yet Bucky couldn’t say the same thing. He never had had any problems flying jets or any aviation vehicle. There was no reason for this time to be different. But still, when Wanda sent him life-saving instructions, there was no reply. The former soldier shouldn’t have been on the wheel directly, the helicopter was on autopilot. But now, it was going to blow up, no backing down from it.

The lack of response was chilling.

"Bucky?" Sam called through the earpiece, worried that he might not have heard the command.

However to that question, he replied immediately.

"Yeah. Right here." He said in a monotone.

So, Sam understood. He was afraid. Bucky couldn’t just take a leap, trusting his parachute would work. He couldn’t jump off a jet that was imminently going to explode. The pressure did not help his fear, one only Wilson knew about. He sighed, taking in the scenario.

"Alright listen, you gotta take that leap." He told Bucky, trying to sound as convincing but at the same time as calming as possible.

"Sure.” Barnes hesitated in that same tone. “Will do."

Wilson knew he was frozen.

"Barnes!" he yelled this time, with the pressing time shrinking his heart in his chest.

"Just give me a sec." Bucky finally spoke up.

Unfortunately, Wanda had to let him know that wasn’t an option. "Now!" she ordered.

Terror oozed through Sam’s pores, thinking of Barnes’ body turned to ashes in a burning, crashing helicopter. On the other hand, the Falcon was tasked with his own mission: if he didn’t get to the building in time, the team’s jobs would get a lot more difficult, and that was something Sam Wilson simply could not allow. If he could make everything right, he would.

There was also the sensitivity of his own personal feelings. He hated Barnes. No, he didn’t, but it is what he told himself whenever the soldier would flash a smile and immediately hide it by staring down, and Sam would tenderly and absolutely melt inside. He told himself that Barnes was annoying, he told Barnes that Barnes was annoying. There was no way he would get out of his way, the way of his own mission to save his ass.

He would not break the path of a mission for a crush. He would not break it for Barnes. Nevertheless, he knew that in the best scenario, Bucky would jump at the last second, and he would be filled with panic for the entire time. Naturally, his heart won that round.

Grunting loudly, he bent his wings and took a harsh turn with his body.

The veteran flew to the helicopter, where a frozen Bucky was standing on the open side. He was holding himself to the vehicle with a death grasp on the ceiling bar, unable to take the first step. It wasn’t necessary, once the winged figure swept him off his feet and flew up with him like a fairy tale damsel. If his soul hadn’t just left his body, or if he hadn’t been so relieved, he would have complained about it.

Instead, Bucky watched as the now distanced helicopter blew up in flames with a loud bang. His iced stare darted to Sam’s goggled eyes.

"Thanks." He said loudly, in order to be heard over the wind.

"Shut up." Sam snapped back.

He didn’t need to be nice for Bucky to appreciate the gesture. Feeling safe, he glanced down and shut his eyes at the horrifying sight of being over the clouds.

- - - -

"I was going to." Bucky blurted out when they both stepped into their floor at the tower.

Sam stopped in his tracks to face him. They were about to walk into their separate rooms in order to get out of their dirty uniforms when Barnes said it.

Sam kept any real comment to himself and simply brushed the interception aside. "Sure you were." He replied, unconvincingly.

"You didn't have to get out of your way." Barnes insisted.

"Well, I'm still a pararescue at heart."

"I had a parachute."

It hit Sam that he had ran out of excuses. Bucky Barnes would not have let his fear kill him in a gruesome explosion, and they both knew Sam had helped him out of niceness and not urgency. Therefore, feeling like Bucky was onto him for something, deciphering him when he wished to remain a mystery –something he never had been to Bucky–, Sam shrugged and clung to his last desperate attempt at dropping the subject.

"I'm more effective?" His words came out like a question and, defeated, he squinted, hoping Bucky wouldn’t see right through him.

Unfortunately, he did. Bucky held his gaze intertwined with Sam’s in an intense stareoff, until his doubts were clarified. Ever since he had started feeling warmness inside whenever he was around Wilson, he had wondered if it was reciprocated. Sam did seem to be the person who understood him best, who read him. Bucky thought to himself that if Sam had only saved him out of friendship, he wouldn’t have any issues admitting to it.

By the way Wilson failed to conceal the truth and cover it up with exaggerated annoyance, Bucky knew his suspicions were correct. It was mutual. He couldn’t help a smirk from appearing in his face, not only from happiness, but also amusement over watching Sam go above and beyond in order to pretend he didn’t like him.

Barnes nodded with the smug look still there. "You're running out of excuses."

Having delivered his sentence, he walked past Sam and headed to his room. Sam blinked a few too many times, and then cleared his throat, still thinking he could convince Bucky otherwise.

"Excuses for what?"

Bucky smiled, but Sam couldn’t see it. "Nothing." He let go, triumphantly.

"You weren't gonna jump!" Wilson despaired.

"Just forget I said anything." The former spy shook his head.

"I don't know what you're implying."

"I'm not implying anything."

"What? You think I'd let you die?"

Bucky turned on his heels and faced Sam. "I know you wouldn't.” He raised an eyebrow, taunting. “I'm sure of it."

Only then did Sam accept his reality, which hit him in the gut like a hard cold bullet. Bucky knew. Before he could open his mouth, the brunette walked out again. Sam’s frown was inerasable, and his inability to deny his feelings for Barnes made him more frustrated than the fact he had failed his mission for aiding him.

"Get off your high horse, Barnes!" He spat.

Bucky opened the door to his room, not giving Sam the chance to defend himself anymore. "Will do."

The veteran could hear the smirk coming from Barnes.

"I'm dead serious, man, don't start-"

He was interrupted by the man who was already inside his room, ready to abandon the conversation. "Okay, Samuel." He mocked melodically before shutting his door.

"I-“ Sam tried, but all that got out was air. “Don't-" At a loss of words, he faced down and ran a hand down his face. "Shit."

- - - -

Since they had been formerly together, things seemed easier. Missions were smoother, their feelings out in the open, no secrets being pushed down their torax… not to mention the cherishing, the warmth, the fondness. They could be together and not do anything and be perfectly content. They could shower together after a mission, and Sam would wash Bucky’s hair, and Bucky would hold Sam’s sore –not serum injected– muscles all night and kiss any bruise better.

Most importantly, they could talk. Anything that was going through their minds, was it either a mean joke or a revealing truth, they could trust each other to hear them out with an open heart.

Which was why, as they laid on the couch in each other’s arms, and Sam ran his hands through Bucky’s locks, the latter felt safe and contained enough to say what he wished.

"It's my dad." He spoke out of the blue.

Sam frowned, lifting his head from the cushions in order to get a good glance of his boyfriend’s face. "What?"

"Why I'm afraid.” Bucky explained. “My dad. He died in a parachute demonstration. I saw the whole thing."

As the information set in inside Wilson’s brain, he let his head fall back into the cushions. They didn’t need to stare at each other in order to see each other.

" 'Scared of falls'." Sam repeated what Bucky had told him that time on the roof.

He’d described his fear as a fear of falls, instead of a fear of heights. That made much more sense. Yet now, Sam knew the reason behind it, and his heart ached for the man in his arms. Bucky told him horrid things sometimes, a few terrorizing memories, but on one hand he was taking his time with sharing, and on the other, Sam didn’t push him. This also gave a whole other depth to why Bucky couldn’t jump out of that helicopter and why parachute falling petrified him.

So processing the new fact about his partner’s life, and thankful that he had trusted him enough to open up, Wilson held Barnes tighter. "Good thing I got you out of that helicopter, then." He joked to lighten the mood.

He felt Bucky’s muscles relaxing under his touch.

Nevertheless, the man rolled his eyes and returned the mocking. "My hero." He dragged out sarcastically.

"Yeah, I like that.” Sam took advantage of the word and spoke in a bragging, proud tone. “I saved you.” At the sound of Bucky scoffing, he shook his lightly. “I did! Like some knight in shiny armor."

"You mean knight in a bird costume."

"Funny.” Wilson lowered his voice; submerged in the silence that had settled, he waited a few more seconds before continuing with the subject. “How old were you?"

Bucky told him, without hearable sadness in his voice. There was no burden of truth, no need to come out clean, but instead this immersing safe space, cradled in Samuel’s arms, in which he was able to simply spill words and having them not ache. He could talk for hours without being interrupted nor annoying the other person, and vice versa.

When they unconsciously changed the topic of conversation, Sam yawned a few times before Bucky couldn’t hear his snappy comments anymore. He shut his eyes and enjoyed the rising and falling of his partner’s chest under his own head.

Falling in love had been easy with Sam. There wasn’t anything scary about falling with him.

[mbti-notes]

Would you mind explaining why you see Rey as ESFJ and Kylo Ren as INTP from the new Star Wars? I've always seen Rey as a stereotypical ISFP action hero (quick to adapt to new situations, hands on, a fierce sense of 'moral right' borne of self), and I'm undecided on Kylo, but thought he exhibited FP tendencies -- a struggle between self-identity and rationality, that indicates a F/T imbalance.

[con’t: In reading Leonore Thomson’s book on personalities, the Fi-dom section brought Kylo to mind – unless prone to developing Se/Ne, the IFP fiercely guards their sense of ‘identity’ / self against outside influences and becomes rigid. Isn’t that what he’s doing, in differentiating himself from his parents and refusing to see reality any other way than what he has decided it is, based on his feelings / experiences?]

Judging by the debates I saw online, there doesn’t seem to be any general consensus on either character, which is interesting. It’s a trilogy and the character development beats are scattered and difficult to piece together. And there were several blanks that I had to fill with my own speculation. I didn’t really enjoy the process of typing these characters, but I did it because I kept on receiving requests week after week ever since the first movie came out. I found the character development arcs shallow and poorly paced, and the resolutions were too pat to be very interesting. I reviewed the Kylo and Rey scenes several times, with different personality types in focus each time, in order to ensure that the function pieces fit together to my satisfaction.

      ***** Major spoilers ahead! ******

Kylo

Although I think there are weak points in her book, I don’t take issue with Thomson’s description of Fi doms. I mainly disagree with the motive that you ascribe to Kylo. I don’t think he’s being protective of his identity, I don’t think he cares about identity, in the way that Fi doms do. I will concede that he gives the impression of being a rebellious teenager in defying his parents/mentor/birthright, but defiance alone does not make him Fi dom. Pretty much everyone (even some animal species) goes through a stupid teenage phase of rebellion at some point in their life, and some people never properly get past it. To me, he looks like a stuck-in-adolescence INTP: entirely too full of himself and blind to everything else.

One little point made it difficult for me to settle on a type. Leia was absolutely convinced that Kylo was “manipulated” by Snoke/Palpatine to join the dark side, but there was little indication from Kylo, Luke, and Han that this was actually the case. Should we trust Leia, since the movie portrayed her as being much more powerful than meets the eye, or should we trust Kylo’s subjective experience of himself as being fully and completely the master of his own fate? I go for the latter. If anyone’s going to be prone to blind belief, it’s a mom who doesn’t want to admit that she’s lost her son to her enemies. And I see no compelling evidence that he is a person who’s easily manipulated, emotionally or otherwise, which is a big strike against F. If you see such evidence, please present it.

The most revealing aspect of Kylo’s development was found in the conflicting and exaggerated accounts about what happened with Luke that led to the destruction of the Jedi academy. If you grow up being fed a constant diet of legends about galactic warfare from the Alliance, you’re naturally going to think of the Jedi as the good guys and the Empire as the bad guys (as we, the audience, are supposed to). However, if you’re Ben Solo, you don’t experience the Jedi as good guys, at all. He was “abandoned” by parents who were too busy/neglectful/high-minded to properly care for him and he was “abandoned” by a supposedly saintly mentor/uncle who wanted to kill him (even if the urge was fleeting). Additionally, Jedi training is essentially martial arts training in that you’re not supposed to use it violently unless you absolutely have to, which leaves the Jedi looking like total wusses much of the time, politically, always leading from behind and allowing evil to get a foothold over and over again.

Therefore, my theory is that Kylo turned, completely willingly, because he saw nothing but pathetic posturing and hypocrisy around him. It was an extremely deep cynicism (the belief that “good”, “love”, “happiness��, or anything that makes humans noble, don’t really exist) that allowed him to fully embrace his own darkness to very powerful effect - no manipulation necessary. This wouldn’t work with Fi-Te but fits with Ti-Fe. I postulate that his conception of morality was extremely reductive and childish. Essentially, “good guys should be totally free of bad”, so any whiff of anyone feeling conflicted or making dumb choices and they no longer get the privilege of being labeled as a “good” person. Accordingly, any hint of conflict in himself cements the fact that he is bad, irredeemably bad, because he’s full of conflict. 

But I argue that the reason he’s full of conflict is not because he’s bad or a Feeler, it’s because the way he was being taught was not well-suited to his personality at all, in fact, it was quite damaging to him, which pushed him into skepticism and alienation. Here’s the blank I’m filling in: Luke is Fi dom. Fi and Ti do not communicate easily. Being forced or shamed into being good with no proper reasoning process by Fs tends to really aggravate inferior Fe grip problems in young Ti doms (it’s a common relationship dynamic). Fi doms construct beliefs from their feelings and it’s easy for them to expect that everyone should feel-believe the same. How is a person supposed to react when you keep telling them to Fi everything but they simply can’t or have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about? External manipulation or not, I speculate that Kylo was already in a deep state of doubt about whether he was in the right place. Luke’s intense fear and disgust in that fateful moment only confirmed Kylo’s suspicions that he didn’t belong there, and that Luke was no “good” guy. 

Seeing oneself as irredeemably bad is a big blow to the ego, so one must engage in self-defense. The fact that turning dark allowed him to realize the full potential of his force capabilities, to him, meant that the Jedi were completely wrong in their conception of what is “good”. Therefore, he doesn’t consider himself to be bad per se, rather, he believes that he has discovered the truth about what it means to be great - being great via T is better than being good via F. He was trying to discover his true self through dominant Ti, perfectly normal part of development, but he chose the wrong path, because it was a reactionary decision that was merely rebelling against all the people who were trying to force him into being F. This poor choice meant that he had to keep trying to sever his connection to everything good in himself = disowning F. In his mind, the Jedi were stupid, weak, and deluding themselves all along, but he knows what’s up, and that granted him a high degree of confidence in his decisions. He saw himself as the real deal because he was smart enough and strong enough to be brutally honest about what he is. In essence, he’s no faker, and that makes him superior. These mental gymnastics happen with Ti, not Fi. 

When Fi doms (even just start to) see themselves as bad, it ruins them and renders them impotent and dysfunctional (see previous post about Zuko from Avatar: The Last Airbender as a great example). Yet I see no compelling evidence that Kylo’s identity, feelings, or conflicts held him back, rather, they only served to fuel his rise. Despite appearances, he didn’t lust for power and validation like Te loop/grip, rather, he was only interested in self-mastery, and was willing to do whatever it took to achieve it, because he had no other ideal outside of himself to believe in. Nothing could really stop him unless he decided to stop. When he was frustrated, he would let it out in a quick burst, and then continued on as though it never happened (Fe). He was actually very disciplined in growing his abilities by setting consistent and logical challenges for himself to overcome (Ti), and he always succeeded in achieving his goals and reaching whatever potential he had envisioned for himself (Ne). Furthermore, someone who is very “defensive of their identity” wouldn’t be able to change themselves on a dime, as he did at the end. When faced with the right counter-evidence, he did a whiplash 180 without hemming or hawing or performative self-flagellation or whining about “losing myself”, etc. Would that be possible for Fi-Te?

Rey

Is she introverted? She is unapologetically assertive, she gets involved even when it doesn’t/shouldn’t involve her, she never balks at interacting with people/objects, she always faces situations immediately, she has trouble holding her tongue, she has difficulty introspecting (as evidenced from Luke’s training sessions), and most importantly, she exhibits no sign of needing a lot of down time to recharge. I’ve never known an introvert like that, let alone an ISFP, as they often dwell in their feelings away from the world and dislike taking on too much responsibility due to inferior Te. If she’s introverted, provide me with evidence, since I seem to have missed it.

I don’t think that there’s any evidence of N. She’s resourceful to a certain extent, but she seems to rely very heavily on other people to generate positive ideas and possibilities for reassurance, because she starts to panic when thinking on her own about “what could happen” (low Ne). She doesn’t easily come to intuitive insights about anything, let alone the future (no Ni). One scene in particular made me LOL. Luke was training her and asked her to close her eyes to meditate. He instructed her to “reach out” (to feel the energy of the force), and she extended her hand out physically into the air. That is the exemplar of being too literal. Furthermore, she spent how many freakin’ years following the same set routine day after day, in the same crap dump of a town, waiting obediently for her parents to pick her up? That’s the exemplar of Si discipline. Would SPs be capable of that patience or living in the dreary past for so long? 

I agree that she is primarily motivated by her feelings when making judgments and decisions, which means F. She had to fend for herself since childhood, so her skills are unsurprising. Yet she irrationally lacks self-confidence despite the fact that she’s proven over and over again to be quite scrappy and capable, and people even tell her as much all the time - this is likely to indicate an inferior T insecurity. She has great difficulty (i.e. is unconsciously resistant to) probing around within herself, which is common for inferior Ti in not wanting to feel one’s own darkness. The fact that introspection results in her discovering that her deepest, darkest fear is being completely and utterly “alone” as a “nothing” in “nothingness” is very compelling evidence for inferior Ti.

If inferior Ti, then dominant Fe is a must. I see lots of evidence. She is inexplicably able to communicate with anyone, of any species of bot or animal, with effortless empathic understanding? Her first stance is to give people the benefit of the doubt, no matter how strange or wayward they seem. She has a very naive trust in the goodness of people despite dealing with crooks all the time. She takes it upon herself to bring out the good in people whenever she is in a position to. I don’t think she’s always sure of her feelings (Fi-Ni), rather, she’s always sure that there is goodness to be found if one only looks hard enough (Fe-Ne). A lot of people have strong moral feelings and values, so I’m a bit tired of the lazy stereotype that Fi doms have the monopoly on morality. If you’re going to reference a person’s morality, go deeper to see what exactly it is they believe, how they came to those beliefs, and how they express those beliefs in detail, as that would be more revealing of their functions.

For such a goody-goody-two-shoes, her response to Kylo wasn’t the judgmental disgust that Luke barfed up (Fi-Te) but rather a scary desire to figure him out (Fe-Ti). She seemed quite UNcertain about her personal feelings about him (not Fi), which made their relationship one-sided for quite some time, as she struggled with the push-pull dynamic. ESFJs are often attracted to “dark and mysterious” people due to the unconscious yearnings of inferior Ti, even when Si-Ne warns them that these people are bad news. And it doesn’t get more mysterious than some powerful dude dressed in black donning a mask that shows up in random visions. When avoiding him was no longer possible, she made an admirable effort to dive deeper into his perspective, even when she rightfully feared losing herself in the process. She felt compelled to “get both sides of the story” in typical diplomat fashion before deciding what to do, in hopes of “fixing” Kylo through repairing his relationship with Luke.

Although there seemed to be constant teasing about the possibility of Rey turning dark, I never really saw any possibility. She gave no major indication of being afraid of turning, and it seemed that she never lost touch with her strong desire to be good. She only ever indicated a fear of failing to perform her duty capably (Si) and of failing all the people who were relying upon her powers to succeed (Fe). Discovering her true lineage didn’t really shake her because her parents were good in spite of their bloodline, so there was already an “exception to the rule” for her to follow and emulate. Turning dark would sever and betray her emotional connection to her parents - totally out of the question.

As far as I can tell, the only reason she survived her horrible childhood relatively unscathed was because she held on to the belief that her parents loved her enough to come back, i.e., emotional connection to others is her lifeline. I don’t think it’s an accident that, in her moment of greatest need, it was the connection to past Jedi and their encouragement that saved her butt. She was existentially SHOOK when Kylo claimed that her parents were horrible and abandoned her. And she was only able to find her footing again by inserting herself (i.e. “belonging” to) the Skywalker clan, essentially by being the model of a kid that Ben should’ve been. What self-respecting ISFP would be happy latching on to someone else’s mom, riding someone else’s coattails, and literally defining their identity through someone else’s name and legacy? 

I’ve heard some people critique Rey as a flat mary sue character, and I see where they’re coming from. But which type is most likely to resemble a mary sue at first glance? She is supposed to be the hero in a fairy tale after all, so one would expect her flawedness to be minimized.

Relationship Dynamics

In the final movie, the audience is bludgeoned over and over again with the claim that Kylo and Rey are meant to be a dyad. This all but guarantees that they will be exact functional opposites, otherwise, there would be no strong sense of complementary forces pulling them together into one perfectly harmonized and united front. Although the chemistry between them wasn’t properly developed IMO, I think I saw on paper what was meant to be happening in terms of the writer’s intentions.

Luke was unsuited to helping either of them with questions of identity and morality because, being Fi dom, he took these things for granted, presumptive, already settled non-issues, which amounts to him being closed to any real questioning and discussion. As a result of lacking good guidance, what drew Kylo and Rey together was an underlying need to help each other make sense of themselves, with the unconscious suspicion that the other person held the missing piece of the puzzle. 

Rey was only able to reach her potential by confronting the full extent of her own darkness within (inferior Ti), which was what Kylo forced her to do in incremental steps, as he kept nudging her to question her fundamental beliefs about who she is and what she stands for, presumably in the same way that he had done for himself. But it’s not as easy to twist someone’s sense of morality when F is at the top and healthy versus the bottom of the stack. By making it through his gauntlet of tests and critiques and facing down her fears, she was able to develop into a stronger and more self-assured person to eventually achieve inferior Ti closure. Don’t forget how her eyes would light up when hearing stories of Jedi masters and their achievements. It is mainly EJs who run headfirst toward responsibility rather than away from it. We see, in the end, a picture of Rey as a beaming, confident, and self-possessed person who feels like the world is her oyster, fully inhabiting her role in the hero story that she had always wished to be a part of. The audience is meant to believe that she’s the rightful heir when she finally believes in herself.

By questioning Rey’s identity, Kylo eventually had to question his own as well, since he was the one who wanted to believe that they shared a similar path to feeling lost. Kylo is stuck in adolescent cynicism as explained above, with Si loop resentment from the past preventing him from seeing other, better possibilities for himself. Late in the trilogy, I see in his face that he’s probably suffering from the sunk cost fallacy of thinking that he is past the point of no return. Perhaps he believes that he has no choice but to resign himself to the fate he has chosen (parallel to Vader) since Ti doms strongly believe in personal responsibility. He’s not wrong. If he wasn’t irredeemable at first, he certainly was after the profound destruction he had wrought. Ti doms are rarely wrong as their logic is usually impeccable, but they tend to lack perspective. E.g. He’s not wrong in believing that people are hypocritical because they really are (Ti factual judgment is spot on), but then he defines his terms too narrowly in dismissing all people as unworthy of being called “good” (Fe value judgment is very immature).

What finally broke the mental confinement of Si loop? IMO, three contributing factors: 1) He started to suffer the same skepticism about the dark side as he had with the Jedi, since Ti promotes impartial judgment, which opened him up somewhat to questioning his choices. INTPs deeply dislike sheep mentality and blind ideology, so being constantly asked to prove his “allegiance” and quietly “submit” all the time by his superiors only served to reveal their flawed mentality in the same vein as Luke, which gave him the logical justification he needed for eliminating one boss after another. 2) He was drawn deeper and deeper into Rey’s psychology, which backfired on him, because it proved to him, again and again, every which way, that goodness is indeed possible, as Rey easily aced every temptation and challenge that he was able to fling at her. For NPs(Ne), believing in possibility can’t help but create a strong desire to actualize it. 3) Leia intervened with what I’m assuming was one last-ditch attempt to communicate how much she truly loves him despite what he’s become, which perhaps served to expand his thinking about what it means to love. 

In the end, he redeemed himself on his own terms (even if he was not fully redeemed for the audience). As a result, he discovered something resembling happiness in his last moments of connection with Rey. You can’t tell a Ti dom to be good “just because”, or take goodness as default without question, or present a fake and idealized image of goodness for them to live up to, because that will never satisfy Ti. At the same time, morality cannot remain an abstract concept or else it is very easy to twist upside down. Goodness must be deeply FELT in order to be a motivating force, and he, at long last, felt goodness in his bones, through his decision to place the greater good above himself - inferior F often means arriving very late to the feeling party. He finally caught a glimpse of what he could be and should be through Rey’s, and possibly his mother’s, eyes, which allowed for inferior Fe closure. He had always gotten by okay without love and only believing and trusting in himself, but he realized that he was far better off for opening himself up to something more. 

That’s my take anyway. Or perhaps that’s what I needed to see to make the story more interesting for myself, lol.

[awkwardtaco056]

so now that i’m no longer in the Hell that was school and after finding the lovely blog @endcringe i’ve decided to talk about my own experiences with cringe culture, bullying, and why it’s Really Bad to not let people enjoy inherently harmless things, especially neurodivergent people (read more because this is gonna get long and triggering at times, TW for mentions of bullying, suicide, child abuse, a brief mention of incest shipping. I won’t be naming any of the peers that I discuss my experiences with, because my point with this post is Not to “cancel” anyone, I just want to speak out on my experiences)

I’m neurodivergent; I was diagnosed with ADHD when I was 8 years old. I didn’t know a lot about it, and a family member even painted it as “oh it’s nothing blah blah blah just apply yourself more. Because of this, I had no idea about the concept of hyperfixations until I was in my late teens. Due to that, I would obsess over random things and my family would shame me relentlessly for it. My mother said I had an “addictive personality” and that she feared I’d end up a drug addict or alcoholic because of it.

I look younger than what I am, I’m short, and small. AKA, the perfect candidate for being picked on by people bigger and stronger than me. People made fun of my art when I was around 13, but fortunately that was an instance where spite fueled me to improve drastically. However, just because I happened to take the shitty comments and have it fuel me then does NOT mean bullying people will have that effect all the time. At some point someone put my old South Park fan art on a cringe blog. I was temporarily hurt, and a little angry, but I realized that if someone was making fun of a 15 year old’s art, they probably didn’t have much going for them in life, so I moved on.

Fast forward to high school. Everything was horrible and I’m not exaggerating when I say I barely made it out alive. I was living in an abusive household up until January 2018 and I found comfort in many different interests. I’ve always found great comfort in music and the arts in general. In 2016, I drew a picture of a mermaid. I was inspired by the chocolate opal gemstone, and I thought it’d be fun to draw a gay chubby mermaid with dark skin and a rainbow tail and freckles. Junior year was lousy and I wanted something that sparked Joy. I was immediately told that “scientifically, mermaids wouldn’t look like that. Mind you, my take looked like this:

Obviously I wasn’t going for realism, I just wanted to draw a cute mermaid. However, they continued to tell me that they wouldn’t look like that, going as far as writing so on the back of said drawing. When I got angry at her for taking it too far (as I’d established before that I didn’t like it when people wrote on my art without permission), they got angry back, accusing me of being unable to take criticism. Heated by the accusation, I went as far as asking my art teacher if it was fair for them to say that, and she said no, stating that constructive criticism would be talking about how I could improve my lineart and coloring in the digital version. I took her actual helpful criticism and since then have improved Drastically in digital art. Even with that being said, I found myself hesitant to participate in things such as MerMay because I was leery of hearing that peer berate me for having cartoony mermaids. 

 During high school I grew to love many musicians, a lot of emo/alternative stuff, a couple being Twenty One Pilots and Melanie Martinez. I love how unique TOP’s style is, their open discussion of mental illness, and as someone who had a rough childhood, I connected with every single song on Cry Baby. It was like nothing I’d ever heard. I started listening to mashups featuring all these different artists I love, adoring how they could change the tone and sound so drastically. A peer Bully of mine in junior year condemned these two artists, declaring that they made “Bad Music” simply because it didn’t fit their tastes. They’d throw my drawings on the ground, write over them in pen, steal my headphones so I couldn’t listen to music, push me around, complain that mashups sucked and gave them a headache, and in general shit all over conetnt that was actively preventing me from committing suicide. 

Some family members were no better. Once high school hit, I began listening to Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco, and My Chemical Romance. Their deep complex lyrics stuck with me. I would write down quotes from my favorite songs and thanks to hyperfixating, I remember each studio album in order My mother resented when I fell in love with the “Emo Trinity” because “the Columbine  shooters were emo and that event traumatized me” Despite that, not only did the Columbine tragedy occur in 1999 and none of the bands got together until the early 2000s, but I have a pretty good feeling those groups aren’t For gun violence. The other side constantly criticized the fact that I love FOB, P!ATD, and MCR because I’m black and “why must you listen to that white people music.”

 I grew fond of Dan and Phil in high school (and I’m still a fan to this day!), I loved Phil’s kindness and positive aura and I deeply connect with Dan’s sense of humor and personality. Their content made me happy during some very dark times in my life. It’s November 2017, I’m over a close peer’s house at the time, and notice PINOF is upon us. I drew the PINOF whiskers on my face, my plan being to quietly watch them in the corner of peer’s bedroom on my phone through headphones, the others were doing their own thing and I knew they didn’t like them, so I thought they’d respect it if I silently indulged in it. Unfortunately, the complete opposite happened. I was immediately shunned and locked out of the bedroom, told that I’d only be let back in if I washed the whiskers off because “absolutely not”. Me, being stubborn, washed them off temporarily but drew them back on in the room. Life during then was especially bad for me, as the abusive household I was in was getting worse. They noticed, of course, and even though all I wanted was to enjoy this small tradition in a time during a deep depression, I was immediately shoved out the room and locked out, only to have said peer’s family members notice. I’m a relatively shy person, so this was honesty a really harrowing experience that had a lasting effect on me. 

I grew to adore Sanders Sides as well, but the moment I found out most of my peers didn’t like Thomas, I was terrified.  I stopped watching Dan and Phil’s content for months and shied away from other fandoms too, only occasionally indulging in times of complete solitude. One time when said peers were due to visit my house for the first time, I saw the Phandom and Fander stuff I’d hung up on my wall in my little sanctuary that was my bedroom (it was the first time in years I’d had my own room), and I was filled with panic and fear. I took them down and hid them away, genuinely terrified of what they’d do to me if they saw. It’s still incites so much anger in me to this day because they turned around and ended up shipping incest, but somehow liking D&P and Sanders Sides was So. Much. Worse.

They were baffled by my actions, despite having humiliated me Twice by going on a private blog of mine separate from everything so that I could fully indulge and laughing at everything on there, once at a peer’s house, once right in school. I don’t think they realized how traumatizing it was to have a large group of people in public laughing at something I was deeply self conscious about for all of my life. I put on a brave face at the time, but ended up crying in the bathroom after first period began. I continued to be treated as lesser until things came to an ugly head August 2018 when I ended up in the hospital because I nearly attempted suicide. Years of child abuse, bullying, and being deemed “cringy” made me feel like I didn’t deserve to be alive, that everyone would be happier if I were gone.

After arguably one of the lowest points in my life, I cut them off and slowly began to embrace the Real Me. I started letting myself enjoy the things again, made true friends and even found love, my first boyfriend ever at 18. I still get choked up retelling it, but when PINOF 10 dropped, after he found out how much I’d been hurt over the incident in 2017, I was greeted with a photo of him with the whiskers on his face. I cried for a while, blown away at such a pure act of kindness. He listens to me ramble about my interests, he compliments my taste in music, he watched K-12 with me. 

This got incredibly long, but my point is this: Cringe Culture hurts people. You might think it’s whatever if the Thing doesn’t apply to your interests, but content you’re denouncing as cringy could be something that’s keeping them alive, that one flicker of light in a void of darkness. When I was contemplating suicide, I listened to The Black Parade, repeating Gee’s words to myself over and over, that nothing in the world was worth hurting yourself over. Some friendly joshing here and there is okay, but actively ripping someone to shreds constantly to the point where they have a mental breakdown in front of you and later on plan their own demise is disgusting. Nobody should abuse anyone for having harmless interests, no one. Unless you’re participating in p*dophilic/inc*st/s*xual assault/inherently abusive ships/content and pretending it’s not bad because “Fiction doesn’t impact reality!”, you have every right to like what you like and be happy. Read homestuck. Play Undertale. Draw up the Wildest OCs you can imagine. And stay away from people who try to rob you of innocent fun, life is too short and in this cruel, unforgiving world, you deserve to be happy, whether you’re a 13 year old who draws cute furries, a 16 year old cosplayer on TikTok, a VSCO girl, a 30 year old who writes/draws self insert art or a 20 year old who adores Invader Zim. 

Cringe Culture is just bullying under a different name, and it can lead to many instances of people, especially fellow neurodivergent folk to feel isolated and ostracized. Attempting to bully someone out of an interest they have isn’t going to fix them; it’s more often than not going to cause more damage. I suffer from diagnosed C-PTSD, anxiety, and depression, and sometimes I still find myself trying to over-justify my interests. To all who are roped up in bad homes and lousy “friends” who berate you for your innocent passions, I’m sorry you’re suffering, things will one day get better even if it doesn’t feel like it, and fuck those people. I’d also like to note that sometimes even if it seems more terrifying, it’s better to have one or two close friends you can truly trust than a whole group that walks all over you. You have every right to call them out for treating you poorly, and if things don’t improve, you also have every right to leave.

You have a right to live your True Self.

[an-ambivalent]

Oath Of Desires: Five

Synopsis: [Yandere! Jungkook x Reader x Taehyung] [Poly AU]

It had only been them three for a long time. Not one person more, not one person less – just Jungkook, Taehyung and [Name].

Jungkook was elated when Taehyung and [Name] told him that they had become a couple. He literally could not have been happier.

They were his favourite couple, and he loved them both…. A little too much.

When there was a hindrance in Taehyung and [Name]’s relationship which caused them to fall apart, Jungkook was distraught. Afterwards, when he realized the depths of his love for his ‘friends,’ Jungkook made an oath of his dark desires – he was going to do whatever it took to get them back together. And this time, he was also going to become part of their relationship.

Warning: As this story contains yandere themes, the characters display behaviors that can be triggering or uncomfortable to read. Read at your own risk. This work is purely fiction. I do not believe any of the mentioned members would display any sort of this behaviour irl.

                                                     ___________

“Story of my life,

Searching for the right,

But it keeps avoiding me.

Sorrow in my soul,

Cause it seems that wrong,

Really loves my company.”

-Rihanna, Unfaithful

                                                   ___________

The atmosphere was silent and rather uncomfortable as [Name] multi-tasked and worked her way within the miniscule kitchen of her current, new, and temporary apartment she was staying in since she had broken up with Taehyung. The mere thought of the mentioned male evoked feelings of disgust to run through her. And the ache that came as a consequence of this dilemma, would suffocate her. So, she kept her thoughts about Taehyung, and her emotional baggage that came with it, bottled up and to a minimum. Key word: minimum.

It was impossible to not think about the situation at all, and trying to deny the immense hurt she had felt from his actions would be completely pointless.

The evidence of her tears were visible in the way her eyes were swollen, red, and the eye-bags underneath her folds were much more apparent than usual. Her depressed state was obvious in the way she, and her new place was in an utterly abhorrent and hideous mess; blankets covered her sofa, and clothes were thrown carelessly on the ground. The clothes [Name] was wearing were a bit too wrinkled, indicating that she had been wearing them consistently over the spam of few days. If a person with  relatively normal state of mind was to see her, they would even assume that it seemed like she had not showered, or kept up with the daily hygiene routine like one was expected too. However, her current guest Jungkook, was anything but normal.

It was strange really. Jungkook and [Name] had not spent any time together just by themselves, without Taehyung, in a long time.

It was sort off… Nice.

Jungkook cared about his friends a lot. For that reason, he was not too fond of the shabby apartment [Name] was staying at. His dislike had been obvious on his face as soon as he had entered it, and scrunched his nose in disgust. And before he could even voice his distaste, [Name] had already waved him off, and reassured him that it was a temporary stay until she could sort out something more concrete. Immediately, like always, she had read him, and eased his worries before he even had the chance to delve on them. [Name] was an absolutely pro in understanding Jungkook, and it was probably why she had gained his trust so quickly and easily.

God, she was so sweet, understanding and wonderful -- he loved her so much. So surely, she would listen to what he had to say and get back with Taehyung, right? Right, of course she would.

The kitchen of the apartment extended from the living room. From where he was sitting on the sofa, Jungkook had a clear view of [Name]’s posterior as she prepared them some drinks, and snacks to consume while they would chat. It was a nice gesture really, considering how Taehyung had not done this lately for him. But as pointed out in the previous chapter, that was probably because that barista had bewitched him. Now, now that she was gone, Taehyung was going to come to his senses, and all of Jungkook’s efforts were going to pay off. Finally, [Name] and Taehyung would be a couple again -- he would make sure of it.

The sight of [Name] tinkering around the kitchen in a shirt that a bit too long for her so she wore it as a dress, while she was working in an effort to spend time with him, made Jungkook very happy. It was a delightfully domestic sight to behold. For Jungkook, the present moment felt homely and incredible. Despite the sight or stench that one would have found gross about [Name] at the moment, he thought this raw reality of hers as downright beautiful.

His eyes were hazy with imperceptible desire. Subconsciously, Jungkook licked his lips, as [Name] settled a bowl of some chips, and their beverages on the table. Then, she sat down next to him, and smiled at him. She scooped up a hand full of chips from the bowl, and thus, began her not-so-discreet stressed food eating. It was not particularly something Jungkook cared about. He only cared about wanting to get [Name] and Taehyung back together.

Jungkook was never the one to communicate through subtlety. He was direct and straightforward. For that reason, even now,  he went straight to the point.

“[Name], Taehyung didn’t mean it,” Jungkook said, and it was completely evident that the ‘it’ he had referred to was their cheating situation.

Given the heartbreak she felt, it would be apparent to anyone who lived in this world’s reality that this was the last thing she wanted to address -- especially from the way her smile had disappeared from her face instantly. However, Jungkook did not live in this world. His head was lost in the clouds of his own desires, so he failed to notice the manisfation of sourity in [Name]’s mood.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Did he say that? As in, actually say those words out of his own mouth?�� She asked coldly.

“Well, no he didn’t but he was tricked--”

“Then I don’t want to hear it,” She stated simply.

“At least let me explain--” Jungkook pushed. He would have continued with his insisting had it been for the shock that overtook him when [Name] abruptly climbed onto him, and sat on his lap. She gazed down at him with wide eyes that were etched with some sort of desperation need, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

Jungkook stared up at [Name] with parted lips, and eyes that were just as wide-doe as hers.

“Jungkook, you need to shut up about Taehyung. He’s not here, and he doesn’t matter anymore. I get that you’re trying to do your best for him, but right now, he’s not worth it. Right now, nothing’s worth it. Right now, it's only you and me. It’s only us, and nothing and no one else. So, let's focus on us okay?” [Name] whispered, as she leaned in closer. With one hand, she sensually pushed his hair back (Cady will you please tell Aaron that his hair looks sexy pushed back)[1], and the thumb of her other hand, brushed Jungkook’s bottom lip softly.

[Name]’s eyes flickered to Jungkook’s lips, and then to his eyes. When she noticed that he was eagerly waiting for her to continue with her actions, and showed no signs of pulling away, she went ahead with her action.

She kissed him, and it was a kiss that was supposed to be nothing, but was going to mean everything. It was going to be the kiss that was the last catalyst needed to initiate the catastrophe that was Jungkook; it was going to be the kiss that would fuel her with regrets, and lead to their inevitable demise.

When she kissed him, it was out of her broken heart and feelings; it was an act she pursued without thinking -- an act that was influenced by her stress, the desperate need to vanquish her insecurities, and feel some sort of acceptance -- consequences be damned. It was purely selfish.

But to Jungkook -- it was electrifying. It was a small dose of the drug he had been searching for his entire life, and the moment he had received a slight taste of it, he knew it was going to be addictive.

Both [Name] and Taehyung were going to be -- no, they already were addictive. That was why he always tried so hard for them.

Due to the sudden rush of feelings, epiphanies, and his repressed desires coming undone, that overwhelmed him with euphoria, Jungkook did not return [Name]’s kiss. He was too lost in receiving the pleasure he got from such a miniscule action of affection. This eventually led [Name] to snap out of her tragic and self-pity state of mind, and she pulled away from Jungkook immediately.

The loss of her lips on his, felt like the entirety of oxygen had been stolen from him. Her touch lingered on too excessively.

For the few following moments, [Name] stared at Jungkook with wide eyes, as if she was trying to process her own actions. On the other hand, Jungkook gazed at her with half lidded eyes.

Words of apologizes instantly slipped from her lips, and she pushed herself off of Jungkook.

“Oh my gosh, Jungkook I’m so sorry. I don’t know what overcame me. I, I s-shouldn’t have done that. Oh my gosh I’m so sorry,” [Name] started, her eyes widen in panic, and with dismay etched in her voice.

Jungkook opened his mouth, and was going to provide her with reassurance. However, he did not get the chance to because [Name] continued to mutter her apologies. And with each time, another “I’m so sorry” left her lips, she distanced herself away from him until she had stood up, and stood quite away from him.

Her sudden and slightly exaggerated reaction hurt him.

In an attempt to diffuse the intensity of the situation, and lessen her panic, Jungkook stood up. He reached his hand out to her, and tried to converse with her. However,  [Name] only moved away from him, and shook her head, as she continued to mutter apologizes.

It was obvious that something akin to a panic attack was brewing in her mind. This, in addition with the fact that Jungkook was still mostly tranced in the euphoric feeling he had received from their electrifying kiss, prevented him from being too pushy.

[Name] was becoming too overwhelmed with the flood of her own feelings -- she needed nothing but to be alone at the moment. As a result, as she still uttered her apologies, while she forcefully pushed Jungkook out of her apartment. And with his own reasons mentioned above, he let her.

“I’m really sorry for what I did Jungkook, and I’m sorry for kicking you out like this.  I, I just need to be alone. I’ll call you later once I’ve collected myself,” [Name] spoke with a strained voice, before she harshly slammed her door shut close, and locked it.  

Her shoulders began to shake, as the urge to cry out sobs built up in her throat. Heavy tears flowed down her cheeks, and she instinctively covered her mouth. As she turned around, and slammed her back against her door, an entire breakdown occurred for her. Then, eventually, she slid to the floor with her back against the door like they do in angsty teenage movies.

                                                    ___________

Ever since the moment [Name] had forced Jungkook out of her apartment, he had been functioning on autopilot. The details of his surroundings were brim and insignificant to him while he had made his way to Taehyung’s residence.

Jungkook unlocked the door to Taehyung’s place with Taehyung’s keys that he had forcefully taken when he planned to meet up with that barista. It had to be fate because as soon as Jungkook entered, Taehyung woke up.

The older male appeared to be groggy since he had woken up from his drugged state. Jungkook made a mental note of how Taehyung had woken up from the dose of his sleeping pills earlier than he had expected him to. Jungkook decided that the next time he was going to drug Taehyung and needed him to be unconscious for longer, he would need to give him stronger sleeping pills.

Taehyung never got the chance to reflect on how why his mind felt foggy, or the reason he had fallen asleep out of nowhere when his body was completely charged.

All he could focus was on Jungkook, and the anger that imploded in him, when Jungkook said the words he dared to say next.

“I kissed [Name].”

[1] mean girls reference lmao. I love that movie for its trashiness

[pemini]

UNREALITY: System Failure | 5:05 PM

「 Chapter Three 」

⇢ Word count: 4.5K

⇢ Genre: horror, angst, interactive

⇢ Warnings: brief mentions of murder/death, explicit description of open wound injury, blood, and I guess vulgar language?

⇢ Members: Jaemin, Jeno, Renjun, Mark, Donghyuck

> BACK

> NEXT

> SETTINGS

> NOW PLAYING AS USER #RENJUN

> 5:05 PM

> SECRET SCORE: [2/?]

Silence followed the questionnaire. It was as if it had materialized into a large, unyielding fist, molding itself around Renjun’s throat, grip tightening by the second. His breaths were rapid, hands clamming up at his sides and eyes darting around in search of his friends, or rather, in hopes to find his reaction mirrored in someone else’s features. Renjun’s eyes landed on Heejin from his math class, who made the torturous hour long lectures more bearable with her sense of humor. They sat next to each other frequently, building a friendship off of missed homework and a little cheating during tests. He expected some sort of relatable reaction from her, an exaggerated set of wide eyes and lifted brows or an overdramatic flinch Yet once their eyes met, she simply smiled, waved, and turned to walk in a different direction. The same instance repeated with Hyunjoon from art class. His entire demeanor was off, eyes more distant than he’s ever seen them. Renjun’s panicked state only intensified with every nonchalant reaction he was faced with, barely able to keep his hands from shaking. Something was wrong.

“Would you rather kill or be killed?” The robotic, disembodied voice asked as the same question took shape on the wall in front of him. The letters glitched as they manifested, the voice cutting off in unison with the occasional errors that occurred as the words formed. Renjun’s heart skipped a beat.

He managed to choke out a barely audible “What?” that the game had no issue identifying. His fingers tapped anxiously on the table in front of him.

“Would you rather kill or be killed?” Repeated the voice. The words displayed on the wall flashed red, now accompanied with a timer. 30 seconds.

“I-I would rather..” His breath caught in his throat. 25 seconds. His mind raced, ‘kill or be killed?’ ‘kill or be killed?’ ‘kill or be killed?’ ‘kill or be killed?’ Did he have it in him to kill anybody? Did he value his life enough to take away someone else’s? 10 seconds.

He took a deep breath. 5 seconds.

“Kill.”

Sonorous laughter penetrated the thick air. Renjun’s ears perked up, moving through the crowd in the direction of the noise. Donghyuck’s laugh was a memorable one, and Renjun was certain that was his. The laugh was followed by a faint punching noise, presumably Mark, and an extensive series of ‘Ouch’s and complaints by none other than Donghyuck followed. Those two were inseparable, and difficult to miss in a crowd. The pair spotted Renjun quickly, waving him over to where they were standing. They were situated in the middle of the hall, an extravagant chandelier hanging down above them.

“Thank god you’re here!” Donghyuck beamed, “If I have to listen to another second of this pussy’s complaints I’m resetting my game and joining another server.” He glared at Mark as he said ‘pussy’, clearly amused by his friend’s reactions. Mark looked completely done with him, which wasn’t very unusual, considering Donghyuck was consistently on a mission to get him to snap.

“There’s no way to reset the game or join another server, dumbass.” Mark retorted, adjusting his glasses, to which Donghyuck only rolled his eyes. He turned his attention to Renjun, who in his sudden reticence had yet to say a word, sensing the tension between the two. “What the fuck was that questionnaire? God, it got me like.. questioning why I was born and shit.” Mark looked completely out of it, hair a mess from running his hand through it too often, eyes wide and searching for a response. Renjun released a breath he’d been holding in for longer than he cared to know, relieved that someone other than himself had something to say about the questions they had no choice but to answer.

“Okay, so I wasn’t the only one with questions that have absolutely nothing to do with the game.” He replied. “I just- I can’t think of a reason for them to want to know any of these things.” Renjun shifted his weight as he wondered what the purpose of the questions were, still unsure of what to make of the situation. Nonetheless, he was thankful for his slowing heartbeat, as he’d felt it hammering in his chest for far too long. He was sure, however, that the game was definitely not what him and his friends assumed it would be. It wasn’t what the developers marketed it to be, either. The image of the wrecked house him, Jaemin and Jeno wandered into resurfaced in his mind, its bloody walls and broken windows clearly contrasting the other houses in the neighbourhood. He quickly brushed it off, deciding it had nothing to do with the issue at hand.

“To me, it just felt like a shitty Until Dawn therapist scene remake.” Interjected Donghyuck. “I mean, come on, October is coming up- so, halloween is soon!” He snapped his fingers, a comical grin spreading across his features, “Boom, Case of the Creepy Questionnaire: Solved by Lee Donghyuck. You’re welcome.” Mark looked as if he were inwardly trying to convince himself not to deck his best friend in the face, but settled for a roll of his eyes.

“All I’m saying is, I thought this game was meant for decorating your house and, I don’t know, dyeing your hair ugly colors without having it fall out, not committing mass murder.” Groaned Renjun, lightly rubbing the back of his neck, which was beginning to feel sore. He’d probably shifted into an uncomfortable position in real life while playing, which was slightly unsettling as he was now completely unaware of his surroundings back in reality.

“Moving on!” Mark exclaimed with a clap of his hands, “It’s over now, so let’s forget about it. Where are Jaemin and Jeno? You were with them earlier, yeah?” He questioned, his demeanor already seeming more relaxed than it was previously. Donghyuck’s (pretty foolish, in Renjun’s opinion) explanation seemed to calm his nerves, at least for the time being.

“I was, but I lost them after the Questionnaire.” Responded Renjun, his eyes returning to scanning the crowd. “Do you think they’re still-” A blast of electricity erupted from above Renjun, stopping him mid sentence. The lights in the hall abruptly shut off. After a few moments of stunned silence, It felt as if the whole building had begun to shake. Crepitation of grating metal agonized his ears, squeezing his eyes shut as they began to ring as if it could soothe the forming pain. The chandelier that had been hanging above the boys’ heads began to rock furiously, its creaks reverberating throughout the hall. Renjun could hear the chain connecting the chandelier to the ceiling beginning to break off. Panic rose in his chest. The structure shook above him, back and forth, showing no sign of stopping. His muscles tightened, he tried to move, his mind screaming at his body to get out of its range. He remained rooted at his spot, as if a force held him mercilessly in place. The crystals hanging off of the chandelier were flying off, flung across all directions in the hall. There was movement all around him, the crowd rushing to get out of the chandelier’s shadow, but all he could register was the breaking glass and screams. The creaking grew louder by the second. Someone grabbed Renjun’s arm. They pulled, begging him to get out of the way. The chandelier fell, quickly and all too silently, and it took Renjun with it.

> PLAYING AS USER #JENO

> 5:05 PM

> 15 MINUTES PRIOR TO TASK COMPLETION

As Jeno was transported back into the hall after completing the questionnaire, all thoughts about the absurdity of the questions he was asked escaped him. He stood almost face to face with the switch. He thought it was the game taunting him, reminding him of what he was too hesitant to do. ‘What could go wrong?’ he thought, it’s part of the gameplay, a way to progress whatever storyline the game had in store for him. Then again, he could simply ignore it, if he wasn’t interested in progressing through his pathway. Jeno thought it was somewhat ridiculous how much he was overthinking this, he would’ve flipped the switch already if it were any other game. Although, it was easy to forget that Unreality was only a game- its ability to replicate all senses except smell along with its realistic graphics made it difficult to differentiate from reality. Jeno briefly scanned his surroundings, making sure no one was paying attention to what he was about to do. If something went wrong, or if flipping the switch was the wrong choice, he did not want to be held accountable for it. A few taps on his shoulder interrupted him before he could extend his hand to flip the switch. Jeno turned around to see Jaemin eyeing him with an overly skeptical expression. His friend knew him too well, he almost had a sixth sense for when Jeno was up to something and was always there to either enable or stop him.

“Yo,” Greeted Jaemin as Jeno turned around. “should I be concerned that you’re staring at a wall, or is that just a thing you do now?” He chuckled, studying Jeno’s expression with a cocked eyebrow and crossed arms. His signature ‘If you think you’re going to do whatever dumb thing it is you’re about to do alone, then you’re wrong’ face.

“Yes, this is a thing I do when I contemplate wether I would kill someone or let them kill me first.” Jeno replied, acutely aware of Jaemin’s unconvinced expression. He leaned his back against the wall, making sure not to accidentally hit the switch. Breaking into Jaemin’s house currently didn’t seem like such a bad idea, although that option was now completely out of the picture, with Jaemin already suspicious of him.

“Uh huh..” Nodded Jaemin slowly, his index finger tapping his chin a few times as his gaze landed on the switch. The invisible lightbulb floating on top of his head lit brighter than ever. “You know, you never told me your task.”

“I mean, didn’t you say you heard static or something, when I tried telling you?” Jeno responded. “I don’t think you’re meant to know-“

“Blah, blah, blah,” Interrupted Jaemin, rolling his eyes “Just tell me, it could’ve been a glitch, it might work now.” Jeno remained unconvinced, and Jaemin resorted to using his infamous pleading puppy aegyo until Jeno would repent and tell him his task. To which he did, unsurprisingly. This time, it was said with no interferences, much to Jeno’s surprise.

“I told you it was a glitch.” Jaemin said with a smug smile spread across his cheeks, “Also, if you break into my house I will kill you. Literally.”

“More like figuratively; we’re in a game, I won’t actually die.” Jeno corrected, to which simply Jaemin rolled his eyes, muttering a ‘nerd’ that Jeno chose to ignore. “Should I flip the switch, then?”

“Duh, unless you wanna break into Renjun’s house-“ Jaemin paused, “wait, where is he anyway?” He questioned, now looking around the hall with a slight pout, squinting his eyes as he studied the crowd.

“Probably still doing the questionnaire, a lot of players are still missing.” Jeno observed the hall, which wasn’t as full as it was when they had first entered it. It was likely Renjun took longer with the questions. They were heavy, for a lack of better word, and Renjun was prone to overthinking. “Ok, well I’m gonna flip it now. Can I get a drumroll, please?” Smirked Jeno, now fully straightened up with his sight fixed on the switch.

Jaemin drew his attention back to Jeno, rapidly patting his hands on his thighs in attempt to mimic a drumroll, lightly chanting ‘flip it, flip it!’

And so he did.

The lights on the chandelier exploded, a flash of light penetrating the room before darkness replaced it. Jeno instantly reached his hand out towards Jaemin, gripping onto his sleeve. He felt his friend’s shoulders shake as he laughed at Jeno’s panic.

“Pussy.” Jaemin snickered, “It was just a light switch, and you somehow wrecked the chandelier. That’s fun. Good job Jeno!”  Jeno punched his shoulder to shut him up, he could make out Jaemin gripping his shoulder and grimacing in the dark as he laughed. The crowd in the hall had began to stir, unsettled by the sudden darkness. Just as Jeno was about to flip the switch back on, a familiar hologram appeared in front of him, accompanied by the same robotic voice from the questionnaire.

> #JENO chose OPTION #1: FLIP THE SWITCH NEAR THE ENTRANCE OF THE TOWN HALL.

< Congratulations on completing your first task, J̷̖͛e̶̯͛n̷̹̂ò̶͇! Do you think you made the r̷i̵g̴h̴t̸ ̸c̷h̵o̷i̸c̷e̴? Remember, e̵v̵e̶r̴y̶ action has its c̷͇̓ö̸̦́ṅ̷͓s̷̠̎e̸̯̓q̷͖̔u̸̬̕e̶̦͗n̸͖̈c̸͓̈́ë̷͖́s̶͙̽, no matter how ĭ̴̡̱̀n̷̙̔͑s̴̤̍̄i̸̻͑g̶͕͇̈́ń̶̝i̵̤͛̓f̸̮̹̏i̷̝̎̽c̷̮̀ͅa̵̡̺͂n̸̦̲̽ț̸͉̾̕ it may seem. Keep an eye out for your next task! It’s going to be a tough one. B̶e̴ ̴c̷a̵r̸e̶f̶u̸l̷, or else you may not be able to keep up. W̸͍̙̔͑e̶͍̤͛͝ don’t want that, do we, J̴̨͍̬̫̗́͂̄̊̂͐̀̍̑̅͋ͅẹ̸̒̑͌̈́̊̉͝��̢̩͖͙͖͙͙̟̞͇ͅǹ̷̨̞̟͉̼͈͓͓͙̮̗̐ọ̸̎? >

As the voice spoke, voicing out the hologram, it almost sounded human. It was only when it glitched, disembodied and grating on Jeno's ears, did he remember it was a mere machine. Jeno felt the urgent tugging on his arm and heard the sound of screams following echoes of shattering glass as the hologram began to fade. “What the fuck is going on?” He gasped, unable to read Jaemin’s facial expression. The hall felt darker than it was previously.

“The chandelier, it’s-“ A crystal flew directly into their way, Jaemin pushing Jeno and himself away just as it shattered on impact to the wall they were standing in front of. “It’s about to fall, we need to get out now.”

A green light suddenly illuminated Jaemin’s face, and he pointed to something just behind Jeno. An exit sign had just lit up. The boys quickly made their way to it, the chaos not far behind them as other players shuffled towards the exit. The town square had darkened. The sun had began to set, tinting the sky purple and orange. Jeno took a deep breath, and the lack of fresh air was almost jarring.

“Do you think everyone’s okay?” Jeno asked after a few minutes of silence, him and Jaemin sat on a bench to recollect their breath as they watched the light slowly fade out of the sky.

“It’s just a game, there isn’t even a health stat or anything as far as I’m aware. It’s not a big deal.” Jaemin said, “But we can feel pain within the game, that alone is scary enough.” Jeno recalled the punch he blew to Jaemin’s shoulder, how he winced. He pinched himself lightly, as if to make sure if he were dreaming, tight enough for it to hurt. And it did. He could feel the pain he inflicted on himself inside the game. He wasn’t sure what to make of it all.

“That’s weird. How does that even work if we aren’t even moving in real life?” Jeno questioned. Jaemin had been interested in game mechanics for years, which was the main reason he wanted to play Unreality. It replicated real life to a point that no one thought would be possible. He was determined to figure out how, solely out of interest. “Like, is it even possible to just generate pain?”

“I guess the headset is in some way connected to some part of our pain receptors, and it sort of- I don’t know, mimics real pain? Like, when we’re hurt in the game, it tricks us into thinking we’re actually in pain. So we feel it.” Jaemin looked uncertain, as if he were forming his thoughts as he spoke, head rested on Jeno’s shoulder as he looked up at the clouds. Just as Jeno was about to respond, they heard a crash resound through the hall. Shattered glass and clanging metal on marble flooring. Jeno winced at the how loud it had been, Jaemin chuckled once he saw his reaction but decided against teasing him about it.

“Okay but, like.. what’s the point?” Jeno muttered. Jaemin lifted his head up from Jeno’s shoulder before facing him again. He opened his mouth to speak before shutting it again, his head back into his seemingly never-ending thoughts about game mechanics. “I just don’t get why thats necessary, y’know? What if someone, like, stabbed their friend just because they didn’t know it would actually hurt? What would happen then?”

“I doubt a game could mimic the pain of a stab wound that well, and I also doubt anyone would do that.” Jaemin responded, “What, were you planning to stab me?” He said, nudging Jeno’s shoulder as he insisted he would never do such a thing. Just as they decided to get up and explore the rest of the town, their names were called from behind them.

Renjun’s arms were slung around Donghyuck and Mark’s shoulders as they dragged him out of the town hall. Donghyuck’s rapid breaths were audible even from a distance, he gently pushed Renjun’s hair out of his face as he set him down on the bench. The color was almost completely drained from Renjun’s face, he was shaking lightly as perspiration dripped down his neck. Donghyuck pressed his fingers to Renjun’s wrist, checking for his pulse, mumbling something about how it was too low for it to be safe. He covered his face with his hands and turned away, shoulders heaving. Jeno and Jaemin rushed to the bench, waiting for Mark to explain what had happened.

“The chandelier fell on him, he’s… not in good shape.” Said Mark, glancing at Donghyuck uneasily before turning to Jeno and Jaemin, who were now stood frozen at Renjun’s side. He was completely unconscious, eyes shut tight as if he were faced with monsters he’d rather remain blinded to. He was almost unrecognizable. “His ankle is seriously injured, he fainted right when it fell on him, too. I tried covering the wound as best as I could, but.. I didn’t do a great job.” Mark elaborated, taking off his smudged glasses and wiping them clean with his shirt. His hands were jittery, he eyes darted everywhere but down at his best friend’s unconscious body.

Jeno dropped to the floor near Renjun’s left ankle, it was roughly bandaged with what seemed to be fabric ripped off from a shirt. Blood was seeping through the material. He began to undo the knot tied around the wound, looking up at the pair who brought Renjun in to check for their reactions beforehand. Mark nodded, Jeno had just noticed that one of his sleeves was ripped off. Donghyuck remained turned away from his injured friend, his shoulders shook violently as Jaemin gently rubbed his arm to calm him down, assuring him Renjun would be okay. Jaemin’s eyes were watery as he looked back at Renjun’s limp body. The cloth was now left on the ground, Renjun’s bloody ankle in full view. Raw, vermilion flesh split open, littered with shards of glass. Bruising was forming on his pink, agitated skin. Jeno couldn’t tell how deep the wound was. Only that it was bad. Really, really bad. His head began to spin, unable to recognize wether the glitches that began forming on the wound were reality or his own imagination. It was as if the game was truly mocking him this time, saying ’What? So upset over a game?’ in the form of distortion. He closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths in attempt to force down the bile surfacing in his throat.

“Listen,” Began Mark, leaning down beside Jeno, hesitantly placing a warm hand on his shoulder, “he’ll be okay. It’s a pretty heavy injury and it must’ve, I don’t know, emptied his health or energy bar or something. It’s just a game, remember? There’s even a hospital just around the corner for incidents just like this, we could-”

“This.. this is my fault.” Interrupted Jeno, shaking his head as he picked up the discarded bloody cloth. He studied it as if it could tell him otherwise, as if it wasn’t a confirmation that it was, in fact, his fault. A confirmation stained in his best friend’s blood. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Renjun’s face as he gently wrapped the bandage back around his ankle, unable to do any more to help him. Donghyuck’s shadow loomed over him as he did so, contemplating Jeno’s every move.

“What do you mean it’s your fault?” Insisted Donghyuck, closing in on Jeno with trembling lips and tear stained cheeks. He was shaking, his hands trembling at his sides. Donghyuck clenched his fists, now directly in front of Jeno’s crouched frame. Jeno remained still, completely unmoving. He looked smaller than he really was with his head dipped downwards and eyes so distant. “Answer me, Jeno. What do you mean it’s your fault? What did you do to him?” Donghyuck was fuming, breathing uneven and heavy. Jaemin held his arm, quietly telling him to calm down, to breathe, yet his attempts proved futile. Donghyuck ripped his arm out of Jaemin’s grasp, eyes trained heavily on Jeno. He repeated his question. Jeno stood up, turning towards Donghyuck. Mark inched closer to him, alarmed by the state they were both in.

When Jeno spoke, he could barely process the words that left his lips as his own. He sounded almost robotic as he recalled his task, recalled the choice he made. The wrong choice. “I- it’s my fault. I flipped the switch, the chandelier, it fell- the switch made it break and fall and.. it was because of me. He’s hurt because of me.” He choked, whatever dam that held back his guilt ridden tears had broken, his last words a mere whisper. Sobs overtook his body until his knees could barely support his weight, so choked up he was unable to breathe. His vision was blurred, all water and pixels, blinding red pixels. He could hear Donghyuck’s enraged voice and Mark’s futile attempts at calming him down. Jaemin was now at Jeno’s side, holding him tight, assuring him it wasn’t his fault, assuring him that they could fix this, assuring him that he would be okay, drowning out the chaos around him. He let Jaemin’s words soothe him.

When Jeno’s eyes fluttered open, he found himself back on the floor, cradled in his best friend’s arms. His head was pounding, he could feel his tears drying on his cheeks. Donghyuck sat closed eyed on the bench next to Renjun’s unconscious form, Mark standing nearby fiddling with his game settings that were generated in a hologram in front of him. Jaemin turned to Jeno, who clumsily shuffled away from him, trying regain his composure. The crimson pixels were gone.

“Feeling better?” Jaemin asked with a warm smile. Jeno nodded, patting his friend’s thigh lightly before standing up. Jaemin got up soon after him. The town square was empty except for the five of them. The sun had set completely, the moon barely visible behind the grey clouds crowding around it. A few vintage street lights lit up the area, casting a sickening amber glow over the large square, almost warping the boys’ features. Donghyuck opened his eyes in response to the sudden movement, glancing at Jeno before lowering his gaze to his feet. He fiddled with his fingers before standing up, taking small steps towards Jeno, who stood staring at the lion fountain situated in the middle of the hall. Jaemin sat in Donghyuck’s spot. He placed Renjun’s head in his lap, lightly combing his hand through his messy hair, his expression unreadable.

“I’m sorry,” said Donghyuck, almost under his breath as he stood beside Jeno. “I shouldn’t have.. went off on you like that.” Jeno remained motionless, and Donghyuck didn’t know how to lighten the situation for once. So he continued. “I just- seeing him like that, I couldn’t help but think of..” He trailed off, his breath catching in his throat. He saw all black suits and burial grounds, the vivid feeling of wanting to pry the ache out of his body.

“Jisung.” Jeno finished, turning to look at Donghyuck. “I know. Me too. I think all of us did.” He put his arm around Donghyuck, who wiped away a stray tear that had trailed down his cheek.

“It’s hard, so hard without him, Jeno.” Said Donghyuck, now eye to eye with Jeno. “I can’t lose anyone else. I won’t.” His gaze was almost wild, eyes burning with desperation that Jeno couldn’t bear the burden of.

“We won’t, Hyuck. We’ll be okay.” He responded. It was like tying a shiny decorative ribbon around a present to your future self, ignoring the fact that the contents inside were rotting by the second and would be nothing but filth when unwrapped.

A hazy groan followed by a series of curses broke the silence that befell the group. “Guys, get over here.” Called out Jaemin, bringing everyone’s attention to Renjun writhing in pain in between his arms.

Renjun was now conscious, hands gripping his left calf as he looked down at the blood stained cloth wrapped around his ankle. The shock of the fall and his unconsciousness shielded him from processing the pain for a while, but it didn’t hold back the violent waves of pain that befell him once he’d awoken.“It hurts so much,” Renjun inhaled sharply, rocking slightly as he spoke as if to comfort himself, “if it’s just a game, why in the hell does it hurt so much?” His face twisted in raw pain that no game could simply generate.

“We’ll get you to the hospital, they can revive your health stats and you’ll be as good as new.” Said Jaemin, standing up and gesturing for Jeno to help him lift Renjun up. Jeno didn’t move, looking to Renjun for permission beforehand. He tended to tense up under pressure, unable to make up his mind on what to do as every possible bad ending played in his head. He couldn’t see a good one coming out of this situation. Jaemin, on the other hand, seemed to have everything figured out. A step ahead of everyone else. Donghyuck was completely silent, lost in his thoughts and suddenly speechless as Mark stood next to him checking the game’s map for the location of the hospital.

“No, guys,” disagreed Renjun, jerking his arms away from Jaemin. His hands tightly grasped onto the bench beneath him. He looked up at his friends, never looking as helpless as he did at that moment. With his eyes wide and pleading, he said “I don’t wanna play anymore- I’m scared, I don’t know what’s happening to me, okay? I just.. I just want to go home.”

H̷̻́͋̚e̷͖͔͊̽̕̚͘͝ stood idly, watching them contemplate their next decision. H̷̻́͋̚e̷͖͔͊̽̕̚͘͝ thought of all that was left unburied, or rather, that they hadn’t buried properly. The unburied refused oblivion, h̵͚̣̕ḙ̸̛̐̓͋͗ was aware of that, the absence it left behind refused to be forgotten.

What should Mark, Renjun, Jeno, Donghyuck and Jaemin do?

> GO TO THE HOSPITAL

> QUIT UNREALITY

[NOTIFICATION] New Feature! Would you like to view player stats?

> YES

> NO

[NOTIFICATION] You have unlocked [2] secrets!

> SECRET 1

> SECRET 2

-  woah okay! I cannot explain how sorry I am for how late I’m uploading this.. this chapter was extremely difficult to write not only because its sort of a turning point in the story but also because I was traveling when I started it and I had to work on it while settling back home and also preparing for school. I think updates wont really speed up, mainly because school started literally today for me so it’s my main focus rn. I will be uploading other stuff though, I think? No promises hdbjnxjxks anyway I hope this was worth the wait!!

- I decided to make secrets viewable even though they weren’t originally! They should help you guys make better choices from now on, because if i’m being honest, the past choices haven’t been good ones. Good luck, though!

- Player stats are now a thing! Your choices affect the players’ health (any injuries they sustain will lower their health), nerve (Basically mental health. Their ability to survive when in dangerous or stressful situations will mainly be based on their nerve) and relationships (they need to maintain strong bonds to be able to go through the game together. The more split up they are and the less trust they have in each other, the more likely things are to go wrong) They will be updated each chapter. 

- I know some parts of this chapter are vague and maybe confusing, but if you have any questions then don’t be afraid to ask! Be it about the boys, the game, the story itself or.. Anything, really! omg theories would be cool too!

- Sorry I talk so much but thank you so much for supporting this story. I’m really passionate about it and it means so much to me that people are actually invested in it. Thank you for taking the time to read it!

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[scottishgirlthoughts]

after a toxic relationship

“Emotional abuse is any abusive behavior which isn't physical. That may include verbal aggression, intimidation, manipulation, and humiliation, which most often unfolds as a pattern of behaviour over time that aims to diminish another person's sense of identity, dignity and self worth, and often results in anxiety, depression, drug and alcohol addiction and PTSD.”

I was one of the lucky ones.

I moved away before things got worse. I do put it down to luck, but I feel anything but lucky. What happens during and after an emotionally abusive relationship is completely out of your control. You don't even know it's happening. Every time I go to talk about this subject with someone in person or write it down, my first immediate thought is, 'I better say that it was JUST emotional abuse, don't want anyone thinking that I'm exaggerating or that I’m weak, self-indulgent or simply trying to get attention.’ One roll of someone's eyes or slight uncomfortableness is enough to shut me up forever and attention is the last thing I want.

That thought pattern which I keep going back to over and over again, is part of the impact of what an emotionally abusive relationship can do to your brain. I am now in a healthy relationship with someone who I feel I can talk about absolutely anything with, and yet I still feel like I need to stop myself from talking about my ex and the effects he had on my brain and my body. I know myself very well, and when I knew something was wrong, it was time to trust my instincts. And thank god I did, because who knows where I'd be now if I hadn't done that.

I am by no means an expert, but have done enough research to understand a little bit more about what was/is going on in mine, and many other people’s brains. This is something we need to talk about. Seriously. If you have never experienced this form of abuse then I could forgive you for being obstinate, not wanting to listen, or for assuming that there are worse things in life to go through. Of course there are, but every persons experience with abuse, no matter in which form, is valid. I hate that I'm still thinking about it almost four years later, but I sort of don’t have a choice. What I've found out is that it can last a lifetime... and I'm determined to not let that happen. This is not a piece of writing for those of you who have experienced a relationship like this, it's more for those of you who don't quite understand. My abuser was, himself, a survivor of child abuse. He was also an addict. All this bulls*** about how experiencing abuse strengthens you, gives survivors the reason to believe that what they are going through is something that one can simply 'get over'. That's not how it goes, trust me. Sure, you can find a form of strength within yourself afterwards which you didn't know was there before, but with this can also come a surreal feeling of loneliness. I don't hate my ex. I feel for him, and have tried to understand, now that I have the smallest inkling into what it must be like to live with that form of trauma, which lead to very early drug dependence for him. It's an important part of the pattern that we need to take into consideration.

I met this man when I was 18 years of age. I had what I thought was a connection with him. We started to see each other, and I soon realised that he had a drug addiction. I can't remember most of our time together, and I still struggle to this day to put all the pieces together. All I know is, when we parted ways, I thought I was very much in love with him, but it was infatuation. He was living elsewhere, in a very bad place mentally and physically so I got in touch with a shelter in his area which had a programme focused on helping people with their addictions and their past. It was then that I started to feel disconnected from the person I had become while I was with him. I started to look in on things from the outside, and slowly realise what had actually been going on. It's difficult to write this from my perspective still, but I'm trying my hardest to remember how I felt during this time. All I wanted was to help him, but the reality I've more recently come to, is that I've done all I can do for him. My first introduction to 'sociopaths' and 'narcissistic abuse' was a video on YouTube by a man called Sean Fitzgerald. I had of course heard those terms before, but really had no clue what they meant. Everything he said made sense to me. Confusion was the first word which rang true. When I look back on that period of time with my ex, it seems like a dream. Not like heaven, more like a disconnection from reality. The period afterwards was also filled with confusion. I couldn't figure out why I was experiencing sleep hallucinations or having dreams where 'he' could 'still get me' and I felt fear everywhere in my body knowing full well that he would never, and never did, physically harm me.

This is where fight or flight comes in to the picture.

Fight, flight, freeze is when the amygdala in your brain takes over and puts you into a state of alertness, but what receiving emotional abuse does is turns that response on, and doesn’t turn it back off. You’re always on edge and ready for something bad to happen. Trying to train your brain out of that constant state of fight or flight feels almost impossible.

Usually we associate PTSD with one horrific event, but a prolonged exposure to trauma can do similar amount of damage to your brain. People who are being manipulated mentally experience trauma daily. If the abuse is not overt, it means that the person suffering is not in the right state of mind to fully grasp what is happening while it's happening, so by the time you know, the damage is done. Some call it PRSD (post relationship stress disorder). Some of the lasting effects of this form of relationship are -

Trust issues.

Self-blame, for everything.

Emotional numbness.

Rapid weight fluctuation. Eating excessively can feel like a way of giving something back to your body, subconsciously, and in the case of losing weight, our body uses a lot of energy when in fight or flight mode, trying to fend off an imaginary attack.

Brain fog. Simple tasks become more difficult, losing your train of thought, forgetting where you are, or finding it difficult to navigate, and concentration just seems like an alien concept. 

Social anxiety and panic attacks.

And in my experience, telling yourself that you're a bad person.

Please seek some form of help if you are feeling any of these things, or at least do some research. 

I spent a long time feeling like I was physically unable to talk. I thought people wouldn't listen, or just wouldn't understand. Even when someone is supportive, I can't help thinking that they probably just wish I would stop talking. When in reality, I don't think I've even spoken to anyone about it for longer than 10 minutes. I can actually piece together things in my head now and look at it rationally, which is a huge step. But I can't help thinking about the people who are still living with it, and have been through more severe forms. I have spent some time feeling sorry for myself, I have spent more time feeling sorry for my ex. Sometimes I feel like I've worked through the worst of it, sometimes it comes back to me. This form of abuse changes you. It changes your brain and the way you respond and think. It changes your body. Even now while writing I am debating whether or not to click ‘post’, for fear of judgement, but if it can help someone else in some way, then that’s who I’ll write this for. The one thing it has changed in me which I'm thankful for, is the outlook I have now. After having been through that state of mind which survivors live with daily, and putting someone's needs before mine so wholeheartedly, the one thing I would choose to take from it all, is a sense of empathy. I’ve been brought closer to myself, but I’ve developed a strong sense of understanding towards other people’s struggles. My ex maybe wasn’t very nice to me, but the anger he had inside him was something which had developed over several years of trying to live and deal with trauma. There was nobody there for him growing up, so he resorted to drugs and other forms of distraction. Addiction may seem like a selfish thing from the outside, but it is a disease. And in many cases, a person’s escape from the harsh reality of their lives. This issue is in no way simple nor can it be fixed overnight, but the amount of people who have been through this is astounding. There are many, many people who have been through the same thing as him and even me, and it’s not talked about enough. Sometimes we need to look at the bigger picture to get an idea of how we got to where we are now.

Please be patient with people. Please listen to what they say and take note of how they respond to the things you say. Take what they have had to live with into account before you make quick judgements and have empathy. Even for the ones you do not wish to feel empathy towards. You can hold your own hand, but at the end of the day you cannot pull yourself up a mountain, only someone else's hand can do that. 

And for those of you who are learning to live with C-PTSD or PTSD after emotional abuse... I know that it’s confusing. I know that you feel self-conscious and insecure. I know that it is affecting the other relationships in your life and you don’t know how to fix it. It takes a long time, but there are people who WILL listen to what you have to say. You don’t need to be scared of rejection anymore. You are ok, you are worthy and you are safe.