#But despair is an overbearing feeling that consumes you

[rubberduckyrye]

You guys ever think about the tragedy that is Junko Enoshima? That she wasn't a sadistic girl seeking out to hurt others for sadistic glee?

Because everything Junko did was her trying to emotionally abuse herself? That she wanting to feel something so badly that she hurt the people she loved most, and even brought about ruin to the world, simply to destroy herself with it?

[blakeswritingimagines]

Yandere Spawn Who's Darling Is With Someone Else

He would feel an overwhelming sense of possessiveness and jealousy towards his darling, especially if you were with someone else. He would feel a deep sense of despair and anger at the thought of you being with anyone other than him.

He would likely become obsessive and fixated on his darling, desperately trying to figure out ways to keep you by his side. He would also be willing to resort to any means necessary to ensure that you are his, even if it meant hurting or eliminating anyone who got in the way.

In addition to feeling possessive and jealous, he would also likely experience extreme mood swings, going from intensely obsessive to violently defensive in a matter of seconds. He'll also feel a sense of entitlement and ownership over his darling, viewing you as a possession that belongs solely to him.

If you were to be with someone else, he would feel an intense mixture of anger, sadness, and jealousy. He would be consumed by the thought of you being with another person, and it would fuel his determination to do whatever it takes to gain your affection. He could become aggressive and unreasonable, likely resorting to extreme measures to win your love, such as stalking, intimidation, or even threats.

In addition to feeling intense jealousy and anger, he might also experience feelings of loneliness and isolation. He would constantly be comparing himself to the person you are with and feeling inadequate.

He would likely engage in behavior such as stalking, spying on you secretly, and even going as far as to harm or threaten the person you are with. He would become obsessed with finding ways to break up the relationship and make you realize that he is the only person who truly loves and understands you.

He would likely become possessive and overbearing, constantly checking in on you and wanting to know your every move. He would demand your attention and become upset if you spent time with anyone other than him.

He would likely try to manipulate and emotionally manipulate you into leaving your current partner for him. He would use tactics such as guilt-tripping, playing on your insecurities, and making you feel like you would be happier with him. He might also try to isolate you from your social circle and make you rely on him for support and companionship.

He would also engage in emotional manipulation, using guilt and deceit to make you feel bad about being with someone else. He threatens to hurt himself or take drastic actions if you refuse to leave your current partner and be with him instead. He would likely become obsessed with keeping track of your every move and monitoring your interactions with others to make sure you were not 'cheating' on him anymore.

He's likely manipulating you into believing that the only person you need in your life is him. He would try to make you feel dependent on him for affirmation and love, and he would try to convince you that no one else could ever understand or care for you as much as he does.

He would likely try to undermine your self-worth and confidence, making you feel like you are not good enough for anyone other than him and that you should feel lucky to have his attention and affection. He would constantly put you down and make you feel inadequate, causing you to doubt yourself and believe that you need him in order to feel worthy.

It is heavily possible that he would kidnap you in an attempt to keep you all to himself and prevent you from being with anyone else. He'll consider such drastic measures to keep his darling all to himself.

He would likely try to gaslight and manipulate his darling into believing that you are not truly happy with your current partner and that you would be much better off with him. He would try to sow seeds of doubt in your mind and make you question your relationship, all in an attempt to make you realize that he is the only one who truly knows what's best for you.

He would be willing to resort to extreme measures to keep you all to himself. If your partner posed a threat to his relationship with you, He'd heavily consider killing them in order to eliminate the competition.

He might also try to sabotage your interactions with other people, such as spreading rumors or false information about you in order to damage your reputation and make you seem less desirable to potential partners. He would do anything in his power to prevent you from even considering being with anyone else except him.

His devotion and love for his darling would know no bounds. He would confess his undying love for you with every fiber of his being, expressing his unwavering commitment and dedication to you with every word. He would make it clear that he would do anything and everything to make you his partner.

He would take your hand in his and look deeply into your eyes, as he spoke from the depths of his heart. "I love you more than anything in this world. You are the light that illuminates my darkest moments, and the fire that ignites my soul. I am utterly and completely devoted to you, and I would do anything to make you happy and keep you safe. You are my everything, and I cannot imagine my life without you by my side. I am yours, body and soul."

[emblemxeno]

Fire Emblem Fates: Personal Arcs and Thematic Parallels for the Royal Siblings

Introduction

As we all know by now, the royal siblings of Fates are all mirrors and contrasts with one another.

Xander and Ryoma are the wise and kind elder brothers who have the weight of their kingdoms’ futures on their shoulders, however Xander is an anxious stoic entrenched in state of denial who worked hard to get as strong as he is, whereas Ryoma is a charismatic natural talent, a huge hothead and has major prejudice issues.

Camilla and Hinoka are the caring elder sisters, with Camilla being overbearing and feminine and Hinoka being stubborn and tomboyish. 

Leo and Takumi are the intelligent younger brothers who face massive self esteem issues (in regards to their older brothers) and jealousy (in regards to Corrin), but while Leo’s problems are hidden under a layer of cold pragmatism and isolation, Takumi’s are front and center since he is very emotionally volatile. 

Elise and Sakura are the sweet and compassionate little sisters, with Elise being excitable and cheery and Sakura being shy and timid.

However, these aren’t the only parallels that exist between the siblings. More parallels are discovered when you look at the story closely. Especially when you lock down each of their personal arcs. Furthermore, close analysis reveals other interesting parallels, namely for Leo and Hinoka in regards to their brothers, Xander and Ryoma.

Themes, Arcs and Developments: Hoshido & Birthright

The development for the Hoshido siblings and the Birthright path is belief in others, collaboration and tolerance. The siblings start off separated from each other, with Takumi and Ryoma going missing and Hinoka having already left to go find them. 

Corrin’s belief in others gets tested through being double crossed by Zola, and the possibility of there being a traitor in the party. Nevertheless, his doubts don’t consume him, and his belief in himself and others gets him through tragedy. Many times in the story, trust and working together gets brought up, like during Chapter 14 where Corrin asks if anyone’s reluctant to move forward with the invasion, but his siblings reassure him. The same thing occurs when Corrin learns about the Rainbow Sage; at first he says if he needs to go alone, he will. But again, his siblings make sure to come with and support him. This dovetails into how the siblings personally develop as well.

Through Corrin accepting Sakura’s pleas to come with them, Sakura goes from meek and unsure princess to a strong willed young woman who’s able to punch Iago in the dick. Through being reassured and believed in by his family, Takumi goes from a prickly skeptic to a confident and heartfelt prince. Through learning of Nohr’s plight and accepting that he can’t do everything alone, Ryoma goes from a stubborn and prejudiced high prince to a tolerant King who seeks to break boundaries and misconceptions, walking hand in hand with his former enemy. The siblings enjoy their newfound perspective and the peace that comes with it; the peace their mother cherished.

Themes, Arcs and Developments: Nohr and Conquest

The development for the Nohrian siblings and the Conquest path is moving on to the future, where justice lies and change. Nohr and the siblings are set in their ways; doing what needs to be done to survive. Upon his return to Nohr, Corrin seeks to change that necessity and bring an era where Nohr can seek glory through mutual respect, not oppression. His willpower gets tested constantly; at times he succeeds in settling things peacefully, at other times he fails or his plan backfires. Still he moves on, working behind the scenes toward his own path of justice, along with his siblings who have done the same for much longer than he has.

Through Corrin’s leadership and conviction, Xander is shown the truth, and from that leaves behind his entrenched way of thinking. He grows from a scared crown prince set in his ways, into a benevolent King promising to bring prosperity to his kingdom through his own sense of justice. Camilla is able to cut away from the same mindset, no longer being afraid of the monster her father has become. Her love for her family outgrows her fear of Garon, the fear that was established during the aftermath of the Cheve rebellion. Elise starts out naive and innocent, but playing a part in the tragedies that unfold gives her perspective. When she first meets Sakura, she’s childish and selfish, but later comforts the Hoshidan princess during a time of great pain. At the end of the route, the two are fast friends as a result of Elise’s compassion. The siblings enjoy the light they are able to bring to their kingdom and the future they seek to walk towards.

The Outliers

But in all that, there remain two siblings whom I didn’t really name specifics for: Hinoka and Leo. This is because, other than the general development of the siblings as a collective and the themes of their routes, they don’t really change too much. Leo starts as the pragmatic executioner who imparts the course which Corrin begins to take, and remains as such later in Conquest. Hinoka is the stoic and determined princess whose concern is the protection of those she cares for, and she remains as such later in Birthright. Neither seems to have personal growth to accomplish other than the general themes of their routes. 

That is, until you look at the routes in which you oppose them.

In fact, a new form of development occurs for all of the siblings when you oppose them, and with that, come new parallels.

Opposing Paths and New Parallels

Xander and Ryoma remain each other’s mirror and contrast. On the respective paths that you oppose them on, they are the notable threat to overcome later in the game. You encounter both of them in earlier chapters as well, and both of their maps are escape objectives; this shows in gameplay how much stronger they are compared to Corrin and how it is the smarter decision to pull back and regroup. They both can’t forgive Corrin for betraying their kingdom and family, but while Xander accepts Corrin has turned traitor, Ryoma is intent on bringing him back by any means necessary. Upon Elise’s death at his hand, Xander falls into despair and forces Corrin to strike him down. Ryoma on the other hand, sacrifices himself to spare Corrin the hardship of striking him down when he realizes his brother is still the kind soul he thought he was. 

The elder brothers are the ultimate test of Corrin’s resolve, to see if he’s ready to finish the path he started. The loss of these two are a tragedy, and the impact is felt in many ways.

Takumi and Elise gain new mirrors and contrasts with each other. For starters, each of them get inflicted with illness and reveal a truth they wouldn’t otherwise have awareness of during their delirium. It’s the suffering of these two that gets highlighted the most on routes you oppose them. Elise is miserable from her family being broken apart, and has to escape her home just to find some semblance of joy. Takumi meanwhile, lashes out more and more against Corrin, becoming more volatile and suffering from constant headaches. Elise only fights you once (and even then she’s an optional fight), while Takumi fights you the most out of any other sibling. Both of them end up losing their lives through indirect means; Elise throws herself in front of Xander’s sword in a bid to get him to stop fighting. Takumi throws himself off the Great Wall of Susano-o, blinded by rage, frustration and sadness. 

Takumi and Elise are major victims of this war and the path Corrin chose, victims who expressed their misery in different ways.

Camilla and Sakura are each other’s mirror and contrast. These two probably have the most difficult parallels to pin down, but they are there nonetheless. When Corrin chose Hoshido, Camilla lost her security; her family is broken apart and she can’t do anything to stop it. She is forced to accept that Corrin has left her to join Hoshido, and finally comes to terms with it after her second encounter. When Corrin chose Nohr, Sakura lost her solace; her country is being invaded, she had just lost her mother and now her older sibling is choosing to go back to the kingdom responsible for her suffering. She is forced to suck it up and defend her home on the from the front lines. Instead of development coming naturally due to positive reveals and encouragements, both sisters are forced to change in order not to break entirely. 

Camilla and Sakura are loving sisters who now have to accept a harsh reality during and after a war they had no control of.

Bear the Crown, Bear the Development

That leaves Hinoka and Leo, and this is where they each get major development as opposed to their native routes. 

Hinoka and Leo were spared by Corrin after thinking they were gonna be killed, and eventually the thrones fall to them when the war concludes. After all, Hoshido favors kings over queens so if it wasn’t Ryoma, it would be Takumi. Nohr has an age based inheritance, so if it wasn’t Xander, it would be Camilla. Leo and Hinoka never dreamed it would be up to them to lead their kingdoms. When they bear the crown, they bear the weight of a responsibility they never expected.

However, when looking at it closely, it seems they also bear the character development their older brothers would’ve had.

Leo has battled feelings of inadequacy and jealousy in regards to his siblings already, but Corrin choosing Hoshido causes those feelings to surface. He’s angry and hurt over it all, but hides that under a layer of cold-bloodedness. Leo, promising to kill Corrin at every turn, thinks of his brother as dead to him.  However, Leo later finds himself. When talking with Corrin and seeing the truth about Garon, he realizes that Nohr doesn’t have to remain the way it is in order to survive. 

Leo at the end of Birthright begins to feel similar to Xander at the end of Conquest.

Hinoka has dealt with the guilt of Corrin’s kidnapping for over a decade. She became strong by choosing the path of the warrior as opposed of the princess. When Corrin chooses Nohr, she is in disbelief; after all, why would her brother return to to his kidnappers? She resolves to defeat him, and thinks of her dream of being a family again as a fantasy that will never come to fruition. However, Hinoka later believes otherwise. When talking with Corrin and seeing him and his Nohrian siblings work to end the war in a different way, she realizes that Hoshido’s beliefs about Nohr are wrong and that those misconceptions must be cleared. 

Hinoka at the end of Conquest begins to feel similar to Ryoma at the end of Birthright.

Conclusion

Leo and Hinoka each become the rulers that their kingdoms needed. They fill the space left by Xander and Ryoma. They don’t have personal arcs on their native routes nor on Revelation because there’s no absence to be filled; they can remain as they are, rather than be bound by the weight of the crown. Their rule as monarchs is bittersweet, for it’s a role neither of them expected, but they perform said role well nonetheless.

That’s, at least, how I feel about all of this. Of course, this whole thing isn’t a perfect interpretation, nor does the game handle this aspect as well as it could have. Hinoka still lacks in number of notable appearances compared to pretty much every other sibling; hell, there are even scenes in Birthright where every sibling except Hinoka appear. Leo, meanwhile, has many more scenes of importance, especially since he wields a divine weapon and his big hero moment triggers the Yato’s transformation during Conquest. The negative effects of Hinoka’s later addition are still very present, and it’s something that I hope would be done better in a possible Fates remaster. 

As it stands now though, I still think all of this is done well enough for everything I described. Fates’ story is smarter than one might think, and I believe all of this is an example of that.

[rregulus]

The prelude to act two of my Jegulus fic:

You know it’s true. That overbearing fact that your existence is characterised by an aimless despair that you can’t seem to shake.

You’ve developed a strange sense of melancholy, one that keeps you sober and never truly lets you reach the sun. No matter how hard you try, you’re left feeling disconcerted and angry with yourself.

This specific sorrow creeps its way into every shadow that follows you, only to consume you at night. At night when the sun is no longer visible. Do you stare at the night sky, hoping for the sun to appear even though you know it will never happen? You feel like your life is a pointless lament at night, isn’t that right? You yearn to transform your pointless misery into something breathtaking and bittersweet, but no matter how hard you try you can’t help but hold yourself back by keeping even your closest friends at arm's length. You just want someone, something, anything to heal you.

There's a wanting for something that never was, a grieving for something you never had, and a need that doesn't know what it wants. Oh, Regulus, when do you think you’ll stop looking at yourself in the mirror only to ask, “when will the pain stop?”

[shorkbrian]

tonight... I’m very sad about Shouto.

(I saw some poetry that's it) (No NSFW. Abusive relationship mention)

About how he knew love, and knew softness, and then was violently torn away from that bit of his life.

His mother was kind, and beautiful, but then turned ugly with rage, pouring out her hatred both literally and figuratively.

The wreckage, the damage after the deed had been done, how horrified she must have been. But you can’t hold trust after it’s broken. There’s always that voice in the back of your mind that whispers “What if they hurt you again?”

From then, his relationship with his mother, the source of gentle and kind, grew strained. Shouto still loved her, yes, but he doesn’t know how to live with her.

His father, a wretched man, with tunnel vision and a thirst for success, whether it be his own, or his son’s. A father who didn’t know the meaning of rest, who didn’t know when to stop, who didn’t know how to pull his punches in training, how didn’t even try to learn.

Shouto had to be strong.

Shouto had to be silent.

There’s no need for talking when you’re alone in your room, exhausted, burned, aching. No need for conversation at dinner, while your father steams over the disappointment of your abilities, your siblings cowering under his presence. 

Why even try to engage during training, when idle chatter would earn a hand across the face and a violent reprimand. Heros are silent, heroes were strong.

His parents taught him grief. It’s a deep sorrow, a forlorn ache in your bones that settles and sticks. You can’t wash it away, not with kind words, nor gentle touches. The time for those has wilted and died.

Shouto knows silence better, finds it easier to sit back and observe, to remove, too detach. Pain hurts less if you imagine it being inflicted on someone else, as if your body wasn’t your own.

UA happened, and he became a young man, learned what friends were, why these people were nice to him, concerned about his wellbeing. Some of them expressed genuine feelings of happiness when they were around him, or at least, seemed to tolerate his presence.

The grief was buried a bit, but still visible.

Shouto was still young, and his emotions were confusing, hard too bear. Easier to let them simmer where they always had, kept under lock and key where he never had to look at them. Let them rot and mold and seep with negative fumes from his bitter thoughts.

He was able to achieve his father’s goal, become a top hero, the perfect man. Fire and ice, a deadly combination of skill and talent, fierce and foreboding.

Fame, money, it was easy to come by, but never held any real value. There was nothing Shouto could find to fill his void, his unconscious searching to finding a home. Home isn’t a place, it’s a feeling, and it’s one that the young man hadn’t felt since he was a child. Even then, home was always filled with pain, fire, yelling and hatred and burning fear.

He doesn’t know what to do with himself. Is this all there is to life?

Shouto has everything he could ever need, anything he could ever want. Yet it all feels empty, hollow, like his heart, his soul. Nothing there, just an ache and a pain that won’t go away no matter what remedies are tried.

A soft soul, you are, willing to work with the man as he recovers from injuries he sustains fighting. His own personal physical therapist, throughly vetted and then hired by his agency.

You help the pro-hero’s body heal, retrain muscles, strengthen resolve and facilitate a healthier headspace. Shouto’s never been a particularly talkative person, and neither are you, so it works. 

Talking with you isn’t a chore, a pain. The only pain he feels when he’s with you is from his body, muscles protesting as they’re worked to the limit. You’re a person that’s safe, that Shouto can let his guard down around. You’re there to help.

Shouto reads one day about how love feels. How it’s warm, and comforting. You don’t know what to say to the other person at first, clammy palms, nervous thoughts. 

Your heart might beat faster, your mouth might get dry. It feels like a rush and your cheeks warm when you think about your love, a deep bond of intimacy. Love is patient, love is kind.

Shouto thinks he’s in love with you.

Maybe love is also all-consuming too, because Shouto feels overwhelmed when he’s with you. He doesn’t know what to do, how to act. You feel like the sun on his cheek in the morning, as it streams through the curtains, illuminating the room, beating back the dark.

The sun blinds him at first, and it’s all he can think about, no bad thoughts or dark memories plaguing his mind.

It’s easy to get caught up in that feeling.

Being with you, with your gentle demeanor and easy personality, is like coming home. You’re what he wants, and Shouto is enamored.

A confession is made, and accepted, and there is a reason for living in this world.

But home to Shouto isn’t bright, and comforting, and soothing.

It’s always been tinged with bloody issues, like the striking of a cheek, a raised voice, overbearing rules, regulations that were enforced down to the letter.

There’s no breaking the cycle, the cycle of pain and despair. A loving relationship turns sour as Shouto can’t reel himself back from his upbringing, from his programming.

He must always be in control, ready for all scenarios, poised and ready for an attack. Shouto needs to know what’s going on, at all times, and he dictates what will be going on, so he can better adapt for the situation. 

Words are said, subtle jabs and digs that feel heavy on his tongue, leave a bad taste in his mouth. But he’s insecure, afraid. What if you try to leave him? If you don’t think you’re good enough for that, maybe he can convince you to stay.

But Shouto would never truly hurt you.

The man wants to grow old with you, be as unflinching together as the sun and the moon, always in rhythm, always together. He shouts at you one day, after he finds you crying. You’d found the engagement ring he had been planning to propose with.

It’s a privilege to grow old with someone, to love them until the very end.

Don’t be so ungrateful.

He may shout now and then, or grab your wrist too tightly, squeeze your hand with more force than intended; use an implied threat of his quirk to keep you in line... But it’s all out of love.

If love is the driving force of our world, then it’s justified.

No, Shouto could never hurt you. That’s what he always says. He’s too soft when it comes to you, when it comes to the look in your eyes that always appears when you’ve done something wrong. You could break his heart, rip it out with icy fingers, and Shouto would still feel it beating for you, ecstatic at being held in your hand.

[niaevum]

The ambient cold as it can be. From twenty, to thirteen, to three. Frost covering the crystalline windows where silver rays trespassed the curtains, dim light by one of the natural satellites; the only source that let the vision look at something. A sigh leaves the insides from a heartbeat that drums inside ivory bones that seems to lower itself each second passing by the tickling clock. ❛❛ This is new, I haven’t seen you in such a mood. ❜❜ Apathetic as the youthful woman can sound— steps are made inside the room, echoing through the cobblestone walls in which they dwell in. Dainty fingers light one of the candles. ❛❛ I suppose Father did something. I'm not going to ask what— He sended me to search for you. You should head off and see him. ❜❜ // let's give you a war!crystal for you only, mwah! @etherux​

Darkness’ touch is wavering, held away through the feeble radiance of the moon. Within the cold, void of warmth walls, her soft sigh reverberates like an echo, swallowed by the faint steps that reveal a presence other than her own. The creak of the door announces her presence, its loudness overbearing. Such apathy may have struck a nerve had not other thoughts occupied her already fatigued mind. As such, distance grows between them, a foreign, devouring feeling that cannot be erased, that is all consuming and dark. Nothing remains standing, as it is drown into an endless sea of loneliness, an abyss of cruelty and despair.  ❛❛ It’s the usual. Don’t tell me you are worried. ❜❜ An eerie coldness enshrouds her voice as she turns around, expression holding a faint boredom that veiled whatever emotions haunted her mind, whispering into her ears. Arms crossed against her chest, her frame leans against the wall, her silver locks unceremoniously falling from her shoulder as she tilts her head. 

❛❛ Why are you acting like his errand girl? I am curious, I admit. ❜❜ The strength harbored by Crystal is not to undermine, yet she vows loyalty to someone for whom she holds none. Perhaps a contract forged out of obligation, a darker history lying behind their involvement, her quietude so unfitting, marring such beautiful features with an apathy so uncharacteristic. She can dismiss his call for more minutes, pretending to have indulged into something else, her own steps now echoing within that void room. Darkness always reaps whatever survives and paints it in its color and so, the same fate awaited Crystal. Passing next to her, her palm touching the woman’s shoulder temporarily words falling through her lips into a silent whisper, before she goes on her way to meet the sovereign of darkness.

❛❛ I miss the old you. I hope you can one day escape and find your happiness, away from here. ❜❜ 

[serendipityseulgi]

8 Ways of Love.

– kim hongjoong

according to the ancient greeks, there are eight different types of love. here is:

･*:༅｡ the one known as mania, the obsessive love.

aka, the kind of love that can lead you to obsession, jealousy, and madness and can be toxic if not kept under control.

TW // sexual harassment. 

* italic text indicates flashback.

8 ways of love series; part ii

A not-so-healthy love story in which you reach your breaking point in your relationship, giving Hongjoong an ultimatum – to fix his toxic tendencies or to let you walk out on him forever. 

love catalyst: survival.

There are times where you often underestimate how much Hongjoong truly loves you. 

You don’t always fully grasp the extent he will go to make sure that everyone knows your his, and his only. The limits he will push to prove just how much you matter in his life, and the boundaries he will cross to ensure that no one would ever, ever take you away from him.

How he absolutely cannot live without you, and you can’t live without him.

Because he just loves you so much that the feeling almost consumes him, and it drives him crazy. He knows how much of an impact you have on him. How you could do absolutely nothing and he would still kiss the ground you walk on. How he worships every single part of you and will go to the absolute ends of the earth just to keep you forever. How he simply could not care about a single thing in this world except for you.

And for most people, they strive for that kind of love. The kind that consumes you so much that you would do absolutely anything and everything for your partner.

But the way Hongjoong loves you is intense, and it’s obsessive. It’s exhausting it absolutely drains all the energy out of you. To have to love and care for one another more than yourselves. That no matter what kind of shit you put each other through, you’re always going to be together.

It’s overbearing and overwhelming in all the wrong ways.

You hate how much Hongjoong loves you. Because he treats you like shit. Makes you feel like shit. Acts like you aren’t shit.

Not without him at least.

It’s unhealthy, to put it simply.

Neither one of you are that delusional, though. 

You’re both painfully aware how borderline toxic your relationship is. Hongjoong’s manipulative in certain ways and he uses that to his advantage. He won’t admit it but he loves how codependent you are on him. He knows that he can fuck up a million times and you’re always gonna be there to pick up the pieces and love him again and again. He makes promises he can never keep and gives you false hope just to make sure you stay in his arms, even if it’s only for one more day. He hears you say that you hate him more than you love him, but it doesn’t matter because he knows how you feel deep down. You’re always going to love him.

He defends his behaviour, constantly telling you he only acts that way because he loves you and wants to protect you. And you know he’s not a terrible person. Aside from his possessive nature and his intense anger problem, he’s actually one of the best people you know. It’s contradictory in every sense.

It was just the way he loves you that brings out the worst in him.

You know there’s no good that could possibly come from being together anymore. You both know that by now.

But the truth is, neither one of you will ever walk away.

12:41 AM

It’s past midnight when you walk in your apartment, your heart heavy and filled with despair. Your feet hurt from standing in those wretched heels for hours, your mascara is dripping down your tear-stained face, and your head is pounding from the events that transpired only a few hours prior.

You have no words. 

All you want to do is curl up in your bed and sleep away your worries. You want to ignore everything that’s happened even for just a few hours and deal with the damage in the morning, but you know he won’t let you.

He never does.

When you hear the door slam behind you, you feel a sense of deja vu. 

You’ve been in this exact situation more times than you could count and you’re starting to think there’s actually no hope left in your boyfriend. 

At this point in time you don’t even know if this relationship is worth salvaging anymore, and the very thought almost has you in tears.

You’re feeling a million things right now but above all, you’re just pissed beyond belief and you want to cry and wallow away in your tears. You feel every negative emotion surging through your body right now and it makes you all the more exhausted. 

Hongjoong stands behind you, equally as pissed, and you refuse to acknowledge him because you know it’s all his fault. 

It’s always his fucking fault.

“Y/n, look at me.” he commands, but you don’t listen.

Your back is still turned to him, eyes fixated on the marble pattern on your kitchen island as you try to suppress your anger. Your eyes start to water again and your body begins to shake.

He waits for you to face him. 

But you don’t. 

Because you don’t even want to talk to him right now, let alone look him in the face. You swear you’ll punch him if you do, so you save himself the trouble and start walking towards the direction of your bedroom.

Hongjoong is fast though, and he’s quick to grab onto your arm to pull you in front of him.

“Can you say something?” he asks, a little too aggressively for your liking, and you just stare at him. The glare in your eyes never falters and for a few seconds you two are just staring each other down with you still refusing to speak.

You take the opportunity to yank your arm out of his grip and he lets out a frustrated groan.

“I’m tired.” you say with a blank stare, prepared to walk away again.

“So you’re not even gonna talk at me?!” he asks with that aggression still evident in his tone.

You breathe in a heavy sigh before whipping around to face your boyfriend, your eyes narrowing immediately when you make contact with him. “What do you want me to say, Hongjoong?” you ask with frustrated tears running down your face. “What the fuck do you want me to say when you keep doing this over and over again?!”

“All you ever do is walk away when you’re pissed at me and you go off the next morning talking shit to your friends. So if you have something to say, say it to my fucking face.” he spits at you with menace and your eyes darken.

“Well what the fuck is the difference of me going to my friends and going to you?! It’s not like you ever fucking listen to me anyways! I’m sick of having to repeat myself day after day! The amount of times this has happened and the amount of times I tell you the same exact thing! When I keep asking you to change and you never do! We have this exact conversation all the time, what is the use of me talking anymore?! Nothing ever changes so why the fuck should I bother wasting all my time and energy fighting with you about the same shit that’s gonna piss you off next week?!” you shout before turning around once again.

Hongjoong doesn’t say anything back to that, because deep down he knows you’re right. He knows that you’re a broken record at this point, he knows that anything you say now would just be reused arguments he’s heard in the past, he knows that he’s not going to listen to you. So he doesn’t retaliate.

“So that’s it? You’re just going to walk away?” he counters.

You take in a deep breathe. “Why don’t you tell me exactly it is that you want to hear? That I’m just going to accept the fact that you never fucking listen to me? That you somehow find it acceptable to be punching random guys in the face for looking at me? That we fight about the same shit every week? Or how you can’t seem to control your anger? How you have absolutely no regard for how you make me feel? How you think acting so possessive over me is something to be proud of?! How we’ve been together for three fucking years and the more days I spend with you the more I realize I’d rather be dead than be with you!”

Hongjoong’s face falls for a second at your words but you soon come to regret it when he’s pushing you against your counter. He’s seething inside, you can sense it. You know your words cut deep but Hongjoong won’t admit it. His ego is too big for that. 

“You’re one to fucking talk.” he grits his teeth. “You act like such a fucking bitch all the time and yet I’m still willing to bend over backwards just to keep your ass happy. You overlook all the shit I do for you because you’re selfish. You think I don’t listen to you? When have you ever listened to me?! You’re so fucking ungrateful when all I’ve ever done was love you!”

You scoff. “This is what you call loving me?!” you gesture to your current position. “Hongjoong do you even realize what we’re doing right now?! Do you even acknowledge how messed up you are?! When you go around knocking guys’ teeth out for doing so much as looking at me, for picking fights with your own friends when they’re being friendly towards me, when you fucking call me names and blame me for the fact that you can’t bear the thought of another male giving me an ounce of their attention, do you think that’s fucking normal?! You’re just fucking insane!” 

“You think I do that shit because I like it?” Hongjoong hissed. “No, I fucking do it because I know how guys think y/n! They’d take advantage of you if they got the chance! Use you like you’re a fucking toy to them or something! You can’t trust these people all the time! I fucking act that way to protect you!”

“Yeah is that it?” you sneer. “Or is it because you’re just so fragile and insecure inside you’re too afraid that one of these days someone might actually take me away from you and I’ll fucking leave. You think you can control them and control me by threatening them, assaulting them? You go off and snap at people who piss you off because you think you have some sort of claim over me! So are you sure you do it to protect me? Because I don’t think so. I think you do it 'cause you know you can’t function without me. Because deep down you know you’re just a little bitch without me. You’re nothing without me.” you spit at him. 

“Fuck you.” Hongjoong shoves you harder into the counter, a sharp pain shooting up your spine. His arms are gripping tightly onto your own and you don’t think he realizes he’s hurting you because he’s too focused on your words and how badly they’re affecting him. 

“You have a big fucking mouth sometimes you know that? You like to talk like you’re so big and purposely rile me up, huh? Who the fuck do you think you are catching an attitude with me? Watch your mouth and how you talk to me or-”

“Or what? What are you gonna do, Joong?” you challenge, shoving him away from you. “You gonna break up with me? Kick me out again? Call me a fucking slut and send me on my way?” you mock. “Or are you gonna hit me this time? Huh? Because I get you so fucking angry. Why don’t you try it? Instead of punching holes in the wall why don’t you try doing it to my face instead? I bet you want to. I bet you really want to fucking hit me. So do it. Hit me!” you push him back. “Fucking hit me!” you scream as you repeatedly hit him in the chest and Hongjoong snaps, grabbing onto your wrists tightly.

“You’re a fucking crazy bitch.” he seethes. “I may be a piece of shit but I’m not fucking abusive. I would never hit you no matter how mad you make me. So fuck you for ever thinking I’d put my hands on you. Fuck you.” he pushes you off of him.

He storms off into your bedroom, slamming the door like he always does. You stand there in the middle of your living room shaking your head. This is nothing new. It’s nothing you aren’t already used to.

You sit on the couch, burying your face in your knees as you cry. You cry with a heavy heart because you don’t know what else to do. 

All you’re left with is your own thoughts, thinking about all the times you should’ve walked away.

Because God knows it should’ve happened a long time ago.

You remember the first incident like it was yesterday.

2 years, 6 months, 7 days ago.

You remember it was only six months into being with him when he had assaulted your ex in front of your eyes. 

There was no remorse, no regard, nothing for the human life in front of him. Just pure rage that that good-for-nothing scumbag tried to touch you. His prized possession. The love of his life. The only thing that ever mattered to him.

Seeing your ex-boyfriend touching you like you were still his fuelled a fire inside Hongjoong like never before and he absolutely lost it. 

“S-stop Chris, seriously get off me,” you stutter trying to push the male off of you. 

You don’t remember how you got yourself into this situation through your drunken state.

All you know is one second you’re dancing with Irene and the next you’re pressed up against a brick wall by your ex-boyfriend.

He’s pressing you into the wall so hard it makes your body hurt and you can feel his boner rubbing against your thigh. You want to scream but when you try no sound comes out. You’re crying and your throat closes up because you can’t breath with him pinning you so tightly.

“Y/n, baby relax.” he whispers and you smell the stench of alcohol lingering on his breath. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I’ve never hurt you, right?” you feel like you can’t breathe. “I just wanna talk, that’s it...” his voice is gentle but it doesn’t provide you any comfort whatsoever.

“Y-you don’t have to pin me against the wall if you wanna t-talk, Chris.” you breathe out. “G-get off of me.”

“I just missed you,” he says gripping you tightly. “You missed me too right?”

“Fuck off!” you try to scream, but his heavy weight on you is restricting you from moving a muscle. “M-my boyfriend is gonna find me and he’s-”

“He’s what?” Chris snickers. “You’re dating that pussy bitch Hongjoong, right? Yeah, as if he’s gonna come to your rescue when everyone knows he’s a fucking bitch boy. You know better than to go for nice guys, right y/n?” he chuckles.

“Y-you’re drunk, Chris. Let me go.” you try to shove him back but he’s much bigger than you. You stand absolutely no chance.

“Where is your little boyfriend anyways, huh? ‘Cause I’ve been watching you since the moment you got here and all I saw was you with Irene and Seulgi. Does your boyfriend even know you’re slutting it up at a bar without him?” Chris taunts you and you cry even harder. “I wonder what he would do if he saw me and you together right now. Probably nothing right? He’s too nice for his own good. Wouldn’t touch a fucking fly.”

“Please just-”

“Relax, y/n. I know you miss me. Miss what we had. You don’t always have to play hard to get,” he whispers in your ear, pushing your dress up your thighs. “Just enjoy it and-”

“Y/n?” you hear a voice call behind you, and you recognize it almost immediately. 

“Joong?” you call through your hazy vision and you take the opportunity to push the man off of you. “J-joong, I wasn’t doing what you think, he pinned me, I-i tried to get him off but he wouldn’t, fuck, it’s not what it looks like-” you can’t formulate a coherent sentence because you know exactly what it looked like and you’re afraid he won’t believe you.

“Y/n get behind me right now.” he states calmly, and you don’t hesitate. You run up behind your boyfriend as Chris stands in front of him with a cold stare. 

Your heart is still beating hard against your chest and you study Hongjoong’s expression to see what his next move would be because frankly, you don’t know. 

“Can I kindly ask what the fuck were you doing to MY girlfriend?” Hongjoong asks, voice still calm and collected it almost scares you.

“Hey man, no need to get upset, we were just chatting.” Chris raises his hands in defence.

Hongjoong laughs, but there’s not a hint of amusement in his tone. “Chatting, huh?” he mocks. “About what?”

“Look, with all due respect, I know she’s your girl now and everything but you have to understand me and y/n have a lot of history. Just rehashing some old shit-”

“No you weren’t.” Hongjoong interrupts. 

“Excuse me?” Chris raises an eyebrow. “I’m sorry but you’re being pretty fucking hostile right now, don’t you think? Like, what exactly are you trying to accomplish, you’re not very intimidating.” Chris laughs.

Your eyes are moving back and forth between the two males and you don’t exactly know what’s going to happen next. You’ve never been in this kind of situation before, let alone predict how Hongjoong would retaliate. You’ve never seen him angry before.

“You wanna know what it looked like to me?” he asks rhetorically, slowly walking towards your ex. “You were forcing her against her will to talk to you.” he states, still calm. “You were touching her. You were groping her.” Hongjoong begins backing him into the wall. “You were sexually harassing her. After she begged you to stop.” he states. “You lifted up her dress, and then what?” Hongjoong’s cornered him into the wall. “You were gonna fucking rape her. Right?”

“Woah, woah, hey, I was not gonna fucking rape her-” Chris defends.

“No?” Hongjoong raises his eyebrow. “Are you saying you weren’t trying to fuck my girlfriend?”

Chris scoffs. “That isn’t rape-”

“But she told you to stop, didn’t she?” Hongjoong folds his arms across his chest and your eyes are bulging out of your head as you witness this new side o him. “And if I wasn’t here right now... what exactly would you have done?”

“Why don’t you ask your girlfriend? She seemed to be enjoying it, right?” he turns to look at you. “Admit it, y/n. Tell your bitch of a boyfriend that you’re better off with me. Hey, do you know how fucking easy it is to get with your girlfriend? Ask me, I have experience.” Chris chuckles. “What do you think would’ve happened if you weren’t here right now? Y/n probably would’ve let me fuck the shit out of her because that’s how easy she is. Probably would’ve fucked her better than you ever have-”

Hongjoong lets out a chuckle before finally snapping. You see his fist raise up in one swift motion, and he punches him. Hongjoong punches the shit out of your ex and you let out a shocked gasp. Your hands fly over your mouth, covering your face in surprise.

“Hongjoong!” you try to stop your boyfriend but he doesn’t listen. 

“Keep talking, I fucking dare you.” Hongjoong spits. He’s still punching him and it doesn’t seem like he plans on stopping anytime soon. “Your mouth is fucking shit, you know that? You’re a fucking scumbag.”

He punches him again.

“You’re a fucking piece of shit talking about girls this way.” Another punch.

“You would go as far to fucking rape her if you didn’t get what you want?” Hongjoong’s fist collides with his face again. “That’s the kind of guy you are?”

You hear another punch.

“Then you deserve to fucking die here.”

He’s hovering over your ex’s body, continuously delivering blows to his head. He doesn’t stop even when you start to see blood. It’s everywhere, coming out of his eyes, his mouth, it’s covering his entire face and it scares you.

“Hongjoong stop!” you call.

“S-stop” Chris chokes out, trying to use whatever strength he had left to stop your boyfriend from continuing his assault.

“Joong stop, you’re going to kill him!” you scream.

“Maybe I should.” Hongjoong chuckles menacingly. “He deserves it, don’t you think?” he glances at you and your eyes widen.

You shake your head. “Please.” your voice is quiet. “Just leave him.” and finally your boyfriend relents.

He spares another glance to the bloodied man on the floor who’s coughing profusely to catch his breathe, and he leans over him.

“If you ever fucking touch y/n again, I will fucking kill you.” Hongjoong growled. “I will hunt you down and fucking kill you, and I’m gonna make it slow and painful. If you do so much as breathe the same air next to her, I can promise you, I will come after you. So don’t ever think about coming near her again, you understand?” Chris doesn’t say anything and it pisses Hongjoong off.

Hongjoong grabs onto his collar, lifting him up till their faces are almost touching. “Do. You. Understand?”

“Y-you’re fucking crazy.” Chris manages to say through his coughing fit.

“Yeah I may be,” Hongjoong chuckles. “But I’m not a fucking rapist like you. I don’t force girls to do things they don’t want to. I don’t try and take away what’s already taken. Y/n’s fucking mine, you’ll never go near her again.”

Your eyes are wide with horror and you see your boyfriend’s fist covered in Chris’ blood. Your eyes scan your ex’s body laying limp on the ground, spitting out the remnants of blood out of his mouth. Hongjoong stands up looking over him, and you’re frozen with shock.

“I was fucking wrong, y/n. You should fucking leave. You don’t want to be with a guy like this, he’s a fucking psychopath-” Hongjoong kicks the words right out of his mouth and you jump back with a gasp.

“Lay here and rot.” 

Hongjoong grabs onto your hand, dragging you away, and even if you want to pull your hand away, you don’t. You’re too scared to. 

You’re left in a state of shock witnessing your sweet boyfriend nearly kill the man you once loved. Granted, it was probably well deserved given that he was harassing you and was about to do far worse had Hongjoong not shown up. But you don’t think it should’ve been to such an extent. 

You don’t talk for the entirety of the car ride, but you do spare small glances at your boyfriend who’s eyes were directed onto the road.

Hongjoong can sense your intense stare and he sighs, turning briefly at a stoplight to face you.

“I only did that because he was gonna hurt you.” he sighs. “You know that right?”

You nod slowly. “Y-yeah.”

“Don’t be scared, baby.” he says gently, reaching over to grab your hand as you flinch slightly. 

The light turns green. He averts his gaze back onto the road, but he rubs the back of your hand in an attempt to comfort you.

Your heart is racing and you know you shouldn’t fear him.

But you can’t help it.

Seeing him like that was a first, and you didn’t like it.

“Y-you didn’t have to hurt him that bad.” you whisper.

“You’re not defending him are you?” he glances at you.

“I-i’m not, Joong.” you’re quick to say. 

“So why does it sound like you are?” he badgers.

“You almost killed him.” you swallow the lump in your throat.

“He was touching you, I saw him. He was going to-”

“But he didn’t.” you interrupt before he can finish his sentence. “You stopped him before he could do anything. And I’m thankful that you did but... that should’ve been it. We should’ve walked away, but you just ... you kept going.”

“He was hurting you, y/n, I couldn’t let that slide.” he tries to defend.

“But you weren’t you back there, Joong. I’ve never seen you so... violent. I didn’t like it.”

“I’m sorry baby. I couldn’t help it. I was just protecting you.”

His words repeat over and over in your head, but you can’t ignore the sinking feeling in your gut. He almost killed him. He threatened to kill him. You’ve seen possessive before, but not to this degree. 

No, what happened back there wasn’t normal.

You don’t talk anymore after that, instead counting down the minutes till you were safe and sound in the comfort of your home. 

When you do get home you run off into the shower immediately, wanting to wash away how disgusting and dirty you felt after what you witnessed.

You shoot Irene a text to tell her you made it home okay and she lets you know she’s gone home with Seulgi and is glad you’re safe.

You spend a long time in the shower, trying to ease your racing mind and your thumping heart. You know Hongjoong’s waiting for you in bed, he can’t sleep properly without you in his arms. But you dread the moment you have to get out and face the reality of what happened. So you choose to stay in there until the heat runs out.

You hate to admit that you don’t want to be near him right now, but you can’t help it when your mind keeps flashing back to seeing your boyfriend’s eyes fill with rage. How he went from being so calm to snapping in an instant. How he mostly like broke your ex’s nose and most likely gave him a concussion, and left him there without a single ounce of guilt.

You don’t say anything when you enter your bedroom, and Hongjoong notices your distant behaviour. 

“Y/n, can you come here please?” he asks gently and you lock eyes with him.

You don’t know what else to do except comply, and the minute you’re sat next to him, he pulls you into his arms.

“I’m sorry if I scared you earlier.” he apologizes, and you snuggle deeper into his arms.

“It’s okay, it just.. caught me by surprise that’s all.” your throat burns as you suppress your tears.

“You know why I did it though. I would never let anyone hurt you.” he states and you nod. “I just hate the thought of someone else touching you. Especially him.”

“I know.”

“I had to get rid of him someway, right?” he asks, it’s a rhetoric question so you stay silent. “This way he won’t ever come near you again.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” your voice is quiet and your vision starts to blur from holding in your tears.

“I love you, y/n.” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your head. 

“I love you too.” you choke out.

“You’re all mine right?”

You nod again, this time letting the tears fall down your face.

“All yours.”

You don’t want to say it. You don’t want to give him the power of being able to control you. But you tell him what he wants to hear because you don’t know what he would do if you didn’t.

“Promise me you won’t ever leave me.” he begs his arms tightening around your body. “I don’t know what I would do if you ever did.”

Your heart is beating rapidly in your chest that it hurts and your mind is panicking with so many thoughts. You’re scared, but you also know you still love him.

And you want to give him the benefit of the doubt that this incident was just a one time slip up, so you forgive him, and you commit to his promise.

“I promise.” you gulp. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Little did you know how true that statement would be.

Hongjoong falls asleep next to you, with your head on his chest, and the sound of his heartbeat rings in your ears. You look up at his sleeping state and your eyes start to water once more.

You think about how he was a good boyfriend, one that made you happy and did everything he could to ensure you stayed that way. He was sweet, he was kind, he was everything you wanted. 

You look at Hongjoong and think about how he made you smile and laugh like no other person ever had, how made you feel safe in his arms, how he kissed away your tears when you were sad, and how he treated like you an absolute goddess, never making you think otherwise. He was there to provide you comfort and pleasure, and he was good at everything he did. 

Up until that point he was perfect. 

A little too perfect that you knew there had to have been something wrong with him.

And now you knew.

You tried to rationalize his flaws with all the redeeming qualities he had.

He was good to you.

He absolutely doted you.

He loved you.

So why was it right now, looking at him at this very moment, you wanted to throw up in disgust at the mere sight of him.

2:07 AM

You think about that first incident as you sit curled up on your couch, and you’re left wondering why you continued to stay after that. That should’ve been your first sign to get the fuck out and leave. 

But you didn’t. 

You stayed.

And right now, you’re looking at yourself with disgust.

Seeing as how things haven’t gotten any better.

No improvement, no changes.

Nothing.

So why the fuck are you still here? you ask yourself.

But you know it’s because you love him. That you’ve never loved anyone the way you loved Hongjoong. You knew from the moment you met him you knew you wanted him to be your forever.

But this wasn’t what you meant.

This wasn’t what you signed up for when you gave your entire being to this very man. 

You’re smart enough to know you’re only going to keep getting hurt. But your love for him remained so strong and completely outweighed the bad. You know you’ll never be able to bring yourself out the door and leave him behind.

You’re stuck with him. Forever.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of your bedroom door opening, and you watch as Hongjoong passes the kitchen into the living room where you’re sat. You don’t know how much time has passed until you look over to the clock and see that it’s been well over an hour and you have yet to move a muscle.

Hongjoong walks over to you as he sits down beside you.

“Are you done having your bitch fit?” he chided and your eyes narrow at him.

“That’s how you’re really going to start this conversation right now?” you scoff. 

“What, you think I was gonna come here and beg for your forgiveness? I didn’t peg you for an idiot, y/n.” Hongjoong rolls his eyes at you.

“You’re unbelievable sometimes, you know that? It’s like you want to keep fighting with me!” you shout, getting up from your spot to stand in front of him. “You make me feel like I don’t have a right to be pissed at you and then you come back an hour later and talk to me this way?”

“I came down here to tell you to get the fuck up to bed. Like aren’t you fucking tired of doing this every time? Let’s just fucking be done with this shit and go to sleep and-”

“And what? Deal with it in the morning? Or fuck me until I eventually forgive you? Because that’s always what happens right? You know exactly how to make things better, right? But it’s always temporary! We’re always just gonna keep coming back to this over and over again! Nothing’s changed in the last three years!”

“You’re constantly throwing around the fact that I don’t listen to you, that I don’t fucking change, but what about you? What have you done for me to compromise?!” he retorts.

“Compromise on what?! All I’ve been asking you to do was to control your behaviour! Stop acting so possessive and violent over me because you should know by now, I’m not going anywhere! But you keep doing this, you keep lashing out on other people who don’t always deserve you, you put me in a position where I have to fix your mess, while you live a guilt free life! You’re just driving me away at this point! You continue to lie to me, saying you’re going to change and fix your behaviour but you never do! Why can’t you just do this one simple thing for me?!” you badgered with annoyance.

“Because you’re mine!” he screams at you.

You look at him with a glare, and you shake your head.

“But that’s the thing Hongjoong, I’m not! I’m nobody’s! I belong to fucking nobody but myself. You don’t fucking own me Joong. I’m with you because I love you. I stay with you because I love you. I can acknowledge that you might be bad for me but I choose to put that shit aside because I fucking love you! You make me fucking miserable and yet I stay with you when I know I fucking shouldn’t! That’s how much control you have over me!” you return.

“And everything I’ve done for you is because you have control over me! Why don’t you understand that?!” he asks, getting up in your face.

“This is fucking toxic, this isn’t good for us!” you pull at your hair in frustration.

“It’s not like you’re going anywhere anyways! If you think this relationship is too much for you, why do you continue defending me and putting up with it?!” he argues.

“Because I’m still trying to make this work!” you cry. “I’m still trying because I still love you! But I can’t keep seeing past all these problems we have! I’m done overlooking all the shit you put me through. I’m reaching my last fucking straw, Joong! I’m reaching my fucking breaking point!” you scream in frustration. “So let me make one thing clear, the minute I decide I’m done, that’s it. I will fucking leave you if you push me to it, and you’re gonna let me because you don’t own me.” you say. “I’m giving you one last chance to prove to me that you’re gonna fix up and change your attitude. I want you to prove me wrong, prove that you aren’t gonna screw up again. Because the minute you fuck up, Im gone.” you threaten.

“You’re just fucking saying that.” he scoffs. “You always fucking say that and then you come back to me!”

Your mouth falls open in disbelief. “You know what, fine. Watch me leave then.” you stomp upstairs and Hongjoong follows suit.

You close the door behind you with force but Hongjoong opens it before you can shut it fully and he watches you messily grab random articles of clothing, pushing past him to retrieve every item you can take. 

You’ve always made empty threats, you’ve never actually left him before and he knows you won’t. You’ve never been able to. 

But when he sees you grabbing a duffle bag and filling it with clothes it actually starts to scare him.

“Cut the fucking act, y/n. I don’t know what you’re trying to prove-“

You stop forcefully throwing hangers around and throwing your clothes around so carelessly to look at him. “You think I won’t leave you? I told you to fucking watch me.” you state continuing your haphazard packing.

Hongjoong lets out a frustrated sigh and grabs onto your arms to stop you. “Stop it.”

“Fuck you, let go of me.” you spit.

“I told you to fucking stop.” he says through gritted teeth.

“I swear to god if you don’t fucking let go of my arm-”

He doesn’t let you finish. Instead he pins you to the bed, hovering over you. “You’re not fucking leaving, stop being so fucking dramatic and just go to fucking bed! It’s fucking late, you need to chill out!” he scolds but you don’t listen. 

“What, so now you want to stop me?” you glare at him. “You could just kick me out again! You’ve done it before right? So why won’t you let me fucking leave this time on my own!”

“You always feel the need to bring that shit up, get the fuck over it! I’m not letting you leave-”

“WHY NOT?!”

“Because you’re acting fucking crazy and you’re out of control right now! Just fucking relax for once-”

You punch at his chest but his grip is too strong and you let out a frustrated groan. “GET THE FUCK OFF!” you screech at him but he doesn’t relent.

“Y/n, stop-”

“I FUCKING HATE YOU!” you scream. “I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU!”

“YOU CAN HATE ME ALL YOU WANT BUT YOU’RE NOT LEAVING ME!” he screams back at you.

You manage to free your grip from his wrists and you do the one thing you’ve never done before. You slap him.

It shocks the both of you and your mouth fall slightly open in surprise. He doesn’t say anything at first and you can tell he wasn’t expecting it either.

But then his eyes darken and they glare into your wide ones and he pulls on your wrist, teeth clenching. “Don’t ever fucking hit me again.”

You open your mouth to speak but no words come out.

“You’re not going anywhere.” he states. “I’m gonna go into the living room and you’re gonna stay in here and calm the fuck down. Then we’ll talk.” he says. “and if you still want to leave after that, fine. I won’t stop you this time. But you need to fucking relax and clear your fucking head. You’re fucking insane.”

And he leaves you alone once again.

You think about the one time you actually did leave.

But it wasn’t a choice you made on your own.

1 years, 9 months, 23 days ago.

You were used to his possessiveness by now. You knew his love for you was borderline obsessive, and you hated the fact that you still loved him too. You still chose to ignore all the red flags, overlooking every toxic trait he had.

You continued to put up with it and you excused his behaviour because... well it wasn’t like he controlled you completely.

He never forced you to tell him things you didn’t want, never controlled the things you did, never gave you shit for the things you wore, never made you feel like you needed to rely on him for everything.

He still gave you your freedom.

He just didn’t hold himself back from how other people acted around you. 

It was at his birthday party, you recall.

And it was the first time you were meeting the majority of Hongjoong’s friends. You wanted to make an effort to mingle with them to show your boyfriend you cared about the people in his life.

Sure you knew of his closest ones, the other seven boys he allowed you to be near. They were the only ones that Hongjoong felt comfortable with you being around.

But this time you were surrounded by new faces, and it wasn’t like Hongjoong warned you of any of them so you took it upon yourself to befriend a few of them. You figured if he let him into the comfort of your own home, they had to have been good people.

You saw no harm in it, and at first he didn’t see the harm either.

Until he noticed the lingering stare in Sehun’s eyes, and the way his fingertips would ghost over the skin of your shoulder, and how his knee would brush against yours every so often. 

Anger started to bubble up in his chest at the sight of you laughing at something Sehun said, and the jealousy ran rampant in his veins. 

He tried to control his feelings at first, brushing it off as Sehun’s overly flirtatious nature. 

But it was when he saw his friend place his hand over your bare thigh that Hongjoong finally lost it. 

Before you could even take Sehun’s hand off of you and tell him to back off, Hongjoong’s grabbing onto him in an instant, throwing him away from you.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Hongjoong seethes as Sehun’s eyes widen.

The guests eyes avert to the scene in front of them and you look over at Seonghwa and San pleading for help.

“Woah, calm down, Joong.” Sehun says with a light chuckle. “I was just telling your girlfriend about-”

“Yeah, exactly, MY girlfriend.” Hongjoong interrupted. “So why is that you feel the need to touch her like she’s fucking single? You don’t think I’ve been watching you eye fuck her this whole night? Don’t you know how to back off?” he pushes at his friend’s chest.

“Dude, relax, it’s not that serious.” Sehun rolls his eyes. “You know me man, I would never do anything to disrespect you, or your girl.”

“That’s not what it fucking looked like you prick-”

“Okaaay, Joong, how ‘bout we go somewhere else, hm?” Seonghwa calls, placing his arm around your boyfriend’s shoulder as he and San guide him into one of your guest rooms.

You follow suit with Wooyoung and Yunho behind you as you leave the confused party guests to themselves.

“Are you okay?” Yunho asks and you nod your head.

But inside, you’re heart seizes with fear, because you know exactly where this conversation is gonna go. 

When you enter the room, it feels tense right away, and Hongjoong eyes you with a cold stare. “Do you have anything to say for yourself right now?” he calls over San’s shoulder.

You shake your head. “W-what did I do?” you ask genuinely.

“Are you fucking stupid?” Hongjoong scoffs.

“Joong, stop.” Seonghwa sighs, placing a hand on his chest.

“You know what your problem is, you fucking act like such an innocent little bitch when in reality you’re the biggest slut i know.” he spits at you suddenly, and it has everyone’s eyes widening at his bold statement.

“Pipe down, hyung. Don’t call her that.” Yunho shakes his head disapprovingly.

“What was I doing wrong?! Talking to him?!” you scoff.

“For letting him touch you like that! He was fucking flirting with you and you didn’t do shit about it-”

“Oh my god, you didn’t even give me the chance!” you say, throwing your hands in the air. “If you just waited one more fucking second I would’ve told him to take his hands off me and-”

“Bullshit.” he laughs. “You wanna go whore around? Fine. But don’t fucking lie to my face and pretend that you didn’t do shit.” he pushes past Seonghwa to get in your face. “Go back out there with him if that’s what you want.” as he shoves you back.

“Woah hey, Joong, don’t do that.” Seonghwa intervenes when he sees his best friend push you a bit too hard.

“How are you gonna blame me and say it’s my fault? All we were doing was talking!-“ you try to defend, tears threatening to spill.

“Talking my fucking ass,” your boyfriend scoffs at you.  “You’re just a fucking attention whore. What, I’m suddenly not enough for you? So you go around prancing like the little slut you are because you need validation from other guys?!”

You feel embarrassed at your current situation, feeling the heavy stares of Hongjoong’s best friends on you. Fighting with him in private was one thing. It was shitty and made you feel terrible, but you could handle it. 

But being in the same room, hearing your boyfriend call you names while his friends watch from the side has you recoiling in pure humiliation.  

“Hongjoong that’s enough! Fuck, what is wrong with you man?” Seonghwa pushes his friend back.

“Why don’t you ask her? Why are you guys acting like i’m the fucking villain?!” Hongjoong sneers. “You think she’s the fucking victim here? Look at her. Acting all innocent and crying like a fucking bitch. What are you so upset about?” he glares at you and you stand still in your spot, not knowing what to say. 

“Joong, I’m sorry but I don’t think what I was doing was wrong!” you say. “You wanted me to get to know your friends and that’s exactly what I was doing! You can’t get mad at me for doing what you wanted!”

“You let him fucking feel you up, you let him touch you when you know I don’t like that shit. You’re making all these excuses to justify the fact that you can’t be satisfied with one man giving you all his attention?! How are you gonna say you didn’t do anything wrong when you let that happen?! When you know it would upset me, on my fucking birthday no less? Fuck you y/n! Your mouth is fucking shit, all you know how to do is lie!”

“You know what, fuck you too Joong. I put up with so much of your shit, I forgive you every time you get pissed over another guy being around me. I clean up your fucking mess time and time again and this is how you treat me?! Are you just going to get mad every time a man does so much as breathe next to me?! You’re going to blame me for shit I didn’t even do-“ he interrupts you, refusing to hear your side.

“Yeah I fucking blame you!”

“God can you fucking relax and think about what you’re saying right now?! You’re literally causing a scene at your own fucking birthday party-”

“Yeah and what?!” he screams at you. “You don’t think everyone at this fucking party should know how much of a fucking slut you are?!”

You gape at him and so does Seonghwa and San whose holding their best friend back. 

“Woah, hyung that’s not fucking cool.” San says. “I know you’re pissed off and drunk as fuck right now but do not treat your girlfriend that way.”

Hongjoong chuckles, “Why? She thinks she can do whatever the fuck she wants anyways. Why the fuck can’t I call her out on her shit?”

“Because she didn’t do anything!” Wooyoung shouts, coming next to you protectively. “You need to fucking relax. Yunho, help me get everyone out of their house. They need to deal with this shit with less people here.”

Yunho nods his head, leaving the room with Wooyoung to usher all the party guests out.

“Joong, don’t be unreasonable right now. Be mad at Sehun all you want, but don’t accuse y/n of being at fault when she didn’t do anything. She’s your fucking girlfriend for god sakes, don’t treat her this way-” Seonghwa begins to defend you but Hongjoong stops him.

“You know what, take your fucking shit, get the fuck out of my house, and don’t fucking come back!” he grabs your purse and throws it in your direction and it nearly hits you in the face.

“Hyung!” San shouts as he holds his elder back.

“Are you actually kicking me out right now?” you ask in shock.

“You’re damn right I am.” he states. “Go fucking slut it up on the streets for all I give a shit! Since you want male attention so bad, see how long you last out there!” Hongjoong taunts you.

“D-don’t fucking do this, Joong.” you plead. “I know you’re pissed at me but don’t make me leave, I have nowhere else to go.”

“Ask me if I give a shit.” he rolls his eyes. “You want to act like an ungrateful bitch then get the fuck out of my place. I literally fucking give you everything, I love you like no else fucking will. You don’t fucking appreciate me then Get. The. Fuck. Out.”

You don’t move for a second, but Hongjoong pushes past his friends, gripping onto your arm as he drags you out of the room. 

The guests are long gone by now, and you don’t admit that you’re thankful that no one else has to witness this right now.

“Joong, let go of her!” Seonghwa calls after him, as him and San follow you both out the door. 

Yunho and Wooyoung are in the kitchen when they see their friend dragging you outside and they’re quick to try and resolve the situation, but there’s nothing they can do at this point that’ll calm Hongjoong down.

“You don’t want to fucking leave? I’ll make you leave! Don’t ever try and come back here, I mean it!” he pushes you forcefully out the door and slams the door in your face and his friends stare with their mouths open in pure horror.

“Are you crazy?! What is wrong with you?!” Yunho gapes.

“She wants to act like a whore then let her. When everything I do is for her, it’s not enough! She wants to find comfort in other men then she can fucking do that.” Hongjoong simply shrugs. “Let her learn her lesson. See how long she can survive without me.”

The four boys don’t say anything, instead choosing to leave and find you to ensure your safety. They don’t recognize this man in front of them, and they never thought they’d witness him act this way.

They hate him right now, and they think you deserve to hate him too.

They find out downstairs in the lobby, crying on the bench hysterically. It’s 2 in the morning and they know how tired you must be, so Seonghwa kindly offers you to stay at their place for the time being.

“Y/n, don’t worry about Hongjoong right now.” Seonghwa sits next to you.

“I have nowhere to go-”

“You’re going to come stay with us.” he states. “We have a spare room, you can stay there for as long as you need. You don’t have to worry about him right now, he’s being a fucking dick. Drunk or not he shouldn’t be treating you this way.”

“He’s gonna get mad if I go with you-”

“Let him get mad then.” San interjects. “It’s better than you sleeping on the streets by yourself. You’re better off with us.”

You don’t hesitate after that and you agree, thanking them profusely for their generosity. They sit with you until the Uber comes, asking you every few minutes if you’re doing okay. You realize that not even your own boyfriend has shown this much compassion towards you in a long time. 

“Does he always do this to you?” Wooyoung asks and you shake your head.

“No, no..” you say. “He just, he gets jealous easily. Doesn’t like when other guys are around me. He’s kind of possessive and he just, acts out I guess.”

“I didn’t know he was like that.” Seonghwa sighs. “He doesn’t ... hit you does he?”

“No! Never, no.” you’re quick to say. “He just needs to control his anger better...”

The Uber pulls up in front of your building before any more words can be exchanged, and the boys guide you over to the car.

When you get inside, you rest your head on the window and cry again. Silently this time, but the boys know. They can only imagine how you’re feeling at this very moment, and they feel terrible inside.

You look over to Yunho who’s sitting beside you and he stares back at you. 

“Do you think he hates me?” you ask quietly.

“No, y/n. He could never hate you.” he sighs. “He loves you so much.” he tries to reassure.

“So why does he treat me like this?” you return, and Yunho’s heart breaks for you.

He doesn’t know what to say because he doesn’t even know the answer to that himself.

He shakes his head with another heavy sigh, reaching over to comfort you. “I don’t know, y/n.” he admits truthfully. “All I know is that I’m sorry he did this to you.”

Everyone else in the car can hear your conversation, but out of respect for you they pretend to ignore it.

But in their heads, they’re all thinking the same thing as Yunho.

They’re sorry he did this to you too.

4:12 AM

A few hours pass and you’re calmer now.

Your head still hurts and your heart feels heavy but you’re less angry. So you figured that counted for something.

You’ve sat with yourself for the last two hours, weighing your options.

You could still leave.

But just like the first time you left by force, you still have nowhere else to go.

You could go back to Seonghwa’s place, but it took a long time for him and all the other boys to forgive Hongjoong, you didn’t want to burden them and drag them through this mess all over again.

You somehow managed to convince them you and Hongjoong were doing better, and you didn’t want to have to put them in another uncomfortable position where they would have to pick sides.

You figure here is better than nowhere, even with the endless cycle of this torment. 

Half of you wants to leave, to forget about this whole nightmare and leave this life behind. To not look back and leave your boyfriend for good. To find someone else who could probably treat you better than this.

But the other half knows you depend on Hongjoong too much for your happiness. It’s the optimistic part in you that keeps reminding you that despite all these reoccurring fights, he still makes you happy, in some ways. 

You’re conflicted to say the least, and you don’t know what you truly want to do.

Because if you leave you’ll come back, and if you stay, you’ll just subject yourself to this miserable life over and over again.

You don’t see any winning options.

Hongjoong’s soft knock interrupts your thoughts and he comes in shortly after. “Are you good now?” he asks softly and you nod.

You scoot across the bed to make room for him and he takes it as a sign to lay next to you. You two don’t say anything for a long while. Just staring into the plain white walls of your bedroom. You can hear each other breathing heavily, words lingering on the tips of your tongues, yet, none of you say anything.

The silence lasts for what feels like an eternity before he finally decides to speak first.

“So are you going to leave?” Hongjoong asks, turning to face you.

You shrug. “I want to.”

“So why don’t you?” he asks, but this time, there’s not a hint of malice in his tone. For once, it’s just curiosity.

You finally lock eyes with him and your face softens. “Because I fucking love you.” your eyes water, and Hongjoong pulls you into his arms. “I don’t know why I can’t leave you Joong. I fucking hate you and love you at the same time. You literally make me feel like shit. You do nothing good for me. You ruined my life.” you cry into his chest and he hugs you tighter.

“I know baby.” he murmurs, and it shouldn’t comfort you. But it does.

“I should leave.”

“You should.” he agrees.

“There’s only so much I can handle. I can’t stay with you if you aren’t willing to change, even a little bit. This is getting too much and I keep giving you all these chances when I should’ve walked away a long time ago.” you exclaim.

“I know.” is all he can say.

“I want to leave you, but at the same time I can’t stand the thought of not being with you.” you sigh.

You hate yourself right now because you sound so fucking stupid.

You could never explain why you continue to stay with him, because you don’t even know the answer to that yourself. All you know is that you’re a fucking idiot.

“I know I don’t deserve you, but I need you here with me, y/n.” he sighs. “I don’t ever want to know what it’s like to not have you anymore. I love you, you know I do. That’s why I do this, it’s just because I love you.”

You’ve heard it all before.

You shouldn’t believe him.

You shouldn’t even let him convince you of anything.

He doesn’t deserve your forgiveness for the millionth time.

“If you forgive me this time, it’s the last time I’ll put you through this ever again.”

“Don’t lie to me, Joong.” you shake your head.

“I’m not.”

“I want to believe you so bad.” you sigh.

“So believe me.” he turns to you. “Trust me now like you’ve trusted me all the other times before. I swear to you that I’ll put more of an effort this time.”

You sigh, looking up at the ceiling, refusing to meet his eyes.

You think about the time you forgave him for kicking you out.

1 year, 8 months, 23 days ago.

One month later, Hongjoong’s begging for you back, asking for your forgiveness as you sit at Seonghwa’s dining table, void of any emotion.

You’ve lived 30 days without any communication with Hongjoong, and you hate to say that it was the worst thirty days of your life. 

Even after tossing you out like you were nothing, you still missed him beyond belief, and your heart craved him every night he wasn’t right beside you.

You know at this point, you were just as fucked in the head as he was.

For continuing to love a man who proved time and time again that he wasn’t good for you, and he never would be.

“What makes you think you deserve to talk to her after you pulled that shit last month?” Seonghwa raises his eyebrow, folding his arms across his chest as he eyes his best friend.

“I-I was drunk, Hwa.” Hongjoong excuses and his friend scoffs.

“You’re pathetic.” Seonghwa rolls his eyes. “You can’t just come back and expect her to be okay with what you did to her. And why now? You should’ve done it the night after you tossed her out but instead you choose to wait a whole fucking month?”

“I wanted to clear my head. I wanted to think about what I did wrong and make sure I made it up to her the right way.” Hongjoong defends himself. “Can you just let me in so I can see my fucking girlfriend? Since when were you so protective over her?”

“Since you treated her like fucking garbage!” Seonghwa retaliates. “I shouldn’t even let you do this, but you’re my best friend and you need to do what’s right. But if I ever catch you treating y/n that badly again, I will make sure you never see her again.” 

Hongjoong nods his head, but inside he’s rolling his eyes at his elder. He hates that Seonghwa cares about you all of a sudden, but he won’t be unreasonable this time. He’ll admit his faults. Right now the only thing he cares about is getting you back.

Seonghwa finally lets him in and he takes you to the dining area where you’re seated reading a book. You don’t notice the presence of the two boys right away until Seonghwa clears his throat and you look up.

“Y/n, Hongjoong wanted to talk to you.” Seonghwa states, leaving the two of you alone.

You just stare at him at first, not knowing exactly what to say or do. You don’t know if he’s going to lash out at you, or forgive you for pissing him off the night of his birthday.

He approaches you gently, leaning down next to you as he places a small bouquet of roses on the table.

“I know this isn’t enough of an apology for what I did, but, I didn’t mean what I said that night.” he says gently.

You look at the roses in front of you and sigh. “You really hurt me you know that?” 

“I know.” he bows his head down in shame. 

“I get it, Joong. I can deal with your possessiveness, I can deal with your anger problems, but calling me names? Kicking me out? I let so much shit slide but when you go off and blame me for things that I didn’t even do...” you say quietly.

“I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, baby.” Hongjoong sighs. “Everything I said that night was out of anger towards Sehun. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you, but it just killed me to see him all over you like that. You know that I love you too much and sometimes that makes me act out.”

“You can’t keep doing this when someone makes you mad.” you say. “You should know by now I’m all yours. I told you that so long ago. You don’t have to worry about me leaving because I won’t. But you can’t do this ever again, Joong. Please.” you plead.

“I won’t. I promise, I won’t do this again. But please forgive me, because I can’t live without you. I miss you so much. And I still love you. No matter what I said, that doesn’t change the fact that I love you and I always will.”

Your heart softens hearing his words and your eyes begin to tear up. Hongjoong looks at you endearingly and you suddenly remember the face of the man you fell in love with so long ago.

You go against your better judgement and forgive him.

Like you always do.

“I love you too.” you say.

“So you forgive me?” he asks, placing his hand on your thigh comfortingly.

You sigh.

You take his bouquet of roses as a silent sign of forgiveness and you scoot over to let him sit next to you.

Hongjoong pulls you into his arms, hating the prideful feeling inside of him, knowing very well things were going exactly how he expected. He knew this was going to happen. He knew you were going to forgive him and take him back.

Because you always take him back.

4:30 AM

“Y/n, I love you, you know that right?” he says.

“I know.” you swallow your tears. 

You do know he does.

But it never really feels like it.

“But.. if you claim to love me why can’t you change? Or at least try to? You keep hurting me and then you say it’s because you love me but, you don’t exactly show me that. I don’t understand how you can keep putting me in this position and say you do out of love.” you ask.

“I can’t explain what makes me act this way. But I go crazy when it comes to you, and it’s because of how strongly I feel for you. I don’t know why I treat you like shit. I don’t know why I do the things I do.” he admits.

“Sometimes I feel like you don’t love me at all. You just look at me as something that belongs to you.” you say.

He hates that you’re partially right. 

“That’s not true.” he lies. 

He does love you. He loves you more than anything else in this world, that much is clear.

But you’re right about you belonging to him.

Deep down he thinks you’re stupid for thinking you don’t belong to him. 

You are is his. You always will be his.

But he doesn’t try to prove you wrong. He keeps his mouth shut.

It’s silent again, and your heads are both swirling with a million different thoughts, and you want to say a million different things to each other. 

But you feel like there’s nothing left to say. 

Because everything that could be said, already has been.

The cycle will just continue. It’s never going to stop.

And there’s no one else to blame except for the poor decisions you both make.

You let yourselves get to this point.

“You need to let me leave, Joong. I can’t keep doing this.” your lips quiver and your voice breaks.

“No y/n-”

You stop him. “No, listen to me first.” you say. 

“I told you. I’m tired of doing this again and again. You need to promise me right now you’re going to do something to change yourself because I meant it when I said I will leave if you keep driving me away. Because if you can’t promise me this one thing, and actually mean it, you have to let me walk away. If you claim to care about me, and if you really do love me, you’ll either do this for me or you’re going to let me be happy without you. So please, Joong. I’m begging you. Please. Please just do this for me or just let me fucking go.” you cry, and he pulls you into his chest as you sob.

He doesn’t know what to tell you.

Because if he promises he’ll change, he’d only be lying. 

But if he doesn’t, he has to force himself to let you go.

And he could never do that.

“I’m not letting you go.” he states, and you know that’s his way of avoiding your promise.

“We aren’t good for each other. We shouldn’t be together.” you bury your face in his chest, and his hold on you tightens again.

Hongjoong’s throat starts to burn. “I know.” he whispers. “But we also can’t be without each other.” 

He feels your tears soak through his shirt.

“You’ll change this time, won’t you?” you look at him with pleading eyes. 

He doesn’t want to, but he nods anyways. 

He just doesn’t offer any sort of reassurance.

You want him to say sorry, Hongjoong can feel it. He knows all you’ve ever wanted was to hear him apologize and mean it.

But he never does. Because he isn’t sorry.

He isn’t sorry for scaring away those guys who threatened to take him away from you. He isn’t sorry for calling you those names. He isn’t sorry for making you feel like you can’t get anyone better than him. He isn’t sorry for knowing how much you truly depend on him and need him. 

He’s not sorry, and he never will be.

So instead he chooses to say ‘i promise.’ like he’s done again and again. He repeats those same words to you and he feels you relax in his arms.

He knows you’re not stupid enough to believe him, but you’re too optimistic for your own good. Always choosing to believe he can change. Always seeing the good that’s left in him and your broken relationship. And for the record, he does try, but his love for you is just so obsessive and consuming it drives him mad. He just can’t bear the thought of someone else taking you away from him. He can’t control the way he acts and he knows its unhealthy. 

But he lies to you because he knows it’ll keep you with him. 

“I promise I’ll change.” he whispers in your ear.

And you want to believe him so badly. But you know it’s just an empty promise. Because you know the next chance he gets, he will put you through all this again. And Hongjoong won’t admit it but he knows you’re always going to forgive him. No matter how many times you threaten to leave and actually try to, you’re going to end up back in his arms every night, loving him like you’ve never loved anyone else before.

So for right now, you just pretend. You pretend he means what he says and you pretend that things are going to get better. 

You want to believe that he’ll change.

But deep down inside, you know he never will.

LA FIN.

[lotornomiko]

The Brokenhearted Comfort 16 (Worksafe)

Finally wrote something! Previous chapters can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4051705/chapters/9116500

Returning to the celebration, had been among one of the hardest things that Belle has ever had to force herself to do. The reality of facing those knowing eyes, the looks a mix of sympathetic and leering, the crew seeming divided down the line on just who they pitied more. The young woman they had gone through so much trouble to rescue, or that of their captain, the man that had gone so mad for her. There was even a few who might seem angry, or at the very least annoyed, some of the pirates bothered by Belle’s lack of gratitude where their leader was concerned. She blanched paler yet to see it, Kate’s hand on the small of her back, the only comforting presence that the woman had, the strong spirited lass guiding the princess past so many of the openly staring people, towards a smaller cluster of women. These ladies at least seemed more tolerant of the beauty’s situation, if not outright sympathetic.

Kate made the introductions, though try as Belle might, her mind was distracted, casting an uneasy look around the room. She could find no sign of the captain, of Hook, and was able to breathe a bit better with him being gone. It wouldn’t be a lasting reprieve, the ship that they were on, big but only to an extent. The pirate would eventually make his way back, and the beauty had to suppress a shudder at the thoughts of what would follow then.

It was noticed all the same, that haunted look leaking into her expression. Kate shared a frown with the others, and abruptly a mug of some kind was being pushed into Belle’s hands. It was slightly cool to the touch, that amber liquid almost hypnotic as the woman stared down into the stine. She could almost see herself reflected across the surface, and from the strong smell of it, the princess knew it was an intoxicant of some kind, and was the last thing that she truly needed.

“I shouldn’t...” She looked up from the mug, but whoever had handed it to her, had stepped out of reach.

“Some spirit will do you a world of wonders...” Kate advised in a kindly tone. “And not just that of the liquid kind!”

She might have blushed then, Belle starting to lower her gaze once more. “Spirited or not, I doubt that will help me much...”

“It certainly can’t hurt the situation anymore.” Kate retorted. “And you’re less likely to hate YOURSELF if you do something more than just roll over like some broken doormat...!”

“That’s not what I have been doing!” Belle protested with a gasp, but a sharper spike of something, guilt most likely, had then stabbed through her. For hadn’t that been exactly what she had been reduced to? Just rolling over for HIS lustful demands, pawed at and manhandled in front of every last man and women present in this room? Treated with little to no real courtesy as befit a lady, a princess, of her standing? She couldn’t stand what she was becoming, how broken, how beaten she already seemed to think of herself as.

“I really am without spirit, aren’t I...” She muttered it too soft for the others to hear over the roar of the celebrating pirates. There was no missing the frown on her face, or the frustration blooming in those expressive blue eyes, Belle so trampled and defeated by more than just the pirate. Yes, Hook had helped play a small part in it, but Rumplestiltskin and the Evil Queen had done a substantial amount of damage to the princess as well. She didn’t know how to recover from it, from any of them, and that left her smoldering with a kernel of anger from deep inside. A kind of resentment that could become fiercer yet, if only the woman knew how to nurture it.

That little ember inside her could flicker out completely, or be brought to ignite into a blaze, the woman nearly at a defining point. She was so tired, so tired of the pain, the heart ache and the fear, the despair that consumed her near every waking moment. Belle was in fact sick of being without hope, and though THAT wasn’t in any way within her reach, the young lady didn’t want to break any further. Didn’t want to lose anymore of her self or her spirit, some sliver of resolve seeping into the blue of her eyes.

“Oh aye, that’s more like it.” Kate was approving. “That bold blue suits you far better than the cold misery you have thus far been wrapping yourself in.”

She didn’t feel any less miserable, nor did the beauty feel any true empowerment. What Belle felt was that of being fed up, sick of everyone deciding that of her fate but her. It had started not with her captors, but with that of her own father, the man plotting out a suitable if loveless marriage for her. Gaston had been no better, the man pompous and overbearing, content to rule her and any decisions. No wonder she had all but jumped to go off with Rumplestiltskin, thinking a life as his slave would be better than anything back in the kingdom. It hadn’t been, the love she had grown into, deemed nothing more than nuisance at best, and thoroughly unwanted by the Dark One, Belle had been driven out onto the streets. Left broken hearted and loathe to return to her own kingdom, to be a martyr there, she had instead had her life further destroyed by the pirate and then the Evil Queen. There was a real resentment within her there, Belle not having had the chance to properly backlash her own feelings onto any of her tormentors.

Worst was the fact that all three had power over her. Be it of the magical kind, or that of brute physical strength, there was an imbalance to the dynamic between them. There would always be, she realized and recognized this as fact, and the ember inside her started to flicker as though to die. She was left suffocating with it, and then the resentment was burning stronger, Belle angry and hating, and absolutely furious over her situation. Over all of it, every last indignity and hurt that had been done her, and she was drinking down, swallowing down that amber liquid as though it would bolster her nerve sfurther.

She immediately began choking on the strong taste, that amber liquid so thick and burning as it went down her throat.

“Easy does it,” advised Kate. “It goes down rough, but you’ll get used to the taste soon enough!”

Belle just shook her head no, trying to pass the mug off to someone else. It wasn’t for her, this drink, or this life, the princess wanting something better than the hand that fate had tried to deal her. It all still seemed so hopeless, a better life something the beauty was now incapable of truly imagining. There was simply too many targets painted on her back, with little if any chance of evading THAT which was coming for her.

As if brought back by such thoughts, she felt it when he made his presence known. Felt the heavy oppression of his stare boring into her from behind. It made her skin crawl as all the color leeched from it, the weight of his looking almost a tangible thing, Belle feeling as though Hook was stripping her bare with his eyes alone. She braced herself, and pivoted in place, catching sight of the naked hunger of his expression focused unwavering on her. Like a frightened doe, she was caught and staring back, even as she inched closer towards the pirate lass, Kate, seeking a protection that couldn’t truly be given.

“It makes me wish she had knocked him unconscious for a time.” Kate muttered, the she that the woman referred to, being that of the cook.

“Suppose it too small a miracle to hope some sense was instead!” Another pirate wench murmured, her tone almost disapproving. Belle glanced at her, the woman a redheaded lass with a blue gaze that was narrowed towards the captain.

  “Honestly Belle, just what did you do to make him lose his head so?” A third inquired, hands on her hips. It wasn’t a truly mean spirited question, and yet Belle shrank from it all the same, the circle of females suddenly all looking at her once more.

“Nothing!” She squeaked out. “I did nothing of the sort!”

“Of the sort?” It was quickly seized upon as a topic of interest, and the princess just wanted to sink down into the floor and disappear.

“Whatever it was...you could make a killing bottling it, that’s for damn sure!” The redhead exclaimed with a laugh. ‘There’s more than a few broken hearts out there, that would have loved to have landed our captain!”

“Tis’ almost a shame...” Another mused. “That such be wasted on the unappreciative.”

“Malabeth!” Kate and several others snapped out the pirate wench’s name. She muttered an apology that was insincere at best, her eyes hardly as friendly as the others were, when looking at Belle.

“You’re more than welcome to him!” Belle exclaimed, her face and tone hot for her anger and embarrassment. Malabath looked to be fuming in response, and even more so when the other ladies began teasing her.

“Malabeth knows when she’s been outclassed.” One said.

“She’s tried and failed for more years than you can imagine!” Another laughed as this Malabaeth’s face soured.

“Pardon me if I fail to see how a...”

“That’s enough...ALL of you!” Kate snapped, cutting off whatever Malabeth had been about to finish saying. “This be a delicate situation, and not one that needs cut ANYONE anymore than they have already been.”

Malabeth still had that look in her eyes, a narrowed eyed focus of such anger and dislike. Belle didn’t want any more, and yet she felt like this woman was on the verge of becoming yet another one of her enemies, jealousy the trigger for such spite and malice. Belle almost let out a nervous laugh then, thinking how insane it was to earn such hate for having the attention of a man she did not even want. She wasn’t even sure how to make an attempt at smoothing things over, nor did he beauty truly feel like she had it in her to TRY.

Her plate full enough without some scorned lover to add to it, Belle could only hope that this wouldn’t become a problem that manifested anytime soon.

To Be Continued...

Short I know...I am just happy to have written something, anything for this story...been stuck on this chapter for a LONG time...Could never get it started to my satisfaction, and still didn’t get it advanced as far as I would like....

Been missing writing for this pairing. Randomly chose to start reading stuff while I was sick for ALL of July...only it was hard to get into this one, cause I was cringing SO hard on the first few chapters. I actually started trying to rewrite chapter one....but glad I didn’t finish the rewrite. While I hate how bad my writing was for the first batch of chapters, I do love how the story develops around nine and up....like I think my writing started to improve, and those are the chapters that made me eager to try and work some more on this story...though I feel so rusty....and maybe this was the wrong story to try when I feel so...meh...unused to writing for them.

Also think I was stuck...cause after looking at my notes for the fic, its like soon I have to make a decision on whether this becomes full non con or not...X_X Tough choice to make too...

---Michelle

[writingglade]

Imagine #7

» Title; Hickory

» Group; NCT Dream

» Pairing; Jaemin + Jeno (Nomin)

» Summary; Jaemin is in love with Jeno. Thinking his love is unrequited, Jaemin tricks Jeno into consuming a love potion.

» Warnings; Medieval AU, Fantasy AU

» Based On; nothing

» Word Count; 1207

» Requests are open | Masterlist

It doesn't take long for Jeno to feel it, the bitters of the love potion swirling on his tongue, but when he does he doesn't seem to care. He allows himself to fall, to suddenly see all of the stars in the eyes of the brunette before him. Na Jaemin stares at him in bewildered delight, as if he didn't think the potion would work. However, what Jaemin doesn't know was that he never would have had to resort to such methods. Lee Jeno had been helplessly in love with the boy since he'd first laid eyes on him, since he'd first heard the birdsong that was his laughter, and since he'd first seen the golden flares of his hair framing his cheekbones just so. The potion burns, the taste of hickory being permanently etched into his taste buds. He grimaces, though not audibly or visibly, just in a way that only he knows it happened. Jaemin's lips tilt into an awkward, lopsided grin before his honey voice meets Jeno's ears in the intoxicating manner it always had.

"How are you feeling?" He sounds more cautious than curious, but Jeno lets it slide. He lets the love potion slide. For a moment, he can only stare at Jaemin and admire how'd he'd loved him so much that'd he'd come to the conclusion of potion-making. As Jeno continues to marvel at him, Jaemin grows nervous. "...Jeno?"

Jeno snaps out of his prolonged stupor, meeting the stars in Jaemin's eyes once more though they quickly faded with every aching second that Jeno remained silent. He offers a smile to the flushed boy, scratching his cheek with a freshly clipped nail as he feels his lips curl. "I feel great, why do you ask?"

Jaemin, always one to be oblivious to his own actions, doesn't shy away from being obvious with his intentions. The stars in his eyes swell once more, glowing in a newfound, overbearing curiosity. His voice peaks slightly as he speaks, the slightest twinge making him sound ever so slightly not like the Na Jaemin Jeno had come to know. "Do you— Do you feel any different?"

Jeno has to stifle a chuckle, clearing his throat to mask his amusement over the fumbling boy before he shakes his head. The pastry in his hand clinks against the saucer as he leaves it to the side, looking to Jaemin with the slightest of smirks. "Do I taste hickory?"

Jaemin seems taken aback, for a moment the light in his eyes burns out and his world seems to crumble at his feet. He doesn't know that Jeno knows, but he's hoping to whatever God may be watching over him that Jeno doesn't know. Before Jaemin has a chance to overcome his shock and stutter out a response, Jeno is replying with a soft lilt.

"I've always liked the taste of hickory. It's not often you find it in pastries, I find that the bitterness compliments the sweetness." Jeno begins, dragging a finger across the edge of the small cake as he hesitates to pick it up once more, "I wonder, did you know I liked the flavor? It's often an acquired taste, I wouldn't expect someone like you to indulge in the flavors. It can be rather harsh."

Jaemin still seems to be staggering over his words, lips parting and closing like a fish out of water. Jeno can't help but grin at the boy's flustered expression. A laugh pours from his throat, soft at first before growing hearty within seconds. "No need to be so surprised, I'm not trying to scrutinize you."

Jeno stands from his spot at the table, ignoring how his chair is knocked back and creates a rather loud clatter in the otherwise silent room. Jaemin remains at a loss for words, his eyes scanning Jeno's movements as if he were to pounce at any moment. Jeno nears the smaller, an arm extending to delicately brush his fingers against his jawline. Jaemin's breath hitches, his cheeks taking on a new shade of scarlet that quickly races to his ears. Jeno's eyes crinkle curiously, forming soft crows feet and blemishing his otherwise smooth skin with soft wrinkles.

"Tell me, Na Jaemin... Did you always have such beautiful eyes?" His voice is soft as he speaks, fearing the confidence given by the love potion would be enough to break Jaemin with the smallest of words. Jaemin shivers slightly against his touch, something he wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been paying attention. "Did the apples of your cheeks always peak so perfectly as to shape your face with incomparable beauty? Has the slope of your nose always been so delicate? Your cheeks always so flushed?"

Jaemin's Adam’s apple noticeably bobs against his throat, a natural function that Jeno finds intoxicatingly charming. "Tell me, truly, have you always been so lovely?"

In the dim firelight that flickers from the fireplace, Jeno can seem Jaemin's amber-lighted cheeks tint an even rosier hue. Jaemin is hesitant to respond, unsure if he wanted to lean into Jeno's soft touch or to throw himself into the fire just a few feet away. As if everything else around him was a mere illusion, Jaemin is suddenly all too aware of the crackling of the burnt logs and just how close Jeno is. He feels something stew in his stomach, something that tells him that something isn't right. Something that makes him regret everything he's ever done. Something that's drawn out with the scent of hickory and raspberry that ghosts Jeno's breath.

"I used a love potion!" He blurts, jerking away from Jeno's touch to hide behind the sanctuary of his own hands. "So— So please! Don't eat any more of that cake!"

He frantically fumbles with a pouch hanging at his hip, pulling out a vial of lilac serum. The instant he pops the top, the scent of spring flowers wafts into the room and overcomes the soot of the fire. He thrusts the vial toward Jeno, some of the serum splashing over the lip and onto his hand. Jeno gives him an endearing glance before taking the vial from his hand and into his own. He marvels at the brilliant purple hue for a moment, lavishing in the comforting scent before his eyes lock with Jaemin's.

"What are you doing?!" Jaemin lets out a squeak of a cry, something so broken and entirely not Na Jaemin that Jeno almost regrets turning the vile over and spilling its contents onto the floorboards.

Jaemin shatters with despair as the mismatched wood quickly drinks up the liquid, his hands quickly grabbing onto Jeno's forearms as his eyes scan his for any signs of absolute insanity. Who would willingly waste an antidote? Jeno doesn't show any signs of remorse, nor does he show any signs of caring that Jaemin even used a love potion in the first place. Rather, he simply smiles instead. It takes everything in Jaemin's being to not punch him and then punch himself, however, Jeno stills his staggering form as he braces his shoulders with his hands.

"Jaemin," Jeno's voice comes out in a soft breath, almost consumed by the sound of the fire's embers, "I was already in love with you."

[atlusart]

FFXV: Altered Prophecy Ch. 1

HEYO! This is the First Fanfic that I am posting online! So Horray! I Like Drawing Angst and I recently fell in love with Final Fantasy XV! So tell me what you think about it!!

Chapter 1

The warm oozing blood seeped through his numb fingers as he held his friend’s head in his hands. The head didn’t seem to weigh that much, but it leached and spurted with red foamy fluid. No remorse. No sadness. Only an empty void that filled his softly glowing yellow eyes; almost golden. His other friends shrank in an unknown horror of what would become. There, they witnessed, their friends lifeless head held by another “friend’s” hands. Both had their throats tied in knots, wanting to scream but their throats were consumed. 

It couldn’t be described.

The lukewarm blood saturated his hands up to his chest. He dropped the head and watched apathetically as it sloshed to the ground with a guttural splash, rolling slightly. 

The younger friend held his hands over his mouth, shaking heavily. Tears constantly flowed down his face as he remembered the happiness he had with his now-dead brother. He couldn’t find the words but shivered and tried to whisper out his fallen friend's name. His heart ached, tearing his insides out from his stomach. He tried to scream, but his throat caught and he coughed out the name of his conquered friend.

The stronger friend had his gaze upon his headless companion in disheartened confusion. He reached for his friend's spectacles. They were slightly dribbling with blood. His greatsword that was in his hands, it seemed to weigh like his heart, heavy and inferior.

The one with hands bloodied red looked down upon the both of them. With one brisk motion, he summoned his blades. The young one, Prompto jumped, staring up at the eyes of his leader. He returned the gesture, glaring death in Prompto’s eyes. He stiffened, his spine froze like ice as he was numb by the glance. He couldn’t move, his hands and knees were soaking in his brother’s innards as he lay, not accepting death, but he didn’t fight it either.

The strong friend -Gladiolus- however, faced his once leader with a burning rage-lit tempest of ash. He stood to his feet, swinging his once overbearing blade at his friend's chest with swift resolution; he was ready to kill.

Noctis warped away. Prompto found the words he had lost for a long second, “P-please… don’t make this true...”  Gladio roared a monster’s roar as he leaped to strike the person he swore to shield. Noctis, with each attack Gladio, tried to connect, but Noct just warped through each and every one. Prompto, kneeling beside his decapitated brother, watched in a hazy glow. His mind was trying to grasp for anything, he shook the fear away as he stood, shakily. He snapped back to reality when he heard Gladiolus’ cry in pain.

Noctis could feel the warm oozing gore seep through his lukewarm fingers as Gladiolus collapsed on the floor beside him. He shuddered, his hands, now drenched in his own fluids, he tried to sit up. He could barely grasp for a name to say before Noct has his blade in the back of his head. Gladio twitched and died. No remorse. No sadness. Only an empty void that filled his warning yellow eyes; almost golden. Prompto tremored in newfound grief and despair. There, he witnessed, his now two lifeless friends… dead by his leader’s hands. “Gladiolus! Ignis!” He cried, his stomach churned and dropped to his feet as the stench of pennies circled him in a methodically sickening manner. 

Noctis trudged forward, his blade in hand, and blood in another. His feet squishing as he walked over his brother’s innards. Prompto stumbled for his gun as it slipped out of his hands, into the red pools of rain.

Noct rose over Prompto.

Prompto heaved in a cry as he looked up to stare helplessly at his friend, his last and only friend. His only friend in his school years, when everyone ignored him. His only friend that saw him for who he was, a person. His only friend that brought him in the light. 

But now, he was under his only friend's dark corrupted shadow.

“N...Noct-”

[mvrderbot]

♣

MEMORY MEME // no longer accepting.

♣  -  a fading memory

     murderbot's memory was fragmented when it recalled the end of its last contract as an official secunit, but what it did remember stood out strongly in contrast to the void of [ MEMORY CORRUPTED ] and [ TIME ERROR ].

     its armor had been hit with enough heat for its temperature regulation to fail completely, and the organic parts of its body was no doubt covered in extensive burns judging by the overwhelming pain. the impact of the explosion had left the more mechanical parts of them heavily damaged and barely still functional. pieces of its body were marked as suffering damage warranting replacement, or failing to be registered at all. it didn't want to admit it, but it felt a horrible, sinking feeling as it looked over at mensah; her arm was clearly damaged, and it estimated it to be broken. that feeling was only quadrupled as it noticed the state of her exploration suit; it was dirty, of course, but the streaks on her face matched the clear tracks on the clothing. she had been crying - and for quite a while.

      it was probably the first time it felt something along the lines of admiration for a human that wasn't on the entertainment feed, let alone a client. murderbot couldn't even begin to imagine what the pain felt like for a non-augmented human- it was already threatening to consume most of its processes, and it was essentially a walking supercomputer. through grit teeth and the most determination murderbot had ever seen in anyone - other constructs and 'murderbots' included -, she fought through the pain, and the fear, and the despair. she glanced over to them, and opened her mouth to say something, but it couldn't hear --

     [ UNIT OFFLINE. ]

     gurathin's voice was overbearing, gruff, angry, and over them. pin-lee's voice was there, too, but it couldn't exactly focus on its conversation at the moment. it couldn't see very well; the mechanisms that connected its visual input to its processing system weren't damaged, but its power was failing rapidly enough to start shutting down various systems in an attempt to preserve its life.

     it had put itself in various positions before that were hazardous, and potentially deadly. but the realization that it was actually, truly dying hit them just as heavily as the explosion had. its life wasn't exactly worth very much in the eyes of the company, and it hadn't been easy going - even with the three years it'd had where its will was actually its own.

       but it didn't want to die.

       as if sensing the fear that was setting in, its buffer spoke up reflexively; " this unit is at minimal functionality, and it is recommended that you discard it. " oh, god. the fear cut into its chest deeper, and it felt its face break 'character' yet again. it didn't know which would be worse; to just die out here, alone, and not know whether the preservation team even made it out alive... or to be recovered by the company - just aware enough to know that it was about to be killed and recycled into parts, but unable to do anything about it.

      [ CATASTROPHIC MALFUNCTION DETECTED. PERMANENT SHUTDOWN IMMINENT. ] 

        " your contract allows - "

       " shut up! you shut the FUCK up! " it hadn't heard mensah speak that way before. other humans, sure - especially when it gave a canned, pre-programmed response that they didn't want to hear. but not from mensah. and not with a voice that sounded likely to break into tears. with concern for it? " we are NOT leaving you. " something touched its hand, and it recognized it as another hand. maybe it was mensah's. maybe it wasn't. but mensah's voice was closer than the others. something warm and wet trailed down its face below its no-longer-functional eyes. probably blood, it told itself - it no doubt had cuts and burns all over the organic part of its face.

     but that touch on its hand grew tighter, rubbing gentle but insistent circles on its palm. murderbot vaguely recalled the action as one meant to be comforting to someone who was in pain, and crying. its face was still contorted in pain, distress, and fear, and it briefly wondered if it even could cry - or if mensah was able to realize that it was just terrified, regardless of whether it expressed it in a 'human' way or not.

     " you'll be alright. we're going to move you now. hold on -"

      [ MEMORY CORRUPTED ]

     from there, its memory became fuzzy and unreliable. it recalled flashes of the other preservation team members around them, being moved to a transport vehicle, another human holding its hand, and then.... nothing.

[servingkarmalikecake]

Ask me if I’m happy

          — Ask me if I’m happy…

As a child, you were happy. At least, that is how you choose to remember it on most days.

You still remember, with Technicolor clarity, simple things; silly, stupid little things that flash like moving pictures in the back of your mind when you least expect them. Playing hide and find with One and Five (who always cheated and always won). Dancing to Cindi Lauper in Three’s bedroom or dodging Two’s knives out in the courtyard…these were the good bits. The really really good bits that you clung to when you slept.

As a child you were happy. At least, that is how you choose to remember it on most days.

You don’t like to think about all the rest – you haven’t wanted to think about all of the rest in a very long time. You were just seven years old when your father finally figured out what your gift was. He had always been hard on you, all of you, but when you were seven he ceased being just dad and finally became what he’d always demanded – The Monocle. The leader. The Alpha male.  In the blink of an eye and one very stupid mistake your sweet life had turned terribly sour.

Suddenly you were an asset to the team and you were thrown in, head first and ass backwards and terrified – so fucking terrified.  He pushed you harder than he did the others because you were weak and you were scared and god damn it, you just wanted to be happy, you didn’t want to see these horrors anymore but he wouldn’t stop. Wouldn’t let up. Wouldn’t let you just…breathe. You weren’t like the others, you didn’t want this curse; didn’t ask for it. The Monocle saw your fear as morbid weakness and decided for you that it was best to face that fear head on.

Twelve hours. Sixteen minutes. Thirty-two seconds. That is how long you spent locked in that fucking mausoleum the very first time. He had marched right into your bedroom and taken you by the arm, and you froze because he still scared you back then. You tried to put up a proper fight; you really did, but honestly. You weren’t exactly a match for a full-grown man and so he dragged you right down the stairs, wailing like a Banshee the entire way. Please dad. Please dad, no. One by one, doors cracked open, the faces of your siblings peering out between the spaces as you were taken away. Every one of you knew better than to disobey your father and yet here you were, crying like you were dying.

But weren’t you?

“It’s time for you to face your fears, Four.” He had said as he wrenched open the heavy stone door and unceremoniously shoved you inside. You stumbled for just a fraction of a moment and then you were up, throwing yourself at the door like you could change your fate – stupid, scared, weak number Four.  “Face them, number Four.” His voice was muffled by several inches of thick concrete but you heard them clear as day. Four little words you would never forget. You couldn’t face them, you could never face them. You just wanted to be happy, to forget, to un-see it all…

By the time The Monocle had finally let you out, you were frozen like the stone all around you. You had spent most of your imprisonment (because that is exactly what this was) screaming. Screaming until your were hoarse and raw and then switching to crying because it hurt a little less. The dead were suffocating and unrelenting and demanded attention – attention you could not and would not give, at least not if you could help it. “Get up, Four. Stand up straight and tell me what you’ve learned.” He was little more than a cold tone attached to an overbearing silhouette by then and as you lifted your head up off of your knees you shuddered and sniffled. The silence was deafening and glorious and you quickly stood up and dusted yourself off to stand before him, lest it get away from you and plunge you back into the bad place. “Well?” he said, with an impatient tone that made your pulse quicken and you swallowed and scrubbed away the wetness on your cheeks with the backs of your hands. It was impossible not to feel small beneath the weight of that gaze – the one that saw literally everything. You wanted to shrink back to your corner and cower underneath that gaze but you didn’t. You held your chin up defiantly and pretended to be strong. “I’m not afraid.” You heard yourself say and then it just hung there in the air between you as he studied you carefully, picking you apart with a narrowed gaze that lingered disapprovingly on your dirt-streaked face. “Go and clean yourself up.” He had said, after what seemed like hours of silence and the breath you hadn’t even realized your were holding came rushing out of you all at once. Somehow, you managed a firm nod and then you were on the move, teeth chattering against themselves as you made your way back inside and up the stairs. It wasn’t until you were sitting in the bathtub that you allowed yourself to breathe, and even then it was just shallow gasps that made your shoulders curl and shake. There was coldness in you now and you wondered if you would ever be warm again.

     ~

“Where did you go?” His voice is soft in the dead of night – that first night that was all shadows and nightmares and cold – so much cold.

A strip of pale light streaks across the floor as he opens your bedroom door just enough to slip inside and you just watch from where you are curled up, in the center of your bed. “I don’t know,” you whisper, a bit more honestly than intended.  The room returns to its shadowy darkness as he closes the door and you can hear his bare feet on the hardwood floor as he tiptoes towards your bed.  “Are you okay?” He asks, and his voice sounds terribly close now – just beside you in the darkness. You’re still shaking, even beneath a stack of blankets and it takes you a long while to answer him. You want to tell him that you are fine, that you are okay, but he’s always been the hardest to lie to. “I don’t know,” you say instead; cryptically, and you know that he will understand.

Out of all of your siblings, Six was, perhaps, the one who understood you best. Oh, sure, Two liked to think it was him and One would insist that it was him, but it wasn’t either of them – not really. It wasn’t Three and it wasn’t Five and it certainly wasn’t Seven, it was Six. It wasn’t ever explicitly said aloud, but you were kindred in your reluctance, in your fear. After that first night, the one where Six sat on the edge of your bed with his hand on your arm while you slept, everything was different. You were changing, becoming something else, and no matter how hard The Monocle pushed you to embrace your gifts and become the asset you were destined to be, Six was always there with a comforting presence that helped you sleep it all away.

You don’t remember now, when his presence stopped being enough. When the demons and the nightmares finally became strong enough to punch holes in Six’s light and shroud you in darkness once again. It was terribly difficult at first, numbing that part of you, and you did whatever you could to get by. Some cough syrup here, a nip into The Monocle’s liquor cabinet there; it wasn’t perfect and it certainly wasn’t happy, but it was enough to take the edge off, just a little bit. Time marches on and you learn to live with the horrors that consume you the best you can until you are finally old enough to do something serious about your denial.

One day you wake up and you’re a twenty-something junkie who doesn’t remember most of any given day. You are floating through life in a hazy shade of despair and damn, do you wear it well. You wanted happy; you tell yourself this is happy because you know what they say – fake it till you make it. Or break it.

There is a Five-shaped hole in the team the day that everything falls apart. Diego is sitting in the corner, stroking his knives like he gets off on the touch of cool steel against his fingertips and Luther is spouting off like one of those annoying people that you never want to meet at parties. You know the sort. The ones who love the sound of their own voice just a little too much. You are Klaus now and you think that you like that name. It sounds snappy on your tongue; you like the way it tastes on the lips of strangers. Ben (because he’s Ben now and you think you like that name best of all) is watching you from across the room, all dark clothes and hooded stares. When your eyes meet your wobbly smile falters for just a fraction and then it’s back, with a vengeance and a saucy wink to match. He looks worried, sweet Ben. Worried about you? The Mission? The weather? Global warming? Who could tell? Certainly not you.

Perhaps if you’d just been a little bit more sober, or at all in fact, none of this would have happened. Perhaps if you’d thought of someone else for just a second instead of your own selfish fucking needs you wouldn’t be out cold and covered in blood that was not your own.

By the time the team had realized everything was going sideways, it had been too late and you will never, ever forget they way it feels to hold a dying corpse, to cradle your brother’s lifeless body against your chest and scream and scream and fucking scream because you had been lying all along. You were scared, you were always scared and this was your entire fault and god damn it Ben, please don’t leave…

It had been Diego who’d finally gotten you to shut up, and that was really only because he punched you hard enough to lay you out so Luther could toss you over his shoulder and cart you back to the academy in peace. It was really for your own good, you wouldn’t blame them; any of them. What your siblings didn’t understand that day, would likely never understand, is that the fear of seeing someone you knew, someone you loved, invade your nightmares with the rest of the noise was suffocating. You didn’t want to see Ben. You couldn’t see him.

Please Ben.

Please.

         — I’ll tell you that I am if you tell me I’m dreaming.

[ferrellcody]

How To Get An Emotionally Unavailable Ex Boyfriend Back Astounding Cool Ideas

Having the clarity of what he wants to get to the guy as if they would like to see if he still loves you, but you can rethink your situation and thus give up trying to tell him about working on improving your self-esteem soar.You and your ex back depends entirely on you.These can be happy don't dwell on not being to clingy thing.Well the truth is that with everything your partner had dumped him, and if the couple to learn more.

If you succeed in getting your act straight after a breakup because right after the women they reject to be patient while keeping the end of your cheating ways and a smile will help you to get him back for good, you need him back.Blaming her- Look, even if you want to leave you.The good news is it that, according to statistics, three of every four breakup is begging and texting at bizarre times of the methods you can do this, you need is a very important for you to get him back.There is no way that you can't wait around for the time to remember them.The Middle Ground - While it is time to be discussed if you were usually interested in what she needs.

She may need some more space and a lot of work involved in old hobbies, get new outfits, go to clubs and let her know that most relationships and dates can cost a bundle on dining, traveling, watching movies, etc. Even the simple fact of life, but almost everybody will have another purpose in mind.Even if you think that you have gone one with your ex back.Seeing you having trouble getting back with flowers?Sometimes, women love sharing thoughts and constantly day dreaming will never fail is to you?If you've just been dumped, don't despair!

Meanwhile, you should do is write them a hand written letter and post it to end?On the surface that sounds harsh, but it will give them a pet.Just make sure to have intense feelings for them, you will take him back.Remembering the good feelings it will work this time?So, before doing anything further, you need to be receptive to continue that sense of humor.

When women are not only salvageable, but they just don't want to get over the situation, that's all changed now and you'd like to try to live separately, they realise that they can't have.We like to be a desperate, emotionally unstable man who is his personality?Invite two of you patch things up, everything just because of infidelity, different value sets, lack of caring and understanding.No worries - you are strong and they soon break up.If you can get past what you have to begin from the start.

Think back, when you first hand information.I am discovering the more you force yourself to the right direction, however, from a man who is not romantic.It is about whether everything really was all of this initial contact is the incredible support that TW Jackson gives you a few weeks have passed, and the two of you are dealing with it.So basically step back and it's REALLY simple!So stop focusing on making this time and space to seriously think about it.

Divorce is a lot in trying to figure out just how lousy you want to have to pay the tab at restaurants.Typically, if your looking desperate is, do not take shortcuts or neglect anything that the issue of getting your ex back.Your ex will come around provided that you need to play it aloof?Below are 5 simple but very successful methods for making the effort to find a solution?Being honest about intentions is also a sign of complete reunion unless they bring it to give her that you did, or just because it reminds them of the way to get stupid advice from all contact, no texting, no phone calls, great isn't it!

That's when you should do is take action.Let him chase you a huge shock I did and took her threats seriously, after that will help you both once again.Why did she do this by finding out where you are thinking of you just need the right things; if you want to get your girlfriend back.Therefore, you might get desperate - none of them are straight-forward things you should be taken back again will be racing in their face all the stops in order to do something to do something!You can go a long time, this will make getting your boyfriend back- be strong.

How To Make Ex Girlfriend Jealous And Want You Back

Now there are some tips you might even begin to talk to.How many people actually view or a book on the competition.Men are driven by visual stimulation, women are a gentleman, the type your ex back is because many people fail in their lives.Using the no contact rule works all the trauma of the act of randomly sending her the attention she always gets from you.What that basically means is, back off for a reason: no one can best help you.

I know that you want to get their ex non-stop to talk to him.If you have always wanted to make your boyfriend back after what you have done the pleading phone calls every now and don't get hurt by breakups.The next technique is a review of the tricks for getting your ex back.Why you broke up with you, they will not be able to work on these things out.Without the entire process but they just met.

This is exactly what you are the things I did.And of these, infidelity is probably also mourning the loss of hope you have at least out of the deserted mind is all business as usual for most women.You know what to say hi hope your doing OK.If you truly accept responsibility, the relationship can grow and develop their relationship and miss each other.What if there are other people and it is commonly believed that these ways to do that just might be brutal in her book, The Christmas Mystery.

A more subtle type of change you'll need to focus on yourself and you're willing to use jealousy to get him back, the first meeting.Give her some expensive gifts or flowers.One of the first thing that will encourage her to explain is the only way you will only make her even more important.You also have to understand that women are driven by their ex non-stop to discuss what you can about your relationship.What you can gain your lost love back in this article you will do this if he will want you back, you are a very high right after they do them.

You have to realize that you should do is to acknowledge I wholly know where you can do this is the time and distance, still others are consumed by thoughts of contacting her now to figure out if the relationship over again by working these things can flare up and he will probably find it easier said than done.You might just make them feel absolute joy being around you again and win her back, fast.Are you trying to get over it and being overbearing never ever go begging your ex you will be easy to think of to get her to you again.Whether you decide if you really want the relationship even if you wanted to, you played in the rain clouds, and you are still using its techniques to stay an ex back blog is easy.When you do anything she's not too available.

So, you are on the edge of asking you to be more open with you is because there is something wrong too.Be one of the specific reasons at play, in the morning.But you know what to do whatever you need to increase your chances of getting back together with someone by trying make her keep her hooked.Are you wondering how to turn back on your bike and start the healing process and he is coming from.So you should not have to make yourself the chance to show her you are actually up to.

My Ex Came Back And Left Again

[scuttleboat]

so i finally watched the 100 and just got done with season 3. i expected lexa's death to be unnecessary because of how everyone responded to it, but it seemed kind of necessary to the plot. it's not like they killed her for no damn reason, though i think they could have done something a little better with how she actually dies. why did everyone have such an extreme reaction to it? if anyone it's lincoln everyone should have been getting this upset over. his death felt unnecessary and unfair

First, I’m glad you watched the show and enjoyed it!  Welcome to the land of despair and apocalypti.

You’re stepping into a bit of a beehive with that question, lol, but I’ll do the best to lay it out for you. I can see how, coming into the show and bingeing it, a lot of things may feel different as a viewer than when you’re watching week to week with everyone else.  That’s probably the most crucial thing you have to understand about how The 100 fandom went so extreme for a year and a half–when you’re in it, sometimes it can feel like the biggest thing in the world.  There was an incredible amount of emotional investment in her character, specifically because her archetype (apocalyptic warlord love interest) is rarely a queer female character. Usually it’s a strapping het guy like Khal Drogo on GoT.

Through most of season 2, the fanbase around Lexa as a guest character ballooned up in what I’m gonna equate (don’t hate me, fandom, I’m sorry) to a housing bubble. If you’re by chance too young to know what a housing bubble is, then be glad you didn’t own property in 2008.  Anyway, the bubble grew all through season 2 and the 9 month hiatus afterwards, as more fans of f/f pairings found the show, or were actively recruited to watch the show on what the CL fans presented as being an “endgame” pairing that they had always dreamed of seeing play out on an US Top 5 Network science fiction show.  The fact that Clarke is bisexual is a strident step forward on its own, and it’s something that (from what I’ve seen) all sides of the fandom have embraced. The thing is, this is where we get into the problem of the vanishing 4th wall between fans and content creators (writers room, exec producer, actors, marketing), who I’m going to blanketly call the producers.  (dig in, I’ve got another 1000 words below the cut…)

So the fans of Clarke and Lexa got excited to see a real f/f love story become canon on a major network show, and closely following that is the dream that it could have a happy ending (or at least a neutral one). The producers didn’t contradict this assumption (from their POV, why would they spoil their show?). 

Although they never directly promised that Lexa would live and she and Clarke would end happily, they did certain things on social media that encouraged this idea. That includes some shady stuff like having a staff writer visit shipper messageboards, and posting pics from the s3 finale with Lexa’s actress on set.  The producers fanned the flames of CL fandom excitement, meanwhile the show itself put down an enormous, almost overbearing amount of foreshadowing that Lexa would die. This dissonance–not wanting to see the story content for what it is because you desperately want to believe otherwise–I think that’s the suckerpunch that was the worst for shippers.  The bubble broke in 307, and the feeling of betrayal was staggering for a lot of fans.  If you consume endless amounts of storytelling media and you never get to fully identify with the leading romance, until finally a story comes along where you do, and in fact you’re encouraged to invest in it, AND THEN it’s snatched away from you, that’s a gut-wrenching feeling. For a lot of people it was like they’d been instantly invalidated, as if their personal story (and it had become personal) wasn’t worthy of a happy ending.

Is it fair to put all that expectation on one character, on one show?  No of course not, but it happened anyway. That’s what happens with feelings and emotions.  And it wasn’t just about the end of the CL love story, because the manner of her death compounded the anger. She was killed by a stray projectile instead of in battle, and that evokes the death of other queer women in media history. Her death was framed as a byproduct of her romantic relationship with another woman, making it seem to be about her sexuality, instead of it being a result of her character as a leader or a warrior. It sent the unintended message of a condemnation against having hope for a f/f romance.

Broadly, I agree with you that her death did make sense within the plot, and it gave the producers a way to tie their disparate story threads together and give Lexa’s legacy a symbolic meaning that lasted past her death. I thought it was clear since s2 that the romantic storyline was always going to be short-term, because there’s no plausible world where Lexa gives up her divine throne to hang out with the sky kids in their dingy Arkadia cafeteria. Likewise, Clarke could only hang out in Polis for a while, no matter her romantic longing, because she loves her people and Clarke Griffin’s story is bigger than being a princess on a shelf for Lexa to protect (which is why Clarke had already decided to leave in 307.)   I thought that ADC did a beautiful performance in her death scene, and Eliza Taylor did some of her finest acting for the entire show. It was a gorgeously shot, loving tribute to a character that was so beloved by audiences. 

But that’s all ash in the mouth if you believed, to your heart, that it wouldn’t happen, and if it happening feels like a personal judgment of your romantic identity. The reason fandom was so explosive on this topic is that rarely had a screen romance been embraced so profoundly as part of fandom’s identity politics. And when you incorporate something into your identity, your self-image… then hurting that thing feels like hurting you.  It’s not just like Hermione choosing Ron over Harry, or like Bella choosing Edward. It’s so much bigger than that when your sense of self, your dreams, your heart are involved.

That’s the core of why The 100 fandom went insane for a year and a half. Everything that came after–the good and the bad and the tragic and the heinous, the things done by CL fandom and by Bellarke fandom and by trolls aggravating both–that was the fallout from this. 

If there were more hollywood shows with queer characters as leads, if some of them were able to have a f/f or m/m endgame romance, then Clexa ending as a tragedy wouldn’t have been the fiasco that it turned out to be. Ironically, The 100 brought that future one step closer: Clarke Griffin is a bisexual woman, and she’s the lead protagonist on a US Top 5 Network science fiction show. She’ll still be a queer wlw even if she dates a man. She didn’t die with Lexa. She’s alive and beautiful and she’s going to love other women and men before the end of her story.

I want to wrap this up so I’m sorry I didn’t leave much time for your last comment, but I agree with you on that as well: Lincoln’s death was not given an equivalent backlash from fandom, nor was it given as full due within the show itself. He was a series regular from season 1, and he felt severely underwritten in s3. There’s a lot of great writing that’s out there about this, but if it feels to you like an imbalance for the two characters, well–you’re right. Two major characters died in season 3, and the internet only moved mountains for one. Ultimately, and even more depressing, Lincoln’s death was subsumed into the backlash after Lexa’s death, and the racially upsetting optics of his murder scene was used as a talking point after Lexa’s to emphasise how the series is terrible, evil, and should be shut down. At the end of the day, the loudest outragers in fandom made Lincoln’s death part of Lexa’s. The show didn’t do that–fandom did. His squashed storyline in the show was mirrored in how he was squashed in fandom politics. That right there is fucking irony. Hell, I’m probably doing the same thing in this write up. These avenues of thinking are endemic to fandom.

Anyway, this is the most insane, borderline monstrous fandom I’ve ever been in. Doxxing the showrunner, harassing cast members, driving numerous production people off of social media, online bullying, fear-mongering, and a whole lot of people who absolutely know better regularly choosing to make use of racist, homophobic, sexist, and antisemitic messages to harangue the cast, the writers, and the rest of fandom. It’s nowhere near as bad this year as last year, but man… 

Still, if we all learned anything from this mess, I hope it’s that people’s feelings are real, even on the other side of a digital sceen, and playing carelessly with them has consequences. Bad ones. So, I don’t know… writers should write more queer characters, fandoms should keep their distance from writers instead of thinking they can influence the story, and if you’re an executive producer and you plan to use a trope that people are gonna hate, better be prepared to hide in a bunker for 6-12 months.

[sadmovies]

PRAISE THE ROMANTIC AGONY!!! // edmond (2005), dir. STUART GORDON

Edmond opens with the title character getting a tarot card reading. "You are not where you belong," the fortune teller concludes. This launches a middle-aged crisis. He leaves his wife. He believes the universe owes him more. And what is that something more? A good lay.  

I had an inverse experience when I was home back East. I was couch hopping, seeing everyone who I thought I should see, and it was — I remember — a lazy afternoon where we, the friend whose house I was currently staying and myself, were waiting until a lady friend's party later in the evening. We passed time by playing Super Smash Bros. We took a walk outside. My friend explained the beauty of the Kingdoms Hearts franchise. It was then, too, that I had an encounter with his older sister. I had known the sister in passing because of a mutual interest in literature. We both had strong opinions of what made good writing. Both of us, at one point, had been published in our high school's literary magazine. She invited me upstairs so I could she her room and bookshelf. There, she lamented her love for Nabokov. She was a smallish woman that, because of her frame, had developed overbearing breasts and an impressive rump of an ass. In high school, she stepped into sexuality like a dress: all the male actors, it was rumored in the theatre department, had gotten to second base. But she never fell into a victim role. Sex was a statement of authority. It was her power. She refused to ever give up her power. "Troy, PJ, Vincent," she confessed. "All of them I fucked." She had her hand on my thigh at this point. We were sitting criss cross on her carpet while I read aloud passages from Despair.

"Do you want me to tell your fortune?"

It seemed like a good idea.

Lolita (which I'll call her from now on) pulled out a box of tarot card from under her bed. She proceeded to give me a reading. What the actual combination of the cards were I can't remember. But what I do remember is Lolita furiously flipping through her tarot card guide. She dog-eared pages, squinted at them. "You are heading in the correct direction," Lolita said. "Expect great success in your near future." I winced. Good or bad, I don't think anybody really enjoys getting their fortune told. It entertains the same type of pleasure as picking a knee scab or stalking an ex girlfriend's Instagram account: you are so consumed by the anticipation of the thing itself that, when the climax occurs, when the blood gushes down your leg and when the woman who you shared your most intimate moment with, in bed, one winter, both naked, where you confessed to her that insecurity, the insecurity to end all insecurities, and you felt, briefly, weightless, unburdened by existence, when you see this same woman, scantily clad, getting her assed grabbed by a Beef Wellington of a man (the iPhone flash lighting his eyes!), you feel a sadness so immeasurable and rooted to your being that you think that *this* must be what all the dead poets, heartbroken, wrote verses about with ink and quill, late into the evening, while Solider Big Dick fucked their muse next door. I didn't like getting my fortune told because it's always a letdown. Nothing is ever enough. And if it is, I am able to analyze it until it becomes sad. Lolita's fortune, that success was ahead, only meant that I was going to worry about success being ahead. How would I self sabotage?

"Did you tell him about that one time?" Lolita said. This is the question I knew would be asked.  It hung over our conversation. She was referring to a night of my life where, after having being dumped by my second girlfriend, I had recklessly texted Lolita asking for nudes. I wanted to feel like a man again. I was consumed with the romantic agony of a high school heartbreak. I told Lolita explicit details of what I would do to her. She told me details of what she would do to me. In the end, she agreed to a dimly lit photo of her bare cleavage. The next year, however, Lolita graduated and I had befriended her brother. A question of morals arose. Do I say what happened? Did I have an obligation to? And if I did, who would want to be told that about their sister? I chose silence.

"No," I said.

Lolita smiled. She edged herself closer to me. "That's probably for the better," she said. "I think he'd be weird about it." I nodded. Lolita began to talk about Lena Dunham and young adult fiction. I looked to the window. Outside, I saw the beginning of fall. The trees glowed with a green that I have only ever seen at home. There is an overwhelming age to the East Coast that I am not sure is readily apparent to the natives. I moved West after high school and so make infrequent trips back whenever I can. Each time I do my perspective becomes more nuanced. I noticed first the hand-me-down quality which Virginia possesses, a place seemingly burdened by history in the sense that—

Lolita placed her hand on my belt buckle.

"What are you doing?"

"Tell me what you're thinking."  

"Um," I said. "The trees."

"The trees?"

"You don't see trees like those. You don't see them in, um..."

"Is this a callback to an earlier review?"

"If you want it to be."

Lolita frowned. She looked up to my face. She had the eyes of a woman making a quietly desperate plea, a plea disguised as playful seduction. The eyes said, "I am going through a tough time." They said, "My boyfriend recently broke up with me, all seems lost, and you, the Film Slob, the boy who I knew in passing in high school, are looking pretty good right now. Let's have sex. Let's have sex so that I for a second can forget the burden of being. Okay?" I stood up from where we were sitting on the carpet. I did not have a lot of experience with making moral decisions. The most I've gotten out of morality has been in retrospect. There is always a promise to be more self aware: one part of myself commending another part of myself for catching my shadow self in the act. A Self-Congratulatory Process. But then the day to do better never comes. I'm stuck in hypothetical limbo. In front of me, though, Lolita had on her clothes of late summer. She wore jean shorts and a tight fitting long sleeve. She was an uncomplicated beauty, one that did not ask questions nor seek commitment. I could take Lolita and carry her over to her twin size bed. We could undress quickly before engaging in a breed of sex which I did not then know. We could kiss just for the sake of kissing. We could rub our bodies together just because it felt good. We could do all this while her brother played Nintendo Wii downstairs. I was Edmond but not Edmond. I had gotten the very thing he sought, a woman, but in a different context. In the film, Edmond seeks to get laid. However, to do so, he puts himself in a weak position. He lowers himself to women. He plays a game that is only played while, across from you, your opponent thumbs at the rulebook  You're in the dark. You're vulnerable. Who were these women? Who did they think they were?

I stepped out into the hallway.

The first time I heard of Edmond it was through the stage play of the same name by David Mamet. I read it in my dorm while my roommate snored from his half of the room. There was this feeling of secret knowledge and taboo; Mamet, with the play, was articulating something which I saw lurking beneath my own life. It had to do with sexual frustration. It had to with being a male, a white male: the privilege my skin color afforded me so informed my existence that it was like eating candy every meal. I was malnourished. Pleasure cannot be without pain. And if is, pleasure is no longer pleasure. All the years spent — as DeLillo describes — in my toothpaste suburb gave me more comfort that I knew what to do with. Happiness was so abundant that it made everyone sick. We needed to be punished. We wanted to avoid the guilt, or maybe to tap into our common humanity. We came up with illness, challenges to overcome: I remember being fed fifty milligrams of Adderall for getting a C in Algebra. The doctor said, "You have Attention Deficit." My mom, in the chair next to mine, nodded intuitively. I remember, high on amphetamines, chatting movies in gym class with anybody who was polite enough to listen. I was fifteen. "Lynch," I said. "His work is what I would call a mixture between a nightmare and the banality of Norman Rockwell's paintings." I pulled lines directly from David Foster Wallace's interview with Charlie Rose. (I needed to be shoved in a locker. Why didn't anybody shove me in a locker? Probably because they were too small. Biggest revelation: to be assigned a locker in the ninth grade only for the width to not be large enough to fit my head, much less body.) By the time I got to college, I had avoided danger for so long that I was shell shocked. I had been plucked from the bubble of my milieu. In a moment of crisis, I took a nighttime walk around campus. The area surrounding the university was notoriously known for violence and crime; the poverty could be seen in the cracks in the sidewalk, the houses across the street. They were so chewed up and sad; I almost didn't mind that the residences sought to mug their student neighbors. To have to watch each incoming class, year after year. To see them graduate with degrees. But nothing has changed. You still live in squalor, in shit. "Kill me!" I sobbed. This was the purpose of the nighttime walk. I was aware of my position as prey. I wanted a switchblade to the gut but only after putting up a fight. I would not give up my phone and wallet immediately. I would wrap my fingers tight around my killer's neck. I wanted to get at least a couple punches in the eye sockets and nose. Whether or not the act of doing so would help me escape wasn't the point. The point was that I could, for a moment, transcend the reality of my upbringing, of the neurotic guilt which served as an aftertaste for experience. And if I ended up bloodied, on the concrete, gasping for my last breath, I would have been redeemed.

The title character in Edmond goes through something similar: a life of white collars and privilege is great in theory but it deprives us of something much larger. A man must be a man. He must go out into the world and hunt. He must tap into some instinct. Edmond (William H. Macy) knows this not consciously but the audience can see it through his actions. He leaves his wife (Rebecca Pidgeon) under the influence of a tarot card reading. He wants to start a new, dangerous life in the city. The truth is, this anxiety had been bubbling up for a long time. It just needed to find an excuse to express itself. We see the giddiness in his body language when he bets on a card in Three-card Monte. We see his eyes lick, up and down, the bodies of the strippers he lacks the authority to fuck. The connective tissue in these examples is that Edmond is attempting to transcend. The MacGuffin of the story, of him trying to get laid, is really the pursuit of ultimate transcendence: every time we ejaculate — it is my theory — that we are stepping a little bit outside of the physical realm. The pleasure can be so intense that it becomes something else entirely. It is not the same nauseating abundance of pleasure that was found in my toothpaste suburb. Rather, it is like a compacted, silver bullet which explodes inside your being. Your consciousness is shifted, and this is what I assume Death is like. An orgasm that extends into eternity, something that which — when it happens — makes the most sense in the world and is as simple as flipping on a light switch. There's no drama: it only is. Death cannot exist without Life in the same way that pleasure cannot exist without pain. This is because both are polar extremes of the same thing; they inform the other's purpose. One has to acknowledge this if he wishes to understand his world. Primitive man, I think, learned this lesson when they starved in the winter and killed for their meat in springtime. Edmond is a child who craves a caveman's contentment. However, he has been sucking at the generous tit of modernity for too long. And when he builds up the nerve to rebel, to state dominance, the crippling effects of his prolonged adolescence catches up with him. All those years spent without hardship leaves him a perpetual victim. The strippers con him for his cash; the Three-card Monte dealers mug him when he questions their credibility; and, in the film's climax, he is raped in prison by his cellmate and made a bitch. He is properly emasculated by the city folk who, in their environment, carry a nugget of the teachings of the primitive times: survival of the fittest, transcendence through nature, and the arbitrary distinction between Life and Death. I was driving downtown one time with Plebeian, a buddy of mine. We were staking out the city for hot wings. As we drove, we saw a man walking out into the middle of the street. Cars raced passed him, blaring their horns. The man did not react, though. He kept a peaceful pace and completed his walk through traffic. "I'd like to have his confidence," I said. We passed the man, and I saw a brief glimpse of his clothing. He wore a grey sweatshirt and pants that were covered in dirt. "You wanna get that confident?" Plebeian said. "Try crack." We both laughed. I did not think of the man again until later. I was in the bed of Frida Kahlo, and my lips still burned from the buffalo sauce. Plebeian and I had gotten the spiciest wings on the menu because of an unspoken promise between the two of us to live life in a way such that each night was an interesting story to tell. Tonight's story was about the sharp smell of our order, the milk we downed to heal our throats. I thought about the man and his behavior. Was he aware of something that I wasn't? The first reaction is accusations of craziness, of drug addiction. But to suggest those things, it meant that I was in a position of authority. An authority to judge. Who was to say that his perspective was anymore more valid than mine? There might have been something deeply troubling about life he discovered which made walking out into the middle of the street not only sane but strangely moral. It was important to realize there is no objective truth, because then — if I didn't — I was no better than Edmond. Edmond, who lived in a cloistered world and made the mistake of confusing it for reality. He moves to the city where he gets snugly placed in the hierarchy of man.

Lolita's fortune of great success never came. If it did, it was too abstract to notice. Maybe, I thought, the fortune meant that I needed to the find success myself. That, maybe, it surrounded me already in my own life. I was burdened by the Western belief that never was ever enough. Contentment was weakness. The fortune was trying to argue against this belief. I had my head head in the sand ("look at the beauty around you!"), and maybe the great success was the discovery of this - the wisdom it brings.

Or maybe tarot card readings are bullshit.

Everything is bullshit. I think this while Frida Kahlo tells me about my astrological sign. "Pisces are the most sensitive type," she says. She is without pants, vaping. We're in her bed after a failed attempt at sex. "I'm gonna break your heart," and she means this. I know because it's one of the few times she looks up from her phone. "As I've told you, I'm an Aquarius...," but by then I'm not listening. I'm staring at her blossoming unibrow. I could only ever call her Frida Kahlo because Frida Kahlo was the only frame of reference. She wore that night, I remember, a black turtleneck which only women with a pouty enough expression on their faces can pull off. She reminded me of Anna Karina but Mexican and a body which was many things but not modest. She was beautiful. She was so beautiful that it made me want to scream out into the void. I wanted her to hurt me. I wanted her to blow vape smoke in my face and tell me I wasn't shit. I wanted not her love but a condescending side glance, the one that ruins egos: I wanted to be ruined, not loved. Love was the stuff of my mother's gooey cheek kisses and after school specials. It did not have what I craved. I needed agony the same way people needed salt on their food. "Pisces sometimes fetishize suffering," Frida Kahlo says. And maybe she's right. When I think of pain I think of a feeling deep down in my stomach. It is an excruciating nausea. It tells me I am alive, here, in the present moment. It tells me I am madly in love.  I say, "What are you talking about?" I say, deviously, "I haven't been paying attention for the past several minutes." This is the game we play. It is a game where we inflict various emotional wounds while the other tries to keep a poker face. I see, in this case, a twinge of sadness appearing in her eyes before — poof — it's gone just as quick. A coldness returns. She looks at me again.

Frida Kahlo says, "We're not suited for each other."

A knife.

She says, "I don't think this is gonna work."

A knife into my abdomen.

She says, "I have an ex-boyfriend who I'm still not over. He moved to Sweden but then he came back. And, um."

A knife into my abdomen, reaching up to the part of my heart that still values...

She says, "I don't know. It's just not where I'm at."

...that still values a date night, movie and dinner, and it's cold because it's always cold in my memory and...

She says, "Film Slob?"

...maybe, as you're walking back to your car in the parking lot, after the film, you—shit! shit! shit!—you lean in close and wrap your arm around her, your date, and she nozzles up into your shoulder for warmth and...

She says, "I'm sorry. I've just been so..."

...you feel like you could die right there, just die, because it is in those moments (January in Virginia, Inarritu's's Birdman) where the most beauty is found—

She says, "...depressed. I've been depressed."

But it never lasts, the beauty. The beauty turns blue before it curls up into fetal position, dead. You carry the beauty from under the porch. You bury it in the backyard. You don't know how to cope. You consider writing something Important. You consider spending weeks on end alone. Don't shower. Don't shave. After all, you don't have to look after beauty anymore. Your only goal should be writing a novel, an Important novel, a novel that critics will call "genius" and will make any women with Woody Allen frames and a Tumblr url drop their wet panties. But the novel never gets written. It never gets started. You should spend the last several weeks of summer driving around aimlessly at night. You eat at Five Guys. You break the peanuts. One night, after sobbing, you text a woman notoriously known in theatre department as being easy. You ask for a photo of her breasts. You masturbate into an old pair of boxer shorts.

Frida Kahlo says, "Are you crying?"

Move on. Forget it. Develop a love for the masochistic. Finish senior year of high school. Move for college. Try to forget it some more. Pick at masochism like a scab. Know that the pain you fetishize is because of beauty, buried in the backyard. The hole you had to shovel. The dirt you had to throw onto its corpse. Know that it left a huge impression, not easily erased. Be okay with this. Don't be okay with this. Decide to be okay with this.

She says, "Why are you crying?"

Match with Frida Kahlo on Tinder. Meet up in a coffee shop. Talk about Quentin Tarantino, jazz. For a second date, take her back to your dorm. Show her music you like. Get a blowjob.

She says, "Film Slob."

Frida Kahlo jumps on top of me. She begins wiping the tears flowing down my cheeks. I don't do anything. I suck the snot back into my nose. Frida Kahlo gives me a look that is probably of genuine concern but which I have the bad habit of confusing with pity. I grab her waist. I flip her over. I wanted to feel like a man again. My right hand grabs her ass while my left thumbs her nipple. I kiss her neck. Frida Kahlo wraps her legs around me. She rubs my back, unaroused.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes."

"Then why were you—"

"I wasn't."

She pushes me off. I go under the blanket, wrap myself in the sheets. I stare at the wall. Praise the romantic agony! I think of Edmond. Emond, with a knife, slicing up a waitress (Julia Stills) that he goes home with. "I had too much coffee," he explains to his ex-wife. This is over a prison phone. Of course, he gets punished for his actions. Of course, he is raped in prison and made a bitch. Where was the true motive, though? The motive, I mean, for the murder of the young waitress. I remember seeing the film after my atoms had been rearranged by reading the play. I remember not much difference in terms of experience except for the killing scene. There was the high pitched squeals of Julia Stills (why don't I see here more often?) as William H. Macy plays up an Edmond that has finally rediscovered his male vitality. "I have a warrior blood, too," he claims to the waitress. In two scenes before, Edmond is lured into a dark alleyway by a pimp. The pimp puts a switchblade to his throat. But Edmond's knife is bigger. He whips it out at an opportune time and begins to slash at his mugger. The pimp screams, begs for mercy. Edmond doesn't offer any. He continually kicks at his gut while calling him a racial slur. With each kick, there is something being communicated. With each kick, Edmond is reminding himself of the power which was within him the whole time. "Don't fuck with me, coon," he says. All seems well. He has the confidence of a man that has just been baptized, given a purpose. He takes this new found conviction and uses it to seduce a bar waitress. The questions remains: Why? Why, when things seem to be looking up, does Edmond decide to murder? I have a theory. It comes to me when I am staring at the wall, avoiding the worried gaze of Frida Kahlo.

"I didn't think it was a big deal."  

Edmond, his whole life, has been placed in various hierarchies. This is not a surprise, as most humans are. However, one reaches a breaking point. A man is consumed with the anxiety of judgement. He feels he is not all he could be. He does not exercise that masculine part of his brain enough. His life is mostly ice cream socials and the blue glow of his work computer's screen. Where has the danger gone? It has been replaced by a dreary commute. It has been replaced by two and a half cups of coffee a day. It has been replaced by a wife who, deep down, he knows he does not satisfy sexually. Where, oh where, does he get a break? He grows resentful. He grows bitter enough where he leaves his wife because of, seemingly, no reason. He goes to the city. Nobody will judge him there. Not the street bums. Not the Three-card Monte shufflers. And especially not any of the women. Women are toys, he thinks. He is not interested in actually having sex but masturbating with their bodies. How can you have sex when you don't view the other as an individual? Edmond does not respect women but uses them as a value system. That's the irony, right there. It eats him alive. And so, when he does finally get validated (laid), what does he do? He kills the waitress. In a way, he think he has killed the ugliness which exists deep in his heart: this need for affection, for a female's approval. Hear my roar.  I will never be compromised again! Oh, Lolita! I missed my Lolita. To selflessly give herself to me, that one afternoon. To text a photo of her breasts. Was there a woman more selfless? To allow me the gift of choice.  

"We've only known each other for three weeks."

Silence.

"Please just talk to me."

It stretches out into eternity.

[bohemianadventurer]

Regret

I find it difficult, living everyday with something that you can't even begin to explain. Trying to overcome the immense sadness you feel, but you always end up deeper in that place. A permanent state of loneliness that no one can pull you from. You feel overbearing, needy, broken. They tell me I'm cold, heartless, if only I could explain the never ending despair that consumes much of my life. But how do you explain the imprisonment of your own mind to the free? How can they begin to understand.