#SCREAMING!!! MY HEART CANNOT HaNDLE I FEEL SO UNWELL

[ukitakejuushiro]

HE SPOKE!!!!!!!! H ESP OKE

[twilight-orchid]

How the Undatebales React After A Fight

Thank you to my friendo @wholelottatiffy ​ who helped me brainstorm this one. I’m only on chapter 19 at the moment, so I haven’t interacted with anyone but Diavolo much. And thank you to everyone who wanted a follow up to my previous post, I did not expect that. Y’all are super sweet!

tw: Fighting (a bit more in depth than my first post), description of panic attack, minor name calling, insecurity, depression, angst with resolution.

Diavolo:

Diavolo doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

To start, we need to talk about how the argument unfolds.

He’s not used to arguing. 

He’s Lord Diavolo, Prince of The Devildom, head of the RAD student council. No one defys him on anything.

So you raising your voice at him, trying to get him to see your way,

It was very overwhelming.

He tried to reason calmly with you at first, but he felt cornered. 

When fight or flight kicked in, his body chose fight.

His wings burst open in all their glory as he screamed back, his towering frame far more intimidating than yours.

The blind rage is slapped out of him when he sees your terrified face.

If you’re at the castle, he’ll order you to leave if you haven’t already. Anywhere else, he’ll turn and leave without a word. 

He wants to put distance between you both for fear of making things worse.

He absolutely cannot believe he just blew up at you. He would have never thought he'd raise his voice at his partner regardless of the situation.

He can’t shake the image of you flinching from him from his mind.

Now, being the prince of hell certainty has it’s perks; He has power, influence, and everything he could want.

But the one thing he wants the most seems to evade him no matter what: a friend.

A real friend. 

He has Barbatos and Lucifer, but it’s Barbatos’ job to accompany the prince, and Lucifer is bound to Diavolo whether he likes the future king or not.

MC was the first person who chooses to be with and around him for no other reason than the fact that they love him.

And now he’s terrified them. Gotten in their face and screamed at them.

He assumes he’s permanently driven you away.

As soon as you leave or he gets home, he rushes to find Barbatos. To explain what happened and hope his butler would know what to do.

He’ll text Lucifer and ask him to check on you as well.

He just feels lost. 

He wanders the palace aimlessly and he can’t focus on his work without his thoughts drifting to you.

He doesn’t feel like going to school or even getting out of bed. He doesn’t want to speak to anyone - to put on a happy face and pretend his world isn’t shaking.

Yet, a prince has his responsibilities. He will go about his normal public appearances as usual, smile and laugh and carry on, but it’s a mask.

Those close to him clearly notice the prince isn’t himself.

After school he visits the spots that you two visit together frequently.  

Anything to make him feel as if you are still at his side.

If you don’t sleep in his bed that night, he’ll take it as proof that he was right and that you don’t want to be with him anymore.

He doesn’t sleep that night. He clutches your pillow that still smells of you and just bawls. 

He will tell Barbatos he feels unwell the next morning and to postpone his obligations for the day.

This prompts Barbatos to seek you out and see if he can help resolve the issue.

Barbatos tries to stay out of your relationship as he doesn't feel it's his business, but his job is to assist Diabolo in any way necessary. And right now, he needs you more than anything.

If you sleep at his side still, it will be a glimmer a hope. That all may not be lost. 

He’ll give you you space that night. He’ll walk around you on eggshells but always watch you from the corner of his eye to gauge the temperature.

He avoids your gaze, stays on the other side of the room as you prepare for bed, and as much as it kills him, doesn’t hug you or kiss you goodnight.

He spends the night staring at your sleeping face and making silent promises that, if you forgive him, he will never let this happen again.

He thinks of how to apologize. What he could say, what he could do. 

Ultimately though, it feels like everything he could think of is too little of an apology. 

He pretends to be asleep when he sees you stir and decides to let you choose if you want to forgive him on your own.

You will have to approach him first. 

He thinks losing his temper with you was unacceptable and feels like he has no right to ask for your forgiveness.

Worse, he’s terrified of not being given forgiveness.

Thus, I feel a fight with Diavolo will take as long as you let it. He’s willing to suffer as long as you need him to.

Barbatos:

Barbatos doesn’t argue. He sits quietly and watches you, his responses calm but absolute.

He’s no pushover, he will defend his side, but he’s not going to enter a screaming match. It’s just not him.

You know you’ve really gotten under his skin when he offers a tight, forcefully pleasant smile.

He finally shuts down the conflict with "It's your right to feel that way just as it's mine to disagree." And leave it at that.

Post argument, he will avoid you and lock his feelings about the fight inside.

He tells himself he doesn’t have time to deal with the terrible feeling clawing at his heart and takes to his duties as an escape.

If you sleep in another room, he realizes that this isn’t a minor disagreement and he’s suddenly very distressed.

His instinct is to use his future vision. 

To scour the timelines and see how the different versions of himself handle it and to replicate the one with the most desirable outcome.

However, he stops himself. He feels it isn’t fair to you. 

You have a right to be upset about things and he doesn’t want to manipulate the situation, and by extension, you.

Thus, he must find another way to cope.

He’s always a devoted butler, but it’s not his whole life. 

He takes time for himself throughout the day and in the evenings. Unless Diavolo needs him, nights are usually his to do with as he wants.

Now, however, his identity becomes Diavolo’s butler. 

He’s constantly asking for extra work and hovering more than usual around the young lord in hopes of being given a task. 

Diavolo finds it odd and asks about it, but he brushes it off. This isn’t anyone else’s business, least of all his employer’s.

Even though Barbatos won’t tell him, Diavolo can clearly tell his friend is off.

In hopes of giving him something to distract himself with, Diavolo requests hellfire mushroom rolled cigar cookies and Barbatos jumps on the opportunity. 

Baking has always been his escape as well as his happy place. Diavolo’s favorite isn’t easy to make, so he looked forward to the task.

And it worked. Keeping track of the ingredients, the steps, and the technique required was enough to occupy his mind.

But then it was time to wait for it to bake. 

He suddenly feels trapped in the suffocating silence of the kitchen.

His mind replays the argument on repeat as he falls down a rabbit hole of what ifs.

He loves you more than anything and the last thing he could ever want is for you to be mad at him.

No, the worst thing would to no longer be able to call you his.

Suddenly, he becomes aware of the sharp scent of burnt food.

He jumps up and runs to the oven. He’d been so lost in thought he hadn’t noticed the timer go off.

He pulls the blackened desert out, puts the cookie sheet on the stove top, and just stares at the burnt cookies.

His sight blurs and a soft sob escapes from the prison he’s created in his heart.

He wasn’t crying because he burnt the cookies, but because they were a visual representation of everything he’s been trying to suppress.

Once he collects himself, he knows he can’t continue like this. 

He doesn’t want to invade your space in case you’re still mad, but he needs a resolution.

He’ll send a quick text and silently begs you to respond. 

“MC, I understand if you are still upset with me, but would you be willing to talk though it? I look forward to hearing from you.”

If you still sleep with him that night, it is a great weight off of his shoulders. 

He hopes it means that it will be easier to make up with you and that you aren’t too mad.

When you wake up, he will be watching you like he has all night with a small, tired smile. 

He’ll put on your favorite tea as you get ready for the day then asks if you’d be willing to talk things over.

Because of how it affects both his job and himself, a fight with Barbados will not last long. He’ll seek a resolution by one, maybe two days tops.

Solomon: 

Lucifer may be the avatar of pride, but Solomon can certainly give the demon a run for his money.

In the moment of a particularly heated argument, he absolutely will not admit he’s wrong. 

In fact, he really doesn’t consider it a possibility.

There’s no point in trying to get him to see your side until things have calmed down. It’s like talking to a brick wall.

He won’t yell, but he gets a pissy, condescending tone and almost talks down to you.

If you really push his buttons, his patience with this “useless” argument runs out.

“Oh please, listen to yourself! You’re acting like a dull child!”

Freezes as soon as it leaves his mouth.

He didn’t mean to say that.

He opens his mouth to apologize immediately, but upon seeing your hurt reaction he becomes flustered and can’t get the words out.

He’ll simply turn and leave. 

He’s absolutely furious with himself. 

Solomon is old and wise. He’s seen many things, been many places, and he knows many things.

Sometimes though, he needs a reminder that he doesn’t know everything.

Even if he still feels he was right, he knows name-calling is unacceptable.

In fact, he doesn’t miss the irony that he was the one being childish. 

His self-fury is replaced by overwhelming worry if you sleep in another room that night.

Of all the treasures he’s come across, none were as precious as you. 

He can’t stand the thought of losing you because of his thoughtlessness.

For once, he feels like an idiot.

He locks himself in his study that night and brainstorms on how to make it up to you.

He decides to approach you in the morning at RAD. He’s terrified that you think he actually meant the insult and wants to clear the air as soon as possible.

He’s afraid of you taking anything less than his highest praise to heart or for you to think that he views you as below himself. 

The thought of how he must have made you feel makes him sick to his stomach.

The more he thinks about it, the more his body demands that he act. 

While he has many virtues, patience is not high on his list. 

Assuming you returned to The House of Lamentation that night, he’ll text Asmo to explain what happened and asks if he’d let him in first thing in the morning.

Thus, when you leave to head for breakfast, be careful not to trip over your sorcerer who’s seated against the wall outside of your room.

He scrambles to his feet, his hair and clothes a mess and bags heavy under his eyes.

“MC! Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. I just- *sighs* I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that. Would you be willing to discuss the matter again? The right way this time.”

If you do sleep with him, he’s at least relieved that you don’t seem like you plan to leave him.

Once again, however, he wants to clear the air as soon as he can.

You’ll both be sitting in silence as you get ready for bed. He’s clearly lost in thought, his eyes focused unblinking on his feet and any movements slow and disjointed.

He's not sure how to apologize, if it's too soon, and is afraid to make things worse if it's not an appropriate time.

However, seeing you move about the room he decides to risk it so he doesn't risk losing you.

Suddenly, he stands up straight and locks eyes with you.

“MC, we don’t have to talk about the fight tonight, but I need you to know that I didn’t mean what I said. I’m sorry.”

It’s up to you if you want to forgive him immediately, but he will at least apologize for the insult as soon as he gathers his thoughts.

Simeon:

If you yell at him, Simeon is just gonna sit there stunned

Your relationship is usually as laid back as he is, so he doesn't know what to do with you blowing up at him.

All he knows it that this is bad and he needs to find a way to make you happy again. 

The thought of losing you takes precedence over everything and, though he will not sway to your side just because you’re upset, the argument loses any worth it had to him.

He’ll go to Solomon almost immediately in hopes your fellow human might know better about how arguments are resolved between human couples.

He becomes very distressed when Solomon says everyone handles it differently. He then asks what he should to make up with you specifically.

He doesn't have a defined emotion right now, he's just on edge. He wants to gather information first and foremost so he can figure out what to do from there.

He’s just a walking ball of anxiety and those close to the angel even become concerned. No one has seen him like this before.

If you decide to sleep in another room, the anxiety just takes over. 

His chest feels like fiery chains are crushing his ribs, he can hear his heart is hammering in his head, and his body begins to shake as if he were buried in an avalanche.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying as he struggles to breathe.

Solomon had expected something like this may happen so he made sure to be nearby to help coach him though it.

Once he’s calmed down, Solomon urges him to talk to you as soon as possible.

Simeon isn't sure though. True, he wasn't in a good place, but he didn't want to push you if you weren't ready to talk.

He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t feel like he can think let alone coherently tell you how he feels.

He begins to feel overwhelmed again and decides to try writing down his thoughts in hopes of it helping him sort through the tsunami of emotions consuming him.

While it doesn't completely calm him down, it does help.

He stares down at the messy, tear blotted papee and has an idea.

The next morning you should expect to find a hand-written letter slipped under you door.

The letter is long and and rambling. His usually pristine handwriting is as shaky as his hands were when writing it.

It's not as dense and heartbroken as his original one, but the further it goes the more desperate his words become.

He writes about how much you mean to him and apologizes for allowing things to get that intense. He writes that he loves you and doesn’t want to lose you. 

He reminisces about his favorite memories of you two together more than once.

Finally, that no disagreement you two could ever have is more importantly to him than being with you.

It's really just a collection of everything sitting on his heart at the moment.

That day at RAD he’ll watch you from the sidelines and pray you approach him about the letter so you two can work things out.

If you still sleep in his bed, he’ll be very conflicted about if he should approach you yet. 

He’s afraid of making it worse if you’re still mad.

However, Simeon is an open book when it comes to his emotions so you will absolutely be able to tell that he’s freaking out.

So please, save the man a terrible night and talk it though with him.

He wants you to not be angry anymore, but even if you’re still upset just having concrete information to cling to will help him immensely. 

He’s thinking of all the worst case scenarios and needs reassurance that the relationship isn’t over.

Simeon will try to make up within a day, so however long it lasts after that is up to you.

Luke (MC is his best friend):

Luke will be very, very distressed. 

You’re his best friend aside from Simeon. Friends don’t fight like this, right?

Wait, so if you’re fighting with him, does that mean you’re not his friend anymore???

As soon as the thought enters his mind, he decides that must be the case. 

Real friends don’t fight with each other like this.

Externally he takes a “I don’t need a lousy human like you for a friend anyway” attitude. 

He’s not just testy with you though, anyone who interacts with him that day learns that chihuahuas bite.

Simeon immediately realizes something isn’t right and is very concerned.

As soon as he asks him what’s wrong, Luke's mask of anger is discarded and he tosses himself in the older angel’s arms crying hysterically.

He doesn’t want to lose you for a friend.

I doubt Luke has ever truly argued with someone so this uncharted territory is earth shattering to him.

Simeon, as he tries to calm Luke, he will text you and ask you to come to wherever they are immediately.

Because of Simeon’s intervention, the fight will only go undiscussed for a few hours max.

Again, sorry if I don’t know these characters as well as I’d like yet. Thank you for reading! 

[noladyme]

The Frog Princess. Chapter 15

She had no wish to be bound down to anyone, but Y/N none the less found herself being dragged across the continent; to marry King Foltest of Temeria.  Instead of pomp and spectacle; she was accompanied by the witcher, Geralt of Rivia. Their travels would bring both monsters, lust, love; and heartache. All sound tracked by an endearing buffoon of a bard, named Jaskier.

TW: Violence, language, sexual themes. Rated M.

15

It was just dark. And grey. And so cold. Crach had insisted that he should get me a room for the night – being a little vexed by the fact that the witcher had dropped me at his feet; and then, as he’d called it, just buggered off.

But he hadn’t just buggered of. He had left me. He had torn my heart from my chest, and then walked out the door – dropping it in the snow. I was empty. My missing heart was making it so that no blood was pumped though my veins. Only ice water. It was physical pain.

I was laying in the cold bed that had been acquired for me – the barmans own sleeping place when not rented out. Crach and Thorstein had more or less carried me to bed – thinking that it was the mug of mead, from home, lassie!; that had tuckered me out.

I lay looking at the ceiling; hardly even blinking.

I want you to be happy, safe, and content… I couldn’t give you what you want… Sometimes it’s just two creatures meeting, and reacting… I didn’t mean to hurt you…

I hadn’t slept, when dawn broke. Crach tumbled into the room. “Get your ladythings in order, cousin. You’re about to go see your husband”, he smiled.

I inhaled, and was about to speak; but no words came out. I just sat up; as if someone had taken control of my limbs for me, and was carrying me forward.

Stepping out of the tavern, I looked down – surprised not to see the blood-spatter in the snow, from where the witcher had left my heart. I realized it must have been eaten by wild animals; as there was no way it was still inside my body.

Crach put me on his horse behind him; and had to help me wrap my arms around his waist. “Something is wrong with you cousin. Are you unwell?”, he said over his shoulder. “No”, I answered. “I’m… not anything”, I said. “You’re just nervous, lass”, he said. “Marriage is nothing to worry about. Look at me! I’m still the same as before. I know a miller’s daughter you could ask…”. “No”, I simply said. Crach chuckled softly, and led his horse forward.

I put my hand to my neck; searching for my frog – looking for any kind of relief. It was gone. Everything was just… gone.

---

We rode for three days; taking breaks for mead and axe throwing contests. On one of these breaks, the men had had enough of my gloomy demeanor. “Come on, my lady!”, Thorstein said. “You always used to love these!”. I grabbed the axe he handed me; and looked at it in my hand. It was heavy. I should throw this at something, I thought. I looked up and turned around, searching for a target. “We put the mark over there, cousin”, Crach laughed, and turned me by the shoulders; pointing at the piece of cloth they’d fastened to a tree. “Come on, now. Just imagine it’s your future husbands’ cock. I hear he’s a right bastard; and the thought of it might make it easier for you to see him tomorrow”.

Tomorrow. I looked at my cousin, narrowing my eyes; and shook my head. “No”, I said; dropped the axe in the snow, and walked away. “Where are you going?”, he called after me. “Anywhere but here”, I called back, not turning around “Leave her”, I heard Thorstein mutter. “She needs some fresh air it seems”. “There’s nothing but fresh air here”, Crach said. “Leave it, Crach”. The men went back to their doings, and I walked on.

I don’t know how far I walked. I could no longer hear my cousin or his men. All I heard was my feet breaching the surface of the snow. We hadn’t been each other’s. We’d both made that clear. I didn’t want to belong to anyone, and neither did he. But then why did it feel like a part of me was gone? That he had taken it with him; and left this shell? The witcher.

I sat down, leaning against a tree; and then took a deep breath. “Fuck!”, I screamed as loudly as I had ever screamed before. A doe ran through the snow a few yards away; fleeing from the sound. I stood up, turned around, and put my hands on the tree; digging my fingertips into the bark. I scrunched my eyes together.

“Not mine”, I whispered. “Never mine”. I have to take it. “If I want something of my own; I have to take it”. Mine… Mine… My life… “Minn fjor…”.

My fingers began tingling. I heard the bark of the tree crack where my hands were placed; and a warmth spread through my arms – from my fingertips; all the way to my chest – where it built up. The tree – already having shed it’s leaves long ago – became even more bare; it’s bark shedding and turning into dust upon the snow. I felt air fill my lungs – it tasted like fresh dirt; leaves and wood.

Realizing what was happening; I quickly removed my hands from the tree; looking at it with horror. “Út!”, I yelled, and with the word came such force from my chest; that the tree cracked in the middle.

I fell to my bottom; shock at what had just occurred.

I heard horses. “It came from over here!”, someone called. I thought I recognized the voice. “Move, men!”.

I got behind the now dead tree.

“What about the Skelliger party?”, another voice called. “What’s left of Flaxons men will have to take care of them. Now move!”.

Crach! Fuck. What did I get you in to?

I began running in the direction I’d come; trying to stay out of the way of the men who were searching for me. My tracks in the snow would give me away, I knew – but I had to warn my cousin.

I heard horses neighing, and a man screaming. Metal was hitting metal – sword fighting.

Finding the clearing where Crach had been, it was empty. I panicked; scanning my surroundings desperately for any sign of my cousin and his men. “Crach!”, I called out. “Where are you?”.

“Lady Y/N!”, someone called behind me. “I’ve come a long way to see you”.

I turned around. O’Dimm was standing only a few yards from me; a broad smile across his haughty face. “I must say, my lady; you are looking… rough”, he smirked. “Nothing like the lovely lady I met in Kaer Trolde”. “I am not coming with you!”, I shouted “My dear, yes you are”, he smiled. “It’s your destiny. Queen…”. I shook my head. “Not of Nilfgaard”, I said.

O’Dimm walked slowly towards me. “Your cousin, king Eist, he almost had me fooled, with that decoy carriage”, he said. “I sent my men after it, only to have them return with information that in stead of a lady; they’d found an elven whore”. He snarled the word; making me jump at him; and claw at his face. He grabbed my arms; and pushed me to the ground. “There we are, my lady. Just relax now, as we wait for my men to take us back to Nilfgaard”, he said; his warm breath hitting my face. “Don’t worry; I won’t harm you. I’m keeping you pure for your husband; the emperor”. He sniffed at me. “Well, somewhat pure. I can smell the witcher on you”.

I pushed at him; trying to let my knee hit his groin; but he held me down. “I found out you were travelling with him; when one of my men caught up to me in Brugge; letting me know about, how the mutant had attacked them”. “Was that before or after you asked Filivandrel for help?”, I snarled at his smirking face. “It seems you are constantly having to have others do your dirty business!”. He exhaled deeply, letting me smell the sour wine on his breath. “Well, I am handling business now, aren’t I?”, he sneered.

I heart fighting nearby. “O’Dimm!”, someone called. “There’s too many of them!”.

O’Dimm got up; dragging me with him. “Too many?”, he growled. “It’s one bloody witcher. Just take him down!”.

Geralt!

My heart lept. I wrestled against O’Dimms hold; biting his hand – which made him yelp, and let go of me, so that I could stand.

A man in black armor leapt into the clearing. “He’s got friends!”, the voice called back. “They’re…”. His voice disappeared in a rattle; as a sword slid through his chest; making him fall to the ground.

Behind him stood Geralt; face locked in rage.

He sprang into the clearing; and ran towards O’Dimm. The man grabbed my arm, and dragged me in front of him; holding a knife to my throat. “Stop, witcher!”, he yelled. “I will slit her throat!”. “What happened to loyalty to the Usurper?”, I growled. “I treasure my life more”, O’Dimm sneered. Geralt walked forwards slowly. “Let her go”, he growled. O’Dimm’s knife pressed against my neck. “That’s not going to happen”.

Geralts eyes met mine. “The tree”, he said. I frowned, not understanding. “Like the tree, little frog. You can do it”.

My jaw dropped, as I caught his meaning. I lifted my hand to touch the one O’Dimm was holding the knife with. “Minn fjor”, I whispered. “What was that?”, O’Dimm snarled into my ear. “Minn fjor!”, I screamed; and I felt my hand tingling from where I was touching his. It began shaking; and O’Dimm yelped; lowering it, and letting me go.

Geralt sprang forward; and threw O’Dimm to the ground. He raised his sword into the air.

“Geralt, stop!”.

Triss stepped into the clearing. “Leave him!”, she said. “He has to die!”, Geralt growled. “He will never leave her alone!”. Triss shock her head. “Destiny has other plans for him”, she said softly. “Fuck destiny”, Geralt snarled.

I looked at Triss; her eyes were serious. “You cannot do this, Geralt”, she said. “The future has use for him. You cannot change things from what they must be!”.

I understood, then. The war. This one. The next. They were unavoidable; but they needed all their players. I was a player, making decisions that changed the future for many people. But so was O’Dimm. And he needed to make his mark as well. Destiny couldn’t be changed; but it was fleeting. Our choices – my choices – impacted its direction.

I walked over to Geralt, and put a hand on his shoulder. “Geralt?”, I said. “Please…”. He turned his face to look at me; his eyes confused. “Let’s leave this place”, I whispered.

Geralt got off O’Dimm; and stood up, looking into my eyes with such… love. “You… I have to take care of you. Protect you”, he said. I wrapped my arms around him. “Then take me away from here”. Geralt put his arms around me; and kissed the top of my head. “Come”, he said; and stepped away from me, whistling for Roach. O’Dimm was standing behind him, with a furious expression on his face. In his hand was his knife; raised, to strike at Geralts back.

No! You can’t take him from me! I raised my hand towards O’Dimm, and screamed. “Út!”. A force – the force I had just taken from the man himself – came from my chest, and out through my hand; knocking O’Dimm to the ground.

Geralt turned, and stared at O’Dimm, and then turned his face to me – eyes wide. “You should probably leave this place, O’Dimm”, Triss said coldly. “Before someone decides to take destiny in to their hands”. She turned to Geralt and me. “Get away from here. Go where I showed you, Geralt”.

Roach had trotted into the clearing, and we got on her; me behind Geralts back. We took off into the forest.

---

We rode for a short while; the sun setting over the trees.

Arriving at a mound; Geralt helped me off Roach, and walked up to the mossy and snow-covered rock-wall. He lifted some roots hanging down it; revealing the entrance of a cave. “In here”, the witcher mumbled. I followed him inside.

It was dimly lit by a few candles, and a small fire in the middle. A chest set against the wall; and a collection of blankets and pillows made out the rest of this makeshift, temporary home.

I fell to my knees in front of the fire; warming my hands. Geralt stood with his back to the wall. “Y/N…”, he began.

A gush of wind came from the entrance of the cave; and Triss stepped in, walking up to the fire to sit next to me. “Your highness… You weren’t careful”, she chided with a kind voice “I didn’t know”, I whispered. “No”, she said. “You didn’t”. “I think; I can only do it when my heart is in true pain”, I said. I heard Geralts breath hitch. “No, you can always do it”, Triss said. “But you haven’t learnt how to use it”. She took my hand. “I would like to train with you – once you’re in Vizima”.

I shook my head. “I don’t want to be a sorceress…”. “No, and you won’t be”, she said. “But… you have to learn to control it. What happened today is exactly what Nilfgaard wants”. Geralt groaned. “But she’s not going to Nilfgaard”, he said. “Still”, Triss continued. “This power… would we want it in the hands of Foltest? Or Calanthe for that matter?”. Geralt frowned and grunted. Triss turned to me again. “I want to help you, if you’ll let me”, she said. I nodded and half-smiled at my new friend.

Triss looked from Geralt to me. “I’ve let your cousin know, that the witcher will take you the rest of the way”, she said. I suddenly remembered. “Crach!”, I said. “He’s fine”, Geralt muttered. “Flaxon and O’Dimms men were still hurt from their fight with the wolves”. “And they had a witchers help”, Triss smirked. I gazed up at Geralt, who wouldn’t meet my eyes.

Triss squeezed my hand. “Finish this journey”, she whispered. She walked out of the cave, letting moss and roots cover the entrance.

We were silent for a long time.

“I was there. I was always there, just out of sight”, the witcher suddenly said. “I wanted you safe… and I couldn’t let you go”. “But you did”, I whispered. “To me, you did. I couldn’t feel you near. I was alone”. Geralt looked at the ground in front of him. “I saw the pain. I could see it was worse than that night in Maribor”. “And did you feel it too?”, I whispered. “I did”, he said. “And I wanted it. Deserved it”.

I sighed; too drained to cry. “It wasn’t supposed to end like that”, I said. “We agreed…”. “It was always going to end in pain”, Geralt said. “If we ever thought differently, we were lying to ourselves”. I looked down. “I know”, I said. “But… together. We were supposed to end it together. You decided without me, that it was time”.

He sat down next to me; not coming too close, to give me room. “I’m sorry…”, he said. “I thought it would be easier…”. “For who?”, I said, clenching my jaw. “Me? Or you?”. He grimaced. “I was selfish…”, he said. “I thought breaking your heart like that would make it better – more simple. That I wouldn’t have to face a real goodbye. In Vizima”. “You didn’t just break it”, I whispered. “You took it with you. I just thought you’d thrown it in the snow as you walked away”.

He fiddled with something around his neck; and pulled out a silver chain – with a frog pendant. My frog. “I would never do that. It was next to my own heart the whole time”.

I sighed; and turned my body to face him full on. “Then give it back”. He frowned and exhaled deeply. Carefully he slid the chain around my neck, and closed the clutch under my hair.

He put his forehead to mine. “If you hate me…”. “I don’t”, I said. “Please, just kiss me”. He put both his hands on either side of my face; leant in; and gently let his lips meet mine.

Some time later, I was naked; covered in blankets; and resting against the chest of the bearer of my heart.

“You never told me… what did Eist pay you to travel with me?”, I said. “Protection”, he muttered. “Of my… child”. I smiled. “You will see it someday”, I said. He grumbled. “And you get nothing else?”, I asked. “I’ve gotten plenty”, he said; and looked down at me. “It wasn’t part of the contract… but no less valuable”.

I fell asleep – my ear pressed against his chest; listening to the slow beating of his heart.

---

The next day, we rode for Vizima. There should have been a solemn quiet between us; but we spoke – desperately clinging on to the sounds of each other’s voices. I sat with my back to his chest; for comfort and warmth – and so he could smell my hair whenever he wanted.

“Little frog”, he’d say, as he drew in the scent of my locks. “Wolf”, I’d answer, as the tingling of his warm breath made me giggle.

We didn’t speak about anything from before we’d met, or what would happen after. We focused on our own journey; what we’d seen, who we’d come to know - how many times we’d kissed; which Geralt found wasn’t enough; so I almost fell of Roach, when he suddenly tipped me to the side to meet my lips. “I won’t let you fall”, he’d said; and stroked my cheek as he kissed me.

I spoke about my mushroom stew, trying to teach him the recipe. He distracted me by talking about how beautiful my face was when I’d come undone with him inside me. That had led to a stirring neither of us could ignore - and luckily there were trees around.

“Little frog”, he’d groaned; as he gently thrust in to me, while holding me to his chest against the treetrunk. “Wolf”, I’d cry out; as I held on to him for dear life, while exploding in extasy.

It was our last hours together that day - and we made everything of them that we could.

Once we made it to the drawbridge of the city gates; Geralt got of Roach’s back; and lifted me down to join him on the ground.

“I’m going to walk you through those gates now”, he said, looking deep into my eyes. “The journey will be over”. I smiled at him. “You have others to begin”, I said. “So do you, your majesty”, he smiled.

He took my hand; and led me into the city.

I was greeted by a murmur of voices. “It’s her!”, I kept hearing over and over. “The queen!”. Geralt never let go of my hand; holding it up as a knight would a dancing partner. “This is weird”, I whispered. “You’re telling me!”, he murmured back.

There was a blaring of horns, as we walked down the street towards the castle gates. They were opened, and on the other side stood a large following of guards in their best armor; and him. Foltest.

Geralt and I walked forward – my breath catching. “Last chance, little frog”, he murmured. “I can put you on Roach, and get you out of this city, right now”. I took a deep breath. “Is that any way to end this journey?”, I said. “Hand me over, witcher. You have a contract”. I saw him smile sadly out of the corner of my eye.

We reached the gates; walked through – and Geralt placed my hand in Foltests outstretched one. As his hand left mine; I heard him exhale – as if he was letting go of life itself.

“My lady”, Foltest said. “Welcome to Vizima”. “Your majesty”, I whispered. “I see your escort has brought you to me unscathed”, the king said. “You should say your goodbyes. We have a wedding feast to attend”. I let out a breath and nodded.

Geralt was standing with Roach a few paces back. I walked up to him; desperately wanting to touch him – but I knew it wasn’t a possibility.

He looked at me with a somber smile, and began to walk away. “Witcher!”, I called after him; my voice breaking. He stopped; and turned to face me. “Foltest told me once; that he envied me; to live – and never have to fall in love”. He exhaled and looked deep into my eyes. “He was wrong”.

He saddled on to Roach; turned her around; and rode away – not looking back.

---

 Stay tuned! There will be an epilogue.

Thanks for reading.

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@ayamenimthiriel

[countryshitposts]

The Wasted Years, The Wasted Youth

- Japan could not remember what was and what is present. All he knows is that these are fragments.

Trigger Warnings: violence, gore, murder, child abuse

hey so ya’ll can have this 8k one-shot now

-460 “Are we there yet, haha?”, a young boy asks, as he follows his mother through the terrains of the palace, bouncing up and down, while his mother puts her smooth dark hair back in place, as she hums to herself a song she sings to Japan every night to get him to sleep; it was simply entrancing and melodious to the young child as he tugs on her clothing once again to get her attention.

She simply smiles at him, her kindly eyes full of natural fire, as she bends down to pick up her son, who giggles underneath her grasp. “We’re almost there, watashi no musuko.”

His mother kisses his forehead, and he giggles a little, looking at his mother with cheerful grey eyes, feeling his mother’s warmth envelop him. Japan sees bright light up ahead, and he coos at his mother, asking if they are almost there, to which she nods with full certainty, as she bends down and lets him go- now he misses his mother’s warmth, and he tugs at her clothes to signal he wants to be carried by her, but she laughs.

“You have two feet, shin’aina”, she replies playfully, and Japan huffs petulantly. She kisses his cheek, as she takes his hand, warmth once again enveloping the both of them, and her son smiles as they make their way to the gardens.

He could see that there are two boys in the gardens, talking to each other, looking virtually the same in any other way, but the taller of the two looking experienced, his dark hair cropped short and smooth, his crimson red eyes brimming with ambition, toying with the weapon on his hilt. The shorter of the two had dark hair and purple eyes, and he was talking to the taller boy with a worried tone.

Japan could feel his mother’s grip tightening around him, sweat covering her palm, and he looks up- she was biting her lip, eyeing the two boys with a wary look on her face.

As mother and son approach the pair however, they cease talking, the gardens now once again full of peaceful quiet, as they both turn to them, eyes on Japan. The first boy’s red eyes bore into Japan’s mind, his blood running cold as his heart stops in horrid fear, his lungs pushing him to breath harder, hating the fact that his red eyes were the shade of blood; his eyes were now brimming with a mixture of ambition and hatred. The other glares at Koku as if he had done wrong, but his ice-cold glare could never match up to the blood-shot eyes of his brother.

“Teikoku, Tokyo, where is your mother?”, Japan’s mother asks, lips curling, “or was she too… unwell to visit the palace?”

Teikoku’s glare now targets Kyoto, his teeth gritting as his eyes spit fire. “We decide to visit this place to see our own father.”

Kyoto sighs a little, “He is busy today.”

Teikoku raises a brow, “He is busy with what? Spending time with his concubines?”

Kyoto bites her lip; meanwhile, Japan was in awe of how glorious these men look, but their eyes are filled with hate as they stare at him, as if he was the cause of all their grievances, even if he was a youth oblivious to the matters they concern themselves with, wishing to forever keep his innocence and peace, wanting his entire life to be nothing more than butterflies and flowers.

Kyoto’s gaze hardens, “Go back to your mother, or your tutors. You have no place in the sun.”

Teikoku scoffs, a smirk playing on his lips as his gaze turns back to Japan, “You are just afraid we will taint your son. Oh well, goodbye, baishunpu.”

As they leave mother and son, the elder one turning back to give Japan one last murderous glare, they bring with them the peculiar and strange feeling that he had felt from the start. He tugs on his mother’s sleeve, gaining her attention.

“Who are they, mama?”

“No need to think about them, my taiyō, their wickedness has no place in your heart.” She puts a finger to his chest and he giggles.

+1

Japan dreams of he and his mother, in a field of flowers, the number of butterflies swarming and fighting for the pollen of the plants, but in the end it disturbs the peace he and his mother had made for themselves, as colourful wings flutter left and right, up and down, making him a little dizzy, his entire body wishing to swat these damned insects away, no longer is he fond of how beautiful the patterns on their wings are, and he swats them away, away from him and at his mother, who was strangely not disturbed by them.

Then as he takes a look back at his mother, who was so awfully serene in the midst of a butterfly apocalypse, he drops everything in his arms in horror.

She was a corpse, sitting on the grass that is now attached to her dead skin, the warm smile always on her face dead, her eyes closed as if she was sleeping, her hair falling down in clumps as her hands are now already shredded to the bone.

He screams in horror as the butterflies direct their attention towards her body, now devouring the only kindred soul he had.

Japan immediately wakes, his heart beating in rhythm with his breaths, entire body shaking as he panics; he is enveloped in darkness, beads of sweat dripping down from his face and into wherever they dropped into, his grey eyes finding a source of light that would calm him from his nightmare, still seeing the corpse of his mother in his eyelids.

He questions why he was not in his comfortable bedroom, his head pounding and his heartbeat accelerating, his throat sore as if he had screamed a thousand screams in his own mouth, his long dark hair wet, perhaps from his sweat. The only thing he could feel was the hardness of this damned bed, gnawing at him with their texture of hate, wishing for him to suffer the same fate as them, stuck in the darkness, as evil looms inside this room, no company whatsoever.

Then he smells the blood on his clothes, fresh and sweet, and his fingers mangled, feeling his fingernails scrape stone.

And then he remembers everything.

-2

Japan cosies himself more into his mother’s lap, as she silently fixes his hair, strangely distracted as if her son is not the only thing in her mind, as if her mind has jumbled up too much of her reality and she is now about to pay the price for her salvation. She was not even humming any types of song, as if she had never sang in front of her child in the first place and that she had lost her voice all from worry of the unknown.

“Why do you look so scared, haha?”, he asks Kyoto, who perks up from the rather odd interruption, finally noticing there is youthful life in her room.

Kyoto smiles down at her child, her smile comparable to the cherry blossoms at bloom, but more majestic and entrancing, her lips the soft petals that flow in the wind, as he watches them with his mother in amazement.

“I’m not scared, I’m simply worried, my dear”, she replies with a small sigh, tickling the child underneath her arms as he babbles and giggles out loud. “Worried that your father’s reign will come to an end, and leave you as his heir.”

Japan blinks up at Kyoto, grey eyes full of confusion. “But mama, why don’t you want me to be heir? It is my birthright after all.”

She only gives him a sad smile, “You will be too young to rule if your father’s reign would end so abruptly. I cannot help you and only your father’s ministers will help you. Especially those two young men…”

Japan nods; he does not understand his mother’s constant worry for him, as he wants to be emperor of the country now and forever, but he knows his mother was simply worried for him. She goes back to minding her own business, disregarding the fact that her son exists, so he decides to comfort his mother, wishing to bring her out of her wit’s end.

“Haha?”, he gains his mother’s attention once again, as she looks back at him with questions in her eyes, but it did not succeed in taking her spirit away.

“Yes, aisare shi-sha?”, she asks, her voice covered with sweetness.

“Watashi no tame ni utaemasu ka”, he asks from her mother, who smiles and kisses his forehead, obeying her son.

“Mochiron, watashi no musuko”, she replies, as she clears her throat, handling Japan tightly as if he was a newborn baby, opening her mouth to unleash the most beautiful voice he has heard a thousand times in life.

Her voice was brilliant; as if she was performing in all those theatres he had seen for himself, none talking of her marvellous talent except for him and only him, as she starts to sing a song he has heard one thousand and one times, getting tired of the lullaby but never getting tired of the singer.

“Nennen korori yo, Okorori yo. Bōya wa yoi ko da, Nenne shina.

Bōya no omori wa, Doko e itta? Ano yama koete, Sato e itta.

Sato no miyage ni, Nani morotta? Denden taiko ni, Shō no fue.”

Japan, never really one for staying late, yawns as he hears his mother’s voice, always there to make him feel better, always there to comfort him in his times of need, as if her voice was his path finder in life, and without it he will suffocate at the hands of evil, its claws digging into his neck. His mother must have sensed his exhaustion, as she softly chuckles and kisses him on the forehead.

“Yukkuri o yasumi, little one.”

(Japan only realised now that this was the last time he gets to hear her sing.)

+100

Everything has become routine for him; him scratching on the walls, desperately in search of an exit before giving up as he gasps in pain, one of his nails clipped off by the impenetrable stone walls, lounging on his make-shift bed, staring boredly into the darkness, wishing for something worthwhile to happen, wishing to entertain himself rather than sleeping since the only thing he sees is his mother who is dead-

He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself, softly humming a song his mother used to sing to him when he was but an innocent, naive small boy (he still was; though he could not say life was kind to him now), who has unfortunately been taught that life has its uphills and downhills, that life would spit acid on your face and call it a day in the hardest way possible.

He tries counting the days with his own fingers scraping into the mouldy and dirty stone walls, his only friend the darkness.

His ears then hear the sound of metal clinking, knowing the guards are once again back with his food, knowing this is his one chance in escaping this inferno he had created all by himself.

“Well well well, if it isn’t my dearest brother.” Japan’s ears perk up, knowing that disgusting voice all too well, the voice full of too much pleasure and madness, as if he was possessed by a demon that still controls every action and reaction of his. He finds himself face to face with those crimson red eyes swirling with madness and ambition, as if he never fulfilled his dreams despite the fact he had taken his father’s throne.

And Japan’s right to it as well.

His younger brother did not have the heart to reply, his days being accompanied by darkness not treating him well, the small foods and morsels he had scraped by cannot sustain his hunger, nor do the bowls of water could sustain his parched self. So all he could do is stare up at Teikoku with his dead grey eyes, knowing that his brother’s eyes still instill fear inside him, continuing to gnaw in his insides until he drops dead from fright.

After gaining the courage and energy to do so, softly, he asks, “What are you doing here?”

The sly grin on Teikoku’s face grows wider. “To see if you are still alive; I am quite surprised you managed a hundred days living and rotting in this cell.”

Japan does not speak, too exhausted from his question a while ago, his head hung low, eyes on the stone floors, which are being lit by the light from the ajar metal door.

“Well, since I see you are still - disappointedly - alive, I will leave you now.” Without giving his younger brother a second glance, he stalks out of the cell, and closes the door, once again leaving Japan being embraced by the darkness.

-453

Japan once again encounters the strange brothers that he had seen in the palace gardens a few days ago, talking to each other as if they were in the privacy of their house.

“Father has grown weak, Tokyo”, says Teikoku, his posture straight, his eyes pinning down on his younger brother, who was trying not to be afraid of him. “It is time for a new administration to rise and topple the old one to the ground. The shogunate must fall.”

“You mustn't say such dastardly things in public!”, Tokyo berates his brother, his voice soft with fright and the fear people were listening to their conversation. “We will be deemed as traitors!”

Teikoku scoffs, and Japan could tell this man has confidence and pride mixing to one, which will be his downfall in the near future. “Let them hear us; after all, what evidence do they have against us when they face Father’s court? None. None at all.”

“Even if the shogunate does fall, we will not be the one to inherit it.” Tokyo’s face sours with recall. “It will be that little kaibutsu taking what is rightfully ours.”

Teikoku laughs, wicked and evil, “He would not stand a chance against us. We have expertise on combat and swords and knowledge, while he cannot read most words.”

The two brothers laugh at the elder’s joke, all the while making Japan lose confidence in himself, as if the words of these two bullies could change the duality of time, as if they can actually and directly change the way things run in this country, nothing more and nothing less. He takes a small deep sigh, his entire cheery and jovial mood crushed by fear and paranoia, the brothers’ treats feeling real, their determination to get to their dreams so frightening to his childish brain, still clinging onto the hope that he shall succeed his father, the greatest of all shoguns.

(He meets with his mother, who was worried sick of where he had wandered off to, and his mood lightens as he snuggles warmly with his mother.)

+1,023

He paces around his cell, head hung low to the floors he could never see in the darkness, his grey eyes seeing and noting nothing but shades of black, black, black. As if he was underground, in a location that will never be known to men. He paces back and forth, back and forth with no end, as if his entire life has now been reduced to atoms with the absence of light, his feet mindlessly brushing on stone after stone, his head not lost in thoughts nor memory, but lost in nothing.

There was nothing in his mind, no thoughts that can save himself from the slowly growing insanity inside of him, waiting to pounce and cackle as it does; no memories come up, and if some do come up they are tainted by the human mind’s need of imagining everything was still fine, nothing was wrong, that he was not trapped in this cell for god knows how long.

Truth be told, the man pacing his cell did not even remember his name, or why he was here, and what did he do to belong in such a solemn place, no hope of escaping and no hope of seeing light come across this tight-locked cell.

Just like his mind, his world had gone dark, not knowing where he was, not knowing if he still had a will to live.

Then he stops pacing, his grey eyes blinking with light that he had never had after being put here in this jail from so long ago, his mind finally turning on his gears, suddenly yet briefly. He considers it for a moment, before his eyes turn up dead, as if a flashlight had turned off.

He goes back to pacing maddeningly in his cell.

-234

“Haha!”, Japan exclaims as he runs towards his mother’s throne, throwing himself upon her with such force, almost knocking her off balance.

His mother laughs, comforting him, “My, you have gotten big. Tell me, have you been eating lots?”

Japan smiles as he nods enthusiastically, “Yes mama! The foods the cooks made were delicious!”

She kisses her son’s cheek, eliciting a giggle from him. “I am so proud, Japan! Make sure you eat lots to grow faster!”

“Or you will grow fat”, grumbles his father, who was staring at his wife and heir with the most critical grey eyes, his glare striking fear inside of his son. “And you will be immobilized from wars and battles that you must participate in for glory.”

His wife scowls back at him, cradling her son like a small child. “Do not kill our joy, Tokugawa.”

He scoffs, leaning back on his throne, “My only son with my dear wife is a weakling.”

Japan feels a pang of hurt in his chest, as his eyes widen, brimming with tears, while his mother’s eyes flare with anger. She softly lets Japan go from her arms, as her son goes back to staring at his father, wanting to know he has hurt him in the worst possible way, but his eyes are now pinned on his wife, who stands defiantly from her throne, glaring at the shogun.

“He is not a weakling!”, her mother flares, “he is a child who has not been educated yet! If we are talking about weaklings here, it is you!”

Tokugawa abruptly stands up, his shadow looming on both Kyoto and her cowering son, gritting his teeth, his fists clenched, his grey eyes erupting with anger and hatred for his wife, but instead of striking her right then and there, he grabs her wrist, much to her shock and surprise, as he leads her away from the throne room, leaving a worried Japan.

“Haha!”, he exclaims, and his mother turns around to give him a small but grief-stricken smile.

“Shinpaishinaide, watashi no ko”, she replies with a comforting voice, drowning out his fear, “Watashi wa tsuyoidesu.” She vanishes with her husband, never to be seen that afternoon.

(She returns in the evening with a bruised eye, unable to walk as if her legs were unstable. Japan worriedly asks her if she was all right, and she smiles, replying that she is fine.)

+2,304

How does age work?

Does the body increase in age as if it was moving forwards through time, a vessel for experimentation, as they carry a living conscience inside of them as a journey through time?

He had been stuck in this cell for… apparently he lost count, but that hardly even matters anymore, since he cannot move properly in this damned cramped cell, legs wishing to stretch in the widest of rooms, arms wishing to reach up the highest ceilings, wanting nothing but a cell full of more room, as if the cells are purposefully closing in on him, as he can smell its mouldy stone walls and musty old floors.

Every time he wakes up from a dreamless, thoughtless, and memoryless sleep, he is greeted with the fact that he is now going to spend his entire life in a cell that cannot sustain his needs, being greeted with nothing but darkness as his way of life, the remaining air in his cell making him suffocate.

Or; the lack of it.

It was like he forgot everything someone had taught him about the world, as if he stopped existing and was merely a space in this cramped cell, no escape and no way to tell if he lives or not, his heart in pieces, his mind blank, his memories never surfacing, as if they had grown too tired of his grievances and up and left him.

Quiet reigns supreme in his cell with no room, unable to give him air, water or food he desires, as he goes back to sitting on what used to be his make-shift bed, knowing he could never fit in it.

-321

Japan was minding his own business in the gardens, resolving to wait for his mother who was busy handling important matters, cooing at the butterflies that continuously feast on the flower’s nectar, their wings still enchanting their watcher, who stares at them, fascinated, with how beautiful and elegant they are.

The feast of the butterfly has been interrupted by a shrill scream echoing across the garden, making Japan flinch and the butterflies flutter away in unison.

The source of the scream was a woman who looks close to the age of his mother, hair wild and unkept, purple eyes swirling with madness as she runs towards the palace, the guards chasing after her, trying to restrain her.

She was looking around wildly, screaming to herself as she disappears into the palace, the guards still not being able to restrain her.

Japan stares at the spot where he had last seen her, a frightened and confused feeling inside of him, as if that woman was the root of all his nightmares coming to life, wanting to devour him the way the looming darkness in his dreams gobble him up.

Then he hears the voice of two familiar brothers bickering. Japan turns his eyes on the two who enter the palace, Tokyo looking at Teikoku with something akin to fear and worry, while Teikoku had an unreadable expression on his face, his emotions somewhat absent.

“You should not have scared Mother like that”, Tokyo says, his eyes searching the entire gardens. “Now she will be the laughingstock of the court… again.”

Teikoku rolls his eyes, “As she should be- she goes talking about how I am a demon but in reality she fits the description.”

Tokyo gives him a look, “Be polite! You are talking about our Mother!”

“Does not seem like one”, Teikoku mutters, his eyes catching Japan frolicking in the gardens, and he smirks evilly, “Mother Dearest is not a mother.”

As the two brothers disappear into the palace to search for their mother, Japan felt even more frightened of the elder.

+2,546

His body is empty; no brain, no soul, no voice heard, as if no one has remembered he existed, to the point even he himself starts to consider that he was no more, and that he is just a vessel, a vessel to a life that had once existed, but he’s not sure if he was alive.

So he stands in this suffocating and dark cell, depriving him of the light and air he needs to survive, but that is alright; he’s not alive anymore, he’s dead, his name smeared off of history and the fact that Teikoku took all the glory and fame he deserved.

That is the only name that stuck inside his empty mind.

Teikoku.

He cannot remember who or what he is, if he was friend or enemy or rival, but every time he thinks of his name, he feels pain, anger, anguish and desolation, as if he was the harbinger of every remaining conflicting feelings inside of his empty and dark abyss he calls his mind.

Ah yes, a name to remember, all over the years.

-55

Japan runs around the palace, searching every nook and cranny for his mother, even asking the servants if they had seen her. They point to his mother’s private quarters, and his eyes light up, like a pirate finding its treasure. “Haha! I finally found y-”, he stops short as he sees his mother and a mysterious woman having tea in the middle of the room.

“Musuko!”, says his haha, standing up, fixing her attire as she excuses herself from the pretty lady, as she makes her way to cradle her child in her arms. “Do not intervene in people’s conversations again!”

Japan gives his mother an apologetic look, “I’m sorry, mama.” His eyes shot towards the pretty lady, who was pouring tea over her tea cup. “And who is she, mama?”

“Japan!”, his mother scolds once again, “do not-”

The lady chuckles, “It’s fine, Kyoto- no need to get agitated.” She flashes a smile towards the small boy, “my name’s the United States of America, or America for short.”

There was something in that woman, whether it be the way she looks so pretty to the point it compels him to stay with the two girls who go back to their - slightly heated - conversation, the teapot between them steaming as Kyoto once again pours tea into her cup. As they were talking to each other (which was tuned out by him), Japan was busily - or just enchanted - staring at the pretty lady with a pleasant smile on her face. Her golden hair was tied into a braid, which in turn was tied into a small bun. Her skin was dotted by freckles; they look like the stars in the night sky now blessed into her skin, and her green eyes were just like the gardens; he can get lost in them any single day.

There was something in that lady that made his heartbeat increase even faster, as if he had ran a complete route from the gardens towards the town square, as if there were butterflies in his stomach that wished to escape and flutter over the entire room, lighting up the entire room.

And when she glances at him, a thunderstorm meeting a rich forest, she smiles, as if they will meet again, someday.

(They meet again in their next life, in a not-so pleasant way.)

+28,342

He hears the metal door in his cell open, for the first time in what felt like a millenium of waiting. Waiting for something that was never there, and if it was there, it simply vanished because worthless fucks decided to forget they have left something lying upside down, all worn out from years of torment and torture.

He doesn’t bother turning around, but the open door finally gives him a glimpse of his small and cramped cell, always covered in the darkness, and he sees a stone wall in front of him, feeling someone in front of him, hesitating to move and confront the man in the darkness.

“Hello, Japan”, the newcomer softly says, his voice familiar but nothing comes across the prisoner’s mind, lost in the darkness. But he can feel anger rising in him, the same reaction whenever he thinks of Teikoku’s name in his mind, but weaker and lackluster. “Anata wa seichō shimashita.”

The chained man lifts his head, but still not facing him, his eyes up the ceiling now, full of obsolete stone. He tries to find something, anything, a voice or word to respond to this newcomer that finally made him see light again.

“That’s my name?”, he finally asks, softly and surely, his voice too quiet to even be heard in this closed cell. “‘Japan?’”

The newcomer hesitates a little, “Hai, that is your name, since birth.” His voice softens even more, to something more fatherly and regretful. “Oh Japan, I’m sorry we did that to you.”

He immediately whirls to face him, surprising the man in front of him a little as he staggers back, meeting the prisoner’s messy hair and blood-shot grey eyes wanting nothing but to murder, his lips pressed to a thin line, his body thin and gaunt, skin pale from the lack of sunlight that they supposedly need to survive. The prisoner tries long and hard to recall this pathetic man’s name, the way his lips would curl in disgust in his first few years inside that damned cell, rotting.

“Bastard”, he hisses, letting out a shaky breath. “What are you doing here? To come laugh at me? To taunt me? To make fun of me? Spill!” His body was shaking, finally showing emotion after all these years of showing nothing but emptiness.

The man shifts uncomfortably, his eyes never leaving Japan. “I’m not here to taunt taunt nor insult you. I’m here to visit you.”

Japan’s growing anger is about to reach new heights, as he whirls around to see the last face he saw before he is locked up in this cell like a bird. He changed a lot from the years that he could not count with his fingers, with his short-cropped hair and violet eyes now withholding regret, his glasses glinting in the dim lights.

“Why now?”, he asks, softly, feeling tired and weary after shouting at the man who turned his life upside down, left and right, stopping him from an eternity of happiness. “Why did you do this to me? Did I do something wrong that made you imprison me in the darkness?”

He slowly raises his eyes, his body still shaking with such intensity that would put even the earthquakes he had witnessed to shame. “Sometimes I’d think long and hard about what happens to people who put children in jail.”

A few seconds later, he is now alone again in his cell, the darkness welcoming him back with open arms, and instead of screaming and crying and wanting to see the real sun, he welcomes Her with open arms.

-69

It was a stormy day, meaning he would not be able to play in the gardens today, as he stares sadly at the downpour, longingly waiting for it to go away. He is no stranger to the rain, but sometimes his mood dampens with the weather, as if it controls his emotions and feelings to the winds, as the dark grey clouds shower the entire world with drops of liquid in various shapes and sizes.

He inches away from the window as he sees a streak of lightning from a distance, shivering a little from the cold gusts of wind that keeps blowing in his direction, as if he was just a simple obstacle to be knocked off. Lightning streaks were a sign a rumble of thunder is coming, slowly but surely, and it does; like a demon trying to say he is here and he should marvel in his presence.

Japan shrieks as another flash of lightning, this time nearer to his place, sends him tumbling down from his bed, and into the floors.

He starts to cry from the sheer harshness of his fall, as if this was the most painful thing life had done to him, the pain like a hundred men falling down on him. From the midst of his crying, he hears the sliding door open and a soft gasp before two arms start cradling him softly, feeling someone’s hair touch his skin, comforting him, calming the boy down, telling him it is all right.

“Oh, Japan”, his mother coos, voice soft and rich with caring and love, something he had loved in her from the very beginning. “Subete ga seijōdearu.”

+20,129

He grapples at his overgrown hair as if it was his enemy, tearing strands of his hair down in small clumps, falling to the ground like rain he never saw again after he was locked in this now tight and suffocating cell, as he screams. His scream was not from the fact the cell is slowly killing him with its lack of air nor the voices in his mind replacing the serene nothingness, but simply at the fact that he wants to hear himself, he wants to hear the walls echo his own voice, but all he could hear was his bones cracking to the sounds of his scream as his hands try pulling more of his hair out.

He closes his eyes in on the walls, locking him in limbo, forever and ever.

As if his fingers were claws, as if they were sharp and can tears this wall, down, his madness still building up from all these years of inglorious rage and desperation to get out of this damned cell, he turns on to the walls that had took him in as a friend and a foe, his screams becoming more and more agitated as time goes on and on and on.

He starts to create his masterpiece, fingers scraping on the hard walls that torment him every single day, the scraping of his fingers on the olden concrete singing a high-pitched and off-tune music, chanting for disarray. He howls in pain as he feels one of his fingernails break and drop to the floors, hearing its clink, but his work is not done, knowing that he is far from done, knowing he still have not left his mark, as he keeps on scraping and vandalising this damned walls for sheer entertainment, because if no one can do it he had to do this to himself; he does not care if he will break or dislocate any of his fingers, or some of his fingernails break from the intensity of his vandalism, nor does he care if his hands are mangled or bleeding.

A few hours (minutes? days? seconds?) he stops, feeling the numbing of his own pain, panting and trying to breath through, his grey eyes trying to make sure he remembered those words, remember the way they were structured, remember everything. Even from the darkness of the cell, he knew what he spelt out,

“Watashi wa sonzai shimasu.”

-192939488

Is this the past?

Is this the present?

He can’t remember anymore.

He can only remember what’s After now.

+21,456

He pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out an annoyed sigh as the metal doors open once again, revealing Tokyo, with a bandage on his left hand. Honestly, his visits are making Japan miss the darkness and the close walls tormenting him slowly but surely. He did not want the man who partnered with Teikoku to visit him, over and over again, every week, every month, every year. Let him be at peace.

“What do you want now?”, he asks curtly, glaring up at Tokyo, who was awkwardly biting his lip.

“How much do you remember about your mother?”

Japan stiffens, his thought process stopping, his grey eyes widening, as he turns to stare at Tokyo in anger and fury. He stands, his body shaking with pure rage; before Tokyo could look back, he had cornered his half-brother inside of his own cell, knowing the two of them both won’t have any room to breathe. He grits his teeth as he digs his fingernails into Tokyo’s recent injury, and he screams out loud in pain.

Japan huffs out a laugh as he punctured injured skin, making Tokyo wish for death with his own voice. “Your pain today isn’t measurable compared to mine.”

All of a sudden, he lets his older brother go, as Japan stalks back to the furthest corners of his cell, back turned from his brother, who was swearing and crying like the bastard he was, as he fumbles around to fix his bandage, an injury topped by another injury, both made by Japan himself.

He lets out a bitter laugh while Tokyo continues whining, before he starts to cry. “I wish I had saved her, you know. The only light in my life destroyed by you.”

+28,299

Grey eyes stare into Tokyo’s brown ones, unable to conceal his bitterness and anger for both the brothers. “You both know that I’m the rightful heir.”

He does not respond, knowing he cannot explain himself to a lonely and bitter man, deprived of beautiful youth, and can only nod shakily, his eyes full of fear. Then he feels hands on his neck, slowly suffocating him, making him gasp as the fingers tighten their grip around his windpipe.

“Say it”, Japan hisses out in the softest voice he can muster, and with surprising strength he lifts Tokyo up until his head hits the ceiling, the man writhing in the cuckold. “Say that I’m the real heir and that Teikoku is the fake.”

His captive lets out a choked response, trying to answer.

“Say it”, Japan says with more force in his voice now, the intent to murder hidden. “SAY THAT I’M THE REAL HEIR!”

“You are”, Tokyo finally chokes out, “you are you are you are.”

+28,323

Tokyo looks back over his shoulder to find Japan still standing, in the centre, his eyes on the shadow casted by the sunlight above him. He raises a brow and tilts his head, “Japan, come on, we’re running late! I’m running late!”

His younger half-brother ignores him, his eyes still on the shadow, his grey eyes brimming with fascination- the shadow mimics his movements, as if it was a darker version of him, attached to his feet. His skin feels like it was being caressed by generous and warm hands, the sun that is said to be burning him like he was in hell a friend, giving him the warmth he never received in the cell, the open space giving him enough air to breathe.

“Japan!”, he hears his brother call out to him, and he slowly walks towards Tokyo, watching his legs move in the sunlight, the corners of his lips moving upward, trying to form a smile.

After all these years, longing and wanting to see the damned light, he can finally gaze at the sun again; he can finally be free to walk; free from the darkness. Free from his life as a vessel of the unknown. Free from being non-existent, because he finally exists.

Finally.

+28,360

Tokyo was out for the day, meaning that Japan has the apartment all by himself. He stares at the dozen books scattered on the table, the abandoned coffee cup by the window sill, and the general lack of someone looming all over him, he decides the best way to keep him entertained is to read a few books Tokyo had left hanging around. He picks one up from the pile that was enough to fascinate him, as he sits down on a chair, his fingers studying the texture of the paper, as he flips from page after page, skimming from paragraph to paragraph.

A few hours after, he finishes the book, and now he feels bored, so he goes to Tokyo’s room, promising to himself that he will leave soon after. He knows he is invading his brother’s privacy, but he too had been invading his cell for the past few years, so might as well do it to him as payback. He opens the lights in Tokyo’s room, to find the entire place - frustratingly - messy. He groans to himself as he takes a step in, cautiously avoiding stepping on the things cluttered around the floor.

Japan stares at Tokyo’s wardrobe, before opening it and taking out a uniform that was old and dusty, knowing that he doesn’t use this anymore. Entertained at the fact he can mock Tokyo once he finally gets home, Japan starts to put the uniform on him, a childish spirit rekindled inside of him, as he slowly but surely buttons his shirt on, looking for a mirror that can let him see his entire body.

(He had only looked in a mirror now, as he sees appearances a waste of time- well, fairly because he is hidden from everyone else.)

He finds a full-length mirror near Tokyo’s study, and he rushes to it to see how he looks- and then stops abruptly, finally getting a taste of his reflection for what felt like a long time. Despite the fact he has been tearing at his hair in mad fits for what felt like forever, his dark hair was a mess, strands reaching far and wide. His grey eyes were shining with emptiness, and his frame thin but tall, skin as pale as the ice that covers the country in winter.

He recalls the times when his mother would say that he had his father’s most beautiful eyes, and how she would make him feel important by saying that; it worked, for a long, long time. And today, he realises that he would have wanted his mother’s beautiful brown eyes; they were the ones that had guided him into the world where everything was cherry blossoms falling down in his face until the tree trunks came to topple him down.

Gingerly, he touches his reflection, his body once again shaking, his mind racing with thoughts about how this was wrong, how his mother should have been alive and him dead, ceasing to exist in this world, but instead it was in reverse. His lip was quivering, as he tries remembering what his mother looked like… her red lips smiling down at him with love and warmth… her brown eyes mature but caring… her arms like a nest to nurture him with… her voice the most melodious thing he has ever heard… her dark hair smooth and silky soft.

None of which he had gotten from his mother, as he looks in the mirror.

“Haha”, he whispers, as he drops to his knees, no longer able to support himself once again, as he now unleashes a stream of tears, dripping down his face. “I’m… sorry.”

“You shouldn’t be.” A voice snaps him out of his breakdown, as he looks up in the mirror to find his mother, smiling at him, as if she were alive.

“Mama?”, he asks softly, his voice merely a whisper in this room. “B-but you’re dead!”

She chuckles a little, as she drapes her arms around Japan; he should not be feeling anything, but he felt warmth embrace him once again. “I may be dead in the real world, but I will always live in your mind.”

Japan shakes his head, still sniffling and sobbing. “You must be disappointed in me, mama.”

She shakes her head, putting her lips to his forehead, “I am not disappointed, my son. I will forever be proud of you. I will be by your side as you finally finish your quest for glory.”

Japan blinks, confused. “‘Quest for glory?’”

There was something in her dark brown eyes now; vengeance and revenge. “Kill the one who decided to rewrite our fates like this. And then, you will have peace, now and forever.”

“But Mother… killing is wrong…!”

“But Teikoku killed me, and he has killed thousands of innocent lives too. Do you think murdering the bastard will have an equal effect on what he did to the entire world? No.”

Japan’s mind goes back and forth, in circles and then forming more and more shapes, as he tries to formulate a response against this ghost (hallucination? curse?). Murder is wrong, his mind supplies, but his heart tells him it is time for Teikoku to get what he deserved, to make him beg for death and he giving it to the suffering man with no conscience whatsoever.

He smiles, turning to grin at his mother.

“Perhaps I let that old bastard live long enough.”

+28,365

Two brothers are caught in a dance, a dance that decides one another’s fate, as they kick and punch and shoot with all of their might and strength, giving each other sensitive vocabulary as they chase and catch. The grey-eyed brother tackles his elder brother, making him cough up blood as Teikoku kicks at Japan’s ribcage, and he howls in pain, as Teikoku uses it as a distraction and kicks Japan off of him. He topples over, as now Teikoku has the upper hand, looking down at him with anger and madness.

It scared him a long time ago, but now it doesn’t- not anymore.

“You think I will spare you once again after you did this to me?!”, he bellows, “I showed you leniency once upon a dream! A chance to rot in the cells, but you decide to waste it after assaulting me.”

Japan spits on his face, and he uses that as an advantage as he kicks at Teikoku’s legs and shoots a bullet, which lodges on Teikoku’s shoulder. He gasps in pain as blood drips over his mouth once again, but before he could move Japan kicks him on the skull, the floors breaking his fall in a hard manner. Teikoku screams, both in pain and in anger, but now Japan has a firm grip on Teikoku’s injured shoulder, pulling it as hard as he can until he can hear joints cracking.

“You… meiwaku”, Teikoku hisses and he gasps, Japan stepping on his ribcage as if it were a toy, his step becoming harder, harder, harder. “You will die an inglorious death.”

Japan cackles, a sneer on his face, as his grey eyes shine throughout the light, exchanging his gun for a dagger. “I’d find pleasure ripping out your heart.” Teikoku pants, his hands discreetly reaching for a pole, closer and closer, as Japan busies himself with his knife.

“So, sayonara, Teikoku.” Japan lunges for Teikoku, eyes wide, full of undefinable insanity.

Teikoku meets his eyes, as he finally reaches the pole and plunges it deep into Japan’s heart just as he lunges. His brother halts, time standing still, but before he processes what had just happened, his grey eyes become blank with death. He breathes hard, as blood drips from Japan’s mouth and into Teikoku’s clothes, his brother staring at Teikoku, before his eyes go listless, dropping the dagger to the ground, as it makes a little noise.

There was silence in the halls for a moment, Teikoku looking everywhere other than the corpse of his older brother, as his eye colour slowly went back to its crimson red, while Teikoku’s red eyes were being replaced by grey, as if the blood had been drained from his body.

Japan crawls away from Teikoku’s corpse, as his body swiftly slides down the pole, the silver graces of the weapon tinged with blood and all things holy.

When the day has come where he have died.

Only to come alive.

0It happened so fast; the guards coming into his and his mother’s home, disturbing the peace that his mother have created in their own terrain, mother and son minding their own business when all of a sudden, as if his years of life are cut short by someone shooting their gun his way, Teikoku’s guards raid their home, holding him and his mother captive, who were both so busy living, breathing, being alive.

“Haha!”, the young boy says, as two guards hoists his mother up, who in turn was too weak to stand, too weak to do anything except look at Japan with her deep brown eyes, wanting him to go, run away as fast as he can. But he knows that he should never leave the source of his happiness behind. Before he could move, however, two more guards hold him back, him and his mother a safe distance from each other, tormenting them. He struggles against his captors, his grey eyes threatening to wage war. “Let me and my mother go!”

“You struggling against my guards is quite… hilarious.” A cold, calm, and frigid voice settles among the people in the room, as Japan hears the steps of the man who has orchestrated this ambush, this sabotage.

Teikoku comes in all his glory, wearing a clean and tidy uniform, his dark hair smooth and cropped, but his eyes still full of madness and ambition, laughing silently at his younger half-brother and his mother, a big smirk on his face. He is here to laugh at them for his entertainment; here to earn pleasure from their pain as he sits on his throne of gold, superior to all, controlling each and everyone of the people’s lives.

Japan meets his eyes, pleading and scared out of his wit, wanting nothing more to escape. “Please, Teikoku… let me and my mother go.”

Teikoku’s smirk grows wider, not really a smirk anymore but a sadistic smile creeping upon his face, his eyes staring down at Japan, huge with fascination and amusement. “But you and your mother stand in the way of the glory of my empire”, he smiles once again, a glint of intent now visible, “I have to take you traitors down.”

He shouts an order to the guards, who immediately obey as they drop his mother down to the floors; she gasps in pain, and Japan writhes underneath the men’s grasp, wanting to be with his mother, wanting Teikoku to leave the both of them alone. Teikoku approaches Kyoto step by step, as the latter was recovering from the assault, before he swiftly tilts her chin up, her deep brown eyes which were full of hope, now replaced with fear.

Teikoku smiles as he points his gun at her, and Japan screams, his mother shooting him one last look-

Everything goes red.

-

Watashi no musuko- my son

Shinai’na- dear

Baishunpu- whore

Taiyō- sun

Aisare shi-sha- beloved

Watashi no tame ni utaemasu ka- can you sing for me Mochiron watashi no musuko- of course, my son

Yukkuri o yasumi- sleep tight

Kaibutsu- monster

Shinpaishinaide, watashi no ko- don’t worry, my child

Watashi wa tsuyoidesu- i am strong Musuko- son

Anata wa seichō shimashita- you’ve grown

Subete ga seijōdearu- everything is alright/fine

Watashi wa sonzai shimasu- I exist

The lullaby that Kyoto sung was Edo Komoriuta or Edo Lullaby

[mysmeprotectionsquad]

Can you do the RFA + V with an MC who CANNOT sleep in a house alone. Like she's paranoid about someone breaking in, watching her in her sleep, etc. So by the party she's sleep deprived and close to passing out.

Wow look at cat mom actually doing stuff!! Much productive such write!! Sorry for not being active lately due to some personal matters and overall crappy health, but I promise to try my best from now on.

Onto your request: Yikes I want to wrap this MC in a blanket and put her to sleep like omg who gives a damn about this party lol. Anyways, here you go, love! I ignored everything that happened in each party because that would’ve changed… well, your entire request, especially in certain routes. Just think of it as a neutral party? Taking Jaehee’s route as an example.

- Admin Cat Mom.

Yoosung

the moment is perfect and this baby boy is more than ready to become a Manly Man and give you that well-deserved kiss you both have been waiting for.

and he’s going for it, he wraps his arms around you and leans in for a kiss, but right before closing his eyes he notices how drained you look.

the bags under your eyes can be seen from space oh dear god.

of course the stupid kiss doesn’t matter anymore.

and he beats himself up for not noticing it before?

immediately starts interrogating you.

sweetie you’re not helping let poor MC at least process the questions.

instead of answering any of them, you mumble something unintelligible and hold tightly to his arms.

you got like two hours of sleep last night, your eyelids are heavy and your whole body feels like jelly so you’re thankful for the extra support.

but while your busy letting yourself go in his arms, he straight up freaks out because—are you passing out right now, MC?

oh god oH GOD PLEASE DON’T.

WHAT DOES A MAN HAVE TO DO HERE TO GET A CHAIR FOR HIS LADY

once he takes you somewhere quiet, gets you a chair, and makes certain you’re somewhat more stable, he squats down in front of you and holds your hand, stroking it softly as he listens to what’s been troubling you.

if only he would’ve known sooner…

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that by yourself, MC.”

you can see true anguish in every corner of his face.

after a brief discussion with the rest of RFA, he offers to take you home and promises to stay with you until you feel better.

and even though he doesn’t say this out loud, he would gladly, ahem, sleep right next to you if it’ll make you feel safe and sound.

Zen

this place is so crowded and noisy and holY SHIT you look like you’re dying, MC, what the hell happened?

he’s eavesdropping on you and it’s quite evident you’re trying your best to make conversation with guests but you’re so disconnected from everything, stuttering and fidgeting and spacing out.

so he approaches you and carefully places a hand on your shoulder to help you out a little and pull you back to earth.

and… you startle at his touch and screech, he screeches as well and backs up, everybody goes quiet, things get awkward, suddenly the concept of spontaneous combustion sounds nice and fitting.

in order to avoid making things worse, though, he smiles for the guests, suggests them to try the food and takes you somewhere less crowded.

it’s not really a pleasant talk because you feel so dizzy and you’re afraid he may start nagging you for not getting enough sleep.

yet not surprisingly enough, he gets mad at everyone but you.

he’s mad at seven and v for leaving you all alone in someone else’s apartment and refusing to reveal your location

what was the point of that anyway?

he’s also mad at himself for not being there for you.

and while he rattles on and on about RFA’s irresponsible and careless members, your legs start feeling heavy and your vision gets blurry.

whoops, there goes MC who is now all passed out on the floor.

OH SHIT.

nope nope nope he’s getting you out of there rIGHT NOW.

not a chance he’s letting you stay at the party, you need a good ol’ beauty sleep to recharge and get better.

Jaehee

she’s been in your position more times than she can count.

it’s pretty obvious she recognizes all the signs of a sleep deprived individual.

and she’s honestly the sweetest and most caring of them all?

like honey, you’ve done more than enough for this huge success of a party, you’re even trying to socialize and interact with guests while struggling to stand and walk.

everything’s been taken care of and the guys are handling the party just fine, you don’t need to worry and you’re going home right. now.

because having you wander around while close to passing out could do more harm than you leaving early.

when she mentions driving you somewhere nearby rika’s apartment so you can get some sleep, your face immediately drops.

oh…?

she’s quick to pick up your reaction and asks for an explanation.

after you provide her one, she deadpan nods and grabs you by the arm.

okay then it’s settled, she has no choice but to take you to her place.

when you both arrive, she puts you to bed and offers you a warm cup of tea to help you relax before heading out.

except she barely makes it two inches far from her bed because there’s something desperately pulling her sleeve.

she hesitates for a moment and urges you that you’re safe here, there are no bomb threats or possible intruders or hackers slash kidnappers waiting for the right time to take you away.

plus they’re expecting her at the party.

but… you’re persistent and you seem genuinely distressed thus she can’t just go on with her day knowing you’re feeling unsafe.

so she lies down next to you and lets you rest your head on her chest, and she promises to stay by your side until you wake up.

her heart is pounding like crazy and her cheeks are bright red, poor thing may explode at any given second but it’s okay it’s all good, it feels nice having you this close.

you soon fall asleep together and it’s the cutest thing.

Jumin

as soon as he arrives, he eagerly starts looking for you.

an alluring being among the crowd he simply cannot wait to meet, where can they be? you can tell how anxious he is just by looking at his left cuff.

he’s fidgeting with it nonstop.

he asks about your whereabouts to every RFA member and guest he encounters without any luck.

until he bumps into seven and pops out the same question yet again.

“there,” he answers while pointing at his back.

five seconds later you crash into him, both of you losing balance for a moment.

“are you drunk, MC?”

though harsh and quite direct, he tries to be discreet about it.

and in his defense, you do look a bit drunk and disoriented.

this isn’t how he imagined getting to meet you.

still, he’s a gentleman resolved to help you avoid embarrassment and discomfort, and instead of dwelling on the reasons behind your current state right there, he escorts you outside to have a talk.

what? what do you mean you’ve barely slept in the past two weeks?

he refrains from lecturing you because 1) you look like you could faint at any minute and 2) he doesn’t want to upset someone who’s already upset enough, it’d be no help.

“you should’ve called, why didn’t you? I would’ve kept you company.”

you know it’s serious when executive director jumin han is willing to sacrifice his sleep and tight schedule just to make sure you’re having a good night’s sleep.

but since “it’s no use crying over spilled milk” his words and he has zero fucks to give, he suggests fleeing from the party.

no worries he ends up calling jaehee to let her know you’re feeling unwell.

after getting into his car, you fall asleep on his shoulder.

he stays still and watches you sleep in silence, a cute, barely noticeable smile across his face.

Seven

oh noes.

he’s seen that “do i want death or am i already dead who the hell knows at this point” look you’re pulling off.

where, you may be wondering? oh, that’s right, in the fucking mirror every goddamn night for the past fifteen years of his life.

you look like a zombie wandering around the room, you’re bumping into people and making a mess your way.

you haven’t even realized there’s a wine stain on your pretty clothes.

YOU. NEED. HELP.

otherwise, he’s afraid you’ll pass out cold and the last thing you need right now is a concussion, so he comes up to you and greets you with one of his dumb jokes in order to lift your spirit.

it kinda works but you’re still looking… well, dead, and moody.

a moody zombie? yeah, that’s about it.

refusing to give up on you just yet, he grabs your hand and promises to stay by your side throughout the whole night so you can lean on him, literally, whenever you feel like you’re about to faint.

what was that? do you want to leave early instead? that’s cool too, jaehee will take care of everything don’t you worry, my brave soldier.

defender of justice seven zero seven’s got your back!!

you eventually leave the party together but you don’t go very far, instead, you lay down on a park nearby to contemplate the sky.

he’s telling you stories about the clouds idly passing by when he hears a sweet little snore.

it’s you!! you’ve fallen asleep on his chest, aw.

all the blood in his system gathers on his cheeks and he is now all red, you can’t tell his hair apart from his face.

and in order to keep you warm and well protected, he embraces you with both arms and kisses your head.

later on he falls asleep too because he’s just as sleep deprived as you.

V

surprise surprise! much to everyone’s expectations, lovely boy has decided to show up to the party!

and he’s so excited to meet you after hearing so many positive things about you and how you’ve put every ounce of energy into RFA’s party.

he needs to thank you properly!!

spotting you amidst the guests isn’t really hard as there’s a bunch of people gathered in the center of the room making commotion.

apparently, someone has fainted? he can hear yoosung screaming and asking people to make some room, zen is yelling something about CPR, and jaehee is rushing to the crowd while dialing what it seems to be 119.

what in the world…?

determined to do some damage control, he hurries to reach jaehee and tries to find out what the hell is going on.

“it appears MC has passed out and we don’t know the reason.”

no need to say more.

he kindly but firmly asks people to stay back so that you can get some air, and he also sends yoosung to get you a chair to sit on.

zen is in charge of bringing you a glass of water because boy needs to calm the eff down.

five minutes later he manages to sit you upright in a chair, away from the crowd and where you can get some fresh air.

six pairs of concerned eyes are piercing right through you while you try to regain consciousness, only one of them hidden behind sunglasses.

you may not see those eyes clearly, but they carry the most guilt out of all of them.

in his usual soft caring voice, he does an attempt to ask you what’s wrong, and as he gets the answer he was expecting, he frowns and strokes your hair.

“why didn’t you say anything? we could’ve helped you.”

were it not for the mess he’s sunken in thanks to rika, he would’ve gone to the apartment himself to make sure you were getting some sleep.

[deadgwen]

IT IS A HAPPY 17TH BIRTHDAY TO THE BEST GOAT

@fucshias  @jiilys  MY LOVE GOATY. MY MOST BEAUTIFUL GOAT. MY SUN. MY STARS. MY BEAUTIFUL HOOVED CREATURE OF GOD. I HAVE ARRIVED TO SAY SOME IMPORTANT THINGS BUT FIRSTLY I LOVE YOU I LOVE I LOVE YOU U R READING THIS POST RIGHT NOW DUE TO A VERY IMPORTANT REASON AND THIS IMPORTANT REASON IS THAT

*CHOKES BACK TEARS*

IT IS UR BIRTHDAY.

*SCREAMING*

OK OKI DOKI BEFORE I START: I AM NOT ACTUALLY HERE BUT DO NOT BE D I S E N H E AR T E N E D BC I JUST DONT HAVE WIFI BUT I PROMISE U SOMEWHERE OUT THERE I AM SULKING AND FIGHTING A WALL AND ALSO SETTING OFF FIREWORKS BC !!!!!!!!!!!!! ITS UR FUCKING DAY AND IM SORRY I COULD NOT WISH U BUT I LOVE U SO SO SO SO SO SO SO MUCH I AM HERE W/ U IN SPIRIT

ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT TURN THE FUCK UP HAPPY FUCKING BIRTHDAY TO MY LOVE HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO U UR EXCELLENT AND I LOVE YOU AND ALSO WHAT THE FUCK BINCH HOW ARE U SEVENTEEN TODAY U ASSHOLE (COPYRIGHT U KNOW WHO) WHO ALLOWED U TO BE LIKE THIS AND ALSO I LOVE YOU. AND ALSO I CANT BELIEVE UVE DONE THIS. UR LITERALLY SEVENTEEN TODAY I AM NOT ALRIGHT AND I NEED U TO HOLD ME BECAUSE I AM GOING TO COME OVER AND FOR THE SOLE PURPOSE OF BEING A DRAMATIC BITCH I WILL FAINT IN UR ARMS I AM 100% NOT ALRIGHT

like,,,, HONESTLY u are so. fucking. great. WHERE DO I EVEN START. 

FIRST AND FOREMOST I WANNA SAY I AM SO FUCKING EXCITED FOR THIS FOR UR BDAY I LOVE YOU GOATY I AM SO PUMPED THAT UR SO OLD ITS RIDICULOUS @ ME FUCK OFF ALRIGHT BUT. JUST. I LOVE I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU AND HAPPY BIRTHDAY U GOAT UR BEYOND INCREDIBLE

UR OFFICIALLY A DANCING QUEEN UR YOUNG AND SWEET. ONLY. *SMASHES OPEN MY WINDOW AT 12 MIDNIGHT* SEVENTEEEEEEEEEEEEEN

SO OH MY GOD. I AM CURRENTLY YELLING BECAUSE??????????? LIKE???????????????? YOU'RE SEVENTEEN??????? HOW DID WE EVEN COME TO THIS POINT ITS INSANE LIKE HOW THE FUCK ARE YOU SEVENTEEN WE'RE ALL JUST STILL TINY SMOLS WHERE ARE U GOING WHY ARE U GROWING OLDER STOP IT PLS ALRITE I DO NOT LIKE. MY PRECIOUS GOAT SUNSHINE WHO IS A PROFESSIONAL PAJAMA CONSULTANT A REAL SOLID BUSINESSWOMAN WHO DRIVES AND SHIT AND COULD PROBABLY RUN ME OVER AND IS 6'3 SO IF U WOULD SIT ON ME I WOULD MOST CERTAINLY DIE UR OFFICIALLY A DANCING QUEEN AND I AM CRYING

but in all seriousness I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU i am FOREVER AND EVER glad that i met u LIKE I FUCKIN HATE U GODMDAN FUCKIBG GOAT MAKING ME REBLOG THIGNS FUCK YUO FUCK O FF but like????? apart from that UR FUCKING BEYOND FABULOUS and i have decided to compile a list of reasons why u are unbelievably great and have earned ur title of being a dancing queen/brilliant goat/actual love of my life. bc u are excellent. AND IT MUST BE WRITTEN OUT HERE SOMEWHERE THAT I LOVE YOU. 

OK OK OK SO HERE WE GO BINCHES. PREPARE URSELF. THIS IS GONNA BE SUPER LENGTHY BECAUSE I LOVE YOU A LOT AND I AM GONNA DO A 'ON THE JELLICOE ROAD' WORTHY REVIEW OF U BUT LIKE A SHITTIER VERSION SO U BETTER FUNKIN BUCKLE UP BITCH

LEZGO:

IS OBVIOSULY FABULOUS

IS A REAL LIFE GIRAFFE 

WE ARE BLESSED TO HAVE ONE ROAM OUT OF CAPTIVITY LIKE............. WE ARE STRONGLY BLESSED

I CANNOT STRESS ENOUGH

CLAIMS TO HAVE 'barely any leg but a huge torso' and interpret this how u want bUT i just wanna say u r the most fucked up giraffe ever ok what the fuck WHO HURT YOU

apparently dis binch owns a bunny AND NEVER TOLD ME SHE DID

owns a problematic rabbit bc it pees everywhere

said problematic rabbit likes to pee everywhere so much its ridiculous it has no respect for the value of items of modern society and thus in my opinion should be sent to COURT

@ rabbit U NASTY OK PLS GET UR PRIORITIES SORTED???? THIS HAS BEEN A MOTHERFUCKING PSA THANK U (CAROLINE I AM TRUSTING YOU TO SHOW THIS ON UR PHONE TO THE GODDAMN BUNNY I NEED IT TO KNOW)

is 100% excellent at looking after drunk people ALRITE literally THIS WOMAN IS A SAINT who has saved REAL LIVES tbh where would that poor child from your old intermediate be if u hadn't SAVED HIS ENTIRE LIFE from all that tequila he would DEAD thats fuKCIN RIGHT U DESERVE ALL THE MEDALS A TRUE HERO AMONG NEW ZEALANDERS. A NATIONAL ICON. SO BRAVE I AM SO PROUD I LOVE YOU ALWAYS

AND ALSO PULLING DRUNK MAKING OUT PEOPLE OFF EACH OTHER I JUST WANT U TO KNOW THAT UR EFFORTS ARE SO VERY RECOGNIZED BECAUSE ONE TIME I DID THAT AND I GOT PUNCHED IN THE THROAT I THOUGHT I DIED BECAUSE I SAW JESUS BUT IT WASNT ACTUALLY JESUS IT WAS JUST A POSTER TAPED TO A FRIDGE I WAS SCAMMED

her own mum has called the police on her and was 100% ready for some quality fun family jailtime

ALSO ONE TIME GOATY ACCIDENTALLY FUCKED UP SOMEONES REAR MIRROR AND THE VICTIMS OF THE INCIDENT DID NOT GIVE HALF A FUCK HOWEVER, HER MOTHER GOATY REPORTED SEVERAL FUCKS TO THE POLICE AND FILED AN ACCIDENT REPORT AND THAT WAS THE DAY MY GOATY BECAME A DARK CRIMINAL

*OMINOUS MUSIC*

I AM STILL WAITING FOR THE DAY I WALK MY BUTT INTO COURT AGAINST UR MUM COVERED HEAD TO ASS IN $3 PLASTIC BRACELETS BACKED BY UR UNEXPECTEDLY KLEPTOMANIAC SISTER AND A BASKET OF STOLEN WOMANS DAYS AND ALONG WITH BLING BLING JIMMY WE WILL RESTORE THE RIGHTEOUSNESS AND LACK OF CONSCIENCE ON THIS LOVELY EARTH

ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ENOUGHT ABOUT UR MUM LIKE ACTUALLY ALL UR FAMILY MEMBERS ARE DIFFERENT LEVELS OF WILD AND..... I AM AFRAID

OK OK IT MUST BE SAID CAROLINE HAS THE MOST AMAIZNG VOICE ????? EVER

like i love her voice sm SO FUCKING MUCH I TELL U i have never heard anything like it and i want caroline to like read me books for hours AND HOURS AND NARRATE MY WHOLE ENTIRE LIFE because i love how unusually deep and shadowy her voice sounds like deep flowing river water or smth like i LOVE IT SO MUCH it. Is.So. Strange BUT I LOVE IT IT IS THE COOLEST GODDAMN THING THROW A BUCKET AT ME I LOVE YOU

HAS A VIDEO OF HERSELF DOING THE ICE BUCKET CHALLENGE AND I KNOW I HAVE PRAISED IT FOR TWO YEARS IN A ROW ALREADY LIKE @ ME PLZ CHILL BUT i will not i will NEVER it is solid entertainment a+++ QUALITY I AM LAUGHIGN IM LAUGHING I AM LAUGHING FOREVER those beautiful hops of pain across ur backyard ARE THE LAST THINGS I WANT TO SEE BEFORE GOD TAKES ME FROM THIS EARTH

WRONGFULLY FRAMED ME FOR HAVING SHIT DICK TENDENCIES AND THEN YELLED AT ME AND CALLED ME A GARAGE WHAT A BINCH I AM IN LOVE

loves yellow flowers AND ALL THE FLOWERS AND HEAVY ROSES AND IS A FULL OUT FLOWER HOE

IS DESPICABLE TEEN WOLF GARBAGE LIKE.... ive been scrolling through our fanmails AND MY HEART HUR T S G O A T Y hOld mE we were sO Y O U N  G and like no lie i shit u not 80% oF THE FUCKING MESSAGES ARE U YELLING 'STYDIA IS GONNA HAPPEN THIS SEASON' AND 'OH MY GOD DID U SEE THAT STYDIA SCENE' AND DECLARATIONS OF LOVE FOR LYDIA MARTIN AND THE OTHER 20% IS U ASKIN ME IF IVE SEEN THE NEW TEEN WOLF I LOVE IT I LOVE YOU I AM SORRY TEEN WOLF KEEPS DISAPPOINTING US BOTH BUT STDYIA IS. DEFINIETELY. GONNA. HAPPEN. THIS. SEASON. IT HAS TO OR I WILL FUKIN FITE ALRIGHT GIVE US STYDIA OR GIVE US DEATH I LOVE UR TEEN WOLF LOVIBG ASS

anyway caroline is an utterly excellent person

if u were an ncea paper i would grade u with excellence

*FINGER GUNS*

like ?????deals with my stupid yelling ALL THE TIME

whenever i had a problem and went to my goaty she was so very understanding and patient AND DID NOT CALL ME A DUMBASS WHEN I DESERVED TO BE DECKED

TOLD ME THE TRU DEFINTION OF THE PHRASE 'SHOT'

TWO YEARS OF UTTER CONFUSION. ERASED FROM MY LIFE. PERMANENTLY.

MY SKIN?? CLEARED . MY FUTURE BILLS ??? PAID MY HUSBAND MARRIED MY STATUE FOR CAROLINE FULLY ERECTED

ok but like i can never say this enough goaty IS SO NICE TO TALK TO PLETAHE TALK TO ME FORVER SHE IS FABULOUS??? it blows my mind constantly that someone this incredible and special walks along this earth NONE OF US DESERVE THE GOAT

also ???? WHAT IN THE FUCK HOW HAVE I NOT MENTIONED THIS YET CAROLINE IS THE BEST WRITER I HAVE EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE SHE IS SO TALENTED EVERY TIME I READ ONE OF HER FICS I END UP THINKING ABOUT IT AFTERWARDS FOR 958495894 YEARS ALRIGHT THEY FUCK ME UP THEY WAY SHE HANDLES WORDS FUCKS ME UP HOW CAN YOUT TAKE FUCKING LETTERS AND THEN SHOVE THEM UP MY ASS LIKE THIS I AM NOT ALRIGHT I AM NOT ALRIGHT I AM NOT ALRIGHT I am Not Strong Enough For This

i am not even kidding ok THE WAY U HANDLE WORDS IS IN.FUCKING.CREDIBLE whenever u use them its like?? u turned them into something precious and all your writing have this feel to it like as if im holding a delicate bouqet of a thousand yellow flowers like im holding a butterfly in my hands like im holding a box of eggs and i am scared shitless to drop it bC MY DAD WILL PERSONALLY CRUCIFY ME

I AM AWFUL AT DESCRIPTIONS BUT I HOPE U SEE WHAT I MEAN. LIKE. IT IS SO *SCREAMS* MINBLOWING DECK ME WITH ALL UR WORDS EVER

I AM ONE HUNDRED FUCKING PERCENT NEVER OKAY WITH ANYTHING YOU WRITE IT HURTS SO GOOD AND I LOVE IT

ok ok this hoe right here has written THREE fics with a dedication for me at the beginning and like.............. ..... do u ever just cri

i have 'the glorious everywhere' printed out and FUCKING PINNED TO MY WALL WHERE I CAN SEE IT FROM ALL CORNERS OF MY ROOM ALWAYS back in my apartment in russia like it is legitimately the best thing. i love everything about this piece it should be adapted into a novel or a short film like PULL SOME FIFTY SHADES OF GREY SHIT W/ IT OK the imagery and REALNESS of this fic gets to me all the time and im crying im crying im crying I ABSOLUTELY ADORE IT PLS @ CAROLINE WHY ARE U SO TALENT

ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT LOOK AT THIS BULLSHIT FUCKIG I THINK ABOUT THIS FIC EVERY SINGLE DAY WHEN I WAKE UP FUCKING LOOK ' You see her hair dripping down her head and spinning out over the seats in the back and lighting them on fire. You see her pale skin and electric veins as she puts her hand out the window and tries to catch the sky and stuff it up her sleeve. You hear her voice, “Just drive James, you’ll know where we’re going when we get there.”  

REALLY I AM NOT FUCKIGN Okay CALL AN AMBULANCE CALL IT NOW I AM UNWELL I AM SICK I AM DYING FUK ME RITE UP

i am fully convinced this is the greatest thing thats ever been written.like. How. the. FUCK. tbh i want this paragraph ENTIRELY TATTOOED ON MY ASS I AM ZCRYING @ CAROLINE YOU HAVE THE MOST BEAUTIFUL BRAIN AND I AM SO VERY GLAD THAT IT EXISTS

i will not go into depth abt yelling about ur fics bc tbh i think u Know but I JUST WANNA SAY 'oh darling i have coloured blood (that i stole from you)' is the most iconic piece of literature to this day ever the and i zcri all the time because you are a goddamn bloody genius and you shine in colours beyond my comprehension and i love you so so so incredibly much

MY LOVE IS SO FUCKING TALENTED I AM YELLING I AM YELLING I AM YELLING

DOESN'T EAT FRIED SPERM

writes the BEST emails in history

UR SO LOVELY U GIVE ME SO MANY BEAUTIFUL SPELLING ERRORS FOR ME TO WHOLEHEARTEDLY ENJOY I AM GIGGLING *GIGGLES* IT BRINGS ME SO MUCH JOY WHEN U FUCK THINGS UP

tbh it is how fried chair came to life like it was actually in one of your first fanmails to me u said that two years ago and to this day it remains the Most Iconic Thing Ever

STRONG SUPPORTER OF WEETBIX

LOVES WEETBIX

FOUGHT TIGERS AND LIONS FOR HER FAMILY AND WAS SAVED BY WEETBIX AND WEETBIX ALONE 

ACTUALLY HAD A THING CALLED ‘WEETBIX DISCOURSE’ ON HER BLOG LIKE IT WAS ACTUALLY A THING THAT HAPPENED A REAL THING THAT OCCURED AND WAS PASSIONATELY ARGUED ABOUT AND I HAVE SEEN THINGS THAT CANNOT BE UNSEEN

RIGHTFULLY SO BC WEETBIX >>>>> JONAH GRIGGS I AM SORRY IT IS THE RULES

FUCK THE H8RS

like ??? is hilarious af QUEEN OF HUMOUR AND MAKING ME SNORT MY GODDAMN CHOCLATE MILK LIKE CAN U NOT BE SO EXCEPTIONAL U HO HAVE SOME CONSIDERATION U LIL BITCH but YES a++ top notch QUALITY storytelling skills in both fic writing and tequila struggles I APPRECIATE IT TO DEATH

ok ok ok also the most beautiful person ever??? LIKE ???????????????? BITCH WHAT THE FUCK ??????????????????????????????????????????????? WHO ALLOWED U

THE MOST PERFECT HAIR. ur hair is like waves of a golden ocean cascading from ur hEAD AND IT IS SO MAGICALLY FITTING B/C U R AN ETHEREAL BEING AND THE FACT THAT U HAVE AN ENTIRE WILD SEA RAGING ON UR HEAD JUST PROVES TO ME THAT U ARE A GOD AMONG MORTALS. UR HAIR IS SO PRETTY OK OK OKAY FUCK ME UP. STRAIGHT UP GORGEOUS. SO SOFT TOO AND SO SHINY AND IT FITS U SO WELL I AM FOREVER SCREAMING

THE MOST ANGEL FACE. GOATYS FACE LOOKS LIKE GOD OR WHOEVER THE FUCK WAS RESPONSIBLE CARVED IT OUT OF ROSE PETALS AND MARBLE LIKE. IT. IS. TRULY. THE MOST GORGEOUS THING ur face is softer than clouds tbh AND UR SMILE SAVES MY LIFE ITS BRIGHTER THAN THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE CONDENSED AND SOMETIMES WHEN I SEE UR SELFIES I HAVE TO GO GET LASER EYE SURGERY BECAUSE I HAVE BEEN B L I N D E D

U R SO UNCONSIDERATE TO MY FRAGILE HEALTH HOW DARE YOU

SO. GODDAMN GORGEOUS SLAY MY ENTIRE LIFE I BEG U ID PAY U TO SIT ON ME WITH UR HUGE BONES AND SLOWLY CRUSH ME INTO AN ENDLESS DEATH I HAVE $4 LEFT OVER FROM MY LIFE SAVINGS DO IT BAE

has the best taste in music omg WHAT A BLESSING WE LIKE THE SAME SONGS AND IT ACTUALLY KIND OF SCARES ME B/C IT FEELS LIKE WE ARE THE SAME PERSON AND THIS DOES NOT HELP MY CONSTANT STATE OF EXISTENTIAL CRISIS

HAS THE BEST TASTE IN BOOKS and adores skam as much as i do AND LOVES CHRIS/EVA AS MUCH AS IDO AND WROTE A FIC FOR THEM AND THE SNIPPET FROM IT ????? MY SOUL. GONE.

so tol and will never stop accusing me of being smol but listen up aight. imma FUCK YOU UP. REAL GOOD. ONE DAY. WHEN I CAN AFFORD TO BUY A LADDER. UNTIL THEN SLEEP WITH ONE EYE OPEN BINCH BC I AM COMING TO GET U

and is also the smartiest smart to ever smart LOOK AT MY U GO WITH UR EXCELLENCE ENDORSEMENT when i buy that ladder I WILL CLIMB IT AND HOVER AROUND UR HEAD LOTS SO I CAN ABSORB UR POWERS AND ALSO BREATHE THE FRESH AIR UP THERE WHICH IS NOT AVAILABLE TO GROUNDED PEASANTS SUCH AS ME

AND IS THE BEST COOKIE THE LOVE OF MY LIFE LIKE IF THIS ISNT ENOUGH TO CONVINCE ANYONE THAT CAROLINE IS BEYOND EXCEPTIONAL FOR OUR GALAXY THEN THEY CAN FUCK OFF PLS OK

like honestly,,, MY LOVE I COULD GO ON FOR YEARS AND YEARS AND CENTURIES UNTIL MY TEETH FALL OUT AND I GROW SENILE WITH MY LOVE BUT THE POINT OF THIS HOT STEAMING LAME MESS IS THAT I LOVE YOU TO BLOODY PIECES UR SO F U C K I N G INCREDIBLE I AM SO GLAD I MET YOU AND THAT YOU TAlk TO ME AND WE EMAIL EACH OTHER AND I AM BLESSED THAT YOU EVEN THINK OF ME AND THAT FREID CHAIR LOVES ME AND THAT U R MY GOAT BC UR MY ONLY GOAT AND UR THE BEST ONE THERE IS NO SHADE @ ALL OTHER GOATS BUT LIKE. IM SORRY I CANNOT TELL A LIE

IT IS THE COLD HARD TRUTH. 

and like??? i did a /search/deadgwen ON @jiilys BC I WANTED TO LOOK AT ALL OUR OLD STUFFS FROM 2015 and I Regret it I Regret it So Much theres a selfie from like when i was 14 and an idiot still on Ur blog and I look like an actual tragedy I Want to Die  we have known each other for so long its RIDICULOUS UR STILL AS AMAZING AS U WERE BACK THEN AND I AM MORE OR LESS CURED OF MY CONDITION OF BEING AN EMBARASSING DIPSHIT AND ITS CRAZY HOW MUCH YOUNGER WE WERE THEN LIKE UM WTF BUT UR STILL AS BEAUTIFUL AND 9384930X TIMES MORE AND I STILL LOVE U BC UR PERFECT AS EVER AND THAT IS WHAT MATTERS

NOW. I WAS GONNA MAKE YOU A PRESENT LIKE I REALLY DID BAE I TRIED SO MUCH SHIT ITS HORRIBLE BC LIKE ??? I WANTED TO MAKE YOU A PRESENTATION ON UR GOAT SUPERIORTY LIKE I DID LAST YEAR EXCEPT Like i am a fucking asshole™(COPYRIGHT JONAH GRIGGS THE MAN TEH MYTH THE LEGEND) who cannot do shit FOR SHIT it turned out so Awful and i cANNOT GRAPHIC BABE I TRIED TO MAKE YOU THIS EDIT AND THEN I REALIZED IT WAS Bad AND FOUGHT MYSELF FOR SIX HOURS AND I CANNOT WRITE AND YOU DESERVE ALL THE GIFTS EVER BUT I AM TRULY AWFUL

*ZCRIES*

I KNOW IM  LAME AND MY ONLY TALENT IS YELLING FOR HOURS ON END I WISH I COULD HAVE MADE YOU SOMETHING REALLY COOL BC ITS UR SEVENTEETH AND 17 IS THE BEST NUMBER AND UR LOVELY AND I LOVE YOU SO PLEASE FORGIVE ME BAE FOR BEING AN ACTUAL GARAGE ASSHOLE (COPYRIGHT JONAH GRIGGS THE EXPERIENCE) SHIT DICK 100% TERRIBLE DICKFLUTE OKAY I LOVE YOU AND I CAN NEVER IMAGINE WHAT I WOULD BE WITHOUT YOU IN MY LIFE AND I HOPE YOU HAVE A REALLY REALLY REALLY GOOD YEAR LIKE FUCK SHIT UP BAE UR GONNA BE IN YEAR 13 ITS ALL GONNA BE SO AWFUL AND WE WILL ALL DIE aND WERE SO O L D JESUS CHRIST IF HEART ATTACKS DONT TAKE US OUT NCEA LEVEL 3 WILL BUT I HOPE THIS WILL BE A SUPER GOOD YEAR FOR U IN REGARDS OF EVERYTHING BECAUSE U DESERVE IT U DESERVE IT U DESERVE IT I HOPE THINGS WILL LEAD UP TO U GETTING THAT APARTMENT IN NEW YORK AND ALL THE HIGH HEELS THAT U WILL WEAR AND ALL THE YELLOW FLOWERS THAT U WILL BUY AND UR CAREER AS A LIFECHANGING LITERARY GENIUS OK OK I LOVE YOU HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABE

ok ok ok but. 

ONE MORE THING.

LISTEN.

THE FUCKING

*CLECNHES JAW*

REBLOG FIASCO

*FLINGS MY ASS INTO THE SUN*

WHEN IT IS GOOD AND DAYLIGHT. U HAVE UNTIL THEN. LIKE I KNOW THIS IS UR BIRTHDAY WISH AND I LOVE YOU BUT FUCK OFF HWO COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME I FUCKING TRUSTED YOU I FUCKING FUCK JUST FUCK YOU FUCKING DICK i will RIOT 

OKAY BABE ITS MIDNIGHT AND ILL BE UP IN ABOUT SIX HOURS AND LIKE. ANYTHING. ANYTHING ELSE FOR UR BIRTHDAY WISH OK BABE IM GONNA FUCKING DIE THIS IS IT THIS THE END I WILL GO DOWN SWEARING PROFUSELY WITH A HIGH BLOOD PRESSURE AND U WILL BE WATCHING AND LAUGHI G ANF @OFFICALTALL FUCK YU FUCKDUCKUD CUDCKUD DNUSJNDJF FUCK U @GOATY FUCK. UFCN WHERE IS UR HOOF WHY ARE U NOT FEELIN THE TEMPERATURE ITS EBOLA ITS GOATBOLA I WONT MAKE IT UNTIL DAWN I WONT SEE THE SUNLIGHT GOATY I CANT *FAKE CRYING SOUNDS* I WILL DIE. IT WILL HAPPEN. AND I WANT IT TO BE KNOWN THAT U ARE THE BITCH THAT KILLED ME. *MORE FAKE ZCRYING SOUNDS* I MUST SEND MESSAGES TO ALL MY DEAREST KIND FRIENDS WHO HAVE NEVER FUCKED ME LIKE THIS ALRIGHT *FAKE COUGHING* TELL THEM THAT I *MORE FAKE COUGHOGN* LOVE THEM *THROWS KETCHUP PACKET EVERYWHERE WHILE UR NOT LOOKING AND BUSY BEING WORRIED ABOUT MY HEALTH* AND I WILL REMEMBER THEM EVEN IN DEATH

ANYWAY HERE IS MY WILL:

WHAT U GET:

nothing

u get nothing

bINCH

zero. zip. nada

0 potato 4 u

U CAN HAVE THE SALT FROM MY KITCHEN SO U WILL BE PERPETUALLY REMINDED OF MY LAST EMOTIONS TOWARDS THIS LIFE

maybe like the one half a potato that was randomly in my drIVEWAY THAT ONE TIME 

M A Y B E

WHAT GOOD KIND LOVING FRIENDS, SUCH AS MILS AND FRIED CHAIR AND ELLIE AND OTHER ASSORTED PEOPLES WHICH I SHALL ADDRESS IN CLAUSE 4.20 OF THE TERMS AND CONDITIONS OF MY WILL, GET:

actually mils is a hoe and can choke but u r the evil here rn aND FOR THE PURPOSES OF THIS ARGUMENT WE WILL PRETEND THAT I LIKE MILS

ANYWAY. REALLY GOOD THINGS I OWN

I HAVE SOME SOCKS I DONT WANT U GUYS CAN HAVE THEM

AND LIKE

MY DUVET

SEE GOATY THESE ARE THE KIND OF HEART TOUCHING POST DEATH GIFTS U MISS OUT ON WHEN U MURDER ME IN COLD BLOOD

ALSO NO TOUCHING MY MANGOES THAT I BOUGHT TWO DAYS AGO BECAUSE I STILL WANT TO EAT THEM AND IF ANYONE EVEN BREATHES IN THEIR GENERAL DIRECTION I WILL BEAT THEM UNCONSCIOUS WITH A TELEPHONE THIS IS A T H R E A T

I HOPE UR TAKING NOTES AND I HOPE U FEEL GOOD ABOUT BEING A 6′3 KILLER BECAUSE UR AN ASSHOLE ™LIKE UR ASSHOLIER™ THAN THE REAL ASSHOLE THAT IS JONAH GRIGGS™ THE LABEL™ (COPYRIGHT JONAH GRIGGS™ THE ANT MURDERING HOT PIECE OF ASS™) BUT I WILL DIE FOR U MY GOAT *strokes ur pretty face* BC IT IS UR BIRTHDAY WISH FOR ME TO SUFFER AND I LOVE YOU AND I WOULD DO ANYTHING FOR U THEREFORE . DESPITE THIS SICKNESS *FLAILS* I. WILL. BE. BRAVE. I WILL REBLOG THOSE TWENTY POSTS I WILL FLATLINE BY THE THIRD POST AND MY BLOOD WILL BE ON UR HANDS *CAREFULLY ARRANGES MY STUNT GOAT IN POSITION* AND I WILL BE YELLING CURSES AT YOU IN THE TAGS BUT I WILL DIE IN THE NAME OF HONOUR I WILL GO DOWN AS A GOAT NEVER HAS BEFORE 

BUT LIKE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE YOU AND I I LOVE YOU AND I LOVE YOU AND I LOVE YOU AND I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU SO SO SO SO SO SO SO MUCH YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY FANTASTIC I AM SO HAPPY U EXIST. HAVE THE BOMBEST ASS 17TH BIRTHDAY BABE I HOPE UR PARTY IS LIT AND HAVE FUN GETTING DRUNK AND HAVING ALL THE BANTS AND LAFFS AND ALSO I WILL SEND U THE AWAITED EMAIL IN A FEW HOURS WHEN MY INTERENT IS BACK ON  BECAUSE IT IS A CONTINUATION OF THIS BULLSHIT WITH SOME STRUCTURED DISCUSSION AKA WHAT THE FUCK DO U HAVE AGAINST SMIRNOFF ICE how is it not HARDCORE enough for u IT IS LITERALLY FLAVOURED VODKA DOES IT NOT KNOCK OUT UR 6′3 ASS OR WHAT EXCUSE ME 

ANYWAY IN CONCLUSION.

HAPPY. SEVENTEENTH. BIRTHDAY. MY. CHUM.

*BLOWS U A KISS*

*PUTS ON TWO FÜR COATS TO REMAIN UNDETECTED* 

*STEALS ALL UR WEETBIX AND RUNS AWAY TO ALASKA NEVER TO BE SEEN AGAIN*

*still replies ur emails tho cuz i love u bitch y u do dis to me*

[theflickeringmatch]

09/02/2017; The Day The World Turned Upside Down.

The morning of Thursday the 9th of February, 2017 began like any other; I was running behind, having savoured the warmth of my bed for a few moments too long after my alarm roused me from sleep. My fiancé Dean had already departed from our flat to pull the car, a blue Nissan Micra 1998 Twister, into our street, ready for the morning drive to work. I fashioned my hair into an updo of sorts, checked our cats Smokey and Milo had plenty of water and exited our flat.

As was our way, Dean switched the radio on, tuned it to one of the least irritating stations we could agree upon and switched the overzealous heater from the Off position to the only other setting it had; Full. The boiled sweet wrapper the vacuum had claimed from the glove box in weeks past began its familiar rattle against the vent and we set off for Clydebank.

Little did we know that our routine morning jaunt was soon to take a turn.

Dean seamlessly approached the A898 slip road, our car destined for the adjoining crossing point - Erskine Bridge. As we ventured forth, the car immediately in front of ours caught our attention; a learner driver in a white Citroën, the unexperienced motorist appeared to be encountering some difficulty merging into the heavy traffic which populated the bridge. Slowing down to a near stop, the Citroën was almost stationary.

Noting the difficulty Dean’s fellow driver was experiencing but seeing no cause for concern, my eyes drifted back to my lap and the phone I held securely in my hands. I continued to type a message to Dean, a reminder of the calls he had to make that day, and the groceries he had to collect. I glanced back over the dashboard, just as Dean’s attention glanced to his driver’s side wing mirror as he checked for available space to merge.

I saw the rear side of the Citroën approaching the front passenger side of our Nissan far, far too fast.

I screamed Dean’s name even as I instinctively threw my arms outward to either side of my body, bracing for what I knew was the inevitable. All of my concious thought was forsaken as my peripheral vision focused on Dean, watching intently as his attention snapped back to the road ahead and he fought with the steering wheel of our heavy car, wrenching it violently to the right in an attempt to perform an evasive manoeuvre.. too late. Our car was not designed for such handling.

The impact.

The sudden, violent jolt as the front passenger side of our vehicle collided with 40 miles per hour of force against the rear driver side of the learner’s white Citroën. The sound of grinding, crushing metal. The white, static blur which replaces my memories of this part of the incident, serving only to permit me the recollection of the sound of screeching metal, the smell of burning rubber and the very sudden, very real awareness that we were, in fact, upside down. I cannot recall precisely where I “came to,” where my senses prevailed over the sheer determination of my brain to spare me what can only be described as hell; I believe it was when I felt the slap of a hot liquid against my face, and momentarily feared for the worst before I saw my travel mug fly from one side of the car to the other before my eyes.

We were upside down.

My memory, as steadfast as it has proven to be, does not serve to recall the precise details of the incident as clearly as I would like. My ability to process what happened could not quite reach the momentum required to par with the speed of the time frame in which this happened.

I recall sounds, primarily, and force. The sensation of the impact and the sudden, harsh jolt associated with it suddenly transformed into what can perhaps best be likened to a feeling of weightlessness as the car rolled onto the roof. The harsh press of the seatbelt on my shoulder and chest as the fabric held firm against the sudden onslaught of my full weight, and the associated knowledge that if it snapped, I would fall and likely break my neck. The screeching of metal against tarmac was an accompaniment to the thrashing of the stockpile of magazines scattered across the rear seats of the Nissan and the thwack of my travel mug soaring to the other side of the car, spilling its contents on route. Dean may have screamed my name; I honestly cannot recall.

I do remember one aspect of the situation, perhaps because it seems so peculiar to me; I was not frightened. In fact, I felt at peace. I knew that the car was rolling, that my earthly being had no control over the situation in which we had found ourselves and that no matter what the outcome, we were now fated to continue along the path upon which we had begun. For better, or for worse.

When the car eventually came to a halt, I was relieved to note that it was upright again, settled on all four wheels. I instantly moved, freeing my limbs from their brace position and checking that my body was in full working order. My first thought was for Dean and I turned to him, relief flooding my body when I discovered him concious, breathing and seemingly uninjured. I turned to my door, and attempted to release the mechanism and exit the car, but my door wouldn’t move. Just then, Dean’s voice broke my reverie of thought as he yelled, “Get out! Get out! Get out!” I scrambled from the driver side door and stood, shaking, outside the car.

My hands, which were usually as firm as those of a surgeon, were unsteady. I noticed that I was bleeding profusely from what appeared to be a small, insignificant cut on my left index finger. I peered closely at the wound for a brief moment and quickly identified the cause; I extended my right hand and pried from the cut a small shard of what appeared to be windscreen glass. It was then that a concerned motorist, who had clearly witnessed the accident whilst travelling on the opposite side of the bridge, pulled over and hailed me, asking if we were okay. I replied in the affirmative, then the realisation hit me that I could not make out the face of the driver. My glasses had flown off. Thankfully, Dean located both them and my phone, discarded in the heat of the moment, in the back seat of the car.

At that moment, a concerned driver approached us. From what I was able to glean from the situation, our fellow driver had witnessed the collision and in a moment of what in my honest opinion was sheer selfishlessness, he had stopped his van diagonally across the dual carriageway, preventing other vehicles from mounting the bridge at the legal speed limit of 50 miles per hour and colliding with the passenger side of our immobilised Nissan. He had been waving the other drivers back prior to approaching us, when he then pleaded with me to allow him to phone an ambulance. I agreed and we walked to the side of the road, where the driver of a silver Mitsubishi called to me. I greeted her and she immediately asked me if I would like a cigarette, to which I readily agreed.

It later transpired that the driver, whose name I was never given, had chosen to pull over and essentially park at the bottom of the slip road as she was feeling unwell behind the wheel. I bear no ill will towards the driver in question, despite the fact that she then appeared to feel well enough to leave the scene moments later, prior to the arrival of the emergency services. Fleeing from the scene of an accident is a crime.

Dean immediately called his mother to notify her of what had occurred, and I contacted my workplace to inform them that I would not be in attendance at the office for my shift that day. Shortly following the termination of our respective calls, the van driver approached us once again, offering to supply me with a bandage for my finger, which I then noticed had bled almost all of the way down my arm. I accepted, and wrapped the bandage around my affliction. It was crude but it served to stem the bleeding until the ambulance, which had responded in a mere ten minutes, arrived at the scene. We were gently directed to enter the ambulance by two professional, friendly medical personnel. Their relaxed demeanour immediately put us both at ease as they performed routine tests on our respective heart rates, blood pressures and oxygen saturations. They laughed with us as we basked in the sheer relief that we were alive. A highlight of the situation, if you can accept that there is such a thing, was this; Dean had never experienced a fingertip blood sugar test before, and swore when they pricked his finger with the minute pen needle. He hastily apologised, to which they replied, “It’s okay - we like swearers!”

The medical personnel completed their assessment and requested that we sign the relevant paperwork to confirm that we had declined to attend hospital, but would do so should any worrisome symptoms arise. During the time span encompassed by the various tests they performed, Dean’s parents and grandfather had arrived at the scene, and several moments were had during which reassuring words were uttered and tight embraces were shared. The police then performed their appropriate duties; our statements were taken, as were our contact details, Dean was breathalysed. Dean’s parents then drove us to their home, where we exchanged some mild conversation but mostly sat in stunned silence.

Throughout all of this, there were intermittent moments which only serve to add to the surreal element of the situation;

I discovered that the learner driver was in fact a young woman with whom I attended school. She came to the ambulance door, mascara staining her face, and apologised repeatedly for what had happened. She was on her way to her driving test.

I witnessed true shock that day, when the ambulance door opened and the driving instructor was escorted into the ambulance by a police officer. Stuttering, confusing sentences poured from her mouth and she asked repeatedly for water, a request the police officer granted. As it stands, we discovered that day that fire crews always carry bottled water.

So, it seems that “you don’t just walk away from an accident like that.” We were sore, yes, for days afterwards; I had a seatbelt bruise across my chest, and a sizeable bump on my head. I also had to remove a further shard of windscreen glass from the index finger of my left hand only days later. But we were alive.

Our Nissan, affectionately dubbed with the moniker, “SOCK” after its registration plate, S468 OCK, is gone now. Our insurance company valued the car at £500, with an estimated repair bill standing at £3500; a “Total Loss.” The wing mirrors were gone. The windscreen was shattered and had freed itself from the bracket directly above the driver side. Both headlights were smashed. One tyre, at least, was flat and another had a hub cap missing. The paintwork was ruined and there were several large dents on various sections of the vehicle, with the worst being on the passenger side door; not to mention the crumpled passenger side panel. Our temperamental blue Nissan Micra 1998 Twister, 2-Axle Rigid Body, 3 door was towed away by the police at their request, and held in an impound in Greenock until we arrived to collect our belongings.

It may seem cliché, but I honestly hold a new appreciation for life now. Such simple things bring a smile to my face; the wind whipping my hair around my face like a thing possessed, the rays of sunshine that pierce the pale blinds of my workplace and encase my surroundings in a halo of golden light. Small things.

We’re alive, and after all of that.. the damn stubborn 29p sheep Dean purchased for the car antenne is still on the fucking car.