#Could always be better and am always suffering the guilt of slow updates and not good enough

[oblivions-dawn]

Made the mistake of reading some of my fanfiction while at work because I forget that it's actually pretty good I think

[x-honeycomb-x]

More sims 4 update and traumatic reactions

My sims had twins. It was sort of expected but I didn’t know what to do with it. I could handle one kid but not two.

And I was really anxious, because I don’t wanna be an abusive parent. Violence is abuse, but neglect also is abuse, so I have been having paralyzing anxiety and guilt… over a sims play.

I don’t know if someone feels the same. You look over a family in public, and you get that sinking feeling because you suspect the family might have some abuse happening behind doors, and there’s nothing you can do about it. I am scared of being abusive guardians like mine were.

My childhood guardians were hoarders and abusers, one suffering with undiagnosed delusions and she survived constant death threats from childhood. Then I escaped to my parent(s) and they were only slightly better… I instead got raised by someone with undiagnosed anxiety, some neurodivergency and I got sexually harassed.

I really want a family, my sims is even family-oriented; I was asked in “create a sim” if I am a family person, I said yes, although my current family doesn’t allow me to be open and loving. And that’s true. My sim and I love festivals (hence every festival is a heavy depression trigger to me irl), we wanna talk about our family (but my sharing was a lot of idealization), and… you get the idea.

Apparently I signed up for way more than planned when I started playing the sims. It made me face a lot of things. My inability to care for myself, a work-life balance, my romantic shut down, my fetishization for (hyper)femininity, and now unresolved anxiety for childhood and children. I looked up how to care for children in sims 4, and I read that you can change toddlers into cute clothes, and it brought me close to tears because I felt like it was wrong that adults are allowed to touch toddlers’ bodies… but of course children need help from adults when they’re still really young. And to put them in clothes so you can project idealizations and attention to them/their bodies?! I realize now that putting on cute clothes doesn’t always mean “sexiness”. Clothes can be (and should be) innocent. A sweater with a chipmunk on them? A unicorn onesie? Children pants? They’re innocent and sexless. I also got really frustrated when my sim cannot take their kid with a stinking diaper to the bath, because they only care about chatting with them; it took me 6 attempts to realize that, you need to talk to the toddler and ask for their permission to bathe them. The revelation brought me close to tears and close to a panic.

Whatever the fuck happened to my childhood. Well.

I am glad I started playing sims 4. I need to take a small break from it, because I don’t know how to handle twins, and I have a lot of anxiety about being bad parents. I was at one point regretting getting the family, I saw people ranking different sims packs, and there were so many packs I didn’t play before getting the family, and wish I could just get one of the kids grown up, then I can make them move out and play as them. But then I decided against it. Making myself grow up too early was exactly what I did. And I don’t want childhood to be skipped over because I’m perfectionistic. I wanna slow down and enjoy it. But the anxiety, the guilt and the grief is just driving me… I don’t know. Emotional.

I see the family finally asleep together for the first time, and it made me wanna give a happy family a try.

Thank u for letting me share my sims progress on a thirst blog.

[enduringsea]

( rules: you can usually tell a lot about a person by the kind of music they listen to! put your music on shuffle and list the first 10 songs, then tag 10 people! no skipping! ) / tagged by @yellowcrumpet​ ╭( ･ㅂ･)و )))

Thanks for the tag! I LOVE these things-- I don’t rlly have a playlist either though, just a mess of music files on a device I haven’t updated so I’ll be checking my YouTube history too lol. There’s a uhhh.... pattern to be found, mainly relating to Code Vein or other OCs.... which isn’t surprising ._. ;; I made it a separate post bc I knew this was going to get long and rambly with lyric snippets and crying about fictional characters, sorry :D

1. Repeat Until Death - Novo Amor don’t go / you’re half of me now / but i’m hardly stood proud / i said it, almost oh i’ve been low / but damn it i bet it don’t show / it was heaven a moment ago oh i can’t seem to let myself leave you / but i can’t breathe anymore This one gives me Loubeth vibes ok, partially bad end route ;-; While Elizabeth is a very strong person, her friends are the most prominent reason she tries to do anything at all & isn’t living day-to-day in a monotonous grind to survive without a solid purpose other than ‘help random ppl bc it’s the right thing to do’. If she loses them, it’d ruin her & hammers into her head how everything she’s ever done has been a failure. She suffered a major betrayal by her boss before the Collapse, she was unable to fully participate in proj. queen despite her incredible test results, she failed to defeat Cruz and take her blood during Operation Queenslayer, and if she fails to protect the people she’s finally found meaning with? She’d break down completely & destroy herself to save them. She’s always had some level of abandonment issues, and without her family around it’s so much worse, even if it isn’t the most obvious because she’s generally seen as very well put together-- I really can’t express how much it would hurt her to lose Louis, Yakumo, and the others. She’s just not one to show just how bad it can truly get for her mentally and emotionally-- she’s resilient as hell, she’s been through hell repeatedly and survived it all, so it’s easy for others to assume she’s fine all things considered. It makes her feel weak and ashamed of herself if she shows any level of vulnerability, so she doesn’t; she swallows it down and is afraid of disappointing those who look up to her as a fighter and friend-- of course, no one at Home Base would blame her for being vulnerable, they all have their moments, Bethy just sets herself to such a high standard it’s difficult for her to talk about her own suffering in spite of how well-versed she is in getting her thoughts and feelings across otherwise. Louis is the one most keen to how deeply she’s hurting, but he doesn’t understand just how deeply until she finally does fall apart. The final swell of the song and its desperate lyrics really relays the pain they both feel-- Louis too would not fare well if something happened to Elizabeth, because he blames himself she was even involved in Operation Queenslayer for a long time, I honestly did so bad in explaining coherently, this song just has so much emotion and hurt behind it adklfjdfdff </3

2. Looking Out For You - Joy Again this is a love song for a girl who will never know it’s about her she's beaming that smile / all the while i’m all tripped up on my own throat i guess there is no hope This song reminds me of Elizabeth & my friend’s character Takashi Fujioka, who gets-- vERY...FRIENDZONED, for lack of a better word, by Elizabeth in his story, it’s really summed up best as tragic (;﹏;) Before the Collapse they were hitting it off, then the Collapse happened, they were separated, he lost his sisters, Mido happened, he was experimented on + became a revenant, etc, etc; years have passed since then & she’s gotten her life together as much as one can in a world like Vein, but for Takashi it’s like no time has passed at all. Elizabeth is subtly older in appearance, she’s been working w Lou & Co. for a long time; Loubeth blatantly have a connection, & rather than bringing up his feelings + making it awkward bc he values their friendships, he just kinda. chokes on them & does his best to help out the team. It doesn’t help he can’t even be jealous bc Louis is a really solid friend to him too, IT’S JUST A MESS OF A SITUATION & the death of what could have been if things were different.

3. Closer - Teagan And Sara ( no lengthy explanation for this one thank goodness, I’ve just been watching BoJack Horseman again and I really like some of the songs they add in, I like listening to this one on loop when mindlessly coloring something )

4. Brutal - Olivia Rodrigo  all I did was try my best / this the kind of thanks I get? they say these are the golden years / but I wish I could disappear ego crush is so severe / god, it's brutal out here I have it on a playlist for Elizabeth somewhere, not all of it applies to her but it reflects some of her struggles she has both before & after the collapse. She’s-- always kind of been a mess while under immense pressure + has serious self image issues, this song hits that side of her well. She’s been held to humanly impossible standards by both herself and her family bc frankly? She can reach them, she’s NOT exactly human. She was born into her position as a hunter & intends to keep it for as long as she lives (like revenants, her kind is very much ‘either gets killed or lives 5ever), even if some days she really feels how heavy the burden can be. She didn’t have a normal childhood and she’s fine with it for the most part, but it alienates her from most of her peers-- she never got to date anyone, never had a close group of friends, never went to parties that weren’t formals, etc., while she feels a little childish about it, she does envy ‘normal’ and understands the pressure she’s lived under her entire life has caused damage-- she has been exploited for her abilities, there’s just not much she can do about it but to keep going, rlly.

5. Freaks - Surf Curse  don't kill me / just help me run away from everyone  i need a place to stay / where i can cover up my face don't cry / i am just a freak / i am just a freak UhhhHHH this song really makes me think of Oliver Collins :D;; thank TikTok for showing it to me. It makes me think of how scared he was, of both the world and the revenants who captured him. The song’s use of the word ‘parasites’ really makes me think of Revenants and the BOR parasites XD I’m hoping when I poke my video editor again, I can record some Oliver footage to make a short video to this song. Oliver deserves so much better, I wish you could save him, but that’s what AUs are for, hahah.... The second half of the lyrics make me think of the AU I have where he lives and has to grapple with the guilt of surviving and the things he did to other revenants to get by too.

6. All Eyes On Me - Bo Burnham you say the ocean’s rising / like i give a shit you say the whole world’s ending / honey it already did you’re not gonna slow it / heaven knows you tried got it? good / now get inside I haven’t seen the Netflix special yet but I’ve had this song on repeat since my move started. The lyrics hit too hard & resonate with my existential dread, covid exhaustion, and extreme burnout in my 20s, but bc I have Damage I can also relate it to CV ._. ‘you’re not gonna slow it, heaven knows you tried. got it? good now get inside’ makes me think of--;; the bad end route again, and Elizabeth’s desperation to keep her found family together. It’s not like her to completely stop caring about an issue, but in the moment she realizes what’s being taken from her? She doesn’t want to save all of revenant-kind if it means she’s going to wind up alone all over again, her world is effectively over if she’s forced to be alone again. The MC frenzying means the only immediately identifiable hope she had of saving everyone else is gone, so why not just go home? If they’re all doomed, she wants to at least be together for a little while longer, it’s fine if they use her blood to survive & everyone else in the mist is out of luck, it’s soul-crushing bc I’ve never had her in a situation where she’s been this reckless, despondent/hopeless, and thinking irrationally where it’d impact more than herself-- especially when she’s normally goal-oriented, organized, meticulous, so on so forth: she’s not one to act without thinking something through first, but that last breath of light just got sucker-punched out of her. All she wants is home, comfort, and family, and ultimately in the bad end route she does manage to preserve their lives, maintain the mist, and supply blood beads, but her own condition leaves her on the throne-- it’s a mix of the bad, neutral, and true ending rlly ldkfjdf BUT YEAH enough rambling on that :D;; This song’s really good and touches a lot of different thoughts and ideas both in real life and my ocs, kind of embarrassing--;; thank u bo burnham for ruining me with this beautiful song

7. Yellow - Coldplay look at the stars / look how they shine for you / and everything you do your skin / oh yeah, your skin and bones / turn in to something beautiful do you know / for you I'd bleed myself dry Does this song make me think about JackEva? Yes. Yes it does. Star / night sky symbolism? Bam. Sappy lyrics about love and finding the person you’re with absolutely mesmerizing and worth dying for? BAM. If JackEva were capable of using their own blood to save each other, I can see it-- hJNGn they just care about each other so much, Jack cries for her even though they both knew that eventually one of them would succumb to their duty, and if the roles were reversed I can see Eva doing the same, I adore them beyond human language. On my CV RP blog, my Jack’s not shippable bc-- Eva, my friend even have them looking after his nephew (an oc--) at one point. I should seriously drop some headcanons down eventually....

8. Louder Than Thunder - The Devil Wears Prada  are we meant to be empty-handed? / i know i could, i could be better i don't think i deserve it / selflessness, find your way into my heart all stars could be brighter / all hearts could be warmer 

LMFAO throwback to my middle school playlist, I’m old-- I’ve applied this song to a lot of things back in the day, but I really connect it to Loubeth now, especially Louis. Lou & Bethy are both functional idiots who are too hard on themselves & have trouble recognizing their worth beyond what they can do for others. They’re trying to be better-- to make up for what they perceived wrongs they’ve done, but it’s hard, they don’t believe they’re worthy of the love and support the other gives, but they still yearn for that sense of security. After Louis’ memories are returned, he finally understands the guilt he’s felt since he became a revenant and it really skews his self-perception; he blames himself for so many things & Elizabeth, who has always been able to kill when necessary, sets it straight-- “It’s not your fault”, and it takes Louis some time to properly absorb that message. He thinks she’s just trying to comfort him, which she is tbh, but she’s not wrong: “It’s not your fault you couldn’t kill someone. It was never your job to kill anyone.” It’s up to people like her to do those sort of things-- Elizabeth may not have been present when Cruz frenzied, but if she had been? It would have been over before it started, that’s something she has regrets over, even if nothing could have been done since she was already on the field. Actually, she’s actually really quite angry that security failed to monitor Cruz properly and has a few select words for the ones there who could have actually done something before it got out of hand-- civilians and doctors are exempt from her shtlist bc they’re not meant to be killers (so don’t worry Artorias, she’s not ready to bite your head off!), but they had to have some kinda security detail rite o-q??? They’re probably hiding from her wrath-- BUT ANYWAY, she insists she’ll never blame Louis for not being able to do something as serious as killing another person. He was a normal human being who cared about his friend, not a failure, and he couldn’t have been expected to do something that shouldn’t have fallen on his shoulders in the first place. As many times as it takes, she’ll reaffirm that it wasn’t his fault, she’s not angry, he’s always done his best and her opinion of him hasn’t changed. He’s a good person and she loves him through all the hurt, though she doesn’t drop the word ‘love’ for a long time. It just-- takes Louis a while to accept she views him as someone worthy of the love and respect she has for him. It’s kind of ironic she’s so adamant on Louis not blaming himself considering she’s the one privately blaming herself for-- wow there’s too much to unpack, she feels guilty she was even born?? im so broken over these two. I love them and yet they SUFFER... 

9. What I’ve Done - Linkin Park i'll face myself / to cross out what i’ve become erase myself / and let go of what i’ve done today this ends / i'm forgiving what i’ve done

I have Louis Amamiya brainrot and I’m so glad I’m not the only one who thinks that this song fits him super well & it needs to become an AMV dsjfkldsfd. I’m a near life-long Linkin Park fan and this fits with Lou so well thematically. As much as I’ve gone on about Louis’ guilt, he does steel himself to keep going forward in spite of it and make things right, for everyone. Maybe it wasn’t really his fault, but at the end of the day his inability to kill Cruz in that moment left a disaster in its wake that got a countless number of people killed-- the MC included with Karen and Aurora. He doesn’t want to run away from the truth, doesn’t want to make excuses, he wants to take responsibility for it and he’ll work himself to death if it means things will be better-- it’s both admirable he’s got a strong resolve and VERY concerning with how willing he is to die for the cause, please don’t overdo it, Lou, you’ll break mine and Bethy’s hearts ._.;; It won’t always be easy, there are moments the grief gnaws at him, but in the end he does overcome it (and uh. as in the bad ending, we know he can actually do it this time). I know we can’t see everything, but I would have loved deeper character interactions, especially with Louis with an emphasis on grieving + forgiving himself properly-- but this song really is nice with the whole ‘I’m going to face my mistakes head on, forgive myself, and keep moving forward’. It’s what Louis deserves: self forgiveness and a damn break ‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )‧º·˚

10. Call of Silence - Hiroyuki Sawano you will know you're reborn tonight / must be rough but i’ll stay by your side even if my body's bleached to the bones / i don't want go through that ever again so cry no more / oh my beloved ngl idk if those are the correct lyrics, buuuuuuut....... im a weenie and am internally weeping abt loubeth after midnight, what else is new lmfao- i’ll at least try to be brief :D I also used to really like Attack on Titan when I was in high school, I dropped the anime years ago because I was waiting for s2 and never got back to it once it started airing again, I thought I’d finish it once the anime was complete since I eventually caught up with the manga, such a good series BUT ANYWAY-- I think it’s a really pretty song and Loubeth fit with the tender lyrics. IT’S LATE, idk what to say about them other than what I’ve said already dsklfjdslf im sorry I really ramble a LOT and I’ve been so busy lately I haven’t had the chance to >w>;;

[timelordthirteen]

In All Things 18/?

Mr. Gold/BelleFrench, Explicit (eventually)

Summary: A Rumbelle arranged marriage AU.

Chapter Summary: After the incident with Milton, Gold makes peace with Belle.

Notes: Look at me with two updates! :D I hope after the chaos of the last chapter that you all find this one a bit cheerier.

[AO3]

Previous: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17]

Gold watched as Milton climbed into the back of the carriage.

He had a noticeable limp that he was doing his best to mask, but Gold had experience with such things and the awkward movement of the man’s leg was a dead giveaway. The box lurched forward, and Milton wobbled in his seat, which made Gold smile. He hoped the road was riddled with ruts and holes the entire way to the palace. A bruised backside and stiff limbs was the least the bastard deserved for the way he spoke about Belle, and for the blatant disrespect he’d shown to Maurice. There was no doubt some associating between Milton and the King or he would have never dared make such comments. Gold would have Jefferson put a man on it as soon as they returned to Thornhill.

Sighing, he turned away from the window and eyed the paper on the desk. It was a standard land contract awaiting the relevant signatures, but just looking at it gave him a sick feeling. Later, Maurice would sign one side and he would sign the other, and Avonlea would become part of his entitlement, effectively transferring all debts, leases, and rights, and blocking King George from whatever he’d been plotting to do with it. Normally, he would feel a rather smug satisfaction at that, but instead there was only a hollow guilt that his last minute plan had upset Belle. He didn’t blame her, and if he had been in her place he would have been angry as well, but she had left before he could fully explain his proposition.

He had hoped to do that sooner rather than later, but when he’d gone to her quarters after lunch she was nowhere to be found. A maid informed him that she had taken Baeden for a tour of the grounds, which pleased him, but also delayed the inevitable. He was thankful that she hadn’t been so out of sorts that she was keeping to her room, but he knew that the longer he waited to explain himself, the worse the outcome might be.

He smiled ruefully and slipped the contract into his ledger book, and tucked it under his arm before taking up his cane. The first step around the desk had him sucking in a breath as the stabbing pain in his leg traveled up from his ankle and knee, and radiated across his hip. Attacking Milton had been foolish for multiple reasons, including that it had exacerbated his condition. His knuckles went white as he gripped the handle of his cane tight, breathing slowly through the sensation until it subsided.

Once it had, he took a cautious step and was met with only the usual ache and stiffness. Letting out another heavy sigh, he left to find Maurice.

Gold dropped his ledger on the desk with a muted thud that seemed much louder than it sounded.

It was done. Avonlea was his, officially, and he hated himself for it. The rest of the process would take some time, and would need the King’s approval, but the first step was done. Getting that royal approval would likely be difficult, particularly if Milton got his story to the King before Gold, but ultimately, George wouldn’t dare withhold it, not if he wanted to remain in power.

Gold knew that continually relying on his knowledge of the King’s secrets to get his way was dangerous, but it was effective. At least it was as long as he was alive. Perhaps there was something he could do about that as well, something to further protect Belle and Bae. He put the thought aside, and checked the time, wondering if he should wait until after dinner to talk to Belle, before deciding that it was best not to wait any longer to face her wrath.

Bae came out of Belle’s room, and Gold stopped in the middle of the corridor, frowning. His son came towards him, shaking his head.

“Whatever you did, Papa,” Bae said, “you should tell Belle you’re sorry.”

Gold smiled. “Well, that’s what I’m here to do.”

Bae nodded. “Good.”

“I heard Belle gave you a tour of Avonlea.”

The boy’s face lit up in a wide grin. “Yes, it was fun! She showed me the garden and the stables, and introduced me to her horse, Philippe.”

His eyes widened. “Her horse?”

Bae nodded again. “He’s big and kinda slow, but she likes him very much. And then we rode out to the cliffs so I could see the ocean!”

Gold nearly fell over. “You - rode? To the cliffs? With - with Belle?”

The boy gave him a funny look, as if he had questioned the sky being blue. “Yeah. Why? Am I in trouble?”

He shook his head and patted the boy on the shoulder. “No, no of course not. I’m just - surprised.”

Bae’s head tilted to the side. “Why?”

Belle having a horse was not some great shock, every noble did, and most of them could at least stay on one without falling off. He didn’t understand why the image of Belle riding out on a horse with his son, to the southern cliffs at the edge of Avonlea that looked out over the water, was such a strange thing. He supposed it was because he had never seen her riding, and that because of that he was unsure of her skill on horseback, though he knew she wouldn’t put Bae at risk.

He frowned again. “I - I don’t know, actually.”

Truly he didn’t, and the more he thought about it, the more the notion delighted him. Even if she was cross with him, it clearly didn’t interfere with her relationship with Baeden. Ultimately, that was what mattered.

“Papa, are you coming down for supper?”

Bae blinked up at him, and he nodded. “Yes, uh, I just need to speak to Belle first. We’ll - we’ll come down together, all right?”

The boy bounded off down the hall, and Gold watched with a faint smile before turning to the matter at hand. He hoped that after he said what he needed to say, that his reply to Bae would be the truth.

Belle was pacing back and forth from the sofa to the window when a knock sounded.

She paused and stared at the door, knowing Gold was on the other side. She had expected him to come to her earlier, which was why she went to find Bae after she’d calmed down. Facing him so soon after the confrontation in the study felt like too much, and she needed to think through what she might say. Walking the grounds with Bae and telling him about her home had been the perfect distraction, but when they rode out to the coast, with the snowing shining around them, it had hit her harder than expected.

The cliffs had always been a sanctuary for her, a place to retreat to when she needed to be away from the prying eyes of servants and her parents, and, later, a place to be alone with thoughts of her mother. She had always loved the ocean, the sound of the waves and the beauty of the sunset reflected across it, but it was the harshness that spoke to her the most. The water was so dark, especially in the evening or in the short days of winter, and there was no tangible horizon, no soft edges, only a vast and endless void. The ocean didn’t care about anyone.

Poets might romanticize it, but it was cruelest of all creations, holding a seething, incomprehensible mass of life in its depths, life that it seemed to actively try to extinguish sometimes. There was no mistress like the sea. She’d heard a naval officer say that once, with a tone that spoke of things which could not be described, of places she couldn’t even dream of seeing. It chilled her and soothed her all at once. There would always remain one thing in the world which men could not claim or tame, and she longed for that kind of freedom.

Sighing, she smoothed her hands over her skirt and walked to the door, holding her breath as she pulled it open.

“Belle.”

The way he said her name, with that soft sense of surprise, made her want to smile, but she tamped it down and pressed her lips together, acknowledging him with a sharp nod.

“Cameron.”

Gold winced at her cool tone. “May I come in?”

She stepped back and held the door open, motioning with her hand for him to enter. He moved stiffly, leaning on his cane more obviously than she’d ever seen, and she assumed that his antics with Milton had caused him some discomfort. She wanted to be pleased by that, but she wasn’t. Angry as she was, she still didn’t want him to suffer.

“Can we sit?” he asked, gesturing to the sofa.

She shrugged and came to stand at the opposite end. “You may.”

His shoulders dropped and he seemed to lean forward, bearing his weight on his cane in front of him. “I’ll stand if you are.”

She wanted to roll her eyes at his stubbornness, but she supposed she was no better at the moment. “Fine. Say what you came to say.”

“Belle, please -”

“Please what?” she snapped, her hands going to her hips. “Please excuse me whilst I lie and swindle your family home right out from under you?”

Her words were harsh, but he had resigned himself to deserving them. “That’s not what this is.”

She shook her head. “Well, then I must be stupid, because that’s what it looks like from where I stand.”

“You are far from stupid,” he said, sighing and twisting his cane against the floor.

“Is it done?” She crossed her arms, holding her elbows with her hands.

“Yes.”

His reply was quiet, and she swallowed. Her face felt hot and her head started to throb as she fought back her tears. That was it then. It was all done, without a word from her, without any discussion or explanation.

“I thought it was best to get things in order immediately,” he explained, “before Milton has a chance to tell the King whatever it is he’s going to tell him.”

Belle nodded. “I see.”

She watched as he shifted his weight and squeezed the handle of his cane. He was clearly hurting, and she hated herself for making him continue standing there just because of her own hurt pride. While there were things they hadn’t talked about yet, truths that were deeply held, he had given her no reason to distrust him or his intentions.

Gold huffed and turned away from her for a moment, gritting his teeth as the sharp pain crept back into his leg. “It’s not - I didn’t mean it the way you’re thinking.”

“Then tell me!” she exclaimed, letting out a heavy sigh a moment later and touched a hand to her forehead where a vague throb had started. “Be honest with me. Don’t - don’t tell me you’re going to save my family home, and then snatch it away.”

He frowned at her. “So you would rather I let the King do the same instead?”

“No! I - I don’t -” Belle exhaled and

He looked up, watching as she moved around the end of the sofa and then back against the tufted cushions. She reached out and patted the space beside her. “Please?”

He gave her a small, grateful smile, and barely suppressed a groan as he sat. His hand rubbed at his upper thigh, pressing into the muscle until the twitching and throbbing abated enough that he could ignore it.

“Are you in pain?”

Her hand covered his, and he nearly jerked away from her touch in surprise. “Only a little.”

The look she gave him conveyed her disbelief, but she didn’t press the issue, and for a long moment they stayed like that, near each other, with her hand on his. He didn’t turn his hand over to hold hers, though he wanted to he didn’t feel he had the right to, not now, not until they had sorted things between them, but her palm was warm and soothing. It was enough for now.

“You scared me,” she said finally, exhaling and pulling her hand back to her own lap. “I was already angry at Milton, and at my father, and when you said -” She took a breath, blowing it out between her lips as she shook her head again. “I’d never seen you like that before, so angry and - and violent.”

“I know,” he said softly, his gaze fixed on the moonstone ring on his left hand. “Please believe me that had he not said those - those things - about you -”

“Don’t,” Belle interrupted, twisting to look at him. “Not for my sake, never for my sake, not that. All right? I will not have that on my conscience.”

Gold nodded in understanding, though he couldn't promise that his reaction wouldn’t be the same should anyone else decide to harm her. He had very recently become aware that, where Belle was concerned, there were lengths he was willing to go to in order to protect her, and he wasn't entirely certain that it had only to do with her commitment to Bae.

She shifted closer and frowned. “He didn’t hurt me, all right? What he said -”

Her mouth felt dry as the words replayed in her head, the implications, the shame. It didn’t matter what she had or hadn’t done with her husband, which was nothing at all, but to have any of it made public and connected with what happened between her and Gaston was a step too far.

Gold swallowed. “Physically, perhaps not, but words can damage just as easily as my cane.”

He lifted the aforementioned object and let it drop, the end thudding softly on the rug by his boot. She knew what he meant, but it was still different in her mind. Her faults and secrets were her own, just as his were. Whatever Milton knew, or assumed, it wasn’t worth the effort or energy of beating him senseless, however much he might deserve punishment.

“What will do with it?” she asked, tentatively. “With my - with Avonlea.”

She kept wanting to call it her home, but that wasn’t true anymore.

“Give it to you.” He shrugged and gave her a quick, sideways glance. “If you want it.”

Belle blinked and leaned back a bit as she stared at him, trying to process what he’d just said. “Wha - how - um... to me? You’re giving to me?”

“Is that a yes?”

His mouth curved slightly, clearly amused by her confusion, and she frowned. “Why?”

“You don’t seriously believe I want it, right?” She looked immediately affronted at the question, and he sighed. “That’s - that’s not what I mean. I mean, I don’t - I don’t want to own it, I don’t want to take it away from your family.”

“Then why - why -” She shook her head, tilting it as she looked at him. “Why do this at all? Why have the papers signed already?”

“So the King wouldn’t beat me to it.” He gave her a small smile. “If he orchestrated any of this, used Milton to push your father into more debt... I didn’t want to risk it, and I knew the law was on my side. My claim would have the highest standing.”

He shrugged, and twisted the cane in his hands, sliding them back and forth and making it spin against his palms until Belle’s hand came to rest on the handle, making him stop.

“You think he would do that? Send Milton to - what? - to give my father ill financial advice?” She huffed, her lips pursing as she pulled her hand away from his cane. “That seems so - convoluted - so much effort for something that was bound to happen on its own.”

Gold’s eyebrows lifted. “You think?”

She matched his expression, and then let her gaze drift to the fireplace. “I love my father, but I know he’s not very good at running an estate, especially not one so large. My mother, she - she was the one who kept him straight, who knew how everything needed to be done. She understood how to estimate the crop yields, how the land leases were managed, all of it.”

The smile she gave him was sad, and he didn’t miss the way her lips wavered as she spoke.

“And she passed that knowledge on to you, didn’t she?” he asked, quietly.

Belle’s gaze met Gold’s. “Some of it, yes.”

He smiled fully then and reached for her hand. “Then it shall be yours.”

“You - you can do that?” She glanced down at his fingers as they curled over hers, holding them gently.

“Yes,” he replied simply, pleased when her hand turned over to hold his. In that moment he felt a sense of forgiveness, and the relief it brought was stronger than he’d expected, like an unwinding of something in the center of his chest.

She licked her lips and looked up at him. “How?”

“Your father has signed Avonlea over to me, so as of a half hour ago, I am the legal Lord of this estate.” He took a breath, her gaze inscrutable and making him shift in his seat. “As such, I have the legal right to name a Steward, which can be you if you like. And when I - when I die -”

He paused to clear his throat, pushing past the lump that had formed once he acknowledged what must inevitably happen for Belle to retain her family home. She squeezed his hand, and the look on her face was strangely stricken.

“When I die, I may bequeath these lands unto any of my heirs. Including my wife,” he continued. “But until then, you may help me make all the decisions where Avonlea is concerned.”

Gold returned the pressure on her hand and ran his thumb over her knuckles. She could scarcely believe his words. There were only two women who were positioned as the legal executives of their own estates, left to them by their late husbands, who had passed without children. Lady Ghorm, a severe and eccentric woman Belle couldn’t stand the sight of, and Countess De Vil, of whom there were untold rumors stories of the wild, unhinged parties she was fond of throwing every season.

She managed a nod. “You’d just - give it to me? Like that? You wouldn’t keep it for Bae?”

He nodded. “Bae won’t need it. He’ll have Thornhill and other assets, and I think - I know - he would want you to have it.”

Her chest rose and fell slowly as she took a steadying breath. She would have Avonlea, her mother’s wish would come true, and in the meantime he said she could be the Steward if she liked, and make all the decisions. She could run her own estate, even without it being fully hers, something she’d been trying to do for her father for years. It felt so overwhelming that even contemplating it was threatening to give her a throbbing headache.

She twisted on the cushion to face Gold, her lips pressed together as she tried to summon the right words to express what she was feeling. In the end she settled for something easier, and threw her arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug.

Gold sputtered and let out a soft cry of surprise as Belle practically leapt at him and gripped him in a fierce embrace. She was warm and soft, and her skirts were covering his lap as she shifted closer, pressing her knees to his thigh. He felt her fingers brush his hair where it lay over the back of his collar, sending a tingle down his spine, and breathed in the scent of her perfume. Her actions were so intimate and startling that by the time he made his own arms move enough to return it, she was already withdrawing.

She leaned back, keeping her hands on his shoulders which kept her face near his, and smiled widely. He looked utterly shocked, and she bit her lip as the realization of what she’d done sunk in. Abruptly, she pulled her hands away and she shifted back on the sofa, putting some space between them.

“Sorry, I -” She shook her head again.

“No, don’t be,” he said quickly, fighting the urge to close the short distance she’d reestablished between them. He was almost as surprised at how much he missed her proximity as he was at the embrace itself.

Belle wiped at her eyes which had begun to feel watery, and blew out a breath. “Sorry, um, we should - we should speak to my father, yes?”

Gold nodded. “Tomorrow, after breakfast, the three of us will review all the ledgers and papers. We’ll get a full accounting of everything, and we can decide where to go from there.”

“Good,” she replied, giving him another small smile. “Good.”

“Now,” said Gold, using his cane to push himself to his feet. “I promised Bae before I came here that I would apologize to you, and that we would join him for dinner. So to that end, I am very sorry for upsetting you, my Lady, and I most humbly beg your forgiveness.”

He offered her his arm and a cheeky grin, and she smiled as she stood, laying her hand over his forearm. “Apology accepted.”

[dazailover69]

Eternal Agony- Mistake (Dazai x Reader)

Slight Suicidal Themes

(Y/N P.O.V)

I felt all the blood rush right back into my body, as I came back to conscious. Blinking, I waited until my sight adjusted to my surroundings. Expecting to see blood to fill my sight, electricity thrummed within my veins, when not a single speck could be seen. Searching for an answer, to fill the questions that raided my mind, my gaze settled on the sight of the fluffy brown-haired man, with a gun positioned directly at my face. He stood with a powerful stance, with each leg propped to each side of my waist, as a lied on my back, supported by my elbows. My cuffs nowhere in sight.

The night sky filled the window, with not a single other soul, besides the Executive before me. His eyes swirled with anger and alertness, being aware of every blink and breath I took.

What happened? How did I get here? Where did everyone go?

The lump and dryness of my throat struggled to make out the faint words.

"W-what h-hap-pened?" Tears slowly overflowed, raising redness to flow into my cheeks and eyes.

"You have five seconds to stand and put your hands behind your back" An authorial tone flooded his words, causing every hair and goose bump to rise on my skin. Quickly, I rose to my feet, noticing how my skin was clear of blood, bruises and cuts. The fear that engulfed me, was intense. What was scary was there was no scars.

"Angels of Death" has never been able to activate, when I loose control. However, I would always come back to my senses, and my ability would soon activate after, which lead me to feel hopelessness in another possible attempt to be free.

Change.

It had change.

I'm so afraid of change.

His cool stern voice disturbed my thoughts. "You will follow every direction I give, unless you want to feel five bullets hitting your spinal cord". Moving behind me, he pressed the gun to my back. Slightly pushing it into my skin, he signalled to begin moving. I made sure to keep every step steady and listen to each command, not wanting him to notice the shakiness of my arms.

(Dazai's P.O.V)

Keep your cool. Stay calm.

Don't shake. Don't show fear. Don't do anything.

You're in control.

Consistently repeating the same words in my head, I forced the uneasiness, burning in my blood stream, to cool. I thrusted the gun to Y/N's back, making a mental note to ensure she would forget every turn that I demanded her to take.

Left.

Right.

Down the Stairs.

Right.

Left.

Confuse her. Make her lost. Let her lose her way.

Don't feel empathy. Don't feel guilt. Don't feel.

Coming across the top of the staircase, she slowed down, eventually coming to a stop. Her arms shook relentlessly, immediately flowing into her legs causing them to thrum with fear. She knows. She knows the pain that awaits her.

Smirking, I shoved the gun further, into her spine, and darkly said, "Get fucking moving".

After a few seconds of silence, Y/N begins taking another step and another. Steadily, in hopes if she could somehow find an escape, within her short time from the eternal darkness below her.

Finally reaching the last step, Y/N took in her surroundings quickly, as if she was searching for an answer to what would be happening. Her gaze fixtures on the giant slab of concrete, positioned in the centre of the dark chamber with silver glinting handcuffs hanging loosely from each corner.

Y/N's face contorted, into something I know too well, when entering this room.

Fear.

Quickly returning my gun to its hoister, I grasped her wrists and dragged Y/N to the slab, not letting her take the time to understand the true meaning behind her current circumstance. When she came to the realisation of the severity her situation, Y/N began to thrash and pull away. Swiftly, I threw her at the slab of concrete, letting small droplets of blood slowly drip down her face, as she made contact with the wall.

It doesn't matter if she gets hurt. Her ability will let her live. It doesn't mean that she can't feel pain though, since every single nerve in her body still functions.

While she sat dazed, "Angels of Death" automatically activated, giving me some momentary time to lock her wrists, while her body regenerates. I turned my gaze back to her glistening e/c eyes, brimming with tears. With her wrists locked above her head, she stood shaking, fear rebounding off every bone, within her figure.

I smirked.

For someone who caused me such a mental dilemma, it was nice knowing they were suffering too. After causing me to relive another mental breakdown, I needed to watch her endure some form of the same agonies. Except, the slight pang swelling in my chest, made it difficult to enjoy the sight.

I don't understand.

Why does it hurt to watch her legs shudder in fear?

Why does it hurt to watch her struggle with the restraints?

Why does it hurt to watch her eyes slowly morph into emptiness?

Emptiness.

It's something I look at the mirror, and see every single morning.

I can only feel for the pleasure being derived from the sufferings of others, and the anger that spikes and burns, when people push me off the edge. It's all I feel. It's all I have ever felt.

Pleasure in the sufferings, of enemies and innocent people, and anger.

Ango and Oda, are the only individuals who I have ever barely considered protecting, let alone talk to friendly. Mori promised me a pleasant suicide, so it's only right that I listen to his commands. Chuuya was a prick, and always will be. If i protect him, it would only be if I passed the point where living was better than death.

So, what am I feeling, towards her?

Annoyance?

Happy?

I don't know.

I'm scared of the things I don't know.

It shouldn't matter though. I won't be here much longer. Mori will come and get some revenge. After Y/N's incident, he wanted to get payment from her attack.

Elise threw herself, in front of Mori, before Y/N started punching and scratching at him. If you touched Elise, you were already dead. Mori would never let her live peacefully now, unless he got his repayment. However, since Y/N ability, "Angels of Death", heals her before truly dying and with her immense desire to die, Mori had to gather the right method and tools.

Y/N can still feel pain. She can't die.

So, to Mori,

Y/N is a play toy, who can live through even the cruellest of tortures.

Authors Note:

Hello~

I'm sorry for not updating last week. Had exams. Sad. But here we are with another chapter! I'm posting it early so I can get the next chapter done on time.

yay~

(Word Count: 1143)

[tfrangers]

A Glitch of Kings

Optimus has a slight problem, one he would like taken care of discreetly. Trepan understands, of course, he specializes in taking care of problems discreetly! At least, he can try.

Guess what everyone I also occasionally write pointless babble. Special thanks to @mnemoiisms​ whose love of Trepan is so infectious that every time I have a conversation with them I think up a million Trepan plots for any number of AUs or fics.

Contains: Optimus, Trepan, mnemosurgery, some mental health stuff, medical stuff, Trepan considering the opportunity to play with this poor lil thing, weirdness, and nightmares

----------

"I have a glitch."

Optimus stated it the way a mechlet with a hand in a sweets jar admitted guilt. It was almost endearing, Trepan had to admit- for one so willing to offer help at a moment's notice, Optimus treated seeking help like a shame, speaking to a vulnerability Trepan felt certain few were privy to. Or maybe it was just adorable, to watch him squirm in discomfort.

The entertainment value certainly couldn't be denied.

"I see." Trepan's voice was carefully modulated to put a potential patient at ease, and he hid a smug grin under a comforting, concerned smile as he pulled out the glasses and began to pour the bubbly, carbon-infused energon Optimus had bought. Bribery had it's benefits. "Is this a new development, or-?"

"Reoccurring." Optimus stated a bit too fast. "It's been a while, and I can typically…" trailing off, faceplates hot.

"... You've managed it on your own before, I surmise. So why come to me, then?" Trepan handed him the glass and watched as the ranger fiddled with it instead of drinking. "What has changed?"

Optimus stared at the energon's purplish hue. "...I can't recharge. It was never this bad, before."

"Mm, I rather thought you looked exhausted."

"When I try, it's just...false memory purges, nightmares, coming out of recharge v-violently." There was a catch to his voice, not a lie, but Trepan was keen on knowing when an omission was made. "They have me waking up every few minutes, it feels like. Or worse, I try to wake and I- I can't. When I was an apprentice, my caretaker would help, and it faded, but…” Optimus gestured vaguely, and the tail draped like a scarf around his shoulders coiled tighter by a hair. “...I’m tired. I’m tired, and I’m snapping at my team and losing track of my duties. I can’t afford this glitch, not now.”

Trepan schooled his expression. Polite smile. Graceful touch to the shoulder. Reassuring gaze and grip. "Well...I’m hardly capable of extensive work on my own -" a bold faced lie, but a useful one. "-but nightmares can be easily dismissed with even a surface connection. If you just desire some rest, I can temporarily disable your memory purges- your processor would begin them again within’ a decacycle or so.” He flexed a hand delicately at the wrist, and when the needles emerged with a soft hiss of metal Optimus flinched and his auditory fins swept down like a distressed animal’s ears. Aw. Adorable.

“And then?”

“You can come back, and I can repeat the process. If you’re willing to take that risk.” He spotted the confusion in the ranger’s eyes, and sipped his drink, letting the carbon-infused liquid rest on his glossa, feeling the bubbles in it pop, pleasantly tingly. Letting Optimus wait. “Without memory purges, the processor begins to degrade. It may take a while to notice, but extensive denial of purges could have certain effects. Mood swings, memory loss or corruption, it would be no better than denying rest as a whole.”

Optimus stared down at his still-untouched drink, looking despairing for all the world. It struck Trepan that the expression was ill-suited on his youthful face.

“Of course,” Trepan continued, “there are more extensive treatments I can attempt. Therapy. Memory training. Positive reinforcement codes to at least allow you to recharge naturally, regardless of dreams and purges. Most glitches have an underlying source that can be identified and localized, even corrected completely, given some effort.” Now that got the ranger’s attention.

“....Could you? No, would you?”

“This is not a service that would have come cheap, Optimus. You would have to allow me into your mind, repeatedly.” He tapped the long needles on the table, drumming against the metal surface with a distinctive ring. Delicate as they looked, they were stronger than nearly any other portion of his body, and when he dragged them along the surface it screeched, pitched and sharp. The vibrations merely made his hand tingle. Optimus cringed like he was pained. “I could promise client confidentiality to a point, but there is always a risk with these things. It almost certainly would be unpleasant, revealing...have you even had any softwork done before, beyond updates?”

“No.” Optimus admitted.

Trepan looked at the bottle. One of several the ranger had bought to him- sometimes in exchange for information, or simply out of politeness. He had it on good authority that the mecha bought a gift to everyone he visited, Trepan simply knew he had more specific tastes than most. “I will treat you, whichever way you desire.” Trepan sighed. “You will simply have to owe me.”

“I have shanix-”

“There’s a war going on, and we are all trapped on a planet with no communications, no shipments going in or out, and no use for shanix. I’ll just find some task for you. Maybe you can round up your team and repair my home the next time a storm crashes through, or some ‘con decides he doesn’t like me living so close to their territory.” Waving a hand as if to dismiss the worry of payment. “It would only be fair, since any sort of operation not only jeopardizes you...but myself, as well. Especially with no trained team to assist.” He put a hand on Optimus’ shoulder again- this time, the one with the needles, and watched as Optimus went so still he held his breath. “Nightmares can be contagious in my line of work, you understand.”

Optimus nodded very slowly, very carefully, all too aware of thin needles against his thick fur. He didn’t exhale until Trepan released his shoulder and moved away, turning to hide his smug grin.

“Think about it. Mnemosurgery is not something you should go into lightly.”

“I...I will.” Optimus couldn’t say polite goodbyes and gather himself up to leave fast enough, after that. Nervousness practically bled off of him, like he’d been doused in it. Good, Trepan figured. Nervous people made silly choices, and silly choices made people desperate for relief. It wasn’t that he wanted to risk his own security by compromising the ranger, but...he was a curious one.

And Trepan was growing rapidly bored of probing the brains of criminals and warriors. Someone curious would do.

----------

Optimus, as it was, could not stand more than one more sleepless night. So it was that Trepan cleaned up the operating room he’d set aside, and found Optimus leaning back on the slab. Stiff and still and clearly already raw nerves even with none exposed, yet. “You’re allowed to breath, Optimus. All procedures have their risks, but I assure you, I’ve done this many times before. You will be safe.”

“Mm.” Optimus barely nodded, staring up at where sunlight filtered in through the mirrored window directly above.

“And if anything does go wrong, I have your medic’s frequency.”

It made Optimus flinch, which was a little funny. He really did look exhausted, optics dim and unfocused and the glossiness of his plating and fur dulled some. He would perk right back with some proper, uninterrupted recharge of course. He would thank Trepan properly, then.

“Now, I’m going to begin.” Trepan took his place at the head of the slab, looking down at Optimus upside-down from each other’s viewpoint, offering his sweetest smile, antennae flicking out wide behind him. “You will be conscious and aware for the duration of the operation, though you may experience the memory purges firsthand. I will be paralyzing your greater motor functions, to ensure you don’t hurt yourself, or hurt me, by trying to move while I am injecting.” He’d gone over this three times already, but given how numbly Optimus had followed his instructions it never truly hurt to repeat one’s self. “Once I inject, it will be several minutes before I can maintain a connection, but I will inform you before I begin. If you want me to stop at any point, just say so. Are you ready?”

“Yes.” Optimus tried not to look at Trepan, instead focusing back on the light. Perfectly natural to be nervous. Mnemosurgery got such a terrible reputation, these days- Trepan remembered when bots were happy, eager to come to his slab, have their perceptions tweaked or have bad days obliterated entirely, have addictions cleared up in an hour or fears washed away without a trace. He rather missed that.

“You will feel the initial injection- it will hurt, but only for a nanoklik.” Trepan reassured, smoothing down the fur of Optimus’ shoulder with one hand as the other drifted, needles out, to the side of his helm. “I am going to inject directly behind your audial. Take in a deep vent-” Optimus obeyed. And his eyes went wide as it escaped him in the start of a yell that barely wound up a gasp. It had hurt. Like a hot knife jabbed into his helm, searing and driving and then before he could really process it or react...it was just gone. Like he hadn’t even felt any pain, not even a ghost of it remaining.

Instead, just the deeply disorienting sensation of feeling something inside his helm.

“There we are...do you feel any pain or discomfort?” Trepan asked, and it took Optimus a second to find his voice again, feeling quiet.

“No.” He swallowed hard. “That was fast.”

“Mm, yes, it’s a handy tool to use. I wouldn’t wish my patients to suffer needlessly.” Trepan sounded distracted, and Optimus though absently that the instant evaporation of pain was different from when the medics treated him, different from when Red Alert connected for pain relief coding, or from the slow build of numbness from an injection or patch. Trepan answered the question he didn’t ask, and Optimus was suddenly aware of the presence not just in his skull, but in his mind. “You are still feeling pain, actually. A medic’s pain management eliminates the sensation, or helps to deaden the sensors themselves- I’m simply ensuring your processor registers it as nonthreatening.”

“Oh.” Optimus’ mouth felt dry.

“So, useful in a different way. My capacity to manipulate the sensation would not, say, prevent your frame from going into shock from an overload of pain, as true numbing would. But it has it’s own benefits...for one, you can still feel me.” Something about the single needle in his helm adjusted and Optimus felt the room spin with a sudden rush of dizziness before it passed. “I know, it’s very disorienting. But it lets me know if I’ve hit anything vital, or run into unexpected physical barriers. After all, the sensations are still there, they are just being...interpreted differently.”

Optimus wondered for a moment on what interpreted differently really meant, and Trepan chuckled. “Your sensory network registers everything as frequencies, as data and energy. To someone who knows how to read those frequencies, there is very little difference between pain-” A brief, dull ache bloomed in the back of his head, before vanishing. A false-feeling. “-and everything else.” Everything else was warmth, pleasure, a bloom of heat that seeped down Optimus’ spinal column and coiled in his chest, then vanished. Optimus was rapidly realizing exactly why mnemosurgery was rare. And feared.

“Don’t forget expensive. Very few mechanisms have the capacity to become mnemosurgeons.” Trepan expanded. Something about his presence in Optimus’ mind reassured him that he was honestly not offended in the slightest. Amused, yes, but not offended. “Our processors have a natural mutation, not unlike those found in empaths. The capacity to understand another mechanism’s processor, to process that information faster than they can. I was very fortunate- I tested positive for such a beneficial mutation only weeks before I would have been assigned to a mining colony.”

Optimus could scarcely imagine Trepan as anything other than what he was, now. The concept of him mining out some other dirtworld like this one here, or pulling apart asteroids in a distant field of stars…

“Hardly suiting, isn’t it? I would not have lasted.” Trepan laughed. “You are doing very well...your firewalls have accepted my presence. I am ready to begin.” Optimus’ eyes flicked up to him, before going back to the light. He hadn’t bothered to turn off his capacity for vocalization, yet still he was just...too nervous to speak aloud. Understandable, given that five inches of metal had been jammed into the joint of his helm, behind his audial, and was currently resting neatly against his processor. Good thing Optimus could simply think, and it was. “You’re going to be dizzy, or even nauseous, but I won’t let you purge your tanks. It’d be a pain to clean up.”

Even scared and vulnerable, Optimus smiled weakly and amusement crept through him. He rather liked this mental image Optimus had of him- pretty and delicate and refined but oh-so-dangerous, risky. Constantly fluctuating between trust and wariness. Something deeper, a memory, a lesson learned. Something to investigate later, Trepan filed that away in his own memory banks.

True enough, Optimus’ optics fluttered shut, and his world twisted and turned and he could hear Trepan’s voice still, and knew that his body was limp and motionless, but he also felt himself stirring, moving, turning over- he was in Trepan’s suite, no, he was in his own berthroom, on the soft too-large mattress and in the cool, dark air of night, and he was trying to fall asleep.

Oh. This was the memory of several nights ago.

“It is.” Trepan’s voice was heard and not-heard. It was a little unsettling. “Yes, well, this is why those seeking more intensive treatments may prefer to be unconscious.”

It was a little nauseating. Like being spun in circles or a grounder’s first time in microgravity.

“Now, lets see these pesky nightmares, shall we?” Things adjusted. It grew darker. Optimus tried to retreat in his own motionless mind. “Optimus…there is no shame in having a glitch. Particularly one so benign as false memory purges, or terrors. And even if there were, I am not here to judge, only to assist you.” Trepan’s voice was like a warm, syrupy sensation more than sound anymore. Like hot oil applications. “This is just a memory of a dream. I will be right here if you need things to stop.” Reassuring.

A touch of tenderness and Optimus opened his mind willingly. It was downright delightful. Trepan could have been deep within’ his soul in a moment if he’d wanted, could have broken through and busted down every barrier in the way with but a thought, but why do that when it was so much more pleasant to have someone open the door and hold it for you? Optimus was so wary but wanted to trust so badly...it would have broken Trepan’s spark if he were a sentimental mechanism.

Which he wasn’t. So instead it amused him.

Memory Purges and Dreams were always difficult to sort through, even if you knew what you were doing, even with ages of skills and talents behind him. They were disorganized, messy, scraps of data that needed to be cleaned up or that spawned their own self-perpetuating loops. Glitches were common, even if they often were self-repaired in a matter of a day or two- so the ones that lasted were always at the very least interesting, and often times particularly nasty or invasive.

But Trepan had peered inside of so many minds, inside of rebels and anarchists, picked through the thoughts of common murderers and high-class lords with ‘eclectic’ tastes alike and found little different and little shocking between them. He eased into the files of dreams, ready for corrupted memories or old traumas turned into dataloops, fantasies or fears.

Instead.

Things stopped making sense for a few frantic seconds, and it was a few seconds too long. Trepan was, terrifyingly to himself, just about out of control of the situation when the memories flooded Optimus’ senses, and spilled over into him like so much energon from an opened cube.

So many voices they were crying out cheering laughing sounds of victory singing singing singing singing reverent voices ringing out in discordant joy marching and dancing and hands thrown into the air clutching crushed crystal petals of cybertronian flowers that were released and tossed into sparkling rainbow clouds of glass crunching underfoot

Singing singing singing and cheering and mechanisms faceless and infinite in a sea of color reaching out to touch to feel to stroke over armor reverently and warmly the song muffled and too loud all at once the lyrics unrecognizable but somehow still known and verse after verse after verse repeating-

Song chant droning and matching his sparkbeat filling his head as he moves through the crowd NO as the crowd pushes him along NO as he is pulled along by the spark PLEASE NO and the singing is only getting louder echoing from buildings and cliffs and off panes of crystal towering overhead the likes of which have long since been mined to nothing on Cybertron I DON’T WANT TO SEE THIS AGAIN

Trepan was withdrawing before he could even think about it. Frantically untangling himself from the thoughts that were too loud to be from Optimus’ tempered, pleasant mind.

Urging him forwards forwards forwards footsteps heavy and slow and reluctant and on the throne before him the figure is slumped and limp and pierced through with thirteen blades of light NO NO NO and were it not for the piercing fear-white glow of their eyes they could be dead for all the energon I DON’T WANT TO SEE and they are not huge or grand or glorious and their golden armor is stained with sickly purple-pink and their biolights glow white-hot where they’re not bubbling energon and NO and someone else is here. Not Optimus, whose mind is eerily quiet. Not Trepan, who can’t help but see even when it only takes microseconds to break the connection. Someone is begging and fearful and Trepan knows foreign, invasive code when he feels it.

And this is not some invasive virus, this isn’t some malicious code, or someone else’s mnemosurgical softwork come round on it’s host.

He breaks the connection cold and pulls his hand from Optimus’ helm fast and violently, and they both scream. Trepan sharp and short, Optimus wailing like a wounded animal for a terrible moment. Trepan has had connections broken violently before- it’s always unpleasant. Like a shock of superchilled saltwater across the body and mind. He can’t even be angry when Optimus flails for a moment, only to half-roll and purge his tanks off the side of the slab. He’d retch up too, if he didn’t force his lips shut and to forcibly swallow anything threatening to rise to his mouth.

“You.” He turns on Optimus after a moment to vent heavily, and the ranger looks at him with the startled confusion of a mechanisms freshly woken from recharge. “IDIOT.” Thankfully, the nearest thing is a thin, light datapad, so it doesn’t do much damage when he throws it at Optimus with all the force his slender frame can muster. Optimus barely managed to shield his face with his arm, regardless.

"I-!"

Trepan doesn't give him a moment to try to argue or apologize or say anything, really. "You send me in blind, unknowing, unprepared-" He throws a box of sanitizing wipes, this time, and Optimus rolls off the far side of the slab to take cover. Trepan feels raw. Like his armor has been stripped off. He'll be reeling for days and he knows it. "-you knew! You've no, no glitch, no errors, you idiot!"

"I'm sorry!" Optimus peers from his hiding place, wary, and only just ducks in time to avoid another box of supplies. "I thought it wouldn't matter!"

"That you're a frelling prophet?! That you're Primus-touched?!" Trepan will be embarrassed about how undignified he's being later. Once the hysterics fade. "What kind of prime goes off to do a ranger's duty-?!"

"I'm not a prime!" Optimus yells, and there's a particular note of desperation in it that makes Trepan go quiet, save for the too-loud-too-fast wheezing of his vents. His hand is numb, he realizes, needles retracted and a tingling that has crept up his arm nearly to his shoulder.

It echoes a ghost of a sensation in his processor. He shudders to think of if he'd stayed connected without proper guards in place. He heard stories, colleagues who were burned out of others' minds.

"I'm not a prime." Optimus says again, softer. Wary as he peers out again, clutching the edge of the slab. "I'm not. I won't be."

"You don't get to choose that sort of thing, you fool." Trepan spits the words.

"The Autobots don't engage in functionism like that. Cybertron has changed." A weak argument.

"Not that much, it hasn't." Trepan stalks towards the slab, mindful of the puddle of soured energon and organic foodstuffs, glaring down at Optimus who crouches still. It's almost funny, in a vastly different way than Optimus' tentative nerves had been at first.

A Primus-touched priest, crouching fearfully before a lowly criminal. Hilarious.

"No-one in their sane mind would have allowed this." Trepan bares his teeth in a grimace, but now that he can think again, the drowning music fading from his mind quick, he is starting to plan, as is his nature. To tease new thoughts. "You said you apprenticed at the archives."

"I was not lying." Optimus sounds guilty and isn't that just pathetic? Someone who should have spent their life in unfairly blissful comfort and praise looking down at the floor like a scolded student. "I served my apprenticeship under Alpha Trion."

The pieces were coming together. "Trion Prime. A little priest in training, then? Too good or too valuable to be trained at the temples?"

"...It wasn't like that. There's no more primes."

"That's molten slag and you know it. I don't care if they abdicated their power and cracked the matrices. High Lords and Alphas are nothing but primes under a fresh coat of paint and you should be one of them! You should be sitting on a throne, having your pedes kissed." It feels good to be mean, now. To hiss the words that make Optimus only cringe and hunker down further. "What happened? Trion decide you weren't up to task? Did the priests decide you couldn't cut it?"

"I said it wasn't like that. No-one knew."

"...no one knew. No one knew a blessed one was wandering amongst them."

"Trion helped me to hide."

Trepan's processor was spinning with possibilities and uncertainties. So he straightened up, took a deep vent in...and turned, stalking from the room. "Clean up the mess you've made. Then we are going to sit, and finish the bottle of energon, and you will explain to me everything that has happened."

He didn't bother to look back to see if Optimus was complying, knowing he would.

Change of plans, then.

What in all the facets of the pit did you do with a secret like that in your hands?

[byuneebuns]

Fenced In (Part 15)

Chanyeol/Baekhyun x Reader College AU

Rated: M for Smut

Tags: Angst, College AU, Slow Burn

Author’s Note: HELLO!!!!! It’s good to be back. I hope you enjoy the update. Thank you again for waiting for me. ♡ No link to the mini masterlist in this post since Tumblr is (I believe still) being odd about links, however it can be found using the masterlist post in my bio! Please give me your thoughts, feelings, etc about this update! It’s been so long since I published anything, so the feedback would be very encouraging.

Your blood turned to ice as your brain caught up with reality. You barely managed to wait until the professor finished calling out names before you leapt out of your seat and made your way to his podium, trying your best to keep from breaking into a desperate sprint.

Someone else didn’t have that much self control.

Baekhyun was taking the steps of the lecture hall two at a time, weaving through the crowd ahead of him haphazardly, ignoring the death stares he was receiving from those that weren’t quick enough to get out of his way.

He reached your joint destination first and you arrived just in time for your stomach to sink at the words you overheard.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Byun, but I don’t have enough time nor interest in your personal life to rearrange the entire class to accommodate your request. Best of luck to you both, and I look forward to seeing your work.” 

Baekhyun didn’t spare you a backwards glance as he stalked out of the classroom. Without considering the consequences of your actions you followed, catching his shoulder in a tight grip, and forced him to finally face you.

When his gaze met yours it felt like your heart was stuck in your throat, beating ferociously against the walls of your esophagus, strangling you.

His eyes were sad, tired, and a little wary. 

“What do you want?” 

You wanted to hit him. To scream at him. To curse his name for being so unaffected by your presence while you suffered being in his.

You bit your lip, just hard enough to for the metallic taste of your blood to taint your tongue.

“We need to talk.”

You kept a firm grip on his sleeve as you half led, half dragged, Baekhyun down the hallway towards a vacant classroom. If he had objections they were hidden from his expressionless face. Now that you were alone with him you were starting to regret your rash actions. Heat rose to your face as your nerves got the best of you. Your tongue felt coated in cement and you both stood there in silence while you agonized over how to tackle this obstacle until Baekhyun finally spoke.

“Look, I don’t want to get a bad grade on this. We can just email each other our work. We don’t have to work together directly.” 

You felt a stab of pain in your chest, like you were walking in on him all over again, being rejected all over again, being heartbroken all over again. 

All of the pain you’d spent weeks burying was rushing back to the surface in light of his indifference.

“Why are you being like this? More importantly, why do I care so much? This is so stupid. I wish that I’d never met you.” You shouted, louder than you’d intended, hot tears searing the corners of your eyes where they were threatening to fall. 

Baekhyun was somehow towering over you, despite his average stature, with carefully rehearsed cold words balanced on the tip of his tongue. Words that melted as your calm exterior shattered. Your lip was trapped between your teeth, a familiar sight, but not in the way that he was used to. 

Your eyebrows were shaking ever so slightly, in time with your hands, as you fought a losing battle to maintain your composure. As you struggled, so did he. You stood together, the silence stretching into years until it was unmade by two words so soft they were almost drowned out by the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

“I’m sorry.”

“You are, Baekhyun. Just not in the way that you mean. Not that you actually mean anything that you say.” 

Your voice was sharp. Sharp enough, you hoped, to cut the man that stood opposite you. You wanted him to hurt. To feel at least a fraction of what you felt when you saw him. You wanted to hate him, perhaps more than you’d wanted to believe that he ever felt anything real for you. 

“I’ve never lied to you. Not once. Brand me what you will, I deserve your hatred, but I’m not a liar. Not to you.”

The final thread holding you together finally snapped. All attempts at poise and self-control abandoned, you sank to the floor, crouching to hug your knees to your chest as the levees collapsed and released the flood of tears that you’d been desperately trying to contain.

“I hate you Baekhyun. Just go. Please, just go.”

You heard footsteps, but they sounded far away. You couldn’t tell where they were headed and you didn’t care. Everything else ceased to matter as your sadness, the sadness that you’d been ignoring for weeks, swallowed you whole. 

A firm hand found your back and your body suddenly lurched forwards. Your eyes flew open just in time for your sight to be stolen by the chest your face was firmly pressed into. You opened your mouth to protest, but he spoke first:

“Please. Please don’t speak. I know that I’ve done awful things. You could say that they’re my specialty.” His monologue was punctured by a bitter laugh.

“I deserve your hatred. I do. But you don’t deserve to be hurt like this. Don’t cry over me. I can’t watch you cry. I’m sorry for dragging you into my bullshit. I’m...not a good person. I don’t like myself, and I try to make up for it by being charming and funny and kind and cool and all of these things...that I’m...not. I’m not any of it. I make girls that I don’t deserve fall for me to fill a void, and then I run away from their feelings because I’m a fucking coward. Only this time it was a little different.”

Baekhyun held you tighter, gripping you almost to the point of discomfort, like he thought that you would vanish if he let go. His voice dropped to a whisper.

“This time I ran from myself. I was so scared. So, so scared. Of you. I haven’t felt this way in so long, haven’t cared about what someone else thinks of me, about their feelings. Not really. Haven’t looked forward to seeing someone just to see them and...I got scared. It was too much. You always saw right through me. I couldn’t stand the thought of you seeing too much and being disappointed. I thought if I pushed you away, if I just...did what I always do...that it would go away, and then you were there, and your face, and I, I just-. I’m sorry.”

Baekhyun’s voice finally broke after his breathless admission, giving way to soft sobs. Almost against your will you felt your arms circle his waist, holding him with the same intensity that he held you with as your tears softly rained on each other. Time stopped. The only thing left that proved you were still alive was a steady heartbeat. You weren’t sure if it belonged to you or to him.

The sound of the door opening tore you out of your trance.

“O-oh, we thought this was empty.” The shadow of a female figure was barely visible before the door slammed shut again, the faint sound of women giggling left in it’s wake. The deed was already done; the spell had been broken. Baekhyun withdrew from you, hastily wiping stray tears from his swollen eyes.

“Ah, I don’t know what I was thinking. I really am sorry. For everything. I hope that you can...find the happiness that you deserve.” He choked on his last words like they hurt him to speak them as he stood, turning to flee the room, to flee from you again, but the sound of his name rooted him to the spot.

“Aren’t you tired of running away yet?” Your dry lips cracked, overwhelming your tastebuds with the salty mixture of tears and blood. Baekhyun stared at you, disbelief painting over his anguished face. You gently patted the floor next to you, inviting him to return to your side. 

He was a man torn. Like a frightened rabbit, ready to escape at the first sign of danger, his eyes darted across your face uncertainly while his feet slowly shuffled forward. He sat beside you at last, watching you with a mystified expression.

“Why?” Was all he managed to croak from his raw throat.

“If you know that what you’re doing is stupid, isn’t it better to change? I still kind of...really want to punch you right now, but I also don’t want to see you look so sad. It hurts. I don’t want to hate you. I want to know the Baekhyun that hides behind a mask. Besides, he and I have a project to work on.” You smiled at him gently, warmly, encouragingly, and watched the fear slowly melt from his face and give way to a shy, yet brilliant smile.

“Yeah, I guess they do.”

***

When you got home Chanyeol was pulling on his coat. The way he smiled at you tugged at your heart strings in ways you weren’t familiar with. Guilt? You had nothing to feel guilty about. The emotion pierced your heart all the same.

“Baby girl, you’re just in time for me to leave.” He pouted, enveloping you in a bear hug. You breathed in his scent, willing it to calm you. Your brain felt like a bundle of raw nerve endings after the events of the afternoon.

“Sorry I’m home so late. I have a big English project due soon.” You breathed into his chest, nuzzling it softly with your cheek.

Chanyeol pulled away, his large hands resting on your shoulders while he studied your face.

“You okay?” He asked, staring pointedly at the puffy bags circling your eyes, running the pad of his thumb over your cheekbone with worry. 

“I’m fine, Yeollie. You’d better get going. I’ll be here when you get back, okay? Go get those tips!” You said with what you hoped was a reassuring smile, smoothing the front of his work shirt from where you’d wrinkled it. You were relieved when he returned the same loving grin, kissing you gently on the forehead before taking his leave.

You let out a breath you hadn’t known you were holding when the door shut at your back and trudged towards your bedroom, collapsing on your bed still fully clothed. You were asleep in seconds.

***

“Stop stalling and let me see it!” You scowled impatiently, clawing at the the backpack that Baekhyun was trying desperately to keep out of reach.

“I already told you that it isn’t ready yet. Sto- Hey!” He scrambled to recover his belongings as you danced away from him with them in tow. A warning glare from the librarian kept him silent as he crept after you with a gloomy expression.

“Fine, you can read it I guess, but I’m not satisfied with it yet....” He muttered while you rifled shamelessly through his possessions.

“You’re so funny, Baekhyun. We’re supposed to work together, remember? Wow, for someone that tries to act so carefree you really are meticulous with your schoolwork, aren’t you?” You mused, smirking at your partner’s obvious embarrassment as you thumbed through very diligently taken lecture notes in search of his essay.

True to his word, Baekhyun was a different man than the one you’d grown to know before. In  a short week you’d met a man that was a little nervous, shy, easily embarrassed, and surprisingly hardworking. It was apparent that he’d been putting on an act for a long time and keeping his guard down around someone was still very uncomfortable. Despite the differences though he was still very much the same in his own way. Still witty, still demanding and pouty, still flirtatious at times, still prone to giggle fits and silly jokes. Still a living ray of sunshine, just with a few clouds sometimes.

It was real. It was refreshing.

There were times that he seemed to be his old self again and you couldn’t help wondering if it was just so ingrained into him that he wasn’t quite sure who he was anymore. The pity that you felt for him outweighed your resentment, perhaps against better judgment. You wanted so badly to ask why he’d closed himself off emotionally, to ask what had happened to him, but it was a conversation for another time.

You finally found the bundle of papers you’d been searching for and your eyes pored over them eagerly, holding your breath until you reached the final punctuation mark.

“This is great! Perfect!” You exhaled.

You beamed at your companion, your grin widening as you saw his cheeks light up with embarrassment.

“You think so? It’s just okay. It needs a lot more work.” He muttered, pressing his palms into his face to hide its hue.

“No, it’s perfect! Don’t change a thing.” 

The words had scarcely left your still-parted lips before they were forced together by the softness of Baekhyun’s mouth pressed against them, one hand gently caressing your jaw while the other wound itself at the nape of your neck and held you to him. You stiffened, dumbstruck, with cheeks blazing until he finally withdrew.

“You’re perfect. Don’t change a thing.” He whispered, his voice husky as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear affectionately.

Alarms were ringing in your ears as your shock subsided into panic. You snatched your bag and stood, ignoring the way Baekhyun’s eyebrows drew close with worry.

“I-I forgot, I actually have to, uh, go, I have...something!” You blurted out, too alarmed to even come up with a proper excuse before all but sprinting from the library, leaving Baekhyun alone with his distress.

***

The lights were off in your apartment when you opened the door. Your brow furrowed. You’d thought you had remembered Chanyeol saying today was a day off for him. Perhaps you were mistaken. You tapped a quick text to him all the same.

You: I thought you said that you would be home when I got here! :(

Yeollie: I picked up a shift at work.

You: Ah, I see. What time are you off?

Yeollie: Late.

You: Noooo. Have a good night ♡ 

Your eyes burned holes into the screen. 

“Read 19:07.”

He was just busy. 

Maybe he was in a bad mood. 

You were taking it personally where you shouldn’t but anxiety was ripping through your good sense. Chanyeol was never, ever short with you like this. He always texted first, was always quick to response, and his messages were always full of every bit of warmth that his physical presence contained.

You placed your phone on the coffee table where you couldn’t keep from glancing at it in hopes of a reply every few minutes. Minutes that stretched into hours as you tried to distract yourself with the mindlessness of the television, convincing yourself that you weren’t waiting up for him, you were just very engrossed in this movie, whatever it was called.

Your phone vibrated, your heart pounding wildly until it stopped altogether when you saw the sender’s name on your screen.

Baekhyunnie~~<3: I’m really sorry about earlier please don’t be mad at me!!!!!! <3333 >.<;;

You: It’s okay, I’m not mad.

Baekhyunnie~~<3: You seemed pretty mad to me but maybe it was just the way you ran away from me. You know, in terror.

You sighed, massaging your temples in a vain attempt to keep the mounting stress headache at bay. You should have seen this coming. Foresight wouldn’t have freed you from the desire to avoid it though.

You: It isn’t that...it’s just everything that happened is still so fresh. And I don’t really know how to say this but I’ve kind of been seeing someone lately

You held your breath as you watched Baekhyun start and stop typing at least five times before the screen flickered to life with his reply.

Baekhyunnie~~<3: I see

Baekhyunnie~~<3: who?

You: Actually it’s my roommate. Chanyeol.

Baekhyunnie~~<3: I can’t say that I’m surprised

Baekhyunnie~~<3: but I’m not going to lose.

Baekhyunnie~~<3: besides i’m way cuter than him~ 'ㅅ' hehe~ 

You couldn’t help snorting. For as much as he might have been trying to lighten the mood you could feel his resolve and you had no doubt that he meant every word and it made your stomach jump for reasons you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

You elected not to respond, more out of speechlessness than annoyance, and regretted it immediately.

Baekhyunnie~~<3: you’re not allowed to ignore me after i make declarations of war it makes me feel weird -_-;

Baekhyunnie~~<3: but hey, really, if you want me to give up on you I understand, so please just tell me what you want. I don’t want to make you sad, or uncomfortable.

There it was. The question you weren’t ready to answer. Your body felt like it was being crushed from the immense pressure of those words alone. You couldn’t breathe, wished with all of your might that you could vanish at that moment, slip into a coma and reawaken whenever this mess was over.

You could see Baekhyun starting to type again so you answered at last, if only to keep him from pressing on.

You: Please don’t ask me things like that for now, I can’t answer what I don’t honestly know

Baekhyunnie~~<3: It’s ok, I get it. Take your time ok?? and get some sleep young lady it is past your bed time, only delinquents stay up this late

You: that explains why you’re messaging me then

Baekhyunnie~~<3: exactly now go to bed!!!!!! >:0

You dragged yourself to bed as instructed, not at all cured of your unease, and stared at the ceiling in silence until exhaustion finally claimed you.

When you woke up in the morning and finished blinking away your grogginess you were met with a terrifying realization:

For the first time in weeks, you had woken up completely alone.

[diziar]

The end of a legend

This is based off of the LinkedUniverse Modern AU from the Discord! This is more hurt and pain and i’m so sorry if this triggers or makes any one remember horrible things but I wanted to base this on exactly what happened to me and my own experience and feelings with this event that happened almost two years ago. I’m sorry to any inaccuracies. but I did try my hardest to recall every correct term I could.

@linkeduniverse belongs to @jojo56830

Legend never noticed it before due to always being around, but his uncle had lost weight. A lot of it. Someone had offhandedly mentioned it to him saying that they had seen him the other week and he was looking skinnier than previous.

Legend never noticed that his uncle was eating less and less. Before he would talk about the big breakfasts he had and then they'd plan dinner together. These days he couldn't even eat a bowl of soup.

Legend hadn't noticed it before as he always worked alongside his uncle, but it seemed that the elderly man was working less and less hours. Tiredness or from general aches he claimed.

"I’m not getting any younger." He said with a laugh as he hauled his fragile frame up.

Legend hadn't noticed but every time his uncle caught a cold or some other bug that was going around, his uncles symptoms would stay around for longer each and every time. Every time it would take longer for him to recover, until eventually he never did.

-

"Alright, I'm going over to the Fisher's now, if you start feeling any worse just phone an ambulance. I won't be able to home fast enough so don't bother with me. Get immediate help" Legend turned to his uncle, who was bundled up on the sofa wrapped in blankets, and he pulled on his shoes. He had said that he had been feeling sick and cold all day, even in the middle of the scorching summer. He didn't exactly feel right saying what he had, it felt like some sort of jinx, but it was necessary especially concerning his uncle's conditional the moment.  

"Don't worry about me, I'll still be sitting here when you get back later. Have fun."

Those were the last words he ever heard his uncle say.

What if...

-

He had gotten the call from the hospital as he had been walking home, the cool summers night breeze suddenly chilling every bone in his body as each word that slowly came from the phone became further and further away. The lovely dinner he had just eaten felt as it was going to come back up.

His uncle had been all alone. He had phoned the ambulance by himself in the midst of his attack. He was alone, and that fear he must have felt haunted Legend at the back of his mind as he ran to the hospital.

Legend could admit that never in his life would he ever thought he would find himself here. In a hospital waiting room at midnight. The only indicator of the passing off time in the room was the TV on the wall with the late night news playing over and over on repeat, telling stories of a man finally freed from jail after wrongfully accused many decades ago, and the cup of tea on the table in front of him now cold.

He felt numb. All alone. Perhaps if he had siblings at a time like this he could be talking out loud about all the things their uncle used to do. Clutched in his hands Legend held two phones. The first was his, the very phone he had received the call from the hospital on hours ago. The second... The second was his uncles. Low on battery after a days use and having looked through the call log Legend could see the number that his uncle had rang.

The number which gotten them both here.

He really wished he had had the nerve to have called someone all those hours ago himself. Another relative or a friend. It would've been easier with anyone here, instead of the biting and dark loneliness, and repetitive voice of the late night newscaster.

It made his mind go places he didn't like.

Placing the phones down onto the table, Legend brought his hands up to his face in an attempt to clear and rub away at thoughts plaguing him, instead all he found was a dampness he hadn't been aware of.

"When..."

When had he started crying? Or had he never stopped?

The clock in the bottom left of the TV changed again.

3 am.

It had been hours without an update. The last he had heard was that they were taking his uncle for some testing within the ICU and had been moved from one waiting room to another.

He picked up his uncles phone again, unlocking the screen to see a photo of the both of them from so many years ago. Both so happy, both so full of life.

"Please..."

What if...

He had heard of stories where people woke up after being in comas for months, after the doctor's had told family members there was no hope - it had to be the same for him. He prayed it would be. He needed this miracle.

Another hour went past. A doctor had come in at some point and told him everything that had happened, and that they were continuing to do.

A heart attack, the reason behind it was currently still unknown.

He wasn't conscious in the least but they still were keeping him in an induced coma just in case. He was suffering no pain, but they did admit to things not looking so good.

"His body is weak," they had said, handing the box of tissues over to him as they sat down on a chair opposite him. "Now that it's getting the support it needs, everything seems to be slowing and shutting down. Liver failure was-..." The words all blurred into one.

There was still hope. Worst things had happened to others, he had spent the last few hours just reading about these miracle stories, there was still hope.

Another hour and a bit, now 5:30 read on the digital clock. He had been up almost 24 hours with an entire day of school and dinner with the Fisher's between then and now, but he didn't feel tired. He felt nothing. School the previous day felt so long ago. Even flipping off Warrior as he left his house only seven hours ago felt like an eternity ago.

He stood up for the first time in a long time, stretching every aching muscle as he walked across the waiting room and out into the main part of the ICU. He needed to go home. Shower, eat... Get ready for school...

A nurse who had been attending to his uncle approached him - she was kind. Understanding. The words she said almost didn't sound like a death sentence but more of a mercy kill.

He told her that he needed to leave, and she said if anything changed they would call him. He was also allowed to phone them at any point for an update if he so wished to. Visiting times were whenever, but he should go home for some rest. They were looking after his uncle now, not him, and it was time Legend looked after himself for once.

He said he'd be back after school.

-

The walk home was surreal. The sun was up, the birds were calling and singing, and the few cars that there on the roads at that time in the morning were going along as it nothing had changed. Well for them, nothing had, but for Legend... Everything was different now.

The sight he was greeted to upon returning home made his stomach lurch. The fact nothing was out of the ordinary, was what made it the worst. Everything was as it should be. The blankets his uncle had been wrapped up in were draped over the back of the sofa, his uncles slippers down by his bed and a glass of water on his bedside table.

The corner of his duvet was flipped back and pillows were sat up.

Obviously the man had been getting into bed when he had called the ambulance.

He could see it in his head. The image of his uncle, all alone and suffering, sat on the edge of his bed and phone clutched in his hand as he rang the number.

What if...

He slammed the bedroom door shut, guilt pulsing through his entire being. If only he had tried harder. It was now so obvious his uncle had been suffering in silence for years, only too scared to go to the doctor's in case it had been something awful, and now here he was. Or rather, wasn't.

Hours later, still no sleep or a call from the hospital was the only small hope he had. They said they would ring if something changed. No phone call, no change.

No news was good news.

-

It was another beautiful day, the shine was shining at full force at midday during his lunch. People were laughing and the day was going on all as usual for everyone else.

Sitting on the grass if the field with Warriors and a few other friends, talking amongst themselves of the day's events. It wasn't entirely odd for him to stay quiet during these times, holding his tongue back from retorting at the stupid things his friend said.

Someone across the field was playing an instrument. Music flooded in his ears and he looked across to a student from the other school sitting under a tree. He didn't recognise the tune of the person playing it, but it made him feel better.

On that amazing summer's day, his hand wrapped around his phone in his blazer pocket and the light joyful music and chatter of his peers in his ears, he felt better.

Things would get better.

He stood up, dusting himself off of the loose blades of grass that had been thrown at him.

"I'm going to go make a call, I'll be back in a minute."

-

"His kidneys started failing so we put him on dialysis..."

At this point he wasn't even surprised, but it did hurt a lot. They had said that his uncle had been going along for so long, his body so exhausted that now it was having a break from all the support he was now getting, things we're shutting down.

Multiple Organ Failure.

"Thank you, I'll be back later..."

He hung the phone up after thanking them again several times, his hand dropping from his ear down to his side. A few deep breaths later and he felt better.

There was still hope. None of the doctor's or nurses had mentioned anything about end game yet. People recovered. People made recoveries from all sorts of things. MOF was among that list. More stories filled the tabs on his phones internet browser, things he would read later.

It was hope, not delusion. He was alone. There was no way he could possibly think up what would happen if…

What if...

The strumming of the guitar returned to his ears, the calming feeling and lyrics of joy. It was warm, students all around him shedding their layers and outside clothing in midday heat and he joined in. His blazer lay on the ground in a pile beside him as he sat back down, picking a large chunk of grass out from the ground and throwing it into Warrior's lap with a laugh.

For now, he was allowed to feel the way he did. The guilt and fear was still very present in the back of his mind, but as he straightened his legs out on the grass, taking in all the sun and warmth he could, and rolled his eyes at something Warriors said, he managed to let it be forgotten for some time.

The end of the day at school only came too quickly, and instead of taking his usual route home, he simply said he had matters to attend to elsewhere and headed towards the hospital.

There were many places he could possibly go to along that way, no suspicion was raised.

-

Upon entering the ICU, that feeling of dread washed over him again. He wanted to keep the hope up, but seeing that curtain drawn over a section over the end of the hall and the beeping of the machines...

The nurse from the night before - or earlier than morning - approached him and gave more of a run down as she escorted him to the curtain and pulled it back.

There he was, lying in a bed completely still. Wires everywhere and machines surrounding him. She quickly told him about the dialysis machine next to him, saying about what it was doing and what it had done for him since they had set it up hours ago.

No improvement, but no decline yet. That was good.

That meant somewhere in there, his uncle was still around.

"I've been trying to talk to Robert all day, but he doesn't seem to be responding much. Is he shy? Quiet?"

Legend couldn't help but laugh, though it felt hollow in his throat as the stood at the end of the bed and shook his head.

"He likes to go by Craig, maybe that's why."

"Oh I see! Thank you, that makes so much sense." She turned to his uncle, smiling down at him. "I'm so sorry Craig! Maybe now we can have a proper conversation."

She pointed to a chair at the side of the bed, indicating for him to sit in it as she walked over to the whiteboard and wrote in the top right hand corner "Likes to be called Craig!" in a bubble.

Legend moved around the bed, his legs wobbling and eyes stinging from holding back the tears.

The man who had been his father since he was a child looked so weak. So ill and frail. Bruising, discoloured skin and bones showing so heavily through flesh. He carefully pulled back the blankets covering his arms, and the hand that didn't have any needles or wires connected to it became free of the fabric confines.

Fingers that looked just like bones and felt so cold. Unmoving and unresponsive. No matter how hard he squeezed, there was no squeeze back.

He sat there for some time, just talking and quietly begging for a sign. Begging for even just his uncle to make a recovery and get better.

He spoke of the good things as well, all the happy memories they shared together and fun future things that they had planned to do.

Damp and dark droplets littered across the exposed sheet.

Some time past and the doctor in charge approached him, quietly getting his attention as she asked him to come with her shortly.

He followed.

What if...

-

He was led to a small room just next to the waiting room which he had only become too well acquainted with the night before. Instead of the large TV and fish tank on the opposite wall with just over a dozen chairs and tables around, this one only had 6 or so chairs, a small table with a box of tissues and a water machine.

She sat down, and he did too across from her.

"We haven't seen any improvement since this morning, in fact you're aware of that we put him on dialysis after his kidneys started failing."

All he could do was nod his head, the pain in his hands from his nails pushing into his palms the only thing stopping him from crying further at this time.

"Well, since then he has deteriorated further. There's been absolutely no improvement, I'm sorry. We just think his body is too weak now." - It's given up.

The words weren't said but he knew it was true.

Nothing felt real, and once again for the second time in 24 hours a box of tissues was held out to him.

"S-so you're saying that... No. Can't you keep trying for bit longer? Please..."

Please.

She gently shook her head, lowering the box back down onto the table.

"I'm sorry but we've done everything we can, it's all up to him now but he's just so exhausted. We don't see him making it until tomorrow morning"

She continued on after a brief sigh. "It's up to you. It's your decision. We can do it now with you here and you can say goodbye and be with him, or we just let him go on his own... I'll give you a few minutes to think about it.

She made no attempt to move, still sitting opposite him as he tried to calm his breathing that he hadn't even realised that picked up. Nothing was clear, he couldn't even see his hands in his lap, grasping at the tissues, as the tears fell.

The nod of his head felt heavy and rigid at first, almost like he hadn't even moved at all, but then he lifted his head again, wiped his eyes off and tried again.

"Yeah okay.. le-lets do it now. I want to be here.”

There was no way, after all this time and everything his uncle had ever done for him, that he was going to leave him alone again. Especially not to die.

-

She stood up and once again, he followed her, back to where he had previously been sat before.

His uncle's hand was still out from the blankets, it hadn't been moved nor had it moved in that time.

“What we'll do is turn the machines off, but leave his painkillers and him unconscious. Don't worry, he's not going to feel a thing.”

It wasn't exactly most reassuring considering what was going to happen, but Legend felt better knowing that his uncle's suffering was long over.

He took his seat by the bedside again, holding and resting his forehead on his uncle's hand for a moment.

Lifting his head back up once again with one last kiss to the back of his uncle's hand, he clutched the fragile one between both of his and looked towards the male nurse giving him a soft smile.

“I'll leave you two be."

The curtain was drawn back around the bed, shutting off Legend and his uncle from the members of staff outside.

One hand let go and moved upwards, slowly brushing his fingers through his uncles hair. Greasy and unwashed. He hadn't been clean in days. Too unwell to even get in the shower.

He commented on that, making a quick joke about the state of his uncles facial hair before the words changed into that of a goodbye.

The words he said he would never be able to recall, but they were ones of gratitude, love, hopes, promises, and wishes.

Regrets, sorrows, pain, and guilt.

It couldn't have been more than a few minutes later that the male nurse returned and peered his head through the curtain, glancing at the machines.

“He's gone.”

Legend couldn't believe it. It was so much quicker than he had been expecting. TV made these things seem like they would take longer, but perhaps his uncle just really had been that weak.

Well he wasn't anymore.

He was the strongest person Legend knew.

The hand Legend held tightly onto the hand was now more yellow tinged than it had been before, colder too, and his uncle's face looked no better.

But at least he was at peace.

He was gone, and Link Goldsmith was alone.

[nyrator]

mannnn

time for more nyrants and life updates with ny, focusing on mental healths and family and where to live and art stuffsss feat. very personal introspection about arttt

Trying to be in a better mindset when writing these compared to how I usually am, let’s seeee

Admittedly struggling with depression a lot lately. Like, to the point I just can’t get out of bed anymore. Tuesday I had the day off, and spent a total of about 16+ hours in bed. I think if not for Kresna, I’d probably spent the entire day in bed. Ate breakfast at like 4:30PM and ate dinner at around 11PM and felt sick from it. But it’s extremely, extremely hard to escape my bed. When I do, I just want to go back to bed, it’s a cruel temptation.

There’s a friend who reads these who always gives kind words and advice and just a heads up, you’re awesome friend. He’s suggested something to me to help and I’ve been really debating it for a while but I think I’m still too scared at the moment, and aaa I wish I was better at communicating directly with people but such is the life of a Ny (but really dude you are a good dude)

I should really see a therapist, I think, but it’s very difficult going anywhere without money or a car, so hm.

In terms of family life, my sister got of jail, was back in jail for three days, back out, basically living at the apartment, and got sent back to jail today for three months (allegedly she had the choice between eight months house arrest versus three months jail, she allegedly picked the latter- though my mother’s friend who keeps me up to date on information about my sister told me that she thinks her urine test was hot, so hmm). My sister being around was not good for my mind at all, I think, but hopefully she really is in jail for three months.

Work is still work, very slow, back to normal hours and keeping my usual $8/hr pay, which admittedly is a bit sad. But as much as they keep telling me they want to get rid of my coworker, my managers just don’t have the heart (something will blow up eventually, probably, but who knows when).

I think in terms of where I should go in life- Ideally wherever Kresna is, but you have no idea how hard immigration, especially on minimum wage. I’ve basically decided internally that, either the asian dude I like becomes president and I stay here (he’s still the only candidate to give me some kind of hope, as silly as politics in general is), otherwise I move wherever Kresna is. But man, it’s so hard, and I’m scared of how hard it will be to support each other honestly (he’s very supportive but I’m very much a leech)

In other news, I’ve also started keeping a dream diary finally. For January, I have about four-five dreams so far. None of them I’m sure are real dreams, or just my imagination running wild in the mornings after waking up but before getting out of bed. I think I mentioned before having a type of reoccurring humiliation dream, and ended up having two of them this month (one came dangerously close to being really bad before I woke myself up).

Now, in terms of creativity (aka one of the main reasons I wanted to type today)

Art

is hard

Rotten Nyan is a strange project, as I’ve mentioned a few times before. I think I want to distance myself from it- like, project these characters as a separate entity from myself. But they’re basically a caricature of my life, so it’s weird. Doing the latest update made me feel really satisfied with myself, doing five pages in such a quick and effortless amount of time.

And then I posted them, and it was like daggers into my chest afterwards. Like, feelings of self conscious, guilt, self hate, all riled up at the realization I keep making these things public, and just really blending me up inside. It’s such a weird thing- really loving these characters and drawing them, but feeling sick thinking of any ideas or sharing anything about them when I do. And the guilt of association- these characters are technically me, but I’d rather people not see them as me, I think, and I try to think of them as separate entities- but it’s obvious they’re me.

Ideas are very hard for me to come by for that reason- the pain, and not wanting to think back on my life anymore. I think I use art to socialize, in a way- give people something interesting, something they can like and admire, and when someone interacts with it in some way- it’s like a wave of euphoria, or something. And it’s funny, because it’s still a similar reaction from me- I get so happy and flustered that I become so anxious with it and want to hurt myself. It’s a good feeling (and trust me I’ve moved on from hurting myself long ago), but anxiety is weird I guess.

I mention it a lot, but I just love the idea of other people feeding me ideas- I feel like I want to make things for other people, but the things I want to make are just my own ideas, not necessarily what they want, you know? And I’d like to join more communities and try to just get that social aspect more. Been trying to be more active on twitter, but boy do feelings of self consciousness hurt.

In terms of what I want to make, it’s also very tricky. I don’t have many original ideas lately. I browse pinterest, read manga when I can, but it’s tough. I decided to catch up on that Suicide Boy manhwa (stopped when they skipped like four chapters but figured ehh what the heck I’ll read the newer ones anyway), and mannn, my body can’t stand it. That movie theater chapter especially stood out, it’s like a frozen sledgehammer into my gut and ribcage, that kind of suffering. It feels like it hurts more than usual, and I’m both excited and scared for when Kabi’s new manga comes out into English. I don’t know how my current self can handle it.

I’ve been thinking of biting the bullet and going to the darker parts of the internet for my art. It’s tricky to talk about, y’know? But seeing most people I know fragrantly post what they like, it’s like, is there really any big deal if I do? But it’s weird. It’s like I have a mental image that I don’t want to be associated with. Explicit and highly sexualized things- those things still make me uncomfortable as a person and I still have no interest in them at all, but other things, hm. I don’t think I’d be able to handle gore, for example- I’m surprisingly squeamish, and have become moreso as time goes on, despite the edgy stylized subject matter I like.

In terms of my own personal dark interests, it’s also weird. I’d consider myself a very chaste person, but the one interest I do have is also a form of self harm, in a way, and it’s something I know most people want or like to see. It’s also something I think about far too often and pay attention far too closely in things I see- something about the way that specific pain resonates with me, it’s something that gives me the deepest chills and feelings of disgust. Such a weird mix of emotional pleasure and pain, I guess. It’s something I want to make works about, but I worry about which part I’m writing for- the pleasure, or the pain. And I forgot (or blocked out) how much it affected my mind as a kid, the painful part anyway, before it got warped into something else in high school.

Anyway, I don’t know if I’d ever be able to draw things like that comfortably. I think I just want a sense of community, or something, but those kinds of communities seem dangerous. And it’s weird, I think of friends’ interests and hidden art I’ve stumbled upon, hidden identities but with a trademark style, and how I just think good for them, keep it up, make what you want. Yet when it comes to myself, I don’t think I could just do that- make a different identity and post what amounts to fetish art. One, because I love my OCs and don’t like degrading them to just being fetish characters (and can’t imagine drawing many other characters or just designing designated fetish characters without other purpose), and two, because I simply just don’t feel comfortable with myself about it, I guess

I think, ultimately, I’m just scared of being judged, but still just want to make this weird content, but want to make it for a broad audience, if that makes sense. Either way, I don’t think I’ll ever be comfortable with it, and I’ll probably make a chapter of RN focus on what it at least means to me one day to at least get things off my chest. I just worry how hard my psyche will be damaged after submitting it to the public, if just sharing a tiny bit in RN has caused me so much turmoil already.

but yeah, in short: I want to draw Nyans, my mind keeps remembering the majority of things that happened to middle lave were very disgusting and so I feel uncomfortable drawing them, but those are the only things I can think of drawing half the time when thinking of ideas for them and feeling “wow, that’s really bad, I could and should do better”

and nowwww to get ready for work

[ladyshandioftheendless]

~StarChild Assassin Side Story 8~

Haven’t updated this one in a while! Let’s wade a little deeper into Drama Ocean shall we? 

~Shandi

Demon slowly begins to mold his newest prize.

THE DEMON’S SINFUL TOUCH Part 3

“Show it to me.” 

“I don’t want to..” 

“How do you expect me to help you if you’re not open with me?” 

Stanley turned away and started shaking. Clearly this needed a gentler approach. “You can trust me. I need to see it so I can figure out what can be done.”

“Promise me..you won’t laugh..” 

“I won’t.”

“Say it!” 

“Alright. I promise I won’t laugh.” 

Letting out a shaky breath, Stanley lifted a trembling hand up to the right side of his face and pushed back his hair, revealing his horribly deformed ear. Demon only got the briefest of looks before he turned his head again and let his hair fall back into place. “There. I showed you. Now don’t ask again.” 

Demon sighed. “How did it happen?” 

It’s a birth defect. I had to live with it..go to school with it..I can still hear them laughing..” He curled up in the chair and held his head. “Don’t make me go back there..I can’t…I can’t go back..!!” As he sobbed, he felt arms wrap themselves around him in an attempt to soothe him. “Shhh..you’re not there anymore.” Demon’s voice was gentle and comforting which surprised him. “You’re here with me..and this changes nothing.”

“It changes everything!! It’s hideous..I’m hideous!! Why can’t anyone understand this?!” 

Grabbing Stanley’s chin, Demon turned his head, looking directly into his eyes. “Because it’s just your mind lying to you. You only believe this because of the trauma you’ve suffered. That is only one small part of your lovely face..a part than can be repaired.” Stanley’s eyes widened. “R-repaired..? How..?” 

“Reconstructive surgery of course. If it can be done, I will find the doctor who can do it.”

“But..surgery is so expensive..I could never..”

“I can.”

“What? I can’t ask you to–”

“As I said before. If you choose to stay with me, I can make things happen for you. Things you never dreamed were possible.” He brushed his thumb over Stanley’s cheek. “All you have to do..is say yes.” Stanley shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not prostituting myself for you. So get that out of your head right now.” Demon laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous! You think I would allow anyone else to touch you like that? Absolutely not. You’ll be all mine~” That didn’t make Stanley feel much better. Why did he have to be so vague about everything? “What will I be doing for you exactly? Tell me everything..or no deal.” 

“I suppose I owe you that much. I’m a very important man, you see. I have to look my best and show my best anywhere I go to impress my clients. There’s no possible way they’d ignore me with you by my side~” Stanley looked at him incredulously. “You mean..you just want me to be your date for parties? That’s all?” 

“‘That’s all?’ Maybe you need some experience to persuade you. Go home. Dress up in your finest. I’ll pick you up at 8:00. Deal?” As skeptical as he still was. Stanley had a hard time ignoring his overwhelming curiosity. “A-alright..deal.” 

Walking up to his door Stanley could hear the phone ringing inside. Cursing, he quickly unlocked the door and rushed in, grabbing the phone before the other person hung up. Hopefully. “H-hello?” 

“Heeeeeey that you, pretty Star~? It’s your SpaceMaaan~” 

Ace was clearly drunk which made him grimace. “Acey..are you alright? Where are you?” 

“I’m fiiiiine! Me an’ the boys are just havin’ some fun in Berlin! Where ya been, baby? I’ve been tryin’ to call ya!” 

He gripped the receiver as guilt stabbed at his heart. “I..I’m sorry. Just been out on call a lot more than usual. You understand..”

“Oh sure I do, baby~ Listen uh..I can go up to my room right now and we can have a little fun~ You wanna?” 

The guilt twisted deeper. “Oh, Acey..I’m sorry..I can’t. A..a friend of mine is taking me out tonight. I’ve been going stir crazy sitting here all alone.” 

“You’re gonna duck out on your boyfriend for a night out? C’mon! I haven’t talked to ya in days! Y’know how hard it is bein’ the only one who can’t go out an’ fuck somebody? I need ya!” 

“I..I can’t, Ace. I really can’t. I have to get out of here for a while. Call me tomorrow okay?” 

“Tomorrow’s a lot different for me than it is for you, baby. Who knows..I may not be in the mood by then.”

There was a loud click as the line disconnected. Putting the receiver down, he grabbed a tissue and wiped his eyes. “I’m sorry, Acey..I really am sorry..” He took a few minutes to compose himself before getting up. He swore he’d make it up to Ace the next time he called..whenever that was. Right now he needed to get ready. 

After he’d showered Stanley was frantically searching through his closet when he realized he really had nothing fancy to wear. Panic began to set in as he looked at his clock. 7:00. He sat on his bed and began to rock back and forth. “Dammit..what do I do..? I don’t have time to go shopping.. Do I cancel..? No, I can’t do that..!” He got up and went through his clothes again, hoping that something would stick out this time. A faint sparkle caught his attention. “What’s this..?” Taking the hanger off the rack to get a closer look he was instantly hit with a wave of nostalgia. His favorite pair of star studded leather pants. Ace loved when he wore them. He always said his ass could stop traffic when he wore them. The memory made him chuckle. He also remember why he stopped wearing them. Towards the end of ‘85 he’d felt he’d gained too much weight to look good in them anymore. Ace had tried his hardest to convince him otherwise but his own body dysmorphia always won out. Ace wouldn’t let him throw them away so he shoved them into the back of his closet so he’d never have to look at them again. Now here they were. Should he even try? He was certain he’d gained even more weight since the time he’d stashed them away. The trouble was he didn’t have very many options left. He sighed and took the pants off the hanger. “What do I have to lose?” 

Pulling the pants on wasn’t at all as difficult as he expected it to be. Maybe..just maybe Demon was right about what his mind was making him believe. Now the true test: looking in the mirror. He stepped over to his full length and chanced a look. To his amazement they didn’t look at all as terrible as he’d imagined. In fact they looked..pretty damn good. He turned to get looks from all sides, all the while fighting back the urge to cry. “He was right..t-they were both right..” He sniffled and wiped his eyes. “Snap out of it, Eisen. You don’t have time for this now. When Ace calls..you’ll give him the apology he deserves~” He went into his closet again the find the rest of his outfit: a low cut black tank top, his black leather waist corset, and his black star studded platform boots. By the time he was done dressing and fixing his hair it was 7:45. He smiled when he looked at his clock again. “Hm. I usually take an hour. I beat my personal record~” At 7:50 he grabbed his jacket, hugging it briefly before putting it on. Ace had given it to him for their 5 month anniversary. Every time he looked at the roses covering the sleeves it reminded him of Ace. He needed that comfort right now. Especially since he was going off into the unknown.

At precisely 8:00 a sleek black limo pulled up in front of the building. Stanley could already feel his heart racing. He’d only seen limos, he’d never actually been in one before. How fancy was this party they were going to? Demon stepped out to greet him..and damn was he looking hot. He wore a red button up shirt with a black tie, vest and slacks, black patent leather shoes, and a beautiful red leather overcoat. Stanley’s eyes went wide. He hoped he could afford a coat like that someday. Maybe in purple~ “Well look at you~” Demon said, looking him over with a smirk. “How delectable you look in all that tight leather~ Nobody will be able to take their eyes off you..I guarantee it~” Moving closer, the strong scent of Demon's cologne filled his nose. "And you..you smell good..and you look even better~ That coat..mmm.." He leaned closer and inhaled deeply. "I love the smell of genuine leather~" Demon chuckled as he helped Stanley into his limo. "Well you never know..if you're a good boy you may have one of your own sooner than you think~" After settling into his seat Stanley looked around. Of course the interior was entirely red..and incredibly comfortable. “So where are we going tonight anyway? You didn’t tell me in your office this afternoon and I’ve been going crazy over it!” Demon glanced up as he opened a bottle of champagne and filled two glasses, handing one over to Stanley. “One of my partners is throwing a business party tonight at his place. I’m going to be the guest of honor you might say. It’ll be a perfect opportunity to attract more clients for myself.”

“And..just what is it you do? You never told me that either.”

“I’m a...contractor of sorts. I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you. At least for now.” Stanley looked down at his glass as he drank from it. Whatever kind of ‘contractor’ he was it certainly had nothing to do with buildings. That he knew for sure. He looked out the window as they slowed down. The place they were pulling up to was gigantic! He’d never seen an actual mansion in person either. He could tell this going to be a night of fascinating firsts. When he turned back Demon’s face was only a breath away from his, making him blush instantly. “S-something..wrong..?” 

“Your face is missing something..and I think I know what it is~” Reaching into the console between the seats Demon pulled out a..tube of lipstick? Stanley stared at it in confusion. “W-what are you going to do with that..?” Holding Stanley’s face still he began to color his lips with the soft shade of red. “You have such a gorgeous, shapely mouth. It should be accentuated with a little color~” Once he was done, he leaned back to admire his work. “Perfect. Now you’re ready~” Stanley never considered wearing makeup before..but once he looked at himself in the mirror, he loved what he saw. He smiled at his reflection and fluffed out his curls. 

“I’m ready, Mr. Demon. Let me into your world~” 

To be Continued!!

[nitratestock]

One by one, like a painful slow drip from a finite source, we lose people to time, people who contributed positively to the world in ways political, artistic, scientific. One by one. Considering the sum total is simply too great, we need stagger. For those who share my year of birth by a margin of three years give or take on either side, we’ve been lucky. Lucky in the sense that the stagger has been long and wide. Over the last decade we’ve lost some important people, particularly important to our early life, the exit of our single digits and the early part of our teens. Early on I was crushed by the death of Sidney Lumet, in 2011, a giant of the film community. I wrote about his passing back then, at the point of worst emotional pain, as bad as one can feel without being a family member or close friend. Since then we’ve lost Cimino. We’ve lost Nichols. We’ve lost Varda. We’ve lost Akerman. We’ve lost Hooper and Romero. As we brine in our Gen X jar, we unfortunately transition from sniper fire to machine gun spray. Legato becomes staccato. People of my age group watch in horror as heroes depart. It’s no different of any other age group, perhaps only more enhanced by the increased prevalence of mass media over the course of the last century and into ours. Distance and folklore becomes nearness and screens. In either case we involve ourselves in the lives of others, in ways good and bad. At worst we connect through this urge to pillory those who are guilty of our very same sins. At best, we mourn the passing of a public figure we’ve come to acknowledge, without their knowledge, as a friend. Hopefully out of benevolent interest, that last part.

So I say with the melancholy of a film fanatic that came of age in the 80’s and the heft of a life, if averages count, mostly lived at this point, that the recent passing of one Alan Parker left me despondent. Perhaps not for the fate of the world, but definitely for the fate of film as a malleable form that might struggle with the twin purposes of art and commerce and succeed somehow. Film fanatics, or as I prefer to refer to myself and others, Cinegeeks, often find themselves drawn to figures within the film world considered 2nd or 3rd tier interviews, whose body of work might contain two or three masterpieces amongst a body of mediocrity, or who might have a mostly or even highly successful box office record but never get critical acclaim. Fanatics like to champion the underdog. It’s our nature. To a degree Alan Parker found himself in this category. Partially because his CV didn’t fit neatly into the Auteur Theory folder. Partially because he didn’t play the normal Hollywood game. It’s sometimes overlooked that the boldest outsiders during that New Hollywood era knew how to play the studio/PR angle and did so like sawing a harp from hell. I’m looking at YOU, Coppola and Scorsese.

Parker had artistic ambitions, some would even say pretentious ambitions, and yet I defy anyone to observe his body of work and not see a blue-collar hardscrabble mentality etching away at the base of all his films. He failed sometimes, but in all endeavors he struggled not just to ensure proper light diffusion, but to connect the audience to the scene that was unfolding and the characters within all of that art direction and brilliant cinematography. In his debut feature, the cult classic BUGSY MALONE, he invited audiences to indulge in the lark of basically watching an updated Little Rascals film as whipped-cream St. Valentine’s massacre. With an infectious soundtrack by Paul Williams. And it worked and still works. In MIDNIGHT EXPRESS, he sought nothing less than to put you through the Turkish prison system at its most barbaric. And damn, did he succeed. In FAME, he sought to enroll you in La Guardia High, the School for the Performing Arts, partially ushered in by one Mr. Lumet, and he brought you into the NYC streets to join the dance. In SHOOT THE MOON, he dragged you through the broken glass and nails that is a brutal divorce. Most critics still feel it’s the film that’ll never be topped on that topic. And yeah. It’s punishing to this day.

That’s just his first four films. He followed MOON in the same year with his cinematic distillation of PINK FLOYD’S THE WALL, as ambitious, reckless, insane, obtuse and inspiring as any art film dared to be. He waged one of the bravest, constant battles between the band, their label, his studio and the inevitable lash or backlash from the critics and the crowds as any director dared in that decade, which had now, even by 1992, belonged to Reagan and Thatcher’s crowd. It worked, it was a success on its own terms. It stood with QUADROPHENIA as one of the few successful adaps of a “RockOpera” to screen. And it would serve as an insanely influential piece of cinema/album mashup. I can’t think of another film that’s even attempted to match it to this day.

Parker’s true gift was that of exploration, and this was evinced by his sojourn from cinematic genre to cinematic genre. Like great directors before him, he felt the need to examine and exult in them all. He turned after 1982’s twin trials to what many referred to as William Wharton’s “un-filmable” novel. Parker found a way to film it, and in the process crafted a minor masterpiece, and the first film in his American Gothic trilogy. BIRDY is about so many things; the horror of war, the futility of grand romantic dreams, the last days of glorious, unweighted childhood. It succeeds in all those ambitions, but what it is squarely about is the healing power of friendship, of that bond between brothers that even the trauma of battle cannot best. He accomplished this in two different time periods and two different venues; the 60’s early and late, as disparate as a decade could get from itself; then the wide, economically depressed funland expanse of post-WW2 Brooklyn, against the claustrophobic, chiaroscuro lit cell of the VA, where the only shadow to hide within lies beneath the mottled cot. All of Parker’s CV can be described as character studies of one form or another. Here he began a three film sojourn into America’s pockets, its secret soul and even its original sins. He’d leave the punishing abandonment of what once was the City of Brooklyn as it stood circa 1962, for a far more insidious and painful abandonment, one of a whole swath of the country and of its stolen populace.

ANGEL HEART was ostensibly a mashup of horror and noir, a neat trick that any successful director would’ve been drawn to, especially in the MTV 80’s, a music video era (greatly inspired by directors like Parker, I might add) that found itself drawing on the tropes of past cinema genres in a highly stylized way. The synopsis implies a simple morality tale, a private eye hired by a seemingly nefarious talent agent to track down the client who’s eluded him. Perhaps by supernatural means. Parker expanded on the location by quickly resetting the action from Brooklyn to New Orleans, after a quick trip through Harlem. White culture has to answer to and for black culture in America, and Parker employed this almost caricature smoke-and-topcoat shamus to do this investigation. There is great butchery in ANGEL HEART, which I’ve always believed reps the butchery of slavery and the Jim Crow era. There are bold implications and terrible consequences for what we now term “cultural appropriation”, from Johnny Favorite’s Depression-era crooner stealing from black artists to the Krusemark’s adoption of the patchwork voodoo religion. Above all, there is guilt. There is a clear through line, as clear as Capt. Willard’s river to Kurtz, toward White America’s brutality, ongoing. Harry is our surrogate, should we choose. He goes on his own journey of discovery that becomes, unwittingly and surely unwillingly, one of SELF-discovery. His final manic, desperate denial is the same as any who enjoy white privilege to this day while at the same time being wholly unaware of it: I know who I am. If ANGEL HEART is the one he’s going to be remembered for, I believe it’s this subtext, unplanned or otherwise, that will allow it the test of time well over the brilliant cinematography and perhaps Mickey Rourke’s finest performance. Parker would next attempt to expand on this subtext and present it as text, with very, VERY mixed reactions.

MISSISSIPPI BURNING was a project begun with noble intent, I believe. In an era where white men still got to tell the black narrative in America. While I forgive a lot of the film’s dramatic license, I fully agree with its detractors as well. 1988 was a tipping point for tone-deafness in the film industry. Had Parker made BURNING a decade or so prior, it might enjoy a better rep in the context of its time. The end of the 80’s demanded better. I’m a fan of this film, as a film, not as a history. In the same way I’m a fan of well-crafted cinematic narratives that have dated very poorly. The tragedy of MISSISSIPPI BURNING is not just that he made so well-crafted a film at a point in the timeline when something more inclusive, honest, and better representative of history was possible, it’s that he chose fiction for fiction’s sake. Nevertheless, it was the second and final Oscar nomination for direction he’d receive.

Parker remained in this wheelhouse of American guilt for 20th century wrong-doing. COME SEE THE PARADISE was an earnest attempt to depict, to REMIND America really, of the awful Japanese internment camps of the WW2 years, the venerable FDR’s greatest sin. At the height of his filmmaking powers he was unerring in his balance between stylistic pursuit and substance. Alas, with this effort and his previous, glow softened suffer, and the heart of the tale proved elusive as a result.

Maybe he had a moment of clarity then, after these ambitious but perhaps stultifying efforts, and decided to return to a genre that had stood him in good stead. Parker turned to the homespun Celtic kick of Roddy Doyle and decided to create a real-life soul/funk/r&b band from scratch for THE COMMITMENTS, which most will agree is his last great film, though his later fare has its champions, and fair play to them. For a director so well known for his meticulous prep and focus he fared incredibly well in filming wild abandon. Maybe it was a mode he needed to consciously shift into gear for, but once there he cooked quite a stew. The film delighted both critics and audiences, and also helped re-start a soul music resurgence, helped in no little way by the film’s pre-fab ensemble, who’d take to the road for a series of live shows with various members of the celluloid iteration in tow. Some might argue that he retreated to a stance that shied from his previous inquiries regarding the separation of cultures white and other, and the theft perpetrated by one on the other, and in doing crafted so populist an entertainment as to render the argument moot. That’s a fair assessment. Some others might argue that a truthful, passionate depiction of people inspired by others different from their living experience, plaintively plying their art, is honest work as well, no matter their skin color. The debate won’t go away. And it shouldn’t. In terms of moviemaking, though, Parker had fired on all cylinders. Perhaps for the last time.

The remaining decade-plus of his work was, in most estimations, workmanlike, with the odd Parker flourish here and there recognizable to his fans. THE ROAD TO WELLVILLE was an eccentric choice as follow-up, and also as navigation through the early days of a new and unsure decade (He’d already travelled the biz director-driven, to producer-driven, and was now in the who-the-hell’s-driving 90’s). It features several fine performances, from recent and deserved Oscar winner Anthony Hopkins to the still-finding-their-way Matthew Broderick and John Cusack, and its huckster-health theme does still resonate, or at least it SHOULD, as well today as then as late 19th century. If it ultimately found no target to spear, it remains a well crafted and intentioned work. EVITA was no sleepwalk-to the-Oscar gig, even though the resulting film is at best assessed as a dreamily-hued mess. Parker took on the challenge of a legendary broadway smash, one that Hollywood had been desperate to film for well over a decade. A lesser director would’ve turned the camera on and yelled “Sing!”. But Parker was one of the few who’d found success in the post-studio era with one of its warhorse genres, the musical, which had diminished, and decidedly felled such giants as Coppola and Bogdanovich at their peak or near-peak. It’s a noble effort, if it comes up short. It’s not quite empty Oscar-bait, but it’s well shy of a film with a purpose. He either directed or was gifted a great Antonio Banderas perf, and he did his damnedest with Madonna, which is sorta the theme of her career don’t send hate mail. He got a hard-won, decent turn out of her, perhaps not the magnetic dying star that the role demanded, but an actor giving her all. That’s still worth something, even if they’re miscast. For further evidence I direct you toward Matt Damon in THE TALENTED MR. RIPLEY.

And here’s the part that I always hate to talk about. Parker was a director who, in my estimation, never sought validation, but always inspiration. It’s the source of his greatest works, and they remain some of the greatest of the post-studio years. He took his best swipe at an unlikely best-seller, Frank McCourt’s wildly successful but impossibly depressing ANGELA’S ASHES. Like EVITA, it had “prestige” built into it. Like EVITA, it was a package deal. Like EVITA, the studio expected some love from the Academy at the end of the day. I feel like Parker was thwarted from the start, tasked with this take of utter poverty and despondency while asked to chase the gold. Had the book come out sometime early in his career, had he discovered it and championed it, and then saw it through production and release, we may have been gifted something along the lines of a Ken Loach or even Buñuel at his most honest. The gilt and geld of the Hollywood studios, especially at that time competing with the newly-found prestige of the indies, precluded any chance at that, despite next-level perfs from Stephen Rea and Emily Watson. It’s a not-unworthy effort to seek out, especially if you're a Parker fan, but in some ways it may have signaled his ultimate abandonment of this art form. Maybe he felt he’d said enough. Maybe he felt he wouldn’t be allowed to say his piece on his terms anymore. Maybe he looked ahead at filmmaking in the new millennium and decided he’d not update his passport to this new continent. For reasons we never fully received, Parker was leaving.

His last film would be THE LIFE OF DAVID GALE, an anti-capital punishment screed that felt out of joint, and not due to the lack of effort from its stars, Kate Winslet and Christopher Plummer. But it’s an aimless effort, deprived of any real bite on a subject molten to a wide swath of the citizenry. It was met with mixed box office and mixed reviews. It left with nary a trace. And then, whether we realized it or not, so did Alan Parker.

It seemed to be a welcome retirement. At least in my following of my filmmaker heroes. I don’t believe I saw one item, one gossip piece, about a new Alan Parker project, about a studio extending him an offer on a prestige or even indie film. He popped up as interview subject and fairly frequently, and seemed to enjoy his status as thus. He’d crafted a remarkable body of work, and by all witness enjoyed remarking on it. He occasionally served as mentor, as when Christopher Nolan reached out to him. He’d definitely serve as defense attorney, especially when the subject of Mickey Rourke came up. He absolutely and most magnificently served as beacon to a whole generation of film lovers and future filmmakers, kids who were desperate in the corporate/production team/CAA 80’s to cling to films of their generation they could call their own. At a time when art and the so-called “auteur” was a dirty word in Hollywood he was able to put the work he’d crafted into your head and into your heart. I’m not sure if we’re gonna see another Alan Parker, and he’d be most upset by that notion, but if you’re reading this, and you find this possibility unacceptable, go grab a camera and be another Alan Parker. We’re waiting.

[iamkellyadams]

60 Self-Care Ideas for Women (Checklist)

Self-Care is…

Taking personal responsibility for one’s physical, emotional, mental and spiritual health

Good for your mind, body, spirit, life, and soul

NOT selfish

A habit that makes you flourish, not just function

A choice

Preventive

Imperative

A deliberate effort

Making yourself a priority

A lifelong practice

Empowering

A lifestyle

A ritual

Its time for you to

Reclaim your FREEDOM

Reclaim your POWER

Reclaim your PEACE

7 Self-Care Strategies

Make yourself a priority

Be your own caretaker as you are for others

Don’t apologize for putting yourself first

There is no reason to be sorry for loving and taking care of yourself

Ditch the guilt

Understand the big picture, without self-care you end up running on empty and you cannot care for or give to others from an empty cup

Ditch Perfection

Let go of perfection, it’s exhausting and nobody is perfect. Life is too short.

Plan to be Spontaneous

Take advantage of the many opportunities throughout the day for self-care, small actions yield big results

Make Self-Care your own

Choose self-care techniques that help you to destress, stay calm, and take good care of yourself

Create a Habit with rituals

Commit to doing some type of self-care activity each day, before long it will become automatic, and you will find the positive results motivating you to continue

60 Self-Care Ideas

Have a support system

Get help as you need it

People to talk to and process emotions

Learn to identify and process emotions

Learn to say no

Believe in it, practice it, and say it as needed

Create and believe in your own boundaries

Boundaries protect you from harm, just as the borders are there to protect countries

Find Solitude

Clear your mind

Gather your thoughts

Slow down

Practice mindfulness

Focus on the present moment and really pay attention to what is going on

Keeps you in the present moment

Prevents senseless worry about the future and nagging thoughts of the past

Get a treatment at the salon

Blow-out

Manicure

Pedicure

Anything that makes you feel good and renewed

Take a hot aromatherapy bath

Do Something that is fun, senseless and makes you relax

Create a morning routine

Morning rituals help get you centered for the day ahead

Meditation

Prayer

Visualization

Uplifting podcast

Exercise

Anything that works for you

Facial massage

Read a book

Spend time with friends

Drink a hot cup of herbal tea

Turn of all noise

Find silence by turning off your phone, social media alerts

Cook healthy meal

Keeps you grounded and in touch with what you are eating

Practice gratitude

Be grateful for your job, all you have and your life it will keep you centered and more calm

Break free from negative and/or unhealthy people

Their negativity drags you down

They are not likely to support your wellbeing

They cause you stress

Get up slowly without a blaring alarm

It sets a calm tone for the day

Create a beautiful garden for yourself to sit in and relax

Nature is soothing, calming, and restorative

Practice deep breathing several times each day

Meditate

Do nothing

Take a few moments each day and do nothing but space out

Plan periods of time without plans

Leave blocks of time during your weekly schedule to do nothing and have nothing planned

Be spontaneous

Do something spur of the moment, take a drive, read, take a nap, go to lunch with a friend, or just watch TV

Exercise and physical movement

Release feel good chemicals in the brain

Reduce stress

Detoxifies the body

Greatly improves mood

Take scenic drive

Practice yoga

More than sixty benefits for mind, body, and spirit

Effects stay with you long after each session has passed

Have sex

Promotes relaxation

Stimulates release of feel good hormones in the brain

Intimacy nurtures emotional health and feeds your soul

Recharge with a spa day

Practice positivity

Miraculously healing

Optimists live longer and handle stress much better than pessimists do

Be okay with disappointment

It’s okay to be disappointed with yourself

It’s okay if others are disappointed in you

Be your own best friend

Love

Honor

Support

Respect

Meet needs

Be there for

Spend time alone to rest, refuel and regroup your mind and spirit

Create claiming surroundings

Get rid of clutter in your home, office, and car

Consider your friends and relationships

Do they fulfil you, support your wellbeing, and inspire you to be your best, or do they drag you down?

Consider your routine

Is it chaotic

Does it make you crazy?

Make changes as needed with a focus on your wellbeing

Make a list of your greatest qualities and read it often

Stare at the clouds

Find some grass, lay down, and just watch the clouds float in the sky

Play like children do

Childlike play feeds the spirit, and promotes emotional health

Scrutinize your schedule

Is it overfilled? Are overly burdened?

Make every possible effort to eliminate things that cause overwhelm

Fix nagging annoyances

These little things annoy and nag, and over time this can cause unnecessary mental and emotional burdens

Change that light bulb

Make that phone call

Fix that stuck drawer

Just one thing

Do one thing makes you happy every single day

Smell a flower, listen to your favorite song, hug yourself, think of those good things that feed your soul

Unplug

Unplug all electronics for at least half an hour each daily

Phone, laptop, tablet, social media, email alerts, landlines, all of it!

Evaluate your social media updates

Do you really need to be bothered with constant updates from 100 plus people?

Information overload promotes stress and prevents your mind being calm and centered

Listen to your body

Listen for hunger, thirst, exhaustion, the need to rest

Dance

Great exercise

Music helps feel good hormones in the brain

Stretch

Destress and recharge

Plan your meals

Eat healthy by planning ahead and having it ready

Avoid eating junk food when you get too busy to consider a healthy meal

Practice positive self-talk

Positive affirmations remind you that you are worth it and deserve self-nurture to promote self-care actions

Spend time in nature

Nature is soothing, refreshing and re-energizes the mind, and spirit

Splurge

Buy yourself something self-indulgent, just because you deserve it

Get some sun

Spend a few moments in the sun each day, don’t forget the sunscreen

Inhale wellness

Essential oils used in aromatherapy are therapeutic and help create a certain mood

Lavender for calm

Peppermint to boost energy, motivation, and mood

Laugh regularly for the health of mind, body and spirit

Take a quick nap

A nap that lasts between 10-20 minutes completely rejuvenates your mind and energizes your body so you can tackle anything that comes your way

Take up a hobby or sport

Candlelit dinner for one

Take yourself out for a delectable gourmet dinner and celebrate your own company

Journal

Allows you to vent frustrations, process emotions and reflect

Receive love freely

Love is the ultimate healer, no matter how bad things get, love can pull you out

Seek it, receive it and give it

The best self-care medicine there is

Who am I and Why you should listen to me?

For those of you that don’t know I am Hillary Fay, I have a passion for yoga and transformational arts. This overflows into everything that I create from my classes, workshops, yoga teacher training’s, Reiki certifications, and Evolutionary Arts Practitioner Certification.

As a teacher and teacher of teachers, I am here to help you deepen into your own Source of Unconditional Love — S.O.U.L. So, you can access all the gifts that always are, and always will be inherent within you through breath work, Kundalini Yoga, Reiki, Alchemy, Vinyasa Flow, Meditation and much more.

My passion is sharing what I have learned with everyone.

From a very young age I was inspired to seek healing and be at peace. At the young tender age of 12 I had lived in 8 states, been through trauma and abuse and experienced far more than any 12-year-old should.

From the deep suffering came the greatest gift I could have ever imagined.

Now I embody love and want to help others do just the same. I’ve taught over 10,000 students. You are capable of being loved, filled with energy and amazing presence!

Ask yourself – what would it be like to wake up feeling happy and confident, that you’ll have all the energy you need to feel good at the end of the day? Now you can feel the transformation of deep self-care.

In this fast-paced world, we live in, it can get lost as to what we need to do to help ourselves.

I’ve designed a program to help you increase energy, return to your own power, and give yourself the boost you need to continue showing up for others without draining themselves.

In my Ultimate Self-Care Kit, you’ll be getting tried and proven practices to help you create and set the energy you need to feel your best in only minutes a day.

Introducing…

THE ULTIMATE SELF-CARE KIT

The Ultimate Self-Care Kit contains everything you need to dive deep into what self-love and self-care really are. 

Including 7 guided meditation audios created with binaural beats which help to access deeper states of well-being:

The Safe to Be Mediation to reconnect with your breath

A powerful Energy Clearing meditation that you can use every single day to reset your energy

The Deep Relaxation Meditation for Self-Care to unwind your nervous system

A Yoga Nidra (the Yoga of Sleep) Meditation. This will help you tap into your Theta state where you can access your own source of intuition and love. The more we access Theta state the more we learn how to trust ourselves and our own gut instincts.

The Divine Mother Meditation will help you feel cherished, love and accepted.

The Love Consciousness Activation is designed to support you in grounding.

The Self Sourcing Meditation for igniting the love and support you deserve

You simply need to get comfy on your couch or in a quiet space and focus on your much needed self-care to help you get real stress relief and the rejuvenation of spirit they desperately want.  

​Special bonuses include potent breathing exercises and meditation videos from the best of yogic science:

Breathing exercises to help you relax into a restful night’s sleep

Breathing exercises to boost your immune system and activate your Inner Sun

Full Hatha yoga class specifically designed for self-care and grounding

PDF workbook for Creating Healthy Boundaries

This helps you live your best life…without the guilt, which empowers you and everyone around you.

Regain control of your mind, body, and spirit…and feel the power of true transformation. You need my Ultimate Self-Care Kit in your life right now. Click here, The Ultimate Self-Care Kit.

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[thirst-order-confession]

Okay, guys... You’re killing me here. I am an absolute sucker for Force-bonds... you have no idea.

And again, I’m sorry about the late updates. I’ve been trying for the past week to get my life organized before I start work tomorrow. It’s been crazy and there have just been business that I’ve had to take care of before I don’t have time to do so while I’m busy working all summer. Thanks for being understanding.

The moment Kylo felt you disappear from the Force was one of the most terrifying moments for him. You were out in a TIE at the time it happened and he was aboard the Finalizer when he felt it happen.

The ever constant lingering of your Force-signature in his mind was suddenly gone, empty. He physically rocked from the loss, as if a limb was torn from his body. He made sure to keep quiet though he wanted to scream, his leather clad hand grasping hard at the back of one of the bridge worker’s chairs.

“What happened?” He demanded.

He reached out into the Force, grasping hard and near desperately at the empty hole where your signature once intertwined with his own. And it’s... it’s there.

His desperation is no longer so fierce as he can feel the remnants of your signature remained. So you weren’t dead as he once feared... Unconscious, maybe. Far away from him but still alive.

“Ren went down in their ship. Crashed into the planets surface but their vitals are still stable. They’re unconscious but we have pilots out closing in on their location.”

A few minutes passed, Kylo’s head hanging low in the helmet as his mind continued to reach out to your own, his attempts fruitless. However, suddenly, there was static that cut across the silence of bridge, everyone quiet as they felt the tension nearly crackling in the air.

“Lieutenant Dornai here. We’re at the wreckage and there isn’t... there isn’t much left,” Kylo swallowed thickly and he was hyper aware of all the eyes on him.

“Access the Lieutenant’s cam on their helmet,” he ordered, shifting down to get a better view of the screen.

The footage appeared upon the screen for a moment and suddenly there was shouting and swearing that came through the speakers as well as the loud crackling of fire.

Kylo held his breath as he watched the screen, irises rapidly flickering back and forth over the vid as he took in the destruction. Your ship was beyond recognition, a twisted mass of metal and transparisteel. Smoke was also billowing out from the mass and before them, clouding up the cam a moment before hands were appearing, fingers closed around the padded fabric of one of the regulation pilot suits.

The patches sown onto the jumpsuit made his heart stall in his chest and what made his fist clench down harder on the back of the chair was the cracked visor on the helmet, the left side of your face exposed to the air.

More swearing was to be heard and Kylo could only watch helplessly as your body was further dragged from the wreckage and you were laid back, the cam on the helmet scanning you over. Your uniform was tattered beyond belief but when the Lieutenant stopped moving their head, again, Kylo’s heart seized.

No doubt, the Lieutenant was looking at the massive burn traveling from beneath your chin, having eaten through your clothes, down to your shoulder where your entire left arm was entirely bare of fabric, the skin there left raw and charred black with blisters and burns. Your chest was also full of smaller shards of transparisteel, the pieces sparkling in the sunlight.

Suddenly, there was another pilot appearing on the cam, kneeling down at your side as they threw off their helmet to place their fingers on your neck, “We have a pulse!” They bent low then, their ear over your mouth. “And they’re breathing. They’re alive. Burnt pretty bad, chest full of transparisteel. In pretty bad shape.”

Kylo could only turn his head away and to the side as guilt washed over him at your battered form.

“We’re sending emergency medical units down now. How many others have you recovered from the wreckage?”

“The knight is the only survivor.”

“Very well,” the officer said into the communicator. “The emergency unit will arrive shortly.”

“Copy.”

They’re alive... In pretty bad shape.

For a moment, it felt as though, the world stilled. His heart thundered deafeningly in his ears as he swayed slightly once more, the wound where your signature was once a crutch to his own was tender.

However, he does manage to turn his head to watch as the emergency team arrives a few minutes later, their loud commanding voices clearing out the other pilots so that they could get to work on you, lifting your unconscious form onto a hover gurney so that they could race you back to the ship and to hope that you could pull through.

He was there when the ship landed. He was there when they carted your still unconscious body from the bowels of the ship and raced you off towards medical. Even still, with how close you were, it was near impossible to feel your presence against his own in his mind and as they pushed you out of sight down the hall, leaving the helmeted knight to stand there and watch you disappear from view.

A medic approaches him on the ship, a doctor. He vaguely hears in the back of his head that you’ll need surgery to remove the glass and to graft new skin where you were burnt. Kylo can only nod his head, his mind racing a million miles an hour as he follows along numbly beside her.

When she escorted him into the dark observation room and left him there, the knight removed his helmet and set it down at his side, fresh air filtering into his lungs helping him to feel less... uncomfortable in his own skin without your signature there as reassurance.

He watched as they brought your body in and cut free the fabric covering your form, the pilot suit now cut wide so that they could cover you in a blue plastic medical tarp and begin their work.

He sat and he watched, dark eyes ever intent as they plucked the glass from your chest and then they brought in a droid that could synthesize skin out of your cells. It was a typically painful process, attacking the new flesh to the old. Kylo was glad that you were still unconscious, though, he still reached for you.

He wondered perhaps if you leaned on him as much as he leaned on you in the Force. If your connection was just as important to you as it was to him.

Still, he paced with anxiousness, wearing a nonexistent path across the floor of the observation room; back and forth, back and forth.  

And when the surgery was over and you were wheeled away to be placed into intensive care bacta tanks, one of the surgeons came into the room and told him that everything thus far had been a success. Now, they had to wait to see if your new skin would take while the bacta did its work. But there was hope at least.

Something that Kylo thought he gave up so long ago.

When he was lead into a room filled with six bacta tanks and he found you floating in one, he felt his heart do that weird twisting it had been doing before. You looked so at peace regardless, the ventilator hooked up to help you breathe as you simply were suspended in the healing solution, your limbs weightless and your hair a drift and gently swaying. You were covered once more with disposable white clothes, the fabric baggy on your person to protect the wounds.

This being the closest he had been to you since the accident, he bared his palm and walked forward to press it to the thick glass, the other five tanks left empty on either side of you. Your vitals beeped along steadily on a monitor nearby, one of the staff members present at the desk to watch over you while you healed.

The glass was freezing cold, the water around you colder yet, no doubt. Your heartbeat had been slowed for the time being to help ease the stress on your body while it tried to heal rapidly yet the steady pounding was a comfort to Kylo’s mind.

You were so... pale. Washed out in comparison to your normal coloring. No doubt a product of the low temperatures.

How many days would you be in here? He wondered. How many days would you be in this semi-hibernation?

It was five, to be exact.

They left you in there for five galactic standard days just to make sure that everything was set and that your new skin was accepted by your immune system. And it was.

Despite having to carry out his duties and train during the day, whatever amount of free time that he was allotted, he would go and check on you. Stand in the chilled bacta room as he watched you sleep, no longer unconscious but kept heavily sedated to help ease the healing process.

In the later days, when everything seemed successful, Kylo could feel your Force-signature again, strong and bright yet muted still while you slept. The tender wound in his own mind seemed to be gone and though he didn’t lean on you, your presence in the back of his mind was in itself reassuring enough.

When the attendants in the room left for a break or to change out their shift, he would speak to you, murmuring things softly to you as he walked over to stand directly before your tank, his hand pressing against the glass once more. He would tell you about his day sometimes, vent his frustrations about things, talk about training and any small breakthroughs he had.

And he would always ask you to get better for him. That he needed you. That you were strong and would not fail him. That you hadn’t failed him.

Sometimes when he spoke to you, you would twitch your fingers or furrow your brow as if listening, as if trying to will yourself to be better for him.

Oftentimes, you also dreamed while you were under sedation. When they were foul sometimes, Kylo would feel your distress and with the Force, he would ease you into a more contented dream-state, one far pleasant that the horrors that sometimes plagued.

This hadn’t been a new occurrence for awhile and Kylo had performed the same act upon you numerous times. He hated seeing you suffer and if he ever so often nudged your mind towards less dark thoughts, he would do so to help you rest.

On day six, they pulled you from the tank and placed you in a special care room while they brought your body temperature back up to normal and lowered your sedatives so that you would wake slowly and when you were ready.

Kylo took a personal day when you were moved from the tank and waited for you then to wake, the knight seated in a chair by your bed, handling business or doing research on a data pad.

And then suddenly you were moving, your breathing changing. Your toes snapped beneath the covers on your bed and Kylo’s head turned to the side to watch as you fractionally stretched beneath the number of heated blankets that continued to warm your body, some of the natural coloration returning to you now that you were out of the cold.

You then hum softly while in your bed, your head turning ever so slightly towards Kylo and he feels your connection light up suddenly, your signature warm and familiar as it reached out towards him, towards what you knew.

“Mmm... Master?” You breathed softly, your brow furrowing fractionally and yet you didn’t open your eyes.

“Yes, Apprentice. I am here,” He answered your call, touching back at your presence with his own and he felt you relax, felt you ease back into your skin almost. You were safe and warm and that was all that mattered right now.

“What... What happened?” You licked your lips and swallowed thickly, your throat so dry.

“You were shot down and your ship crashed. But that’s of no concern right now. Sleep. Rest.” He stood and smoothed a stray piece of hair from your face, you leaned heavily into his touch and he internally breathed a sigh of relief.

“Can you stay?” You asked softly, eyes still shut. Regardless that even if he didn’t say, his presence alone, his Force-signature is a conditioned comfort in your mind.

It’s familiar and strong, curling around your own and swaddling you in a sense of protection and ease.

“If that’s you want, I can.”

You were silent a moment then, your face suddenly twisting in pain as you lifted your arm, your right one, your undamaged one, and gently took ahold of his wrist.

“Please.”

Kylo sighed heavily and manipulated his hand in your grasp, allowing himself to take hold of your own, his long fingers squeezing around your own as he rested your joined hands on the bed covers while he took a seat.

“I’m not going anywhere, Y/N.” He curled his hand slightly and allowed his thumb to gently rub your knuckles as he felt your mind began to drift off again in slumber. 

I’ll always be right here to protect you until you no longer need me. 

[jentrevellan]

SUMMARY: Cullen’s POV to the events of Dragon Age: Inquisition. Cullen x Lyla Lavellan (Mage)! One-sided Solas romance! Some in-game scenes expanded! Plus lots more to come! Reblogs, likes and replies are loved. ^^

**Updated every 2 weeks!**

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-> Read on Ao3 -> Read on FF -> Artwork by @anafigreen​

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Lyrium

I'm pacing recklessly in my office, skimming reports and hardly listening to updates from my scouts. It's stuffy in the room and there are half a dozen Inquisition soldiers in my office each waiting to give me updates they believe can't wait. I beg to differ.

I glance out of the arrow-slit windows every so often, just to check if there's anyone approaching. My hands are shaking and I've got a pounding headache that feels as though it's right in front of my eyes. It's one of the worst I've had in months since I stopped taking lyrium, but I can't let my troops see me like this.

As I turn back to the soldiers, the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and there's a call from one of the guards on the bridge. I swivel around and I'm relieved to see a the long-awaited party gallop across the viaduct, escorted with a small Inquisition force.

"The Inquisitor has returned," I announce to the room. "Let us adjourn for the day. Lieutenant: please see to any urgent matters," I say to the ex-Templar.

The room salutes me as I sweep out of the office and stand on the battlements above the main gate. For the first time all day I'm on my own, and yet I'm desperate to see her. It's not long before other Skyhold residents appear on the battlements and in the courtyard to see her return - it's always something to celebrate when she comes back safely and successfully. But I'm more anxious than ever to see her - my symptoms are terribly bad today and I know I have to tell her, as my superior.

I can't bear for her to see me as weak; falling apart in front of her. I need to be strong, to continue my duties… but I must let her know that it's a very real threat that at some point, I might not be able to remain as Commander. I clench my jaw and tighten my shaking hand on the hit of my sword - I must ensure it does not come to that. I will give everything to the Inquisition because I believe in our cause - I believe in her.

As their horses slow to a gallop I notice an extra person in the party. Hawke rides side-by-side with Lyla, but just behind them is a figure I did not expect to see - a Grey Warden. I'm frozen to the spot as the Grey Warden lifts his head to look up at Skyhold's towers and there is no doubt in my mind when I recognise the honey hair of Warden Alistair.

Screams that echo. Pain in my mind. Burning. Fire. That familiar feeling of dread, awaiting the inevitable pain. Bodies rotting around me. I will not fall. I must not fall.

I don't realise how tight I'm gripping my sword until Lelianna appears beside me. "Cullen?" she says softly. I glance at her and release my grip, flexing my fingers. "Are you well?"

I exhale slowly, my eyes never once leaving Alistair as they approach. Another echo of my past I did not expect to see here, especially when my control is wavering. She peers up at me past her hood and follows my gaze. Lyla has reeled her horse back and now rides next to Alistair. They are speaking with their heads bowed and I'm anxious about their discussion. Everything I've been trying to hide and forget is coming together in this place where I want to move on.

They pass under the archway and I'm left staring at the now empty walkway. I realise with a start that I haven't replied to Lelianna.

"A headache, nothing more."

She shakes her head. "You did not expect to see Alistair, did you?"

"You could've warned me," I say dryly.

"To what end?" She replies and then sighs. "I'm sorry Cullen, I know that Alistair is-"

"You weren't in Kinlock, Lelianna. He was." I turn on my heel and stride back into my office, leaving Lelianna and her unspoken words behind me.

I ensure all of the doors are shut - thankfully with the Inquisitor back, most soldiers will be busying themselves with report writing, meetings and scouting so won't need to bother me for a least an hour. I ease myself down into the chair at my desk and rub my eyes. Today is an awful day for my withdrawal - why could they not return tomorrow, when I'm feeling better? But I realise I'm being selfish: I was so full of anxious excitement to see Lyla again - and I still am - but now I'm wary. Alistair may have told her things about my past I'm not quite ready to share. It's personal. And if I remember Alistair, it's that he used to sometimes say the wrong thing at the wrong time, but with good intentions. Ah yes, good intentions: don't we all have those?

I know I shouldn't, but I open my top desk draw and reach for the small box inside. Just to know that it is close but untouchable is almost a comfort. At least I know that if the worst happens, I have enough to start again, but I cannot let myself do that. I turn the box over in my hands for a small whilst before placing it down on the desk in front of me. My thumb plays with the latch subconsciously flicking it open and close again.

I stand and lean over the box - reassert why I'm doing what I'm doing. I'm trying to leave that life - that terrible life behind of who I used to be and yet this leash pulls at my, urging me back. There is a knock at the door and I swiftly store the box back in my desk.

"Enter," I say.

And there she is, still in her travelling gear, her boots caked in mud, her cheeks flushed from the journey. What a sight she is, and instantly I can feel my mood lift. The pull to her is stronger than the lyrium, but that is not a bad thing.

"Inquisitor," I say, straightening.

"You weren't at the debriefing," she says, closing the door behind her. "I was wondering where you were."

Maker's breath, have I been sat here wallowing in my guilt for that long? "I apologise Inquisitor I…" the words fail in my mouth as she approaches me - the desk the only distance between us. I'm sure if anyone else had missed the meeting, she would have had a stern talking to, and yet there is no anger or annoyance on her face, only concern. It worries me more - has Alistair told her anything? I push it from my mind.

"Inquisitor," I start again. "As leader of the Inquisition you… there's something I must tell you."

She nods and perches on the end of my desk. "You know what ever it is Cullen, I'm willing to listen."

I try not to gawk at her. "Right, thank you." I remember the lines of my speech I've been preparing. She needs to know - now is the time. I take a breath. "Lyrium grants Templars our abilities but it controls us as well. Those cut off from it suffer: some go mad, others die. We have secured a reliable source of lyrium for the Templars here but I…" A deep breath. "I no longer take it." There. Said and done. She knows.

"You stopped?"

"When I joined the Inquisition," I admit. "It's been months now."

There's a strange silence, the air is thick. I think she's going to scold and turn away, but she remains still. I glance up briefly and she's looking down at her hands. "Cullen, if this can kill you…"

"I hasn't yet," I say bitterly. "After what happened in Kirkwall I… couldn't. I will not be bound to the Order or that life any longer." I look up at her and meet her gaze. "Whatever the suffering, I accept it: but I will not put the Inquisition at risk. I've asked Cassandra to… watch me. If my ability to lead is compromised, I will be relieved from duty."

My hand rests on the hilt of my sword, my breath held. This will change everything, I know that. I adore this woman, and to be so openly honest about my weakness - Maker give me strength.

Eventually she says: "Are you in pain?"

"I can endure it," I reply stiffly. It's an answer I'm accustomed to giving to Lelianna and Cassandra.

"Well… thank you for telling me. I respect what you're doing."

"I… thank you Inquisitor. The Inquisition's army must always take priority. Should anything happen… I will defer to Cassandra's judgement."

"I trust Cassandra," Lyla says.

"As do I," I reply and we fall back into a strange silence.

I'm not sure if it's just the honest topic of lyrium or a mix of unspoken things, but for once I can see that it's not just me that's having an inner-turmoil of thoughts. Lyla is biting her lip and looking down at the paperwork on my desk. She turns her head to the side, to read something upside down. "Is this a report on the Red Templars?"

I nod, relieved to have moved in. I'm shaken from my lack of control today and the pain of it all, and yet knowing that Lyla now knows is a relief. One less thing to hide from her. One more thing to trust her in.

"Yes. I've found where the Red Templars come from: they're in Fall Redoubt." I begin to pace, focusing on the task at hand as we both slip back into the roles of the Commander and the Inquisitor. "The Templars were fed red lyrium until they are turned into monsters. Samson took over after their corruption was complete."

"How do you know Samson?"

"He was a Templar in Kirkwall until he was expelled form the Order. I knew he was an… addict, but this…" There's a bitter taste in my mouth. "Red lyrium is nothing like the lyrium given by the Chantry. It's power comes with a terrible madness."

"The Red Templars swarming Haven were proof enough." She crosses her arms.

"We cannot allow them to gain strength. The Red Templars still require lyrium: so if we find their source, we can weaken them and their leader."

There's a whisper of a smile on her face. "I like the idea of finding the templar's vulnerabilities before fighting them head-on."

"We'll need every advantage to what courses through their veins. Caravans of red lyrium are being smuggled along trade roads: investigating them could lead to where it's being mined. If you confront them, be wary… anything connected to Samson will be well guarded."

She mulls this over and slips off my desk. "You and this Samson seems to have a personal history…?"

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "When I arrived in Kirkwall, Samson and I shared quarters," I admit. "He seemed a decent man at first, but Knight-Commander Meredith later expelled Samson for 'erratic behaviour,' and he ended up begging on Kirkwall's streets and committee further crimes but managed to evade the Order's justice." I'm pacing again and I can feel her eyes watching my every move. "Now Samson serves Corephyoues as his loyal general."

"Why do you think Samson joined Corepheyeous?"

"He had a chronic lyrium addiction. He spent every last coin buying it from local smugglers. Perhaps Corephyeous flattered his vanity, gave him purpose as well as lyrium? Perhaps that's all it took…" I trail off, trying not to think about how that could so easily could've been me. Still could be me…

"It sounds like Samson had a miserable life."

I pause for thought. "Well the Order expelled him but he had choices and could've found another path. I don't understand how he became so powerful: even with red lyrium Samson's glory days are long behind him."

Lyla spreads her hands. "I'm heading out to the Emerald Graves in the next fortnight, so I'll see what I can find."

"Just be careful," I say without thinking. Be careful? Did I just tell the Inquisitor to be careful? Maker's breath…

She throws me a mischievous smile. "Oh, you know me - always careful." She turns to leave but hesitates at the doorway, her hand on the latch. "As long as you're alright…?"

I can feel my face warm. "Ah, yes, thank you… Lyla."

Satisfied, she smiles again and leaves me alone. Somehow I resist every temptation to call her back.

"It's your move, Commander."

I frown at the board in front of me, scrutinising every possible option. Once again Dorian's skill at cheating is almost going to beat me, but thankfully I've been determined to take this one a little more seriously. Dorian's bait of saying more about Lyla is working, but it's not easy with his smug grin across the board.

I move a piece to my left, knowing that he now has two options - one of which will result in me winning. Dorian raises his eyebrows and sits back, a finger lazily twirling his moustache. I think he knows that whatever he does, I have certainly won this match. But I hide my glee by trying to neutralise my expression as much as possible…

He moves the piece and instantly I lean forward and take it. "And that is checkmate," I grin.

"Well played, Commander. A shame no-one was here to distract you this time."

I roll my eyes and stifle a yawn. "You only won last time because you cheated."

"Oh you wound me!" he chuckles as he stands. "Come - there's something I need to discuss with you in my library."

Curiously I follow him out of the garden and through the main hall. I glance to the dais as we pass where Lyla is sitting in judgment of some petitioners with Josephine. I pause as she rubs her eyes before looking back to who she's judging. It is then I see the bags under her eyes and they way she is slouched in the overbearing throne. Concern tugs at me as I see her tired face scan the hall, not really listening - it's clear she's exhausted.

And when her eyes fall on me I can't help but grin at her when she smiles, almost shyly. Despite the hundreds of people in the hall clustered around her, she is seeing over their heads to look only at me, and for now it feels as if we are the only people here. It pulls at me so much that I want to push through and just be face-to-face with her. To say my thanks and gratitude for her understanding. To tell her that I care, and that I must know if she does too. But I find that even if she doesn't, I do not mind… as long as she knows that I care and always will.

Josephine looks to the Inquisitor and follows her line of sight to rest on me also. I rub the back of my neck and reluctantly turn away, giving Lyla an apologetic shrug. She licks her lips and looks down at her hands resting in her lap.

"When you're quite finished…?" Dorian whispers impatiently next to me. I nod and indicate for him to lead the way, my face burning.

As we head to the door for Solas's rooms, the elf himself stands in the doorway watching me. Dorian and I both stop and it's a strange moment as Solas's eyes flick to Lyla on the throne and back to me again. His expression is, as ever, completely unreadable. I try not to think about what his casual observance means, but there is defiantly something unspoken here and it's starting to grate on me. Thankfully, Dorian steps forward before I say anything stupid.

"Excuse us!" he says cheerily.

A flicker of amusement before Solas inclines his head and steps aside. Without a word, Dorian and I pass him and head straight upstairs to the library and his nook by the window overlooking Skyhold. I stand by a book shelf as Dorian reclines on his chair.

"Well that was awkward," he mumbles.

I rest my hand on the hilt of my sword. "Is there something I'm missing?" I say.

"Apart from the fact that he's an apostate and you're an Ex-Templar, you mean?" Dorian quips.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes again. "Aside from that, yes."

Dorian, pauses. "I have absolutely no idea," he says finally. "Look Commander, you're not the only one who is pining after our Inquisitor."

"Pining?" I groan. Has he been talking to Cassandra? Curse them both.

"Yes, pining. I can see it in a man's eyes, you see. Blackwall's the worst but even so… it seems to be you that she's pining after herself."

I look down at the floor. Is this what I won the chess match for? To be humiliated and teased by the Tevinter mage?

"But all joking aside, there is something I need to tell you," Dorian continues quietly. I glance over my shoulder, but the nook is so secluded that nobody would overhear us.

"Alright," I say cautiously.

Dorian takes a breath. "Back in Redcliffe, when we went through time to that awful future?" I nod, confused. "Well, there are things that we saw that I'm pretty sure Lyla left out of her report. and yet… I think you need to hear it. Perhaps it's not my place to say, but you ought to know."

I still. This is not what I was expecting. It's because awfully serious, and now I can see why Lyla trusts in this Tevinter mage so much. He may be infuriating, but it's clear he values his friends and their loyalties above all else. I'm surprised as I find myself warming to him again.

"What is it, Dorian?" I ask quietly.

He rubs his chin thoughtfully. "It was just Lyla and I who saw this 'bad future', but we were not the only ones there. I think she may have mentioned that we saw Lelianna, Cassandra and Sera sacrifice themselves for our escape?" I nod. "Well, they weren't the only ones who we met in the bad future… we also saw you."

I'm puzzled, and perhaps it shows on my face as he says: "hmm yes, I thought she might've left that off the report."

"Why would she leave that out?" I ask, bewildered.

He hesitates. "Do you really want to know?"

I think back to her reports of finding the other women in the dungeons and how the red lyrium had covered the castle, like a growing tumour. I'm reluctant to know but if I don't ask, I know that I will always be wondering. Finally I nod. "Yes, please continue."

Dorian sighs and looks out of the window. "We explored nearly all of the dungeons of Redcliffe castle and the last place we looked before we found Lelianna, we found you. You were in a cramped cell on your own, and the red lyrium was growing out of the walls. You were slumped by the bars of the cell and your hair was long and knotted. We didn't recognise you at first, until you croaked out her name."

He pauses, the memories of visiting the terrible future are clearly still very fresh in his mind. I can't even begin to imagine what it would've been like. The thought of red lyrium growing through stone… I suppress a shudder.

"Lyla rushed over to you and tried to break the lock on your cell, but the red lyrium had grown through the locks and it was impossible to open. The lyrium, like with Grand Enchanter Fiona, was growing out of you - you were paralysed in place. Yet despite this, Lyla knelt by you and wrapped her fingers with yours around the bars of the cells. And she… ah, perhaps I should say no more…" Dorian trails off.

"Dorian," I say quietly. "Please continue, if you can."

He nods slowly. "She tried everything to get you out, but we were running out of time and we needed to move. Lyla knew that she had to leave you and it tore her apart. If she had been upset about seeing her closest friends imprisioned, she barley showed it, and kept strong. But when she knew that she couldn't save you, she was crying. Can you imagine? Our tough little Inquisitor crying… no, sobbing, as she kissed your broken fingers. I had to practically drag her away as we left you there.

"Your future self whispered something to her before we left. I don't know what she said to you… and I'm glad I don't know. Perhaps you can ask her one day."

I am completely still. Of all of my nightmares in the Fade at night, what her and Dorian went through is more real than anything I could even begin to dream of. I've watched her die in my sleep many times now, but to actually live through that and come out on the other side? Her resolve astounds me and yet I feel nothing but guilt.

"When… when she came back," I manage to say. "I argued with her about recruiting the mages."

Dorian nods. "Yes, not the best move, was it? She was furious at you for days."

"I… I had no idea."

We are silent as I mull over this latest revelation. Surely we face something so terrible and worse than imagined if this had happened. What more could we expect to face and defeat?

Dorian shifts in his seat. "It turns out you had assaulted the castle with the Inquisition's armies at least three times before they caught you. Can't say you didn't go without a fight."

I almost smile at that. Of course - even though the castle was impenetrable, there's no way I would not try, if there was the possibility she was alive inside. I scold myself at my future-self's recklessness. It would be a losing battle but I know that I would do it in a heartbeat if there was a chance to save her, or even see her again.

"Thank you, Dorian," I eventually say. He smiles faintly before turning to a book. I head back to my office deep in thought, wondering how I'm going to be able to look at her again, let alone speak to her.