#about my mother and fathers mental and physical health while managing my own barely

[ganondoodle]

i didnt know there was a tag limit apparently- tags got cut off so im adding more here, though i cant remember what it all was (why doesnt tumblr warn you when you add too many tags??)

(but in short, theres lots of mental and physical health stress going on with my parents among more so im just .. trying to hold on to the best of my ability, but being not neurotypical and basically IRL friendless - isolated and with all the world trouble etc .. im jsut not doing good, though less openly depressed its like a surpressed stress- having my escape to all IRL stuff also become stressful is not exactly helping and i dont know how to handle anything)

so with echoes of wisdom .. i havent watched any of the trailers beyond the very first one and the thumbnails/screenshots and what others have said about it-

but with the world inside the rift being called "Welt des Nichts" aka "world of nothing/void" in german ('still' in english, for some reason) and demises title in french being "avatar of nothing" ... yeah my anxiety is shooting through the roof again

(hopefully you can be a little more forgiving for me being anxious/weird about it bc demise is my blorbo)

i had similar worries with totk, that werent proven true thankfully, but the darn book is making it all worse again with all those weird lore things the game doesnt even so much as hint at AND potential retcons- im in for a really rough time huh, not just stress in real life (more in tags.. its alot) but now about my specific hyperfixation from two things even (AND artblock still..)

weird as it may sound, i dont want demise to get more lore, partly bc i dont believe theyd do anything with him that i would like (given their track record) but much more importantly- the fact that he has this little lore about him is precisely one of the reasons why i fell in love with him, i tend to like characters that are neglected by the narrative, and his story being both so flat and already done meant i can be very creative with what i come up with for him without necessarily contradicting anything in canon (which is ... or was a big point of how i wrote destiny's story and lore, working with canon in a way that reframes it all without straight up ignoring it ... but i suppose i urgently need to let go of that and accept i spend alot of time working things that will go to waste :( ) AND not having to worry that there will be more stuff with him that would massively change not only what im writing but also potentially how i feel about him since the game he was briefly in was the oldest chronologically and ended with his death- i didnt expect them to mess with anything that far back and thought theyd just go forward and leave the timeline behind and wouldnt mess with it again, given how botw seemed to be a sort of 'fresh start' that seemingly regarded the past as the past that needs to rest and that the timeline was finally no longer a discussion if everythings unified through botw and one thing going forward

but i suppose i was very wrong with that .__.

right now the only thing that motivates me still is the left over determination and spite to work on my zelda comic, since i have never gotten this far and really want to get something done for once, but i cant lie that im feeling like i should pause all work on it too to wait and see waht the book and the new game will do .. either to determine if i still have the will to keep working on it after those things are out (my love for tloz has been taking alot of hits lately ..) or if i have to change stuff (mostly bc of my lore problem trying to not ignore it ..)

[wrienne]

My Cheating, Amnesic Fiancé 2

Chapter 6: Jung-Hyun's Past

You slammed your fist into the cool surface of the kitchen isle counter. Frustration numbed the pain that had blossomed throughout your hand, and you were tempted to hit something else in an attempt to retain that feeling of numbness.

For your heart felt like it had ruptured.

Why did it have to be so difficult? Why couldn’t you just trust Jungkook? Why had you allowed the conversation to derail as quickly as it had?

Why couldn’t you keep your mouth shut?

You didn’t know for how long you remained in the kitchen, constantly questioning yourself, but sleep soon came for you and forced you to bed. Your brain kept replaying the end of the conversation throughout the rest of the week, however, and that made it nearly impossible for you to concentrate on your tasks at the office. Jung-Hyun didn’t comment on your behavior, and so you thought you were doing a good job of masking just how distracted you were, but by the time Friday afternoon rolled around, he startled you by all of a sudden canceling dinner.

“What?”

You were sitting in your father’s office, buried underneath a sea of paperwork that you had yet to memorize, when Jung-Hyun announced the abrupt change of plans. He was seated before you, remaining by your side much like he had done all week. Over the course of the week, Jung-Hyun had been your guide both in the physical and mental world, leading you around the building when you needed to as well as helping you learn more about the state of business and Phoenix Inc. and your role in all of it. He still stubbornly insisted on calling you huijang-nim, but he had gotten better at not saying it while you were just two. His presence was invaluable, really, and even though you felt bad about the fact that his former position as director had been revoked, you were glad that he was with you.

“I canceled our dinner reservations this morning,” he repeated, his stiff, somber voice patient.

“Yes, but why?” you asked, your mind returning to the issue at hand. “Are you not feeling well?”

“I am quite well.” His eyes, which were so similar to Jungkook in so many ways, were unreadable as always as they regarded you. “It is you I’m concerned about. Did something happen to your father?”

When you returned to work that Wednesday, you had updated Jung-Hyun about your father’s condition. You had hoped the bad news would work as somewhat of a cover-up for your poor performance, but now grimaced when you realized that wasn’t the case.

“No,” you replied. “No, he’s fine. He sends pictures from Jeju Island all the time.”

“Then, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s on your mind?”

“What makes you think I have something on my mind?” you asked intentionally innocently.

Jung-Hyun’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Your mother told me your fluent in Chinese, but I still caught you making numerous easily avoidable language mistakes during the call you had yesterday with the Chinese investor. You had to read Ju-Min’s review of Phoenix Inc.’s central assets for a whole day before you understood anything when I asked you about it, and you seemed only barely cognizant during the meetings with the department heads and managers yesterday and the day before.”

You swallowed. Judging by the look in Jung-Hyun’s eyes, there were more examples that he simply hadn’t bothered to voice yet. But what possible story could you conjure up that would explain your absent-mindedness? It wasn’t as if you could blame it on your father, since you didn’t know how much Jung-Hyun communicated with your parents and you didn’t want to risk him revealing to them just how much stress your father’s weak health was causing you. But you couldn’t exactly tell Jung-Hyun the truth either.

After all, you two were still supposed to be engaged.

“It’s…” You contemplated saying “nothing”, but that sounded stupid even in your own head. “...complicated,” you finished as you lowered your focus to the cluttered desk. “I’ll be better next week.”

Jung-Hyun said nothing, but you could still felt the weight of his gaze on you. You tried to figure out a continued explanation, or at least some sort of half-adequate clarification, but you came up empty every time. Partly because you didn’t dare to lie, and partly because  of the bitter pain in your heart.

Neither you nor Jungkook had made an attempt of contacting one another even once after his abrupt departure that Tuesday evening. You didn’t know what it meant from his side, but you knew that you simply didn’t have the courage to call him. There was also admittedly a part of you that were too proud to apologize. Because although it was technically your fault your evening with Jungkook had been ruined, you weren’t wholly to blame. You would have never gotten as angry as you would have if he hadn’t accused you of cheating on him, an accusation made so much worse what with your history - and the omission of his and Yi-Jae’s romantic duet from any of your earlier conversations.

“I see,” said Jung-Hyun finally.

You looked up. He wore an unreadable expression as always, which made it hard to gauge his true intents, but you decided to take his answer for what it was. “Thank you for thinking about my wellbeing, but you should have asked me before you cancelled. I’m guessing we can’t re-reserve a table, right?”

Jung-Hyun nodded once.

“You…” You paused, then went for it. “You haven’t reconsidered telling me more about yourself, have you? Is that the real reason why you cancelled our dinner tonight?”

“No,” he replied. If he was offended or perhaps amused by your blunt question, you did not know. “I told you I would, and therefore I will.”

“Are you sure?” You weren’t going to lie, ever since he had first told you that he would reveal more of himself, there had been a growing seed of suspicion that Jung-Hyun was regretting his decision.

“I’m certain.”

“Well, can’t we just talk here?” you wondered carefully. “It’s a more private setting than a restaurant, so you won’t have to worry about potentially being overheard.”

Jung-Hyun glanced at his wristwatch. “Are you not hungry?”

“Not really.” Truth is, you were, but you could persevere. “We can get something to eat later. So what do you say?”

“Okay.”

Jung-Hyun didn’t continue immediately. Instead, he remained quiet as he seemed to gather himself. Anticipation made you tense up your muscles, and you forced yourself to relax. Leaning back into your father’s big desk chair, you let out a small breath of air and intertwined your fingers in an attempt to keep them away from scratching up your arms.

“I was fourteen when I moved to Seoul.” Jung-Hyun’s eyes were distant as he finally spoke. “Since I was and had always been at the top of my class, I managed to convince my aunt to let me move to her apartment so that I could live closer to the SKY-universities, which I hoped to apply for when I was old enough. I wanted to become a doctor or lawyer or a businessman. At least, that’s what I told my parents and my aunt.”

Jung-Hyun let out what could have been a quiet snort before he went on. “I don’t know if you remember, but my father used to work underneath yours for over a decade ago until he went about to start a business of his own. He couldn’t get enough financial aid from the bank, however, so your father lent him some. But my father has never been good with money.

“Instead of using it for his business, as he had said he would, he used everything to clear up his old debts with the local loan sharks. He then borrowed the same amount from loan sharks in a different area to start up his business, but eventually lost everything on bad investments and needless spending. It didn’t take very long before he went to additional loan sharks to pay back the other ones, and he continued to bury us deeper in debt through this endless cycle of worthless money.

“Meanwhile, the conditions at home were worsening.” Jung-Hyun clasped his hands together and looked at you, his expression solemn. “As you already know, Jungkook was affected very severely by my father’s… treatment , but so was my mother. And so was I.”

You remembered when Jungkook had revealed this same information a few months ago, but he had never mentioned anything about Jung-Hyun. You had just naturally assumed that it was because Jung-Hyun hadn’t been present during that time, but clearly, you had been wrong. Jungkook had merely decided not to speak about Jung-Hyun.

“Did he…” You soaked your lips. “Did he hit you, too?”

Jung-Hyun’s eyes were unreadable. “He didn’t lift a hand against me like he did Jungkook and my mother, but he did tell me to do things. Things that changed me, perhaps permanently.”

“What things?”

Jung-Hyun hesitated, and you saw a shadow of uncertainty cross the surface of his eyes before he continued. “I… I was a very unassuming child, growing up. I was thin, short and so nervous and shy and frightened all the time that I could barely speak without stuttering. I was quiet most of the time, and hid behind books whenever I could. I despised being in the center of attention.

“All of this caused me to get bullied a lot. When my father discovered that, he blamed me for it. He said it was my own fault for being so weak, and did what he could to make me ‘stronger’.”

“Like what?” you asked carefully.

You didn’t want to prod, but you felt compelled to find out more in detail so that you could understand Jung-Hyun and his past better and thereby help him. Because that’s what you wanted to do. You didn’t know how, or if it was even possible, but you knew you had to at least try. If it was because of guilt or perhaps even that superhero complex that Se-Eun kept nagging you about, you did not know. You only hoped you weren’t being too nosy or appeared insensitive - and that Jung-Hyun would open up to you.

Jung-Hyun seemed contemplative for a moment, his focus drifting sideways. The silence lasted so long you thought he might have just refused answering your question altogether when he finally spoke.

“I was nine when he enrolled me into every martial arts class that I could possibly attend. I was ten when I managed to run a eight kilometer lap without pausing. I was eleven when he forced me to stand out on the balcony twice every week for a whole day in winter, wearing nothing but underpants and a t-shirt. I was twelve when I realized I had forgotten how it feels to cry.”

You raised a hand to your mouth to hide just how shocked you were, but Jung-Hyun probably read the emotion in your eyes anyway. He shifted slightly where he sat, and averted his gaze again.

“I was overjoyed when I boarded the plane to Seoul,” he told you quietly. “My aunt was very lenient as a guardian, and allowed me to do whatever I wanted to as long as I was first in my class, which I always was. I felt free for the first time in my life, and that freedom intoxicated me.”

“It didn’t take long before I got into the wrong circle of friends, but it wasn’t until my aunt was relocated to Suwon due to her work that I truly stepped into the criminal world.” The corners of Jung-Hyun’s lips curved downward. “That’s when I encountered the Hwan Song Sun Pa.”

“I had a lesser following of my own during high school, which drew the attention of one of their bosses. I didn’t want to join at first, but they were very persuasive, and I eventually gave in. It didn’t take me long to climb the ranks within the organization, and I soon caught the eye of the Boss.”

Jung-Hyun didn’t have to clarify what he meant by “the Boss”. There was an immense sense of respect and gratitude in his stiff, somber voice, and although he had sounded reluctant, almost ashamed throughout his reminiscence, he now spoke with the kind of faint happiness nostalgic memories could sometimes evoke.

“The Boss saved me,” he told you. “I never applied for university since I thought I would be doing mob-related stuff from thereon, but he saw just how uncertain I really was about their endeavor. I didn’t see a future within the criminal world, at least not a long one, and although I was afraid to say it, I had to tell him the truth when he demanded it from me. I thought he was going to punish me, or even dispose of me, but all he did was to tell me to come see him after I was done serving my time at the military.”

“I was twenty-two when I returned to Suwon. I didn’t know what I was expecting when I saw the Boss, but it was definitely not what I was actually met with. He gave me more money than I had ever seen in my entire life and told me I had been accepted by Harvard Business School.”

You didn’t want to interrupt Jung-Hyun, who rarely spoke as much as he currently was, but you had to. “Why?” you wondered. “And what was the catch?”

“I wasn’t to return to South Korea,” replied Jung-Hyun solemnly. “Or at least not come in contact with any members of the organization, or really, the whole criminal world, for as long as I lived. As for why he aided me, I do not know. But he was a good man - a better man than anyone might have expected from a person in his position. Perhaps he wanted to give me a second chance. Perhaps he was afraid that my ambivalence would disturb my performance at work.”

“‘Was’?” you echoed, the word unable to slip past your tense senses.

There wasn’t even the slightest hint of emotion on Jung-Hyun’s features as he spoke. “He died. One year ago, if certain people are to be believed.”

You frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

A slight line appeared between Jung-Hyun’s brows. “I have been in contact with a few of my old friends from the organization, but I did not know if I could trust them. I therefore decided to get information from other sources.”

“But didn’t your boss tell you explicitly not to?”

Jung-Hyun nodded, his jaw setting firmly.

You swallowed, sensing a connection. “Does this have something to do with last month when I saw you in your hotel room?”

His jaw clenched further. ���Perhaps,” he said. “But perhaps it would have occurred regardless of whether I made my presence known or not. What matters is that I’m one step closer to finding out how the Boss died. Or rather, how he was murdered.”

“You’re on some kind of revenge quest?” you asked with a deep frown.

“No. I’m on a hunt for justice.”

You rubbed your forehead. “But why? It sounds like the reason your boss sent you overseas was so you could get away from all this criminal stuff. Why return to it?”

A hint of sorrow filled Jung-Hyun’s eyes as he aimed them at you. “Being part of a crime organization as large and powerful as the Hwan Song Sun Pa is not like having a job, (Y/N). It’s a lifestyle, and it’s as difficult to get out of as the tattoo on my shoulder. Even if I were to remove it with laser operations, I can never truly get the traces of it out of my cells. Even if I were to hide it underneath clothes or makeup, I cannot forget it - and how it has forged me. The least I can do is to help vindicate the death of the closest person I’ve ever had to a  proper fatherfigure.”

It was quiet for a long time between you two after that. You had a few dozen inquires you wanted answered, like how he first met “the Boss” and what he’s been doing ever since he returned to South Korea, but there was a question that burned brighter than all of them combined.

“Jung-Hyun,” you began slowly, skipping the “oppa” in light of such a serious conversation. “I don’t know what the hierarchy of a crime syndicate looks like, but for you to have gained such a huge favor from the leader must mean you used to be quite important in general. What exactly did you do while you were a member of the Hwan Song Sun Pa?”

Jung-Hyun didn’t respond. He simply stared out of the panoramic windows, his eyes tracking something moving far away.

“Jung-Hyun,” you tried again, although his reluctance was practically tangible. “What made you climb the ranks so fast? What did you do? And what are you going to do if you find the culprit of your Boss’ murderer?”

With a shudder that you fought to hide, you involuntarily recalled the scenery in Jung-Hyun’s hotel room, almost one month ago. Aside from the cuts on his hands and forearms, there had been a lot more scars on his body than you had time to count them during your short visit. Almost all of them had looked different from one another, which probably meant he had gotten them separately over the years. And if you assumed he hadn’t been in a ugly fight since after the military when he was sent off to Harvard, that meant he must have gotten the scars before and or during his time in the army.

Judging by the sheer amount of scars, that could hardly bode well.

Jung-Hyun rubbed his clean-shaven jaw for a few moments, his eyes still locked onto the scenery below, before he abruptly stood up. “I need a smoke,” he murmured as he turned away from you.

“I’ll come along,” you said immediately and rose.

Jung-Hyun froze and peered over his shoulder at you. “You don’t have to,” he said, his features stiff. It was clear what he really meant: he didn’t want you to come along.

“It’s fine,” you said insistently as you gathered up your phone and purse. “I need some fresh air.”

“You won’t be getting that near me.”

“Besides,” you went on, ignoring Jung-Hyun’s comment, “I’m hungry. We don’t have to eat somewhere fancy to fill our stomachs, right? Let’s go get some samgyeopsal.”

He let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t want to talk more about my past, (Y/N). Not tonight, at least.”

Jung-Hyun’s tone had quivered toward the end of the sentence, and for a second, you thought you saw the boy he had told you he once was. Timid, quiet and scared and “weak”. Sympathy rose within you, and you felt briefly ashamed over your curiosity.

“Alright,” you said reluctantly. “I won’t mention it more tonight. But I need to know more. I need to know why.”

“Why?”

“To help you, of course,” you said truthfully.

Jung-Hyun turned around fully. Judging by the ever so slight furrow between his brows, he seemed to doubt you, or at least be uncertain. “So you’re not going to report me to the police?”

“Have you done something bad?”

“Not yet.”

You pursed your lips. “Jung-Hyun, I’m not going to let you do something illegal.”

“I can’t promise you I will be able to restrain myself once I identify the people responsible for the Boss’ death.”

You opened your mouth to protest and plead for him to see reason, but then caught yourself. Jung-Hyun was already searching for a way to get out of the conversation, which was understandable, but not the result you sought. Even if the two of you spoke about nothing but work the rest of that evening, you would be fine spending that time with him.

For now you realized just how emotionally scarred he really must be - and how long he must have battled the ghosts of his past by himself.

You grabbed your blazer, which you had discarded earlier when you were getting frustrated over numbers and names. “As long as you don’t do something illegal,” you began in a lenient tone, “I won’t get the police involved. But please don’t try to do things on your own. We can hire private investigators to figure out who the culprit is.”

“Why?” he murmured.

You raised your brows. “Well, because that’s what private investigators are for, aren’t they? Snooping around, getting information...”

Jung-Hyun shook his head. “No, I mean why are you helping me? I thought...” His voice trailed away, and he lowered his gaze.

“You thought what?” you asked gently.

“I haven’t told anyone about this, ever. I didn’t think you would be so… tolerant.”

You paused at this. There were countless of ways you could answer his question, half of which were somewhat true, half of which were somewhat untrue. You knew you cared about Jung-Hyun, if not as a fiancé then at least as a friend, and you didn’t want him to get hurt. However, there was also a part of you that was afraid of what Jung-Hyun’s past occupation might entail, especially since he had so clumsily dodged answering your inquiry earlier. You had absolutely no wish of entering the criminal world, but if Jung-Hyun felt compelled for whatever reason to pursue the murderer or murderers of a man who once did him a great kindness, you wouldn’t let him walk alone.

Because he had walked alone long enough already.

“I…” you started, before you bit your lower lip. How were you supposed to explain to Jung-Hyun how you felt in regard to his predicaments, both past and present? How could you voice just how much sympathy you felt for both him and Jungkook, and how badly you wanted to help them both? How could you say that without sounding condescending?

You shook your head clear from thoughts. Hesitating wouldn’t do. No, you needed to find a way to express your attitude in a manner that wouldn’t be plain stupid or patronizing. And you might have just the right solution, now that you thought about it.

“We’re in this together now,” you said and held up your left hand, which bore the ring he had bought you. “I have a responsibility to both Phoenix and my parents, but I also have a responsibility to you.”

Jung-Hyun’s eyes were nothing but dark pools as he regarded you for a long while. You shifted awkwardly, wondering briefly if you had been too forward with your implication, while simultaneously feeling a bit ashamed inside. You weren’t technically cheating on neither Jungkook nor Jung-Hyun, but you knew that it wasn’t the most optimal of situations. If only Jungkook could get over his jealousy and find a way to get along with Jung-Hyun, you wouldn’t have to lie to either of them. But for now, you knew that you had to keep them apart.

“I see.”

Jung-Hyun turned back around and started toward the door. You opened your mouth, thinking he might have decided to disregard your words, when he glanced over his shoulder and halted.

“Let’s eat.”

Humid air immediately clung to your body and hair by the time you and Jung-Hyun exited the enormous revolving door at the front of the Phoenix Inc. Seoul Headquarters. Glancing up at the sky, you saw that the clouds were already gathering for another night of drenching rain. You only hoped the two of you would find shelter and food before that happened.

Silently, you followed Jung-Hyun down the street. He wore an unreadable expression, as per usual, and remained expressionless as he took out a tiny white and red packet from his inner chest pocket. He unceremoniously placed a cigarette between his lips and lit it with a lighter he carried in his pocket, letting out a cloud of white smoke in the shadow of the dingy alley you two had entered.

You leaned against the wall next to him and tried your best to inhale as little of the foul smoke as possible. He said nothing, and neither did you, and at first, it didn’t really bother you. But by the time Jung-Hyun lit his third cigarette, the silence turned to, if not awkwardness, then plain idleness.

You turned toward Jung-Hyun, who stood with his back against the building wall. “Why did you come back to South Korea?” you wondered.

Jung-Hyun’s eyes widened ever so slightly as he glanced your direction. “I was told by my mother that you refused to marry Jungkook and that I would therefore have to step in.”

“Would you have returned otherwise?”

“No.”

You gave him a small smile, even though a twinge of guilt pierced your heart. “Thanks. For coming, I mean. You must have left a lot behind in the States.”

He let out a puff of smoke. “Are you wondering if I had a girlfriend?”

You blushed. “No,” you said truthfully. “I didn’t even think about that.”

The corners of Jung-Hyun’s thin lips curved infinitesimally upward. “Really?” he asked, a hint of amusement entering his otherwise somber, stiff tone.

“Really,” you affirmed.

“Aren’t you going to ask me about her?”

You arched your brows. “You had a girlfriend?” you exclaimed, unable to hide your shock.

“Is it really that unlikely?”

If you hadn’t known that the slight curve of his mouth was the extent of Jung-Hyun’s amusement, at least what you had witnessed thus far, you might have thought he was being sarcastic, or even offended. You knew better than to assume the latter two, however, and quickly sent him an apologetic smile.

“I--no,” you amended hastily. “I just, I don’t know. I don’t know what I thought.”

Jung-Hyun tapped his cigarette with his finger, releasing a thin sliver of ash that fell to the ground, blending with the bleak colour of the old asphalt. “Apart from a handful of friends,” he began, “I did have a girlfriend.”

“Oh, okay,” you said, still embarrassed over your recent misstep. “Were you two together for long?”

Jung-Hyun lifted and lowered the cigarette to his lips once. The smoke escaped through the right corner of his mouth, and rose slowly toward the sky. “We met the very first day I went to Harvard,” he told you. “We got along from start. I would have liked to stay in contact with her even after I came back here, but that would not be appropriate considering my current status.”

“So you broke up with her and haven’t spoken to her since you left?”

“Yes.”

You pursed your lips and stared down at the ground. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled.

“Why are you sorry?”

“You had to leave so much behind because of me,” you replied stiffly. “And I never even thought about it before now.”

“It’s fine.”

You looked up, your eyes widening in surprise. Jung-Hyun’s eyes were gentle as they held yours, and he tossed away the butt of his cigarette.

“Our breakup was bound to happen eventually,” he continued. “So do not feel sorry about it. Besides, I would have never found out about my Boss’ death had I not returned.”

You opened your mouth to say that you didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but you had only just began speaking when Jung-Hyun’s eyes focused on something behind you. It wouldn’t have been anything out of the ordinary, if it weren’t for the fact that you had never seen Jung-Hyun’s eyes that wide - and never with so much emotion.

In the blink of an eye, Jung-Hyun grabbed hold of your blouse and pushed you aside with enough force to make you lose your breath. You gasped for air, an angry and admittedly terrified retort already rising from your throat, but you lost all ability to speak when you saw an unknown man standing pressed up against Jung-Hyun.

For there was a growing patch of unmistakably red fluid spreading throughout the midsection of Jung-Hyun’s shirt.

[thewhiteroseofvermilion]

Moving Forward

Hello everyone. It’s been a long time since I’ve last spoken to you all, and an even longer time since I’ve last updated this story. Over the months and years, my absence has saddened, frustrated, and even angered many of you. Despite my own valid feelings of how—to put it bluntly—I don’t owe any of you anything as this is something I do for free and in my own free time, I still recognize how it must feel for you all to see something you enjoy so much slowly lose momentum and eventually grind to a halt. Furthermore, my habit of making enthusiastic yet empty statements in between didn’t help either. 

As such, a proper and honest explanation is due, as anything less would be unkind. This will be lengthy, but please bear with me. 

For the past four years, it’s been increasingly difficult to find the time, energy, and motivation for me to properly sit down and write. Seemingly gone are the early days of this story’s life when I was able to publish a new chapter every month or so, or even every two weeks when I was at the top of my game in terms of activeness. Even though I had an immense workload due to being a double major in college, leading me to adopt the best work ethic I’ve ever had, I still led a sheltered lifestyle where I didn’t have to worry about the many looming, inevitable adult responsibilities that were ahead of me.

Those tranquil years of course came to an end when I graduated, and I soon felt immense pressure to shift my attention to finding work, living independently, and working on things that would further my career. While I received support as an aspiring writer from the majority of my family, those being my mother and sister, the both of them commented more frequently as time passed by that my “fanfiction” wasn’t something that I should be spending so much time on anymore. After all, it’s not like I could sell the work as my own, and the fact that despite fanfiction absolutely being a valid artform, it wasn’t something that the world of professional employers cared about. 

Nonetheless, when I did eventually find work as a film freelancer, I still tried to persevere and write on the side. My goal back then was to work in film in order to sustain my pursuit in writing. Film was something I went to school for, greatly enjoyed, and even saw a possible future career for myself in, but it was the writing aspect of it that I was truly after, that being primarily screenwriting. 

After two years of living at home, I felt the need to try and live independently as I outgrew my tiny room and my mom started dating a man that I didn’t particularly like. I knew it wasn’t financially smart of me to do so when my mom allowed me to live with her rent-free. But at the time I thought that it would help me to become more mature and productive, as I would have to force myself to work in order to put a roof over my head and food on the table—as opposed to living a sheltered life at home where everything was taken care of for me. Essentially, I was longing for the lifestyle I had in college, thinking that once I returned to it, I would be able to reacquire that once incredible work ethic I had. 

So, I became roommates with a friend from college and together we rented a townhouse together. Rent wasn’t terribly expensive, but it wasn’t cheap either. Regardless, I was able to make ends meet. My greatest challenge however, was to live up to my family’s spoken and unspoken expectations. On one hand, my mother was sweet and understanding, naturally giving me her full support. My father, on the other, always thought that it’d be better for me to pursue something safer and more lucrative, and to not risk being a starving artist. But the one I had to prove myself the most to was my older sister, who was wildly more successful than I was—financially and professionally. My pay compared to hers was like a drop in a bucket, and I felt both indirect and direct pressure from her to be more “professional” like her. Therefore, I threw myself into my work, which is when things slowly began to go downhill. 

As a film freelancer, my work hours usually averaged between 10-12 hours a day, and with my work taking me all over my home state of Maryland and even into neighboring Washington DC and Virginia, my commute time to and from work ranged anywhere from an additional 1-3 hours. It became incredibly common for me to wake up for work anywhere between 3-6 AM and not get home until 8-10 PM. 

Unbeknownst to me at the time, I slowly slipped into a routine where when I did have the “time” to write, I had zero energy or motivation as my work was so taxing. I reached the point where I had to drink two energy drinks with 300mg of caffeine to get myself to and from work. I saw less and less of my roommate and friends. I spent an alarming amount of money and gained weight from ordering take-out so often because I hadn’t the energy to cook for myself when I got home late from work. There would even be days when I fell into what felt like comas, sleeping up to two days straight at one point. My physical, mental, and emotional health was in serious decline. And yet I didn’t see it that way, as I had become obsessed with trying to prove to my family, my sister in particular, that I wasn’t a failure and that my pursuit of writing wasn’t a hopeless one.

During the first month of COVID-19′s outbreak last year, I finally had a much-needed vacation. This was undoubtedly the best time for me to have returned to writing—but I didn’t. At this point, so much time had passed since my last proper writing session that the few times I did try to write, I found myself completely unable to write anything. I was so out of practice and so out of touch with what I had written. This honestly frightened me, and I soon began to doubt if I could ever be able continue the story with the same quality that so many readers fell in love with. Regrettably, I fled from this revelation long enough for a full month to pass by, and I soon found myself busy with yet another distraction: unemployment. 

I was out of work for about 4.5 months, from the middle of March to the beginning of August. During this time, I had to rely on state unemployment, which earned me great scorn from my older sister. Our relationship had always been uneven since we were kids, but it was becoming increasingly toxic as of late since our college years. I felt so ashamed to tell her how much money I made in a year from my job as a film freelancer, and how I barely managed to move to a better position after four years of work. Riddled with guilt and disappointment in myself, when work became readily available again in August, I frantically threw myself back in harder than ever before. In the past where I had turned down the occasional job to give myself some time to relax or in order to make it to a social outing with friends, I now accepted every job thrown my way, only declining those that would make me double-book myself. I earned a lot of money during those months as a result, and I was so happy to finally distance myself from the stigma of being “unemployed.” However, I once again failed to see that I was yet again sliding back into the lifestyle that had been slowly poisoning me for the past two years. 

After essentially working non-stop from August to March, my body, mind, and soul soon returned right back to the brink of collapse. It wasn’t until then at my lowest point when I finally realized how I initially went from working to sustain myself in order to write, to not writing at all and only working to sustain myself to work even more. It was truly scary to see myself fall victim to a brutal cycle of unfulfilling work that could have trapped me for years to come if I hadn’t broken free first. That’s when I realized that my lifestyle was personally unsustainable, and that something had to change. 

Henceforth, I’ve made the difficult decisions to both transition out of film freelancing and to soon return home to live with my father. At the end of April, the homeowner of the townhouse my roommate and I had been living in for close to three years gave us our 30-days-notice to vacate, as they no longer wished to rent but to sell the property. As my roommate had been planning on finding a place of his own with his girlfriend for quite some time, we split amicably at the end of last month in May and I’ve since moved into a temporary apartment with a friend who has traveled back to Maryland for seasonal work. 

Regarding the change in my career, I’ve been looking into applying for writing positions for something that I’ve grown to enjoy over the past few years, which is to write reviews for media such as film, anime, and videogames. This of course is not what I truly want to do in life, but I think that because it actually involves writing, it would be both good practice in terms of practicing my writing and experience in terms of resume-building. Furthermore, a stable “9-5″ job as such would be good for me, I think, as it would introduce some desperately needed structure back into my life. Being a freelancer was definitely fun as I had the power to choose my own schedule, but it unfortunately fostered a lot of laziness and procrastination when I wasn’t completely burnt out. 

I’ve shared with you all this information, a great deal of it being very personal, in the hopes that it helps you better understand who I am as a person and what I’ve been going through these past four years. 

I understand that my word may be difficult to trust due to my history, but I sincerely wish to let you all know from the bottom of my heart that I do plan on continuing writing The White Rose of Vermilion until it’s completed. My fears and insecurities may have alienated me from that promise, but not once did I ever entertain the idea of fully dropping the story. And I promise you, I never will. It most likely will not further my career in any way, bring any revenue in, and will continue to consume a great deal of my precious free time—yet I still choose to pursue continuing it because I can’t see a future where I don’t finish it.

It is after all my most cherished project; the reason that I was able to truly find my calling as an aspiring writer, its success also ultimately being the proof to my mother that I had some skill as a budding writer, who then gave me her full blessings to pursue it as a career. But most important of all is that it’s the reason why I was able to experience first-hand one of the most important and beautiful discoveries in my entire life. That being the incredible phenomenon of how art is like a beacon—its bright light is powerful enough to reach out and inspire others to create art of their own. From Monty Oum to Nancy Phetchareune to myself, I was blessed enough to see readers create wonderful fanart to show me or tell me in a review that reading my story had inspired them to create something of their own.

I am officially leaving behind my prolonged hiatus and returning to working on The White Rose of Vermilion. While I am extremely hesitant to even estimate when the next chapter will be published, please know that I am genuinely trying to leave behind my habits of old and returning to a more consistent schedule. 

The White Rose of Vermilion will return in:

Arc II, Chapter Twenty-Seven: Stranger in the Night

[allegra-writes]

"Get Gone"

Cherry x Reader

General audiences

Warnings: Angst. No happy ending, but a hopeful one.

MY MASTERLIST

"How many times can it escalate

Till it elevates to a place I can't breathe?

And I must decide, if you must deride

That I'm much obliged to up and go

I'll idealize, then realize

That it's no sacrifice because the price is paid

And there's nothing left to grieve"

Get Gone - Fiona Apple

"You need to go away. Now!"

"No! No, I'm not going anywhere until I talk to y/n!"

"She's not here"

"That's bullshit, I can see her bedroom light on! Y/n! Y/N!!"

"Son" You couldn't help but flinch as your father's voice joined the commotion outside your window: His health was weak enough as it was, he didn't need that kind of stress on him "you need to leave before I call the police"

"Too late" Your sister's snappy tone let you know even her, usually mellow and sweet, had had enough, "I already did, and in the state you're in?" You didn't need to see him to guess how your boyfriend -no, not boyfriend,  fiancé- looked, disheveled with his ratty jeans and dirty hair. Hollowed cheeks and red eyed, probably very obviously stoned out of his mind. "I don't think you wanna run into them…"

"She means it, son. Y/n doesn't want to talk to you. Just get gone…" 

The loud crash followed by a car door being slammed and the hideous squeal of tires on pavement told you your fiancé had lost his temple, again, before giving up and leaving.

Only then, did you allow the tears that were trying to escape to finally flow freely.

It broke your mother's heart, to see her little girl's fragile frame being shaken by the violent sobs as she tried to drown her cries against the covers of her old childhood bed. 

And just like she used to do back when you were little, she started rubbing your back, hating the feeling of helplessness in front of a pain she couldn't protect you from.

"I don't understand" You could barely make out the sound of her voice over your own muffled screams, "honey… you're not the kind of girl to turn away from the people you love…" 

"I can't help him, mom" It was painful, trying to talk with your throat so raw after hours of crying, but somehow you managed, "I don't know what to do anymore and- and he is suffering, he's hurting himself but he's hurting me too and I can't…"

You didn't notice you were choking until your mom's rubbing turned into soft hits. She wrapped her arms around you, forcing you into a sitting position. A glass of water materialized in front of you, and you chugged it down.

"He needs professional help, mom…" you croaked, still holding onto the cold glass, as if it could physically support you, hold you up.

"I know"

"And I just can't…"

"I know, baby. I know…" 

Her sighed echoed your broken one, as she took the empty glass from your shaking hands. 

"I just can't see how this can be the right thing. Not when you still love him, not when it's making you cry like this."

You met her eyes, using every last bit of lucidity, every last ounce of clarity you possessed in trying to find the right words to explain in a way she could understand. 

"Yes, it hurts, and it's making me cry" You said, at last, with more conviction than you were feeling, praying with all your might that your words would prove true one day. That inner strength was one of those things you could fake till you made it. "And I'll probably keep on crying. In fact, I'll probably cry myself to sleep tonight. And tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, and the day after that. But one day, I won't. One day, I won't be crying anymore, and being away from him won't hurt as if someone were drilling a hole inside my chest.

And I won't be happy that day, but some day after that, I will. And one day, even further away from now, maybe… maybe I will even find love again," Your voice broke, but you went on, because maybe if you could make it through till the end, you could make it through, "and that time… that time, it won't hurt. And maybe that time, it will be forever, for real"

The world tilted to the side, out of focus once again, as your mother brought you into her arms, letting you bury your head against her chest, while she showered soft, soothing kisses on the top of your hair.

"You will, baby, I know you will. You are the strongest person I know" she admitted, prompting a fresh river of tears to fall from your eyes, soaking her sweater, "if anyone can do this, it's you. I'm so proud of you." 

You could feel the warm drops, the tears of her own, falling on your hair, but it was okay. Because for the first time that day, the tears were not tears of heartbreak, or pain. For the first time that day, you were not feeling sadness, or shame, or guilt, because for the first time that day, there wasn't any judgement or doubt in your mother's voice. She understood, and what was more, she believed in you.

And that allowed you to start believing in yourself too.

The End.

Author's note: I have made my opinion on writing fics based on the novelization and/or movie based on Nico Walker's life quite known in the past. More specifically, about the sexualization of romanticization of the characters or situations depicted in them. I said time and time again that I would neither read nor write works with Cherry as the protagonist and even blocked the tag for a while. 

However, today I had a talk with my aunt, and she made me realize I may have gone about the whole situation completely wrong. Cherry is toxic, no doubt about that, so every relationship in his life gets tainted with that toxicity. And he was that way long before his army days but… the girls seeing Tom as him in a movie are not the first to ever romanticize a soldier. 

My aunt belonged to a whole generation of teenagers that idealized war and the men going to fight it. They were their boyfriends, their husbands, in many cases their very first loves. And like many, she saw what her boyfriend did as an honorable duty. Like Emily, she thought the right thing to do was wait for her fiancé to come back. 

Like Cherry, he came back changed. He came back a broken man, and for a long time she felt like her moral duty was stick to his side until he recovered. 

But she was just a 19 year old kid, with mental health problems of her own, in no way equipped to handle his PTSD, his night terrors, violent outbursts or his budding addiction. 

The story you just read, is her story. Exactly as it happened, unembellished and true. The dialogs in it, the real words she and my now late grandmother exchanged. I have tears in my eyes as I write this, but she wanted me to share this story with you. Because, sometimes, no matter how much you love someone, you can't save them if they don't want to be saved and the only healthy thing you can do is save yourself. Because sometimes the right thing to do feels wrong. Because "ride or die" means in richness and in poverty, not setting your own life on fire because your partner's is up in flames (or, you know, becoming an addict because your partner does drugs). And because sometimes, when you realize someone is not good for you, the best thing you can do FOR YOURSELF like she said, is crying yourself to sleep every night because you have to stay away from them and it breaks your heart, but knowing one day… one day the tears will stop. 

[ciggylungz]

Worship me- Chapter.1

Worship me- Chapter 1.

word count- 3.3k

Summary: Harry is the typical bad boy in town, and Y/n is an innocent Catholic school girl, with a few skeletons in her closet

Warnings: mentions of abusive family, arranged marriage, some major angst and triggering themes

(this in no way is meant to be offensive, I grew up catholic and in a very bad household it was very toxic and detrimental to my health mentally and physically and I endured a lot of harm from the hands of the catholic church. But please remember that is only my experience and I support anyone with whatever religion they chose to practice, and please keep in mind this is fiction and meant to be taken as such. Xoxo H)

__

 The sun was just reaching it’s full peak as Y/n finished putting on her school uniform, she always hated how early she had to get up for school and it didn’t help her parents forced her to get up at 4:30 each morning to pray and read the page of the bible her father had picked out for the day. So, by 6:30 she was already knuckling at her eyes while buckling her black Mary Janes and rushing out the door with an empty stomach since her mother always said ‘fasting in the morning showed devotion to god’ which she truly didn’t understand. She didn’t understand a lot of the things her parents pushed on her and her siblings, some of it even scared her but she knew better than to open her mouth about it, she knew all she’d get in return is a tongue lashing and her faced shoved into a bible while she got spanked by her father. She found herself growing more and more scared as she grew older, her home seemed to get more hostile as the days went by but to her it was normal, it’s all she ever knew so she never questioned the things her parents groomed her for.

She tried not to drag her feet on the sidewalk while she made her way towards her school, she knew it would scoff her school shoes and her mother got very angry the last time she came home with scarred leather on the toes. Y/n truly felt exhausted today, she felt sad, tired, a bit overwhelmed and very hungry since she wasn’t allowed any food after 6 in the evening and then she had to withhold breakfast from herself in honor of god. She was really starting to feel the negative affects of some of these practices, her body getting thinner, her energy dropping quickly and the shivers and headaches were constant. Yet she kept her mouth shut, because ‘That’s what nice girls do’, and y/n didn’t want to be bad she wanted to be praised, she wanted to be adored and loved. But no matter how submissive she is to her parents; she never seems to get any of what she needs. She even kept track in her diary of how many days it had been since someone told her they loved her, today marks day 128.

She could barely hear the chatter of her peers as she made her way through the corridor, her head was already beginning to pound in her temples and her exhaustion was like a weighted blanket draped over her. She didn’t realize she was walking straight into the wall until she felt a palm press against her forehead stopping her from smacking her head into it, her knees still knocked into the navy blue tiles that decorated the bottom half of the walls causing a small ‘umph’ to escape her lips as she shifted her sleepy eyes to the person attached to the hand. There she saw Harry, his left eyebrow was raised slightly in a questioned manner while he looked down at her.

Y/n knew Harry, they were friendly with each other and she really liked him. He was the only person who really payed her any mind, and while she knew he was a bit of a trouble maker he was always kind to her. They shared a science and English class together, their desks lined up next to each other in the cramped classrooms of her private school always making their knees knock together and elbows to push each other’s work off the desks by accident, something rather annoying but the pair got along well enough it never caused his notorious attitude to flare up.

“You okay? Walkin’ like a zombie today kid.” He popped his gum between his teeth loudly, making her eyes blink on reflex before she brought her palms up to rub them slightly. “I’m really tired…sorry I didn’t mean to bother you”. Harry had no idea why she was apologizing, but he noticed it’s something she did a lot. Even when there was nothing to be sorry for and it always made him feel a bit sad, it was odd to him since the usually group of friends he hung with was very much the rough and tumble, unapologetic type.

“What are ya’ talkin’ about? Didn’t bother me, was making sure you didn’t hurt yourself, love.” While Harry was not a soft or sweet kid typically, he was always gentle with the girl. He called her pet names a lot and tried to keep his usual rough tone out of his mouth while he spoke to her. She was a sweetheart and he truly appreciated how pure her aura and personality is and he never wanted to do anything to jeopardize that. It was rare for him to ever be around a positive person if he’s being honest.

She simply shrugged and nodded, a yawn escaping her mouth before she looked up at him with hooded eyes, his own narrowing a bit just having a gut feeling something was off. She looked frail almost, he’s never seen her look dull and he didn’t like it. He was used to her being warm and bubbly, so seeing her look so down made his jaw clench. “Hey, look at me Y/n. What’s wrong? Can tell somethings up, want to talk to m’ about it?” her eyes seemed to glaze over a bit at his proposition, she wanted to talk about it but she knew she couldn’t. Her parents had forced into her mind that if she opened her mouth and told people about her feelings or things that went on at home, that god would hate her and she was scared of that. She was too deep in their game to see her parents would be the ones under gods harsh gaze, not her.

So she fought against the thoughts begging to be verbalized and gently shook her head, “No no, it’s okay…we have mass in a few minutes. Wouldn’t have time to talk anyway…it’s alright.” She shot his idea down, which concerned him further but he let it be, listening intently as she spoke again. “C-could I have a hug?” she was shy, she knew her parents would be very angry if they found out she had been alone with a boy, let alone having any physical contact even as simple as a hug or a high five. She hated that rule, and right now she knew the chances of her getting in trouble so she took the chance. She could feel her nerves prick her palms as he waited for his response, yet she felt a bit relieved as he opened his arms and let her press herself into him. She noticed a sense of security warm her while his broad arms hugged her small figure, he stroked her back slightly frowning to himself when he could feel her spine against his thumbs. Only then did he notice how thin she seemed to become since he first met her when she was a freshman and he was a sophomore last year, the girl one year his junior seemed to be shrinking instead of growing which made him a bit alarmed but he knew it wasn’t a good time to pry. Even as calloused as he is emotionally, he still has the ability to read people and what they need so he decided to just give her the comfort she requested, keeping a protective palm resting on her back as he walked into the school’s chapel with her.

Harry loathed the Catholic school his mother forced him to attend, he wasn’t exactly a bible thumper like the nuns and teachers that were breathing down his neck 6 hours out of his day. He didn’t like how the priest looked at his female classmates, or how they used the idea of God to scare people into submission rather then painting him as a warm, forgiving figure that he really should be made out to be. The only reason Harry was still attending the hellish school was because it made his mother happy and feel like her son was safe, and staying out of trouble for at least a good chunk of the day. Harry loved his mother; he knew she wasn’t fond of the trouble maker reputation he seemed to make for himself as he grew into young adulthood. And so, he did her the solid of attending and giving her some peace of mind.

Harry made sure to go into the same pew as Y/n letting out a grunt as he leaned down to his knees on the small padded strip meant to help their knees not hurt as bad yet it did very little to create a barrio between his knee caps and the hard floor beneath.

He mumbled a snarky ‘I’m not the one usually on my knees’ to himself, getting a glare from one of the nuns walking down the aisle doing a head count for student attendance but he only flipped the bird to her when her back was turned. Y/n was struggling to keep her head from resting on the pew in front of her, she was truly struggling to stay awake at this point finding herself jolting a bit every few seconds as she started drifting off, only able to fully get her composure when the head priests voice boomed through the speakers in the chapel, making her flinch and assume her earlier position while he read out a few verses, instructing them to bow their heads and pray along with him. Harry of course mocked the priest while Y/n robotically followed along as much as she didn’t want to, she was too sad to think about the weight of the words from the sacred book and her knees were aching yet she was too afraid to not say it, the fear crawling up her spine when she thought about what her parents would do if they found out she didn’t recite the prayer with her peers.

__

 Somehow Y/n managed to make it through her four class periods, she admittedly had retained nothing she was taught that day and by this point it was 2 in the afternoon and her head was pounding so bad she thought her skull might crack and her brain would eject itself in protest to her lack of hydration and nutrients coming in. she was in agony, and Harry hadn’t left her alone all day because he could read her like a book. To be honest he was scared she might keel over and die from how unwell she looked, and so he caught up to her while she was walking out of the school snagging her elbow, eyes watching as she barely responded to his sudden grasp and shifting so he was facing her. “Hey, hey love let me drive you home. I’m not taking no for an answer you look like you’re going to pass out.”

Y/n was too tired to fight, so she allowed herself to be guided to his car and put into his passenger seat. She smiled slightly with droopy eyes when he buckled her seatbelt for her, softly closing her door walking around the car to get into his place behind the wheel.

A soft grumble emited from her stomach, catching both of their attention and causing her cheeks to blush slightly, “ ‘m sorry, I’m a bit hungry..” Harry nodded while fumbling with his keys, “when’s the last time you ate?” she hesitated for a beat before deciding to be honest, “Lunch yesterday…didn’t have dinner and my parents make me fast every morning so I haven’t eaten.” The boy snapped his heads towards her, eyes widening and heart starting to beat faster in worry “Wait, really? So you haven’t eaten in-“ he paused to do the math in his head, they eat lunch at 11am while at school so now at half past two it had been a really long fucking time. “- 26 hours? Oh god, Y/n that’s not good, that’s not healthy. Here I have some water and a few protein bars left over from practice yesterday.” He popped the glove box open to pull out his snacks, handing two bars to her and grabbing his water bottle from the cup holder to hand to her, cracking it open for her and holding it for her, tipping it against her sleepy lips, seeing as her hands were shaking just holding the cereal bars he didn’t want her to accidently slosh the water all over herself. “thank you” her voice was quiet, but he heard it letting her drink a few more sips before she started to slowly eat the bar, her eyes closed and head resting against the window as she chewed with all the energy she had left. “You not sleeping either?” Y/n shook her head “Not really, have to get up at 4 every morning…went to sleep at 1, so I only got 3 hours…I feel like I’m gonna pass out. I really don’t feel good Harry”

Before he even turned the car on, he was making a mad dash to hold a rouge plastic bag under her chin while she spewed up the food she’d just eaten. He guesses since she hasn’t eaten in so long, the snacks upset her sensitive stomach. Y/n whimpered when the stomach bile forced it’s way out of her mouth into the bag the burning waking her up a bit and causing her to choke on it a bit. Harry didn’t make fun of her like she thought, she fully expected him to kick her out of his car and she wouldn’t blame him. She felt horrible, and very embarrassed yet he kept one hand holding the bag and the other used to tip her forwards do he can rub and pat her back keeping her from aspirating the vomit giving her gentle comforting words while he fished a napkin out of the console to wipe her mouth for her. “It’s alright kid, get it out. Stomach is upset huh? You feel warm too, jeez Y/n I’m sorry you’re not feeling good. How about I stop and get you a ginger ale and take ya’ home so you can get some rest?” she nodded slowly letting a few tears spill over her waterline only to be dried by another tissue held in Harry’s hand. “It’s alright, don’t gotta cry you’ll be okay I promise.”

__

 Harry kept true to his word, getting her a soda and taking her home giving her his number so she could text him if she needed him. Y/n tucked the slip of paper in her sock before exiting the car, she didn’t want her parents to take it from her so she made sure to hide it. “Thank you, I’m sorry your car smells like puke now..” Harry chuckled a bit “It’s alright, it’s smelled worse before. Not exactly the cleanest car in town hon”

The banter was soon finished as he dropped her off, driving off leaving Y/n to go back in her home. Greeting her parents before telling them she wasn’t feeling well and heading upstairs to take a nap finishing the remainder of her soft drink as she tucked herself under her blankets letting herself drift off.

__

When she woke up, it was nearly 10pm and she still felt like she needed a year long slumber to recover, but she knew she didn’t have a chance since her mother had woken her up to do her nightly hour of praying. She was beginning to hate the night routine; it was painful and tiring and she felt vulnerable and small.

When her father noticed her sluggishness he took it as disrespect, not having a care as he yanked his daughter by her underarm to stand bringing her downstairs harshly tossing her onto the couch. He gave no regard to her tears as he screamed at the girl, telling her horrible things and forcing her to hold her knuckles out for him to crack a ruler down on. She had bitten into her cheeks so harshly trying to stop the sobs that she could taste the blood in her mouth, but she didn’t dare speak as she took her punishment. She didn’t understand why he was giving her such a harsh treatment when she hadn’t done anything wrong but none the less she internalized it and made herself believe she deserved it.

“How many times do I have to tell you to sit up straight?! How many times do I have to beat it into you?! You think any man is going to want you when you’re such a sloppy disrespectful girl? You bring shame onto this family Y/n!”

Y/n didn’t miss the bile rising in her throat as her father used an arranged marriage- one she didn’t even want- to guilt her into submission. Her father believed in marrying his daughters off young, usually for a hefty payment. He’d done it to her two older sisters, Alexis when she was 15, and Cassidy when she was merely 13 years old. It wasn’t legal marriage by any means, but the girls didn’t know that. The men her dad basically sold his children to were predators but of course Y/n was made to believe it was normal for her dad to marrying her off to a man 20 years older than her. ‘Gods plan’ he called it, but it was scary to her. she didn’t want it, it made her feel violently ill thinking about having to marry a older man who always made her very uncomfortable when her dad would bring her to meet them. The way they looked at her gave her chills, the requests they made regarding her purity, the services she’d provide them with, it made her feel so objectified she sometimes wished to not wake up some mornings so she didn’t have to feel like she’s one day closer to her fate of being a predators indentured servant, used as a pawn and play thing.

The one time she had hinted she didn’t want to be married off, her mother denied her food for 3 days and made her take cold baths to ‘cleanse her’ of her ‘greedy wants’. Y/n truly felt terrified, she was shaking in front of her father while her brain was going into fight of flight. Her feet raced up the steps when her father dismissed her, and as she locked her bedroom door she remembered the slip of paper in her sock.

She knew the risks of reaching out to Harry, her parents knew of the boy. Everyone in town did, hard to forget a street brawling, angsty teenage boy who has been caught more than once by neighbors shit faced drunk or smoking weed with his friends and of course it caused floods of gossip through the rather conservative community yet she decided the risk was worth it if it gave her a sliver of hope to escape the nightmare she felt she was in.

Her fingers gripped her phone tightly as she typed in his number, writing him a text

‘Harry, it’s Y/n are you awake?”

His response was quick, maybe 30 seconds after she’d sent hers

‘yea, what’s up? You alright? Feeling better?’

A fresh wave of tears were building in her eyes, shaky fingers typing out her next message

‘no, Harry please help me. I’m scared please.’

[hopeless-starry-kingdom]

You are the Cause of my Euphoria │Draco  Malfoy

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Summary:Draco is the cause of your Euphoria but to get to your euphoria there is heartbreak

tw:toxic relationship,cursing,and mentions of sexual acts

!!!!!!I AM NOT ROMANTICIZING TOXIC RELATIONSHIPS.I AM TAKING A SCENE FROM EUPHORIA AND TURNING IT INTO MY OWN LITTE REMAKE.PLEASE DONT THINK THAT I AM ROMANTICIZING THIS FORM OF RELATIONSHIP!!!!!!!!

“First of all, ew. Second of all, ew.”You said as you watched Draco grope Pansy Parkinson from her ass as they danced. He was taunting you. Playing his little game he always did when you two get into a fight. Letting Pansy hang all over him but this time it was more extreme. The Yule Ball lights danced off you and the platinum blond as you stared each other down. It seemed you were the only two in the room full of wizards and witches.

The argument in question took place a week ago when Draco seen Cedric Diggory walking you to Potions. Cedric was a good friend and also sat next to you in class. He was asking for help on one of the recent assignments and since you were so good at Potions, you of course helped him. Draco had always been the jealous type. He didn’t like the stares you got from boys in all houses when you walked down the halls together. He’d pull you extra close. He didn’t like that some of them were bold enough to float a note or two asking you out or telling you how pretty you looked that day.

So when Ron, knowing Draco’s jealous tendencies and wanted to piss him off, called out to you. He told you how gorgeous you looked in a skirt. This sent Draco into a rage and turned the poor red head into a Weasel. You yelled at Draco and told him to turn him back and that it wasn’t necessary.

But you also had a small green monster in you. You didn’t mind when Draco got attention from the other girls. It only irked you when Pansy couldn’t keep her slimy hands off him and wouldn’t stop praising the ground he walked on. So you set her robes on fire when you and Draco had gotten into another one of your “splittings”. That’s what everyone at school called it. The splitting happened after every argument and one of you would end up walking away and saying how done you were with the others antics and it was over.

Sometimes the fights were over small things. Like the way Draco would kiss you hungrily when he knew people were looking. And sometimes big things, like the way Draco’s father would treat him and your guys’ relationship.

But that was the thing about your relationship, you loved each other to the ends of the earth, you would say. In an argument with you mother to defend him when you brought him over for Christmas, you told her that you’d kill for him and he’d do the same for you. And it was true.

There was no one else that you could picture the rest of your life with. It will always be Draco. Sure your friends and others would say its a bit toxic, with all the arguments and plotting against each other. Maybe it was just the Slytherin in both of you. But after your screaming match about what happened last week with Cedric, you knew he was in the wrong for getting wrongfully jealous and the way he was dancing with Parkinson, all you saw was red.

You glared are the couple as Pansy danced with him and he sent you a sly look.

“Y/N..” You friend warned at the table your group sat at. None of you had dates. Sure people asked you once they heard about yours and Draco’s splitting (because no one dared to ask you while you were actually with him. They were all scared). But you didn’t want to go around prancing with a new guy like you usually did. You actually wanted to solve the problem this time. But Draco had another idea.

Draco smirked at you as your death glare continued.

“Y/N, don’t.” Another friend warned as you got the same look of revenge on your face. What set you off was the way Draco had turned her and began to run his hands along her stomach “Y/N, don’t do—”

“Fuck this.” You snapped before Hermione could finish and stood up, looking to find someone to dance with. You seen Blaise sitting with his friends and approached.

“Do you know how to dance?” You asked and Blaise looked at you ,surprised. Him and Draco were friends and you knew that it would piss him off, royally. When he stared behind you, you knew he was looking at Draco. You huffed when you knew he was going to deny your request so you left to find Cedric.

Which wasn’t hard becuase he was always surrounded by people. You grabbed his hand and said “Let’s dance.” Thats all that it took for him as his friends gave him wolf whistles as you dragged him deeper into the dance floor and past Draco. He had stopped his dancing as he stared at Cedric gripping your hips and swaying with you. You turned and started to rub your back onto his front while rubbing your hands down your dress clad body. Draco glared at you and you only tilted your lips up before taking your hands and rubbing them up Cedric’s side of his head.

“I guarantee you Y/N and Draco are going to get married.” Hermione said as she sat down at the table and watched the scene unfold “They’ll probably divorce like three times and in some strange way live a pretty happy life.” Your friend added.

“Yeah.” Harry agreed, then Ron, and then everyone at your table was nodding their head.

Back on the dance floor, the music was becoming more upbeat and you upped your antics. Your moves becoming more sultry and seductive and it had Cedric blushing but had Draco fuming. He tried to match your heated moves but eventually gave up once he seen Cedric whisper something in your ear and you smirked. He dropped his hands from Pansy and marched outside for a breather. You saw that he was now gone and Pansy was left confused, alone, and quite embarrassed in the middle of the dance floor.

You rolled your eyes and turned to Cedric, “Nice moves. I’m going to go sit down now.” You gave him a smile but before you could leave he caught your arm.

“Do I have a chance with you? Or is it always going to be Malfoy?” You sighed as a lump formed in your throat. You truly didn’t want to lead Cedric on, he was a good guy with a kind soul. But he was right, it was always going to be Draco.

“I never wanted to mislead you,Ced. Honestly. It’s just me and Dray—”

“It’s complicated and you have history. It’s fine. I understand. My advice?Stop trying to one up one another. It’s not healthy and frankly not good for either of your mental health.” You laughed because of course Cedric would be giving you life advice in the middle of a school dance.

“Thank you,Ced. I’ll try.” You smiled at him before walking back to your table.

“Well that was quite a show. Is it my turn?” Everyone glared at Ron and Hermione punched him in the shoulder “Ow!”

“Whatever. I just want to go back to our dorms. Tonight was absolute shit.” Everyone sighed and agreed but then Harry spoke,

“Uh, Malfoy’s heading this way.” Everyone but you straightened out as he approached.

“What do you—”

“Shove it,Weasel.” Draco cut Ron off and you glared at him. Draco always found it a mystery how you managed to become friends with the Golden Trio, considering they were from a different house and different status. You had taught him that though they may be different from him and you, they weren’t different at all. Houses shouldn’t matter, the blood that ran through their veins shouldn’t matter. It did take him awhile to realize where you were coming from and what you meant but you were right, and he realized his mistakes and apologized to them. But that didn’t mean they still didn’t irk him to a certain extent.

“Y/N get up.” He demanded and you rolled your eyes with a scoff “No.” You didn’t like how he spoke to you sometimes either. Like his father to his mother.

“Just get up.”

“Why?”

“Can you stop being so bloody difficult and come dance with me?” He hissed and everyone looked around the table at eachother.

“Why would I dance with you?”

“Becuase it’s a fucking slow song.Come on get up.”

“Piss off, Malfoy.She doesn’t want to go with you. End of story.” Harry stood and tried to defend you and you smiled at him but looked back at Draco.

“You’re despicable. But fine i’ll dance with you.” You gave in and stood. Grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the other teens who were slow dancing.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you close to him. Your hands snaked around his waist as well and you layed your head on his chest as the song played.

“Sometimes I hate you.” You whispered

“I know.” He replied

“You’re cruel, psychotic, and a jealous freak. And sometimes I don’t like the way you make me feel.” You admitted and your voice cracked as tears began to well in your eyes and cause your throat to tighten. The same thing happened with Draco.

He was trying to get better at this. He didn’t want you to fell like there was no love in the relationship. He did love you. You were the light of his life. You were his patronus. He didn’t mean to get overly jealous or possessive but he just wanted you to himself and he couldn’t bare the thought of someone else being with you the way he is. It physically hurt to watch you walk away from the numerous breaks you two had. He didn’t want this anymore. He didn’t want to break your heart anymore than he already has. He wanted to give you unconditional love all the time, no more jealous kisses or possessive grabs. He swore to himself that after seeing you with Cedric.

You sniffled, “It’s not good for us.”

“I know.”And just as he was about to apologize and swear to you, one last time you spoke “And I know that I’m not the best girlfriend either and Im sorry but maybe we shouldn’t be together.” You hiccuped and Draco shook his head at the thought of you not being in his life. He gently pulled back and intertwined your hands “I love you.”

“Me too...But I don't want to hurt you anymore. I don't want to feel like this anymore. We both deserve better.” You replied and everyone was unaware of the conversation going on, they payed no mine to the couple and the relationship being torn down.

“I don't want anyone else, Y/N. Im sorry, we’ll fix this. We always do, darling.”He cupped the side of your face and rested his forehead against yours. You raised your hands and gripped the back of his platinum locks and brought his lips to yours. You knew that fixing the issue would only lead back to where you stood now. So you pulled back from his lips, him chasing yours as you stared up at him with teary eyes

“I’ll see you around,Dray.” And then you walked away. Away from the boy you loved but also away from constant heartbreak.

[yoddream]

missing | z.cl

pairing: chenle x fem!reader

warnings: graphic depictions of violence, PTSD, heavy angst, fluff, blood, kidnapping, nightmares, suicidal thoughts

summary: chenle saw first-hand how it all affected you

word count: 8.4k

requested?: i think we all know the answer to this question.

a/n: idk why this idea had popped into my head, but it did. it sucks, especially the end. the end is clearly rushed. read at your own risk.

Something was off.

It didn’t take much for the Dreamies to notice. You were declining more of their offers to hang out, claiming you had to study. When you did hang out with them, you were closed off. You kept your distance from everyone, squirming out of hugs when they lasted more than a couple seconds. Your smile rarely reached your eyes, and it would take a few tries to catch your attention. Everyone was worried, but there was one person who was affected the most.

You and Chenle had quickly become friends when you first started as an intern for Dream’s manager. He pestered you until you had finally given in and talk to him, only to learn just how charming the orange-haired boy was. The others were wary at first—and rightfully so—but he managed to get them to trust you. Your internship had ended a couple months ago, but that didn’t stop them from asking for your company. Pulling away concerned them, but they didn’t know how to approach the situation.

When the missing-persons report on you became public, the world felt like it had stopped rotation on its axis. With the way you had been acting, they all thought the dame thing; you left because you were suicidal and didn’t want to be found. That would explain your behavior. You had thought it would lessen the pain. They, unfortunately, had to continue their concerts, but that didn’t stop Chenle.

“Czennies, as you know our good friend, Y/N, has gone missing. If any of you know anything, please tell the police. We’re very worried about her, and we just want her home safely.”

He was yelled at by their manager for that, but his friends thought it was a great idea, so they started doing it at every concert in hopes of something coming about that would help locate you, even if it was just to get closure.

“Nothing is working!” Chenle yelled after a concert in Busan.

“Chenle, it’s going to take some time,” Renjun said softly.

“They need to find her before she hurts herself! There’s over a 90% chance that they’ll be too late by the time she’s found!” the younger boy snapped.

“You have to accept the fact that they may not find her alive,” Haechan said bluntly.

“No! No, she can’t be dead. I can feel it,” he rambled.

“Hyung.” Chenle whipped around to face Jisung. His best friend never used honorifics with him. “Please. I’m worried about you.”

A couple hours later, Chenle was hold in his room back home, ignoring texts from other members of NCT. They thought he was crazy, but he just had hope. His world would crumble if they found your body. While he would never admit it to his groupmates, he loved you. Losing you would leave a whole in his heart that one else would ever be able to fill.

Nobody knew of his feelings for you. He made sure to hide them. He knew they would tease him whether you were there or not, so he didn’t have a choice. He wanted you to stay in his life, so his love for you was buried deep in his soul.

SM decided it was best to give Chenle a couple weeks to calm down and work on his mental health. He was losing sleep every night due to your disappearance, and they felt his insistence you were alive was the start of a breakdown. The press release was vague, stating he would take a short hiatus for his health, so he was ordered to stay home and leave his house discreetly whenever he was to go in public. He felt he was a disgrace to the company, and it only caused his depression to worsen. His phone laid ignored, notifications adding up with each passing minute.

“Chenle, honey? Your friends are here to see you,” his mother said one day.

He lifted his head from his pillow as the other Dreamies filed into his room. Jaemin was the first to hug him, whispering whatever he could think of in the younger boy’s ear. Then it was Jeno, who kept it short and sweet. Haechan was next, making sure his hug was extra tight. Renjun mumbled something in Chinese that caused the other boy to nod. When it was Jisung’s turn, he bravely pulled Chenle into his lap and hugged him. The comfort from it was what made the tears finally fall. Soon, Chenle was sobbing into his best friend’s neck, mumbling about how much he loved you. The others gasped in surprise, but Jisung just nodded.

“I know, Chenle. I know,” he whispered.

Of course Jisung knew, Chenle thought to himself. If anyone were to figure it out, it would be his best friend. He was nice enough to not acknowledge it until Chenle was ready to talk about it. They wouldn’t be best friends if they didn’t know everything about each other.

There was a giant sleepover that night. Chenle and his mother blew up a few air mattresses and laid them together to create one, giant bed. He was sandwiched between Jisung and Jaemin, tear stains on his cheeks as he fell into a restless sleep.

///

It was a rainy day when Chenle got the call. He was reading the theories on how you were related to his health on Twitter. The two-month mark had passed a few days before, so he was desperate to find something, anything that would somehow give him a lead as to where you were. His phone was vibrating with a call, but he ignored it. When it started up again, he groaned and declined, spotting Haechan’s contact that ran across the screen. When it rang a third time, this one from Jeno, he finally answered.

“Why are you guys blowing up my phone?” he asked. “Shouldn’t you be at—”

“Chenle, they found her,” Jeno interrupted.

The younger boy’s heart stopped. “What?”

“They—they found Y/N. She’s alive.”

Chenle managed to get the hospital’s name out of Jeno before hanging up. He changed quickly and threw on a baseball cap before running all the way to the hospital, too impatient to wait for his family’s driver. He was out of breath by the time he reached the building, but that didn’t stop him from running up three flights of stairs to get to your room. He burst through the door and barely acknowledged your family and his friends, his eyes landing on you.

There were bruises and cuts all over your face and body, from what he could see. Rings of black and blue were painted on your wrists, indicating you’d been tied up. There was a handprint around your neck, which terrified him. Your face was swollen from being hit multiple times, a couple gashes on your eyebrow and cheek stitched up. Your left leg was in a cast, the top of it hitting just under your knee, and your dominant arm was in a sling. He sneakers squeaked as he took a couple steps forward from the water that was soaking his clothes and skin. He noticed you were asleep, so he stopped in his tracks.

“What happened?” he finally asked.

“A few fans called in tips that would lead to her location. They found her in an empty warehouse a couple hours away,” your mother explained. “They know she was kidnapped, but they don’t have anyone arrested yet.”

“Do they think whoever took her will be back to the warehouse?” Haechan questioned.

Your father shook his head. “From what they could see, she was abandoned. She’s very lucky to be alive.”

A couple nurses walked in at that time to run some tests, dismissing everyone temporarily. Chenle watched through the window as your chest rose and fell with each breath you took. He was so happy that you were alive, even if you were as beat up as you were. He knew your recovery would be very long, but he promised himself he would be by your side very step of the way, even when the physical injuries were healed.

The next day, Chenle found out you were in a medically-induced coma to help with the swelling in your brain. They were going to keep you under for another day before weaning you off the medication. He sat with you for a couple hours before deciding to head out with the other Dreamies for lunch, knowing there was nothing he could do at the hospital except stare at you until visiting hours were over.

The Dreamies could see that his smile was getting closer to reaching his eyes. It would take you waking up and talking to him for him to be happy again, but he was a step further than yesterday, and that was what mattered.

///

Chenle wasn’t there when you eventually woke up. That would be too predictable. You came to around three in the morning, and the bright lights scared you. Without knowing your new environment, a bloodcurdling scream left your throat in hopes of somebody hearing you and calling for help. A door nearby flew open, and there were multiple footsteps that raced towards you. You continued screaming as you fought against their grasp. The figures above you were blurry, but they seemed to be wearing scrubs. You feared you were in some sort of lab, even though that seemed unlikely.

“Y/N, it’s okay! It’s okay, you’re in Seoul! You’re in the hospital in Seoul!” That sounded like your mother, but you could be hallucinating.

“Let me go! Let me go!” you screamed. “Mom! Dad!”

“We’re here! We’re here, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t tell if your body melted at the nickname or some sort of drug. Either way, you stopped fighting, and you quickly lost consciousness again.

When you woke once more, you could see better. You were in a hospital room, with an IV connected to your arm. There were flowers on a table nearby, and balloons tied to a chair in the corner. You knew the balloons were from Haechan; he probably popped one or two on the way there to scare Renjun. The thought of it made you chuckle to yourself, but you winced at the pull of your throat.

The door opened, and your parents stared in shock at you sitting in bed, eyes opened and completely calm. Then, your mother burst into tears and rushed forward to hug you. You tried not to groan at the impact, but your whole body was screaming in pain. She pulled back and apologized profusely, your father pulling her towards him with an arm around her shoulders.

“We’re so glad you’re okay,” he said. “We were so worried when you didn’t come home from work.”

“How long have I been here?” you said. Your voice was very scratchy, but you knew it would be a while before it was completely back to normal.

“A few days. They had to put you in a coma to help with your injuries,” your mom explained. “Oh, the boys will be so happy to see you’re awake!”

“I don’t want to see them,” you stated quietly.

Your parents frowned, but the doctor walked in before anything could be said. You were run through tests to check your mobility and memory. Your memory seemed mostly fine, and the mobility in your left arm was limited from having your shoulder dislocated. Everything seemed fine, physically.

A couple hours passed where you sat in silence, staring at the wall in front of you. You didn’t know how long you were stuck like that until a nurse shook you lightly. When you looked over, she had a clipboard in her hand, and her brows were furrowed. You wondered how long it took her to catch your attention, but that thought quickly left your mind.

You were aware of time passing, but couldn’t keep track of exactly how much. The room got dark as day turned to night, and your parents headed home to sleep with the promise of visiting as soon as they were allowed. A kiss was pressed to your hair by your father before the door closed, and suddenly the company went from three to one.

With nothing to distract you, all that ran through your mind were thoughts of your captivity. The bright lamp on your face, the dry air, the ropes as they cut into your skin from being tied too tight; it was painful to think about, but you couldn’t stop. You thought of the hands that wrapped tightly around your neck, the fists that pummeled your face, the boots that broke your ribs.

A hand on your arm snapped you out of the hole you were spiraling down in your head. You looked up and found a familiar pair of eyes on you. Your brain acknowledged the hand that seemed to knows what its touch could do to you, as it had pulled away.

“Hey bud. How you feelin’?” Haechan asked.

Looking around, you noticed that all the Dreamies were there. You shrugged and muttered a “fine,” that you knew none of them would believe, but you didn’t have it in you to care. Chenle was in the chair beside you, wringing his hands. You knew there were so many questions that were on the tip of his tongue, and that he was doing everything he could to hold them back.

Jaemin took it upon himself to start a conversation with Jisung and Chenle about their next video. It relieved some of the tension in the air, making it more breathable. The words went in one ear and out the other, but not having the feeling of everyone’s attention on you was like taking a sip of cold water after being in the heat for so long with nothing to drink.

The door opened, and two men in suits stepped in. All conversation halted at the sight of new company. They introduced themselves as the detectives that were working on your case, and they were there to question you. Everyone started to leave, but your hand shot out to grab Chenle’s wrist. Your eyes were trained on the wall, but you asked him to stay. He looked to the detectives, who nodded, and he sat back down. The door closed quietly as the rest of the Dreamies left.

///

Jaemin was pacing back and forth as they waited for the questioning to end. Not being able to see you when you’d been gone for so long felt like torture. He wanted to baby you like you were Jisung, cook you food and tuck you into bed. He wanted to cherish those moments with you. He always cherished every second he spent with the people he loved, but almost having your presence taken away permanently fueled the fire.

The door opened suddenly, and the detectives walked out. Chenle followed with shaky legs. His face was white, and he looked horrified. The Dreamies rushed forward to check on him.

“What happened? What’d she tell them?” Renjun questioned.

Chenle looked at them. “She was kidnapped by sasaengs.”

Nobody said anything, nobody moved, not one person took a breath for ten seconds. It was known that sasaengs would go to incredible lengths to get what they wanted, but kidnapping their friend? What did they gain from it?

“Somebody got her phone number, and they were texting and calling, telling her that she didn’t deserve to be our friend, that we didn’t care about her, we hated her, and that she was nothing,” Chenle continued. “They did everything they could to knock her down, and when it wasn’t enough, they kidnapped her in hopes that we would forget, that we wouldn’t care. She thought she was going to die. They actually talked about killing her.”

“Oh my god,” Jeno mumbled.

“How the hell has she not shut down?” Haechan asked.

It was a question that not even you could answer. You had dreams of standing at the edge of a cliff, staring down at the ground that was hundreds of feet away. You so desperately wanted to take that step forward and feel the air rush through your hair as you plummeted to the ground, but dreams were difficult to control. Sometimes, you wished the dream was real so you could take that step.

A couple days later, you were alone in your hospital room. Your parents had gone back to work when they realized you wouldn’t be talking to them anytime soon. The Dreamies would visit when they could, but they still had to practice for their concerts. The others stood at a distance, wanting to give you the space you needed, but Chenle stuck by your side, sometimes playing with your fingers when you weren’t as tense. They would try to get you to talk, but when you didn’t, they started conversations amongst themselves, not wanting to push you past your limit. You knew they felt guilty for what had happened to you, but there was no reason for them to. You wanted to tell them so, but a small part of you couldn’t help but hate them for what you went through. It wasn’t their fault, but if you’d stopped being friends with them after your internship, you wouldn’t be lying in a hospital bed.

It was a windy day when you were discharged. Your parents brought you home, their bodies practically vibrating with excitement. When you were brought to your room, you could see how they’d kept everything in place. There wasn’t a single speck of dust, and your sheets were changed. Everything else looked the same as the last time you’d seen it.

“Just let us know if you need anything, sweetheart,” your mother said before shutting your door quietly.

Even though the car ride was fairly short, you were still exhausted. Hitting as many bumps as you had, your whole body ached, and you’d taken a couple pain pills when you arrived home, so they were kicking in fairly quickly. Your movements were lethargic, and soon your eyes were closing.

The sky was cloudy as you stood at the edge of the cliff. You looked down and spotted an ocean, which was different from the usual view. There was a feeling of calm that had settled over you as you watched the waves. The sounds of the water crashing against the rocks, the smell of the salt of the sea, and the wind that caressed your face.

Suddenly, an unknown force pushed you off the cliff. You opened your mouth to scream, but nothing came out. You looked back to see a figure without a face, their features blurred out. You looked to the water and finally let out a scream as your body was getting closer to hitting the water. Just a few more feet—

You woke up with a start. Your chest was heaving as you tried to catch your breath, and your while body was covered in sweat. Looking out the window, you noticed that the sun was much higher in the sky than it was when you’d fallen asleep, which meant you slept a few hours. There was another presence in the room, but you were afraid to see who it was. Was it one of your parents? One of the Dreamies? Or was it one of your kidnappers, back to take you away again?

“I was wondering when you’d wake up,” Chenle stated. “I was getting lonely.”

You rolled over and stared at the boy, unable to do or say anything. He was sitting at your desk, and in his hand was a snow globe he’d gotten for you when he and Jisung went to Shanghai. Shaking it, he placed it on your desk again before turning his full attention to you. There was a smile on his face, but even from far away, you could tell it didn’t reach his eyes. He was worried about you, and it was difficult for him to hide.

“I brought you some applesauce,” he offered. “I know you’re still having trouble eating solid foods, so I figured this would help.”

You noticed the small cup that was on the desk, a spoon laying over its seal. You tried to sit up, but it was difficult with your injuries. Chenle stood to help you, but his hands hesitated, worried he would upset you if he touched. You nodded slightly, and that was all he needed. You were soon sitting up in your bed, a pillow supporting your back. You reached out for the applesauce, but he held it away.

“You won’t be able to eat it without getting it everywhere,” he said, gesturing to the sling.

You watched as he opened the applesauce and scooped some onto the spoon before guiding it to your mouth. The two of you sat in silence as he fed you slowly, making sure you felt okay enough to take another bite. Once it was all gone, he placed a glass of water by your mouth, a straw poking at your lips. You glared at him, but it didn’t faze him. Sighing, you leaned forward and drank some of the water, thankful for its cool feeling sliding down your dry throat.

Chenle took his spot at your desk and said, “You would not believe what I had to do to stop the others from coming with me. I told them that you would probably be overwhelmed, so they made me promise to let them know when it was okay to visit. Of course, I didn’t know if it was okay, but I wanted to take the chance. Since you’re not screaming at me to leave, I’m guessing I’m allowed to visit. Maybe I’m wrong, and I wouldn’t blame you. I know I’m a lot, and my personality makes it seem like there are two or three people in the room. Honestly, I don’t get how anyone puts up with me.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at that last part. Is that how he felt about himself? Did he really think he was too much for people? He lit up your world, but you didn’t have a way to tell him. You couldn’t find it in you to speak to anyone. Your voice had sounded so foreign when the detectives were questioning you, and it was scary. Something that’d been hearing your whole life suddenly didn’t sound like you. Would that ever change? Would you ever get better?

“Anyways,” Chenle continued, “I should probably get going. You need to rest as much as possible.”

“Stay,” left your mouth before you could stop it.

He froze, halfway risen from his seat. Slowly, he sat down and watched as you averted your gaze, suddenly shy. You hadn’t acted this way since the beginning of your internship, but things were different now, and Chenle had to accept that. He had to accept that it would take time for you to get better, and that you may never be the same again.

You watched as he stayed on the other side of the room, going back and forth between playing games on his phone and watching videos on YouTube. Not once did he text somebody, and you wondered why. If anything, you expected him to give the others constant updates. Something in you warmed at the thought of him keeping everything between the two of you. You knew how hard it was for him to keep things from them, especially when he felt it was important.

As the sun traveled across the sky, you watched Chenle fuck around on his phone, glancing to you every once in a while. Every time he did, there would be a soft smile on his face, and he would quickly turn his attention back to the screen. Soon, it was dark out, and he left your room without a word. Part of you wondered if he’d left, but the rest of you didn’t really care. However, your question was answered a few minutes later when he walked in with a bowl of tomato soup. He has a tray that you’ve seen your dad use for your mom on her birthday every year. You watched as he placed the legs around your thighs.

“It’s close enough so that if you spill any, it’ll get either in the bowl or on the tray,” he told you when you stared at it. “I know that you hate being fed, that it makes you feel useless. It’s all over your face whenever you eat.”

It was like he was reading your mind. This was why Chenle was your best friend; he knew whatever you were thinking, answered questions that were never asked aloud, and gave you whatever you needed before you even knew yourself. He knew you better than anyone, even your own parents.

You picked up the spoon, but it fell from your weak grip. Chenle noticed right away and sat on the edge of your bed. Grabbing the spoon, he started to feed you the soup, even going as far as patting at your mouth with a napkin. You felt like a child in a high chair, even if he wasn’t babying you. The whole thing was embarrassing, and you wished you could disappear.

The moment reminded you of when Chenle had the flu. He refused to eat or drink anything, unable to keep it down. Of course, the other Dreamies were giving him heavy food like dumplings and japchae, when he really needed some soup and a sports drink to help with his dehydration. You were called in the middle of the night and rushed to the nearest convenience store to pick up a few things before arriving at the dorms. You became his caretaker for a week, feeding him when his body felt too weak, and making sure he drank nothing but Gatorade and water.

Once everything was gone, Chenle told you he was leaving and brought the dirty dishes downstairs. You stared at the doorway, listening to him clean everything before bidding your parents goodbye. When the front door closed, your eyes landed on the desk chair that suddenly seemed emptier than it was.

///

The ropes around your wrists cut into your skin, leaving it red and raw. No matter how hard you tried to keep your hands still, you couldn’t help but shift to feel some sense of comfort, even though it seemed pointless since you’d been sitting in the same spot for two weeks. Your clothes reeked of every time you had to relieve yourself, but they wouldn’t let you use some sort of bathroom, even when you suggested someone going with you so that they knew you wouldn’t run away.

A bright lamp was kept on you at all times, making it difficult for you to get any rest. Every time you closed your eyes, it was too bright to sleep, and it wasn’t like you would get much, anyway. The images behind your lids were far too frightening.

A door slammed open somewhere behind you, and you flinched at the sound. Multiple sets of footsteps grew louder as your kidnappers got closer, and you braced yourself for whatever they had in store for you. However, it still surprised you when a hand was suddenly wrapped around your throat, squeezing tight enough to cut off your air supply. A phone was shoved in your face, but you couldn’t see what was on it, for your vision was getting spotty as your body craved for oxygen.

You awoke with a gasp, desperate to get air in your lungs. It wasn’t a dream; it was a memory. It was one of many that haunted you every time you passed out from exhaustion. You tried not to sleep, for you knew what was waiting for you once you were in a deep slumber.

Looking around, you found your phone sitting on the nightstand. The screen was cracked, but it still worked, so it was plugged into the charger. You picked it up and looked up what you remember the person hissing in your face. What came up were articles and videos of various NCT Dream concerts. You clicked on a video and waited for it to load. What played shocked you.

The boys were on stage, and their faces were serious. Haechan was begging the fans to go to the police with information on your disappearance if they had any. When you clicked on a different video, it was Renjun doing the exact same thing. They had used their platform to look for you, and it seemed to work, considering you were lying in your bed instead of in a casket.

It was only a little past two in the morning, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep. Suddenly, your phone vibrated with a text. You looked down and froze at the message that was on the screen.

Unknown number: Don’t think this is over. We know where you live.

Scared, you shut your phone off and threw it, unaware of where it landed. You were unsure if they actually knew where your home was located, but you weren’t taking any chances. A voice in the back of your mind screamed to tell somebody about the text, but you just wanted it all to disappear. If it disappeared, maybe the memories would, too.

Chenle knocked on your door before poking his head in. He smiled when you looked over, and it didn’t falter when you didn’t smile back. His heart swelled at the sight of you lying in bed, safe. The bruises on your face were fading, and the cuts were starting to turn into brown scabs. The sling would be able to come off in another week, and then you would be starting some PT exercises. Chenle already promised your parents that he would go to the appointments with you, but what he didn’t tell them was that he was paying for it all. He’d already paid the hospital bill, not wanting them to worry about it. Almost losing you was enough stress.

“Hey! Have you eaten yet?” he asked. When you didn’t answer, he placed his bag by the end of your bed. “Let me get some toast and tea for you.”

Rushing downstairs, he moved around the kitchen to make some breakfast for you. Your mother watched as he worked, admiring how he made everything quickly yet exactly how you liked it. He spread the jam lightly before grabbing the plate and mug and rushing back upstairs.

It felt weird, feeding you toast, but Chenle wouldn’t trade it for the world. Watching you eat and wiping extra jam from your mouth was so much better than you doing it all yourself. You were slowly gaining some strength back after having eaten proper meals, but he knew your arm got tired, especially when it wasn’t your dominant one. He liked taking care of you, even if you looked like you hated every second of it.

Chenle sat at your desk and took his phone out to watch a video. As he was searching through his suggestions, he noticed you were staring at the wall across from your bed. Without a word, he turned on the TV and connected his phone to it. He opened Netflix and put on your favorite movie before sitting back in the chair. Your eyes flitted to him, face unreadable. He simply smiled to you before paying attention to the TV screen.

Near the end of the movie, Chenle looked over and noticed you were asleep. Your chin was to your chest, and your breaths were slow. It looked uncomfortable, but he didn’t have the heart to wake you. He’d noticed the dark circles that seemed to be tattooed to your skin, so seeing you get the rest you needed warmed his heart.

Naturally, it didn’t last long. He watched as your face twisted into something, and small whimpers left your mouth. Standing up, he walked to your bed and gently sat down, not wanting to scare you. Suddenly, you gasped awake. Your eyes were wide, and tears were streaming down your cheeks. You looked around, and that’s when it hit him.

Fear. Fear was the something on your face.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said. “You’re safe now. It’s gonna be okay.”

A sob escaped your lips, and you leaned to the side. When your shoulder hit Chenle’s chest, he didn’t hesitate to hold you as you cried. Your whole body was shaking as anxiety filled your lungs, imitating the feeling of drowning. He rubbed your back to help soothe you, knowing that that was all he could really do.

///

The day you were able to take your sling off, Chenle brought a homemade cake to celebrate. He told you that he made it with the other Dreamies (Jeno strictly decorated) and that they missed you. You wished they could visit, but they couldn’t see you like that. Chenle shouldn’t have, but he always marched to the beat of his own drum. He didn’t hesitate to feed you a small slice of cake, making sure you were okay and full before eating his own.

It was late when a yawn left Chenle’s mouth. He looked at the time on his phone and groaned, announcing he was going to call the family driver to pick him up. You opened your mouth before you could think.

“Sleep here.”

Suddenly wide awake, your best friend looked to you with wide eyes. “What? No, wait, I heard you. I’m just—are you sure?”

You nodded. He left to grab the air mattress he knew was stored in the linen closet. As he was setting it up, you father poked his head, smiling at the scene before him before wishing you two a good night. You winced at the sound of the pump starting up, the sound cutting through the previously-silent air. Chenle sent a sheepish grin your way before running out the room again. When he returned, a pile of sheets and blankets sat in his arms. He worked quickly to set up his bed before opening the bottom drawer of your dresser. The bottom drawer was unofficially his, for he had stayed over countless times.

Once the lights were out and Chenle was settled, he noticed just how quiet your room got at night. The two of you usually talked yourselves to sleep whenever he slept over, but clearly things were different. The window was cracked open, letting the chirping of the crickets float into the room. He could see a couple fireflies on the screen, flickering every few seconds.

A pillow hit his face, and he squawked while flailing. Pulling it away from his face, he saw you turn away from him. He placed the pillow under his head, sighing at the support for his skull and neck. It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep, dreaming of riding bikes with you alongside a field of flowers.

It felt like only a few seconds had passed when he was woken up. He looked around for whatever disturbed his sleep. A whimper coming from your bed had his head whipping around to look at you. The covers were pulled over your head, and he could hear you sniffling as you tried not to cry too loudly. Quietly, he stood and slowly pulled the comforter from your head. Your eyes were red and shining with tears that seemed to go on forever. He sat down and started to run his fingers through your hair, feeling like there was something more he should be doing, but he didn’t know what.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He felt you shake your head. “Okay.”

You didn’t fall back asleep, but you calmed down enough for Chenle to head to bed again. Your arm hung over the edge of the bed, so he grabbed your hand and held onto it as he started to fall asleep. You felt his grip loosen as he got closer and closer to dreamland, so you let go. He whined in his sleep, but it was forgotten quickly.

Throughout the night, your eyes stayed on Chenle’s sleeping form, studying how the muscles in his face were so relaxed. Your face hadn’t looked like that since before everything that had happened. You craved to be able to be that vulnerable again, to have that feeling of nothing upsetting you. You wanted to feel safe in your own bed.

It was around eight or nine when Chenle finally woke up. He turned over and froze when his eyes met yours. You looked even more exhausted than before, and that worried him. Sitting up, he asked, “You didn’t go back to sleep, huh?”

You shook your head. He didn’t push for an explanation, but you gave one, anyway. “I’m scared.”

“Huh?”

“I’m scared to sleep.”

“Do you have nightmares every night?” You nodded. He got up and sat on the bed, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Well, I will be there every time you have one, so that when you’re scared, you won’t be alone. I just want you to get some rest.”

“Do you think they’ll go away?” you questioned.

He looked down to you with a sad smile. “Not completely, but I think with time, they’ll be less frequent.”

For the rest of the day, you sat in silence as you watched one of Chenle’s favorite movies. He was sitting in an armchair that sat in the corner of the room, curled into a ball with a blanket thrown around his shoulders. He looked so soft, and a part of you yearned for his touch, for him to hang off you like he’d done in the past countless times, but the two of you knew that it would be a long time before you were comfortable with that kind of affection.

///

You so desperately wished that you were living a fan-fiction life, where Chenle’s presence made all the nightmares suddenly disappear, but that would never be the case. The harsh reality was that you were traumatized, and you would be reliving those memories until the day you died.

It were getting easier at hiding the nightmares from Chenle. He thought you were getting them every other night, when you were really muffling your heavy breathing and whimpers on the nights he thought you were free of dreaming of your captivity. Those nights were the hardest, but he could never find out. You didn’t want to disappoint him.

There was one question you wanted to ask him, but you didn’t know how to bring it up. He was always so happy to see you, and you felt like the question could drive him away, no matter how innocent it was. Chenle could tell that something else was on your mind, but he didn’t want to push it for he feared he would also push you away.

It had been so long since the two of you felt you couldn’t talk about something. It was unnerving, thinking about how there was something that was getting between you and your best friend. It got so bad that you finally asked him once the lights were off.

“How are you able to stay here so much?”

Chenle looked to you from the air mattress. You were peeking over the side of your bed, the bottom of your face hidden. The moon was shining through the window, giving your skin a soft glow. He wanted to take a picture of you, to capture your beauty.

Clearing his throat, he said, “Management placed me on hiatus. They felt I needed a mental-health break.”

There was a short pause. “Is it because of the concerts?”

His cheeks heated up, but it was luckily covered by the darkness. “You know about that?”

“Yeah. I, uh, I had a nightmare about when they found out, so I looked it up.” Another heavy pause. “Thank you. For doing that, I mean.”

A small smile appeared on Chenle’s face. “Anything for you.”

The two of you fell asleep shortly after, and when you woke up from yet another nightmare, he held you a little tighter. It didn’t do much, but the both of you still needed it.

The next morning, Chenle was cleaning your room while you showered. Clothes littered the floor, so he was putting them in your hamper. A flash caught his eye, so he looked around and found your phone. Why is this over here? He pressed the power button and waited for it to turn on. Suddenly, it was buzzing with notifications of unread texts and missed calls, all unknown numbers.

Unknown number: Stay away

                                    We’ll make sure they’ll never see you again

                                    We will find you, just like we did last time

                                    Say goodbye to your parents

“What are you doing?”

Chenle whipped around, eyes wide with shock. You were in clothes from his drawer, water dripping onto the white cotton of your t-shirt. You were leaning heavily on your crutches, obviously tired from moving around so much.

“I, uh—”

Your eyes grew wide with panic once they landed on what he held in his hands. “Shut it off.”

“What? No, Y/N—”

“Shut it off, Chenle.”

“But—”

“They’re tracking me, shut it off!”

Chenle scrambled with the power button before finally turning off your phone. Dropping it to the floor, he looked to you and asked, “What the hell was that?”

“It’s nothing,” you mumbled.

“Don’t lie to me.” You flinched at his tone, and his face immediately softened. “Y/N, I’ve never lost my patience with you since we met. Please don’t change that now.”

Sighing, you said, “A few months before I was abducted, I was getting phone calls and texts from sasaengs, telling me to stay away from you guys, that I was pathetic, you guys pitied me, whatever they could think of. I don’t know how they got my number, but I wasn’t too worried about what they told me. I thought they would’ve stopped once I was found, but it started up the night after I came home. They said they know where I live.”

“We’ve got to take this to the police,” he stated.

“No.”

“Y/N, this is your life we’re talking about.”

“I don’t want to go to the police.”

“Why not? This could help your case!”

“I just want it to disappear!”

You rocked forward on your crutches, but Chenle managed to catch you in time. You sobbed loudly into his shoulder, the emotions finally spilling over from holding them in for so long. His heart ached at how broken you sounded. He held you as tight as possible, wanting so badly for you to feel safe in his arms.

“I d-don’t want to deal with it. I j-just want it all g-gone,” you wailed.

“I know. I know, love bug, but they need to pay for what they’ve done to you,” he explained. “Look, we’ll bring it to the police, and if we need to, we’ll get you a new phone.”

You sniffled. “Haven’t heard you call me ‘love bug’ in a while.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’ll make sure to use it more.”

When Chenle finally convinced you to take your phone to the police, they found out within a couple days that the kidnappers had tracked you through your iCloud. Wanting to play it safe, Chenle got you a brand-new phone under his account and helped you write down all the contacts that you wanted to save. He refused to let you pay for anything, telling you not to worry about it.

That night, Chenle slept in your bed with you. When you had a nightmare, all he had to do was reach the few inches to grab you; it was much easier than him stumbling on the air mattress. You were on the cliff again, but when you looked back after being pushed, your eyes had landed on Chenle’s face. You knew it was only a dream, but a part of you still wanted to get as far away from him as possible. Even after you’d calmed down, he didn’t let you go. It felt nice, being held. The warmth from his body seeped into your skin, and you could feel yourself falling back asleep. You tried so hard to stay awake, but then Chenle pressed a kiss to your forehead with a mumbled, “sleep, love bug,” and you didn’t want to disappoint him.

With an undercover-cop car stationed outside your house, the air seemed a little lighter. Your parents weren’t checking on you as much, seeming to feel more comfortable with leaving you alone. Chenle was still staying at your house, not having left even once. You wondered how he wasn’t getting cabin fever like you. He hadn’t gone anywhere since you told him he could sleep over. His drawer was luckily filled with enough clothing to last a little over a week, so it wasn’t too bad.

Chenle was able to convince you to contact the others. It started out with a FaceTime call that ended up with you in tears and the Dreamies panicking, but you assured them that it was just because you really missed them, and then they ended up crying. Jaemin and Haechan were, obviously, playing it up and acting like they hadn’t seen you in years. Jisung had Jaemin draped over him, and he tried to act pissed, but you knew that the older boy was actually comforting the maknae.

When your cast was finally taken off, the first thing Chenle did was take you to the park—after getting permission from the officers, of course. There was still a boot on your leg, but you were able to walk around. He pushed you on the swings for a while before something caught his attention. You watched him walk a few feet, bend down, and grab a flower that was growing by a tree. When he came back, he placed it behind your ear and smiled.

“Beautiful,” he mumbled.

You weren’t like the other Dreamies; you knew Chenle was in love with you. He tried to hide it, but the look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know. You loved him too, but the problem was how different your lives were. Being friends with the guys and even knowing the rest of NCT was unbelievable enough, but your best friend also returning the feelings you’d had since you met him? You were intimidated, to say the least.

It didn’t help that he’d confessed to you the first time he was drunk. You were the only one that remembered, though.

///

Chenle was in the shower when he heard a loud thump. Worried that you’d fallen, he hopped out and put on his clothes quickly, not even bothering to dry off. He was about to call out your name when there was a voice he didn’t recognize. Creeping down the hallway, he peeked through the crack in the doorway and froze when he saw the gun. It was pointed directly at you, and your hands were up as the girl in front of you rambled. He heard his name a few times, but her Korean was too fast for him to comprehend. He continued down the hallway and entered another room, flicking the lights rapidly for the officers outside. He heard car doors close, so he sneaked back to your room.

“Just do it,” he heard you state. “Fucking kill me. Add murder to your charges.

“Do you really think you’ll get me to doubt myself?” the girl asked.

“Did you not hear what I fucking said?” you snapped. “Kill me! I’d rather be dead than deal with the trauma you and your idiot friends gave me for the rest of my goddamn life! Go and pull that fucking trigger. The guys will mourn me for who knows how long. Is that what you want? To cause them pain? Do you want to be the reason why they won’t want to work on anything?”

“Shut up.”

The cops were down the hall, but Chenle wouldn���t move from his spot. “You don’t get it, do you? What makes you think this will solve anything? Kidnapping me did nothing. They still cared about me. They fucking looked for me. Getting rid of me will do nothing but make them hate you even more than they already do. You’ve got nothing to lose, right? You’ll be going to jail, anyway. So, pull the fucking trigger and end it all.”

Chenle’s heart seized at the words that were spewing from your mouth. Did you really feel that way? He knew you were struggling really badly, but did you really want to die?

The next few seconds were an absolute blur. The police pushed past him and managed to get the girl to surrender. As soon as she was in handcuffs, Chenle rushed forward and threw his arms around you. You started sobbing into his shoulder, but it felt like you could finally breathe.

“Please tell me you didn’t mean any of that,” he mumbled.

You shook your head. “No. I don’t wanna die.”

When you pulled away, Chenle placed a hand on your cheek. He wanted to look at your face and make sure you were telling the truth. However, a noise was swallowed by you when you surged forward and pressed your lips against his. He was taken by surprise, but it didn’t take long for his brain to catch up. His heart fluttered when you stepped back with flushed cheeks.

“What—” he started.

“I’m tired of being scared, okay?” You looked him in the eyes and smiled. “I love you. Like, a lot. And I know you love me. I was scared of starting anything with you because of how popular are and how the fans reacted when we were just friends, but my life has been on the verge of ending too many times, and I can’t live without taking this chance.”

Chenle’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he finally asked in a small voice, “You love me?”

You nodded. “How could I not?”

Grinning, he threw his arms around you and laughed, ignoring the detective that walked in to question the two of you. It wouldn’t be easy, being in a relationship with Chenle with the trauma that you had from his sasaengs, but his love outshined your fear, and you were willing to take that leap of faith from the cliff with him, hoping your landing would be easy. With him, anything was.

[transephiroth]

an important post: abuse from friends, friend abuse. please read and reblog.

TW: abuse ment, bpd ment, ed ment, suicide ment, ptsd, trauma, death ment. gaslighting ment.

i don’t know what exactly what has compelled me to make this post at nearly 1:00 am on a school night just like every other, but i think the importance of advocacy of preventing, spotting, and stopping abusive friendships is to talk about them with the same respect as any other form of abuse.

i’ll give you a small overview of my personal experience with abusive friendships: when i was 16, my father committed suicide. i was not aware he was my biological father at they time and actually found out he was not my half brother, but my biological father. my father, who’s name i will not mention. i won’t even use fake names they’re hard to keep track of. i found out my mother, an abusive drug addict, slept with her husband, my apparent grandfather’s, adult son from a previous marriage consensually. one way or another, my father was forbidden to be involved in my life, and my grandfather raised me as his own. (in case you’re going to ask about inc*st, my father and mother have no relation, she is not his mother.)

the shock of learning this and grieving his death from the few negative interactions he and his mental health had on my family when i was a baby, was intense. i had no friends at school and felt incredibly lost and vulnerable. when i was in this place i met my best friend. we bonded over a shared hatred of my ex boyfriend, who was an abuser, who was dating her ex best friend.

this should have been a red flag, but i ignored it.

i took the first friend i could find after my ex took away all my friends in an effort to isolate me after my assault. this was probably the worst part of my life, and one of my first real suicide attempts was only days before my father died. the first friend i found, the first soul i recognized i clung to.

when me and my friend, who we will call P, were inseparable. but there was a very clear and distinct difference between us. P was a star in the band at school, she had great grades, tons of friends and was quite conventionally attractive. she was involved in a lot of extracurriculars and overall had a very nice demeanor.

this should have been a red flag. as harsh as it might sound, idealizing anyone is unhealthy. if someone appears to you as perfect, it’s not paranoid of you to wonder if it’s hiding something. it’s hard to tell when someone is being genuine, especially for myself with autism. nice words and a smile can pretty much fool anyone.

i, on the other hand of P, dropped out of band and just about every other activity after my assault, and was in and out of intense therapy and psych visits throughout all of high school. i never could go a school year without a visit. to this day i have gone a whole year however :)

I was an autistic shut in who quite honestly, cried a lot, smelled bad, was clearly poor, spoke funny and came to school drunk. we were not the same.

i don’t want to go over every painstaking detail, so i’ll try to summarize as best i can the first two years of our three year relationship.

P was diagnosed with BPD about a month into our friendship. she told me i was her FP/favorite person, and showed me videos to learn about BPD. i remember watching hours and hours of information about BPD to accommodate her the best i could. what i didn’t realize however, was that she was lying. she didn’t have BPD, or at least couldn’t be diagnosed because we were 16.

red flag. i knew this was a lie because i had been in therapy for years. it took me a long time to peace it together but i accepted it and beget told her, until this moment, that i knew.

i fucking knew.

months of friendship included constant easy to see through lies, fabrications, pathological rants, and pretty much changing her “back story” every day. it was draining not to mention it, but the few times i did, she got physical. i have scars on my right forearm from her nails, which were long and broke skin. she would tell me she would pay me back for things and never show. she would make fun of things i told her in secret to our friends, my trauma. my dad.

“dark humor”

over time, she convinced me to drop every single friend i had except for her. she had gotten me literally completely vulnerable and isolated.

when covid hit, my mom, of course, kicked me out. i moved in with P and her family. my time there over quarantine was very monotonous, but i’ll never forget that for basically 8-9 months, she never let me out of her sight. i felt like i had to just do whatever she wanted because her mother let me live there for free.

p knew i wanted to move away from my mother and the chaos of my home life for years.

right before quarantine, P got her first boyfriend. she had never had a boyfriend and had been to scared to get one. i was really happy for her, i encouraged her to ask him out while she was at a weekend school event.

P then began to manipulate not only me, but him. to this day i don’t know what’s become of either of them, but i really couldn’t care less anymore. when trauma heals, you get a sense of apathy.

P would frequently belittle me, mock me, kick, trip and slap me, force me to pay for things for her and her boyfriend on the spot, and steal from my purse.

eventually living with p, third wheeling with her less than charming boyfriend, who i honestly just didn’t mind. we weren’t friends, but i was respectful to him and treated him the same way i would treat a friend from school or something.

p has a family i won’t bring up because it involves minors, but her mother has a psychotic disorder and refuses to be medicated, so the house is full of ripped door hinges, holes in walls, smashed items and more. it’s really unsafe there, and during my time there i found i really began to internalize as a person. i developed an eating disorder and my ptsd and autism felt much more out of control.

i had been diagnosed with autism for nearly two years at that point, and living in that household made me realize just how damaging meltdown after meltdown without anyone understanding can damage your psyche long term.

i wanted to leave. i had saved my money from my jobs and got an apartment. p insisted on coming, saying she didn’t want to live with her mom anymore. i didn’t want her to come, but i agreed. she got a co-sign. i knew it was a bad idea because i heard what they said about best friends living together. i just can’t believe it really happened.

we talked about growing old together, raising our kids together. i was going to name my first daughter after her. we were going to be neighbors. her husband and my wife would be best friends just like us, but that’s not what happened.

we lived together from August 2020-November 2020

to give a quick summary of the inevitable end of this relationship, P and I had two kittens together. i asked her if she could put them away for inspection so they didn’t run out the door while i drove our third roommate, a whole other mountain of a story, to work.

she didn’t do it, instead slacked off to go to her boyfriends house. so i came back and had to put the cats away at record speed and our other roommate was late to work.

even if this was somewhat small, it was the breaking point for me. i grabbed my phone and texted her, DEMANDING she explain why she couldn’t do this one thing for me. i have never been that angry in my life. we had a phone call where i just lost it and unleashed all my anger and all my hurt about everything she had done. i was sobbing and barely making sense but i couldn’t just keep letting my life carry on this way.

i wish i remembered how the phone call ended, but all i remember was telling her “if the cats run and we can’t find them, then we are done being roommates.”

the next morning i woke up and she had blocked me on everything. i drove to the apartment and saw that overnight, according to block times at like, 3am, she had taken all our shared furniture, all my birthday gifts from not two weeks prior, all the gifts i bought her, most of my clothes, one of the apartment keys, my high school diploma, the paperwork for the cats, and not just our two shared kittens, but my third roommates cat as well.

cue search party with my partner and his friends and my other roommate for P and the cats. i found her at her house with her mom and boyfriend. i walked out and she was on the phone with my grandfather, telling him i was threatening suicide. i ask her where the cats are, she says they are at a friends house.

if we flashback in the story, we literally only had each other, so i knew it was a lie.

i managed to argue through to negotiate at least my other roommates cat, but only after P’s mom blocked us in the driveway and called the police saying we threatened her daughter

(reminder people in this group were black and asian ☺️ so she just calls the cops fall 2020)

luckily the cops saw the proof she blocked me so i couldn’t have threatened her, and let us leave.

that’s the end of the friendship. i could bore anyone who has read this far further by explaining the nightmare realm that is the legal troubles with the apartment, but the internet doesn’t need to know everything does it?

as the winter has gone on i’ve had months to basically remake myself as a person. i had to firstly face the damage P had done.

but before i get into that, anyone who is still reading first, ily, but also, if you’ve had ANY relationship that sounds similar to this, THAT IS ABUSE.

Plain and simple. It is abusive. Physically, emotionally, mentally, verbally. nobody deserves that. not P. not you. not me.

friendships can be all someone has. not everyone is born into good families with loving siblings and great parents and tons of cousins who live .3 milliseconds away. families are divided. families, like mine, are divorced. families are broken and families sometimes aren’t even families. humans need relationships, and an idealistic person who we think maybe could save us and fix the world, won’t.

you can be taken advantage of by the person you trust the most just as easily as a stranger.

it’s not wrong to face the abuse they put you through, know it was wrong, and feel valid that it is was wrong.

what i went through with P was horrible. the detachment of my only friend hurt. but i bounced back. i’m still undoing some of the damage, but i have great friends and a wonderful partner. i have two rescue cats who mean the world to me.

life gets better after abuse, but the bad days and the pain aren’t invalid because of this. i have trauma from what P put me through. abandonment like that is traumatic. but it’s not the end. feel what you need to feel to feel better.

if anyone read this far and wants to vent their own experiences, or share more advice on preventing these relationships feel free. it’s almost 1:30 now, i should go to bed.

it feels good to get that off my chest.

[augmented-beauty]

Deus Ex OC profile 2.0

I found myself being extremely creative lately, and here we are. Here follows a long, more detailed profile of my dear baby, Alexandra. And yet, it still scratches the surface of her story, as I don’t want to spoil too much. 

Art by the amazing @mrs-chief​ yes, I’m still spamming it because I’m just too in love with this piece, no matter how many months have passed already.

Full name: Alexandra Maribel Montgomery Rivera

Date and place of birth: July 14, 1999, Detroit

Augmentations: eyes (Smart vision with Fine Transmitter Tuning, flash suppressant, retinal HUD), right arm (instant take-down, recoil compensation (full level), optimized musculature, punch through Wall, aim stabilizer, nanoblade, Tesla system, custom-made emergency button to rapidly release her ammo), Info Link.

Moral Alignment: Neutral good. Extremely loyal, Alexandra respects the authorities and she does not consider herself above law, but she believes that protocols and orders sometimes have to be ignored to do what is right. She usually doesn’t kill her enemies or opponents, but she won’t hesitate to pull the trigger to protect loved ones and when there’s no other way out.  

Alex is extremely loyal and devoted to her loved ones. Empathetic, extrovert, joyful, supportive, respectful and kind, it’s extremely easy to get on at least decently with her, but it’s still quite difficult to gain her trust. Open-minded and strong principled. Realistic, but she always tries to see the brighter side. She never gets too influenced by others, but she has some role models and people that admires deeply. Sometimes anger takes advantage of her, and she can be aggressive at times. Usually, her disappointment is expressed by sassy remarks.

Hobbies: singing and songwriting, videomaking, dancing

Family and life events

Her mother is Cuban, born in Havana, and moved to the USA to study and work. Her father, Koa, is a half Samoan-American (hapa) SWAT agent, born and raised in Detroit, but always visits Hawaii regularly. Her Hawaiian grandfather, Keoni, moved in Detroit in search of more job opportunities, while her grandmother is a white woman born in Detroit, disowned because of her will to marry a black man. They later moved back to Hawaii after retirement. Alex also has a younger sister, Isabelle Ignacia, former member of a Sarif’s research team. She has an excellent relationship with her family. Her parents, grandparents and sister are extremely supportive.

The two sisters suffer from Retinitis Pigmentosa (RP), a genetic, degenerative disease that slowly drags the patient into blindness. Luckily, both of them were able to access the needed augmentations as this technology started to become more common. Alexandra was the first one to get her augs back in 2018, agreeing to take part in a Sarif Industries initiative. Isabelle gets her own after a couple of years. Both their surgeries are successful, and the two sisters don’t really need to worry about their syndrome anymore. While Isabelle sticks to regular updates meant for a civilian as technology improves, Alex is more daring. In 2027, after debating about it for a while, thanks to her job, she gets some military upgrades.

Following her father’s footsteps, Alex applied for Police Academy after getting her Bachelor degree. That’s when she meets Adam, just days after her training at the Academy starts. Their meeting was almost a lucky coincidence: Alex was meant to have lunch with her father, but Adam was free, too. Koa thought it was the perfect occasion to have the two of them finally getting to know each other. He always had a good consideration of Adam, and Alex has heard of him before, multiple times. On the other hand, Adam has heard a lot about Alexandra, as Koa was always very proud of his daughter and all her achievements.

As her career progresses, Alexandra ends up in a relationship with Michael, who she has been knowing since college. The two of them both enrolled with DPD after their degree and ended up in Academy together as well. After graduating from Academy and after two abundant years of active service, Alexandra takes a step further and gets her training to join the SWAT division, with the support of her father and Adam, who both give her some help and tips when needed. Her career at DPD is brilliant, even though she never got the chance to become a commander herself.

Meanwhile, her sister studies hard and manages to get her dream job at Sarif Industries, and is assigned to Megan Reed’s team. There, Isabelle meets Faridah Malik and Francis Pritchard and introduces them to Alex. They both become some of the closest friends of the two sisters. For Alex and Isabelle, they’re more like siblings in bond.

Her life is relatively calm and peaceful until 2027 comes. The attack at Sarif Industries has her all over the place. Luckily, Isabelle wasn’t working that day, but what happened to Adam hits her and raises her stress levels. For months, Alex keeps worrying about her younger sister’s safety, and for Adam’s mental and physical health. Michael helps her a lot during this time, supporting her in every selfless action of hers. He’s not as close with Adam as Alex is, but still tries to support him, too. Some weight seems to be lifted from her shoulders when Adam is back in the saddle again, but six months after the first attack at SI, the same people responsible for what happened that day try to kidnap Isabelle, too. But once again, they fail, also thanks to Adam’s investigations and his right-on-time rescue. Some days after that, the Incident takes place. She’s off-duty and with Michael when the chaos starts to surround them. Alex didn’t get the new chip and is still sane. Even though they’re both off-duty, they end up inside a residential building, partially on fire, trying their best to aid some people stuck inside. A heavy augmented man, with heavy labour augs, is the current threat. Alexandra comes up with quite the reckless plan, acting as a living bait to give the chance to Michael to get those people safe. In that instant, there was no better option than that, it was only a matter of time. Things don’t really go as expected though. Alex gets badly stunned, and the man grabs her to throw her smaller body into the nearby flames. Michael barely makes it on time to save her, shooting the man, but there’s nothing he can do about her right arm, all he can do is extinguishing the fire. The pain is too much, and Alexandra is unconscious. Next thing she knows as she opens her eyes again, is that she’s in a hospital bed, with no right arm, and without Michael around. While doing everything to save her, he was badly injured and didn’t make it to the hospital, no matter how fast her father got there to pick them up. Her family also needs to let her know what happened in Panchaea, and that Adam is most probably dead.

The aftermath is pure hell. She went through one of the darkest times of her life. Lots of people that she called friends turned their backs to her only because of her second aug, guilt for Michael’s death ate her alive, and the whole process of rehab and the pain after the amputation were destroying her. Knowing that Adam was gone, too, made everything even worse. If it wasn’t for her family and closest friends, her mental health would have been extremely compromised.

The following months are all about recovery, and the support of her loved ones is crucial. Slowly, she gets back on track, regaining her inner fire, and coming back stronger than before. Her original songs and covers become a way for her to channel her emotions and to blow some steam off, even more than in the past, to give a message and raise awareness about what it really means to be augmented, and to, hopefully, bring some hope to augmented people like her. With time, an idea pestering the whole family becomes reality, and Montgomery Foundation is born. Based in Detroit, it’s meant to bring assistance to augmented people in desperate conditions, to raise awareness and to educate about what it means to be augmented, trying to stop the hatred. Alex and Isabelle put a lot of care into using the various social media channels to do this. Isabelle spreads awareness using her biomedical knowledge, while Alexandra insists more on the social, emotional side of the issue. This project also gives her the motivation and the inspiration to make some new content. This is not about music only anymore, Alex takes the chance to bring entertainment, too, as many have suggested her throughout the years. Her personality is perfect for this, and it could be a way to give more visibility to the Foundation and the activism that the whole family is carrying on.

Despite this new reality, Detroit is becoming unbearable. Once she can get back to work, things are not the same anymore. Alex can’t really see the point in being a cop anymore, not with all the violence and hatred that police brings upon augmented people. Most of her colleagues don’t fully trust her anymore, look at her like she was a walking death machine. Some don’t even try to hide their true feelings. The situation becomes more and more frustrating every day. But there’s a spark of hope in late 2028, one year after the incident: out of the blue, Adam is back in Detroit. It’s the key event that brings all her strength back, fully, after a year of struggles. Determined in helping him out, she has her first contact with Interpol’s Task Force 29. Jarreau agrees to have her taking part in their operation in Detroit as some sort of local aid agent, and is very impressed by her work. Before leaving, he suggests Alex to consider applying for Task Force 29, letting her know he wouldn’t mind to have her in Los Angeles.

As much as Detroit is testing her patience, Alexandra doesn’t leave immediately. She’s too concerned about the safety of her family, especially of her sister, and about the condition of the augmented people living in the former Sarif Industries area. Yet, Jarreau’s offer is tempting. It takes a while for her to even just start really considering such an option. Friends and family try to convince her for months, they know how this new job could benefit her. Adam, too, does his best to persuade her, giving her information, answering her questions about TF29; there’s no time zone that can stop him. It takes almost a year for Alex to finally decide to embrace this opportunity. DPD won’t let her go easily, though, no matter if they can only waste her potential, and her superiors manage to let her be a simple agent on trial. To officially become an Interpol agent, she will need to impress her superiors. The inconvenience doesn’t stop Alex, and she still sends her application to Interpol, to those terms. Instead of requesting to be part of the LA team, she applies for Prague’s team.

Alexandra’s intention is to move to Prague, to be by Adam’s side. In fact, after meeting him again almost a year before, she started to realise how her feelings for him went beyond friendship. Said epiphany only made her miss Adam more and more, making her want to run after a whole brand new start. She reaches Prague the day after Ruzicka’s bombing and is immediately thrown into action. Teamed up with Adam, she works on the bombing case and later takes part in London’s operation. Right after Apex Centre’s evens, Miller immediately gets to work to have Alexandra among his agents, and eventually, his efforts are successful. Things seem to be brighter for Alex from now on. She gets to spend more time with Adam, just like old times, and they get closer and closer, as close as never before. Their relationship gets deeper and deeper day by day and after a relatively short time, they end up together, from friends to lovers.

[chickensarentcheap]

Sanctuary -Chapter 19

Warnings: profanity

Tagging: @valkyrie-of-the-light, @alievans007, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @innerpaperexpertcloud

Nik has managed to arrange a private flight; a jet owned by a high-profile business big wig she's provided previous -and successful- services for. He has all the toys and all the connections: his own gulf stream, no checking of passports and baggage through either the small municipal airport in Telluride or the much larger one in Belfast,  a flight manifesto with all fictitious names, and absolutely no contact with the general public.  Normally Yaz would fly them in and out of extractions, but with many unknowns and the need for him to run point on the tech side of things in Ireland, a private flight had been the best and safest choice.

 Tyler had taken the seat at the very back of the jet; preferring to space himself out from the other two passengers and the small flight crew.  He'd needed a chance to clear his head; a stampede of thoughts surging through his already weary brain.  Unable to get Millie's meltdown out of his mind, the way she'd become a child possessed and he'd had to physically restrain her. Heart still aching over the words she'd said: “I hate you”, “Don't come back. EVER.” Stunned by the vehemence and hostility that had just spewed from such a tiny, innocent body. The look of the utmost betrayal written all over her face.

 And his wife. That heartbroken, lost, and haunted look in her eyes when she'd kissed him goodbye. The way she'd clung to him when the made love for the last time; her hands slowly moving over his body, as if committing every inch of him to memory. Of their desire to have another baby: the first and last. And how he hopes and prays that the news doesn't come while he's away.

 His eyes are closed, arms folded over his chest, legs stretched out under the seat in front of him when he feels someone slip into the seat beside him. And he cracks open one eye just as McCann, a glass of whiskey in his hand, plops down next to him.  Part of him wants to tell the guy to fuck off; after all, he's the main reason behind Millie's meltdown and harsh words and Esme's heartbreak. But his more logical and humane side reminds him that this is a man who genuinely needs someone to prop him up Who is going through quite possibly the worst shit a husband and a father could ever deal with.

 “It's always hard saying goodbye,” McCann says, as he sips his drink.

 Tyler nods. “My wife takes it pretty bad. She's been struggling with some things. Since Dhaka.”

 “PTSD?”

 “Undiagnosed. But yeah, I think so.”

 He'd been so caught up dealing with his own issues and getting Ovi the help he needed, that her struggles had bee pushed to the back burner. And they've spent so much time, effort, and energy during their five years of marriage having a babies and raising them, that he's never really pressed the issue of her getting some kind of help. But he sees it. Every day. The way she struggles with her up and down moods; hyper and manic one moment, horrifically down and depressed the next. Her battle with self confidence since having Declan and being unable to lose the last ten pounds she is always obsessing about. The sleep issues.  The days when she can't even get out of bed because the weight of the world is just wearing her down.

 “How about your kids?” McCann asked. “How do they handle it?”

 “The baby's too young to understand anything. The twins handled it pretty well.  They're just disappointed that we didn't get to do all the things I promised we would when I got back last week. My daughter...” he sighs, leaning his head back against the seat.  “...she didn't take it too well.”  He leaves it at that. It's too painful to relive, and the man sitting beside him doesn't need to know every detail of what goes on behind closed doors.

 “She's a daddy's girl?”

 Tyler nods. “Well, she was. I'm not so sure about now.”

 “Kids are resilient,” the other man reasons. “By tomorrow she'll have bounced back and all will be forgiven.”

 “I hope so. She's a stubborn little thing. Like her mother. She doesn't forgive and forget easily. If at all. I've been on my wife's shit list a few times and the past and it felt like I was never getting off of it.  She's amazing though,” he smiles. “She's put up with a lot. Keeps putting up with a lot. I haven't always been the best husband for her. I'm not an easy person to live with. Yet she keeps hanging in there and giving me chance after chance.”

While infidelity has never been an issue, his own struggles with mental health problems  and substance abuse has caused a lot of angst within the last few years, as has  his often volatile temper and his need for control and issues with seeing her as a possession instead of an actual person. But they've battled through it; a lot of fights, counselling, even a trial separation when the twins were only two.

  They latter they'd kept a secret from everyone they knew.   Friends and family alike.  It had been the wake up call that he'd needed; living in a shitty hotel, relegated to seeing his kids once every two weeks, wanting so badly to beg and plead with her to just take him back yet his pride never actually allowing him to do it. For six months they'd lived like that. Barely speaking except for him he'd stop by to grab the kids or when he took them home. Never actually setting foot in the house, instead having to carry on awkward and tension filled conversations with her on the front porch. Until one night she'd called him and said she missed him.  That she wanted him to come home.

 After that he'd made it his mission to make up for all the bullshit he'd put her through.

 “You're lucky,” McCann says. “That you found someone like that. Not many in the game manage to, you know. It's hard finding someone that gets it. That understands why we do what we do.  It's a hard life. Not just for us, but for them too. Having to put up with us gone all the time, taking care of a house and a family all on their own. It's why so many people in this job never get married. Or if they do, it never lasts long.”

 Tyler thinks about G. Finally meeting the love of his life and settling down, only to never get the chance to grow old and gray with his bride.  

 “Drink?” McCann offers. “I can wave the stewardess over.”

 “I'm fine, mate. Thanks. I'm trying to stay clean for a couple of weeks. I've been going a little overboard lately and I need to slow down. For my family.”

 “Battles with the bottle?”

 Tyler hesitates on using the word 'alcoholic'. He's never felt that things have been that out of control. At least not within the past five years.

 “I struggle from time to time,” he admits. “It's my weakness.  I try not to let it beat me.”

 “Must be hard. Seeing what you see. Doing the things you do.”

 “It has it's moments,” he agrees.

 “You know,” McCann downs the remains of his drink, the motions to the stewardess that he'd like another. “You didn't have to stay in a hotel. I've got enough room at my place. Why waste the money?”

 “I'm not actually paying for anything. Nik takes care of all that. I appreciate the offer, but I work better on my own. When I have my own space and my own little bubble. I focus a lot better.  Besides, the last time I stayed under the same roof as someone while doing a job, I ended up marrying them. And no offence, but you're just not my type.”

 McCann laughs at that. “None taken. I can definitely understand why you'd prefer to stay under the same roof with her.   I hear Nik has a little project she's working on. Starting up the business in North America.”

 Tyler nods.

 “She said she asked you to run it. You given it much thought?”

 “If I had to give my answer now, it would be yes. But ask me in two weeks. It all depends on how things go while we're in Ireland. Things go nice and smooth, then I go for it. Things go to shit, then I just go home and keep doing what I'm doing now. I've already told Nik this is my last year. That I'd give her twelve months and than I was walking away. My family needs me. They deserve to have me home. And we're trying to have another baby, so...”

 “Another one? Five all together? You're mighty brave. Both of you. Why not go for two? Make it an even half dozen?”

 “I don't think my wife would go for that. Unless this one ends up being twins too.  If I do take the offer from Nik, I'd be home more. Not so much time out in the field. And let's face it, I'm not getting any younger. My mind may say yes, but my body is very much telling me no.  I don't know how much more I can put it through before it just gives out entirely.”

 “I keep telling myself...and my wife...that I'm going to give it up,” the other man muses. “I've been saying it every year for the last six. But something always comes up and I just keep hanging in there. My wife's a lot like yours. Stubborn as all hell. Fiery temper. Likes to hold a grudge from time to time. But she keeps me around. Lord knows why. I've put her through a lot. Because of the job,”

 “I guess we're both lucky then,” Tyler reasons. “We both managed to find that balance. Between the job and a real life. It's not easy. Far from it. But it's worth it. Every time she smiles at me. Every time my kids hug me or tell me they love me. It makes all the bullshit worth it.”

 McMann nods in agreement, slowly sipping his drink. Contemplative now. Eyes dark. Lips set in a thin, firm line.

 “We'll find them, mate,” Tyler assures him. “We'll find them, and we'll bring them home.”

 “I've been thinking about what you said the other day. When you talked about why you didn't want to be the one to get the kids. About not wanting to have to choose between the two of them. If you knew you could only get one or the other.”

 “I never should have said that. I was way out of line. I never...”

 “You made a very valid point. As much as it hurt to hear you say it. What if you couldn't get both out at once? What if you knew there'd be no chance of going back to get the other? How would you decide? If you had to pick between your two sons. Your twins. Which one would you pick?”

 “I wouldn't,” Tyler's answer comes easily. With absolutely no hesitation. There isn't a scenario that he hasn't run through his mind at least once or twice.  A solution that he hasn't come up with. “If it came down to that, I’d make a deal. My life for both of theirs. If something like that were to happen, it would mean that whoever it is, is after me. They don't want my kids. Not really. They just know that taking my kids will bring me to them.   I'd give them what they want. Me. As long as it means they let go of my kids.”

 “And if they won't? Let them go?”

 “Then they better make sure the first bullet is the one that kills me. Because I won't go down easily. I'll do whatever it takes to save my kids. Or my wife. So they better make sure they put me down permanently the first time because I'm going to just keep getting back up.”

 McMann nods slowly, considering the words as he swirls the ice within his glass.

 “If you're not willing to do that, what the hell are we even doing here, mate? If you're not willing to sacrifice yourself for your kids, so they can live and get home to their mother, why are you even bothering with all of this? You know it's you that they want.  They're just using your family to get to you. If it comes down to it, are you willing to give yourself up so your kids will get back to their mom?”

 “They have to have a mom to get back to you. That's your job.”

 “And I'll do my job. I'll find your wife. I'll get her out of there.  But I'm not worried about my end of things. I've got my shit under control.  But if you're not willing to give up your life for your kids, this is all for nothing.  You don't offer yourself up, they'll kill all of you. You pick one kid over the other and you'll kill yourself in the end. Because you'd never be able to look at yourself in the mirror again.  You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself. So you better be ready for that, mate. To make that choice. Yourself or them. Because it's a damn good possibility that that's going to happen.”

 McCann finishes his drink in one large gulp. Coughing as the whisky burns his throat. “And what if you've got a choice to make? When you find my wife? If they want your life for hers? What decision are you making?”

 “It's simple,” Tyler says.  “I'm going home to my family. And it's not going to be in a body bag.”

 The other man blinks at the brutal honesty.

 “Let's get one thing straight. I'm here to help you. I'm not here to die for you. For any of you. If it comes down between me and your wife, I'm being a selfish bastard and choosing me. Because I've got my own wife at home. I've got four kids. And I made a promise to all of them that I was coming home. Alive. And no one is going to stop that from happening.”

 “Your family gets the money,” McCann reminds him. “If you don't make it, they still get the money. As long as my wife gets out of there.”

 “I don't give a shit about the money.  Five and a half years ago, when I had a death wish, I would have gladly gone in there and offered myself up for a complete stranger. Back then I wouldn't have given a shit. I was close to putting a bullet in my own head, so it wouldn't have mattered if someone did it for me.  But now? I have way too much to lose. People that count on me. Depend on me. And as big of a dick as I sound for saying it, your wife's life is not worth more than mine.”

 “I'm counting on you, Rake. I'm counting on you to get her out of there. To make those bastards pay. Don't fuck me over just because all of a sudden you can't take the heat or because you get a little squeamish.”

 “I can take the heat. And I don't get squeamish. We're not buddies. We're not partners. So you better watch who you threaten. I'm not scared of you. Or your buddies in the IRA.  You asked for my help. I could have easily just told you to fuck off and leave me alone.  But I'm here. I'm on your side. And if you're the one that's planning to fuck me over, you better start thinking twice right about now.”

 “You don't trust me?”

 “I don't trust anyone. It isn't personal. If I find out there's any hidden agenda or something you're not telling me, you better run and hide.  Run far. Find the darkest, deepest hidden place you can. I will come for you.  If I get to Belfast and this was all some kind of bullshit to get me away from my family...to make me vulnerable...there isn't going to be a place I can't find you.”

 McCann smirks.  “Now you're threatening me?”

 “That's not a threat. That's a promise.  Don't fuck me over. I'm warning you right now. Because if I come for you, you better have a goddamn army to help you out.  All those stories you've heard? The things I've done? The people I've killed. They're all true.  Bigger and better than you have tried to put me down. And I'm still here. So if this is some kind of game...”

 “This is all true. Every word of it. The videos you saw. All real.  This isn't some kind of ploy to get you into a strange place and catch you off guard. This is exactly what it is. A job. I need your help.  No games. No bullshit.”

 “Fair enough,” Tyler says, once more leaning his head back against the seat and closing his eyes. Hoping the other man will take the hint and leave him alone.

 “You just do your job, Rake.  You get my wife out of there and you make those bastards pay. In whatever way you have to. I need you to give me your word. That you won't leave her there. That you won't just drop her off in the middle of nowhere or leave her in the street.  At least give me that. At least give me your word that you'll do whatever it takes. That you'll make them pay.”

 He sighs and opens his eyes, seeing the hand that is being offered.

 “You have my word,” he says, and they shake on it.

 *****

 While not exactly five star, the hotel in Belfast is a far cry from the one he’d stayed at in Dhaka.   Clean. Spacious enough for two queen sized beds. Fresh carpet and paint; no unusual or concerning stains lingering on the walls.  No weird smells.  No obnoxious noise from the street below. Running water -hot water at that- and a normal shower and tub. A toilet that flushes.

 There’s two closets. The first one he uses to stash his clothes and personal effects. The second he uses for the ruck sack filled with weapons; using an abnormally large and powerful combination lock looped through the handles on the doubles door to keep it safe and secure.  He removes the holster from his right hip; setting both it and the Glock in the top drawer of the nightstand that separates the two beds.

 He hangs the Do Not Disturb sign on the outside of the hotel room door, then sets both the locks; deadbolt and flimsy chain. Toes his boots off and leaves them in front of the closet that holds the weapons.  The SAT phone he uses to send a message to Nik that he’s arrived and to expect a call soon from her brother, then he places it in the drawer next to the Glock.  There’s an unlocked mini bar in the far corner; next to the dresser and the wall mounted TV.  Locating the remote, he turns the latter on and selects a local news channel, volume on low as he grabs a travel bottle of scotch from the bar and cracks open the seal. He doesn’t even consider grabbing a glass from the small kitchenette, taking a long pull straight from the bottle as he stands in front of the sliding glass door that leads out onto the small balcony.  The room overlooks the downtown area, much cleaner than the market area in Dhaka. Less populated. White mini lights strung up in the trees that line the curbs, shops with illuminated closed signs, flashing neon advertising which bars and restaurants are open to patrons.

 His stomach growls. Prompting him to make a mental note to order room service.

 Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he places the bottle of scotch on the floor and his elbows on his knees, running his hands over his weary face, then clasping his hands together and closing his eyes. Contemplating his first moves when the new day breaks. He has to wait for Yaz to get some information; even the smallest tidbit that will send him in the right possible direction.  Wandering aimlessly through town will only draw unnecessary attention. People will find who he is and what he’s there for when the time is right.

 He opens his eyes, meeting his own reflection in the glass.  His beard needs a trim. He already needs to take the clippers to the shortest parts of his hair.  

 He’ll do that in the morning.

 Taking another swig of scotch, he stands up; wincing as his knees crack noisily.  He finds his cell phone in the inside pocket of the flack jacket that he’d worn from the airport and now hangs in the unlocked hall closet.  Hitting the second number on speed dial as he slides open the patio door and steps outside.  The air is crisp and fresh; an unusually cool evening for summer in Ireland, he’d been told by the desk clerk. And he takes a seat on one of the patio chairs just as the call reaches the fourth ring and someone finally answers.

 “Hey,” he greets, his heart immediately feeling a hundred pounds lighter at the familiar sounds of his ‘normal’ life in the background; the dog barking, the kids squabbling, the baby giggling and attempting speech.

 “Hey,” he can hear the relief in her voice. He knows she’s smiling. “Did you just get in?”

 “About half an hour ago.”

 “What time is it there?”

 “Eight thirty. PM.”  He does the math in his head.  He’s seven hours ahead. Making it one thirty, her time.

 “How was the flight?”

 “Long. No issues though. I don’t know who this guy is that Nik knows or what she has on him that he’s so willing to cough up his private jet, but I’m not going to complain.”

 ‘Maybe they’re friends. Special friends. If you catch my drift.”

 He grins. “Maybe. I’m sure she has a lot of special friends.”

 “You sound tired.”

 “I am. Tired. Sore. Hungry.”

 “Well make sure you eat. I know how you get when you start throwing yourself into something. You won’t do anyone any good if you’re trying to run on an empty tank.”

 He smirks. “Worrying about me from even thousands of miles away, huh?”

 “It’s what I do, Tyler. I worry. I try to take care of you.  It would be a lot easier if you weren’t so damn stubborn. Are you okay?”

 “I’m fine,” he picks the bottle of scotch up off the ground and takes a swig. “You okay?”

 “I guess. As good as I can be. The first couple of days are the worst. But I manage.”

 “The kids?”

 “They’re doing okay.  They get sad and weepy every now and then. Tyler is grumpy as all hell. He is so much like you. He even has the same facial expressions when he’s mad or irritated. I see so much of you in him. Tanner is really stepping in to help him through things.  He’s an old soul, that one. He’s just so sensitive and so intuitive. Such a big heart in such a tiny body.”

 “Like his mom. All the best stuff he got from you.”

 “Oh I don’t know about that. He got some pretty amazing things from you, too.”

 He smiles at that. “And Millie?”  

 “She’s pretty bitchy. I’ve had to send her to her room twice already today.  She’s just snapping at everything and taking it out on her brothers. She’s stronger than she looks. She almost beat the living shit out of Tyler because he looked at her the wrong way. And you know how strong and tough he is.  Your daughter does not take shit from anyone. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. I mean, at least we know she’ll be able to handle herself when she gets older if some asshole tries anything with her. But at the same time, she should not be beating the crap out of her brothers. She even goes after the baby. And all he’s doing is baby things.”

 “I’ll talk to her tomorrow. If she’ll talk to me, that is.”

 “She’ll be fine, Tyler. She’ll be happy to hear your voice. She’s already asked about you. Three times. If you’d gotten to Ireland yet and if you’d called to say you were okay.  I know she feels bad. For what she said to you. Please don’t let it bother you. She’s a little girl. She just worries about you and misses you. She didn’t mean what she said. Don’t hold it against her.”

 “I don’t. I just thought I had a lot of years to go before she said something like that. Like when I started scaring potential boyfriends off. I swear to God, if she brings home some guy with weird hair and tattoos…”

 “You basically just described yourself,” his wife laughs.

 “You like my hair.”

 “I love your hair.  You know she’s going to bring someone home that you just despise, right?”

 “I’m going to despise all of them. Not just one of them. All of them. None of them will be good enough for her. Not a single damn one.”

 “I’m sure someone will come along that you like. Maybe someone like you. A military guy.”

 “Uh, yeah, no. That’s definitely not what I want for her.”

 “I don’t know, you’re a pretty good catch. And you’re ex military. So…”

 “Ex. You hit the nail on the head. Ex. Look what I do now. Is that really what you want for our daughter? This kind of life?”

 “I think you’re overreaching. There’s a big difference between her finding a military guy and her finding a mercenary. And where would she ever find one of those?”

 “You found me,” he points out.

 “Only because I was already in the job. Our paths would never have crossed if I hadn’t had been. I doubt that is going to be a lifestyle that she choice.  She’s beautiful and smart and…”

 “So are you.”

 “…and we’ll do our best to get her on a different path. That’s years away, Tyler. Why stress about it now? And why talk as if this is the worst possible life to have? It isn’t. I know you get down on yourself and you think you’re a failure as a husband and a father. You think that I hate you and that I hate this life.  But I’ve never once hated you. Ever. And I don’t hate this life. It’s not my most favourite thing and it’s hard. But I walked into this. Willingly. I fell in love with you.  I chose you. And I don’t regret that. So please don’t ever think I do.”

 Silence falls between them as he considers her words; the power of them both comforting and overwhelming. And he closes his eyes against the hot, bitter tears that threaten.

 “Tyler?”

 He clears his throat noisily. “Yeah?”

 “Are you okay?”

 “Yeah, I’m fine,” he assures her.  “I miss you.”

 “Already?” he can practically hear the grin on her face. “That was quick.”

 “I missed you the second I got on the plane,” he admits.

 “I miss you too, baby. It was hard this morning. Waking up and not having you there. With your messy hair and your sleepy little grin.  The way you kiss me awake. And the way you do other things to wake me up.”

 He grins at that.

 “Most of all, I just miss you. I miss your smell. The sound of your voice.  Your smile. The way it crinkles the corners of your eyes. I miss all those things.”

 He can hear the emotion in her voice; the way it chokes at her. And he can’t hold back the tears any longer; allowing them to flow freely down his cheeks and the sides of his nose.

 “Please be safe,” her voice is barely above a whisper. “Because if anything happens to you…”

 “I’ll be fine,” he assures her, and uses the back of his hand to wipe the tears away.  “You know how you said you didn’t trust McCann? That something about him just doesn’t feel right? And I said you were probably just on edge? Well I’m starting to think you’re right.”

 The line crackles as she moves the phone from one ear to the other. “What’s happened?”

 “Just a conversation we had on the plane. The other day when we first met, he wanted me to be the one that goes for the kids. I told him that I couldn’t do it. That I wouldn’t do it. That I didn’t feel confident that I’d be able to safely get three of us out. One kid was enough in Dhaka. And he was a teenager. Not a little one. I told him that he should be the one to get his kids. That I’d deal with the wife.”

 “Makes sense. I mean, they might panic if they saw you. A complete stranger all dressed up like he’s going to war.  That would just make things worse if they got scared and freaked out. They won’t do that if it’s their dad.”

 “Exactly what I thought. It just makes more sense. I brought up what would happen if I could only get myself and one of them out of there. How would I make that kind of decision? About which kid lives or dies?”

 “Tyler…” she sighs. “…don’t do this…”

 “He threw it back in my face on the plane. He asked me how I would choose. If it came down to the twins. If I knew I could only get one of them out alive. Which one would I pick?”

 “Tyler…”

 “I told him I wouldn’t. That I’d make a deal. My life for both of theirs. It’s me someone would want. Not them. They’d just be using the kids to get to me.”

 Silence from the other end.

 “Esme?”

 “I’m here,” the sadness hangs heavily in her voice. “Tyler, why are you…?”

 “I would do it. In a heartbeat. Offer myself up for them. For any of my kids. For you.”

 “I know. But…”

 “It was weird. How he responded to that. Like he wasn’t on the same page. What father wouldn’t do that for their kids? Especially when he knows that he’s the one they want? What father wouldn’t give himself up to save his children? I can’t wrap my head around that. Then he asked me I’d do if it came down to saving myself or his wife.”

 “And you said…”

 “I told him that her life isn’t worth more than mine. That I have my own wife and my own family and I’m going home to them. And it’s not going to be in a body bag. I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m a selfish prick now.”

 “It’s not selfish. It’s smart. It’s self preservation.”

 “There’s something not quite right about this guy. I didn’t like the way he acted when I talked about how he might have to sacrifice himself for his kids. He was reluctant. He wasn’t willing to make that choice. And that’s fucked up. To me, anyways. It should be an easy decision to make. At least in my eyes.”

 “Be careful, Tyler. Watch your back. Even more so than you usually do. Something isn’t right here. And I think you’re beginning to think that way too.”

 “Yeah…” he finishes off the scotch. “…I am. I miss you,” he says once more. “I miss you so fucking much.”

 “I miss you too.  Be safe, okay? Come home in one piece.”

 “I will. I promise.”

 “Go and get something to eat. And try to get some sleep. You’ve got a big job ahead of you. I’m proud of you, just so you know. I’m so proud of you, Tyler. For doing the things you do. For other people. I know it’s not easy on you. But you still do it. You still put people ahead of yourself. Even knowing the consequences. Even knowing the ending might be horrible. You’re the strongest person I know. And the bravest. Whether you want to hear that or not. Whether you want to admit it. Ovi was right. When he said you were brave for rescuing people. You are.”

 “I love you,” he manages through another wave of tears.  “Just know that I love you. That I always have, I always will.”

 “Please don’t talk like that. It sounds so…final.”

 “I just want you to hear it. I just want you to remember it. Just in case.”

 “I love you too. I’ve loved you right from the beginning.  I meant it. When I said it to you on that bridge. I know it was way too soon. It shouldn’t have made any sense. But I meant it. I love you and I can’t wait for you to come home. Please be careful.”

 “I will. I’ll call you tomorrow. Hug and kiss the kids for me. Tell them I love them. That I miss them. That I’ll be home soon.”

 “I will,” she promises. “And eat, Tyler. Get something in your stomach. And then get some sleep. Or try to at least.”

 “I love you,” he says one last time.

 “I love you, too. We’ll talk soon.”  And with that, she disconnects the call.

 Sighing, he places his cell phone on the ground beside the empty bottle of scotch and runs his hands over his face.  Unable to shake the feeling that he’s walking straight into hell.

[illyrianwingspans]

Do No Go Gentle: Donna

Link to song: Donna by the Lumineers

Synopsis: In which Feyre has a business meeting with a potential employer. 

TW: Vague mentions of self-harm and abuse. 

Ao3 Link

Chapter 21: Donna

Rhys

Like fucking clockwork, I woke with the rising sun.

It took less than five minutes to peel out of my sheets and pull some clothes on. Two minutes to down the shot of espresso and munch through an apple in the kitchen. One minute to creep back up the stairs quietly and open that door, just the tiniest slit—

Her figure was slumped to the side, arm dangling off the ledge of the bed. But I could see it, that steady up and down of her chest. Alive. Breathing. Peaceful.

Striking.

It was the only confirmation I needed before peeling back down the stairs and throwing on a pair of sneakers. As the pink clouds began to fade, my feet slammed against the pavement. The sun was still a blip on the horizon, Prythian wiping away the night’s remaining darkness, and with each song drowning out the noise in my ears more cars began to appear on the road as the rest of the city awoke. Soon enough, I was washed in the rays of sunshine. Sweat soaked through my thin long-sleeve, but I didn’t care. I just kept pushing.

It’d been three weeks since I ran. But this morning, I felt wired. Like my mind hadn’t turned off last night in its slumber. How could it? Not after what happened yesterday. Not after what Feyre told me last night.

I’d never felt anything like it before. It was a physical, throbbing ache in my chest, like my heart had truly cleaved in half and spilled all its venomous ichor into my body.

For some reason, it was worse than watching her perched on the ledge of the roof. Knowing that she’d been so miserable, for far longer than I could’ve imagined—

It struck something within me. Like a pianist crescendoing to the climax of a song only to play the wrong chord.

And I had no idea how to help her.

That’s what scared me the most out of all of this—despite my best efforts, Feyre’s condition was beyond my abilities. I’d done all I could out of my own personal experience to try and assuage the difficulties she’d experienced in the last three weeks, but this…

Last night, I felt completely and utterly useless. That was the worst part, I thought, about seeing someone you care about struggle with mental health issues—knowing that there is very little you can do to help. All I had were my words, carefully chosen to goad her into speaking as much as she comfortably would, and gentle enough to tell her that I was there for her, that I would support her. But all I wanted to do, all my instincts roared at me to do, was hold her. Hug her against me. Tell her that I was there, that I cared about her.

Those feelings pounding within my heart flared up again, and my foot faltered on its next step.

I stopped in my tracks. The rap music was still blaring in my ears. I ripped my earphones out, letting them dangle along my neck, and strode over to a nearby bench as I tried to shove some air into my lungs.

Fuck, I thought, I’m so out of shape.

My fingers were already dashing across the screen. Plenty of articles came up after the search, and I scrolled through them, taking screenshots of things that caught my eye. If I didn’t know how to help her, the least I could do was arm myself with some information. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a starting point.

When the steely pincers of anxiety finally unclamped themselves from my fried nerves, I was off again. There were so many other pieces of the story that seemed to root themselves in my mind, no matter how fast or hard I pushed my body, they never seemed to shake away.

I was in a car accident two years ago.

I killed someone.

It couldn’t have been her. No, I refused to hold onto that piece of illogical information my brain was trying to latch itself to. So I blasted my music up higher, and kept running.

***

Feyre

The only thing I knew how to cook was scrambled eggs.

Dad taught me how. When I was in high school, usually Elain made breakfast so I could have something in the mornings, but no one ever made me lunch. I relied on the lunch service the school provided for the ‘less fortunate’—but I couldn’t use it too often. No, if I went there every day, then the school got suspicious and started asking questions I wasn’t ready to answer. So, once or twice a week I’d go to the Home Ec room and take the cheese sandwich, apple and juice box—it was better than nothing. The counsellor would smile at me, I’d fake a story about sleeping in, missing the bus, anything but the truth that gnawed at the back of my mind.

We didn’t have money. We lived in a shitty two bedroom condo, bought with the remnants of money my dad had after mom died, and could barely pay for weekly groceries. Utilities, other household bills, dad paid when he was sober enough to read. But groceries came out of my pocket and the penance of a salary I earned as an administrative aid at school. It was only an hour or two after school, and it paid alright, but all the money went towards food.

My sisters didn’t bat an eye at the effort. They kept on their usual business, attending college on their scholarships. I sure as hell wasn’t smart enough to get a scholarship, but the financial aid department took one look at my level of income and offered to pay a hefty percentage, while the rest was covered by student loans. I thought I’d have to work those off for years.

Until he came along and paid them without even batting an eye. That, and any other outstanding debt my sisters or father had. And, and—I couldn’t leave out the wondrous house he’d bought on the other side of the city. The one we’d both helped my father move the boxes to, the one Nesta and Elain had definitely never visited after they’d moved out.

I couldn’t help but think about my dad. I wondered what he was doing right now, across the city, by himself. And the first thing that came to my mind was the bottle of whiskey sitting on the floor by his chair. He was always slumped in that chair with a faraway smile on his face. Sometimes I would sit next to him on the second hand couch and we’d watch TV together. Most of the time, I’d take one look at him and storm off to my room to imagine another life where none of it happened. Where mom didn’t die, where we weren’t flat broke, and I wasn’t miserable.

How I’d gone from the two bedroom condo to this townhouse, I didn’t want to think about. All I knew was that I’d never have to go back there again.

Because of him.

The front door opened and closed quietly, shaking me from my thoughts. I focused once again on my eggs, dividing both of them into two plates before setting four slices of bread in the toaster. When the footsteps got closer, I turned and saw Rhys there, sweat dripping down his face, rap musing blaring from his earphones. He hadn’t spotted me yet in the kitchen, his eyes on his phone. From where I stood between the stove and the kitchen island, I had a clear view of his hand reaching down to clutch his t-shirt and pull it over his head in one swift movement, ripping the earphones away as well.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t stare at his chest. Defined and smooth, pure muscle was glistening in the light from the bay windows at the front of the living room. His stomach was hardened, toned yet still soft where the tan skin heaved from his panting. And on his chest, down his biceps—

Tattoos. Beautiful, midnight blue tattoos swirling down his skin in inky swirls, contrasting his tanner colouring. I’d seen them, a peek of them that night at Rita’s, but glancing at them now, I couldn’t help but appreciate the craftsmanship behind such beauty. Art in all forms were difficult to master—but when your canvas was human flesh, it made it all the more impressive.

And on him, it looked breathtaking.

“Something smells burnt,” he smirked at me, wiping the sweat on his face with his t-shirt.

I gasped, jumping out of my stupor as I turned to the toaster. Of course, the four slices staring back at me were black. Burnt to a mother-fucking crisp.

I sighed. Of course out of the two components of this meal, I’d burn the most idiot-proof one. At least I had a reasonable excuse for it standing in the living room.

“Like what you see, darling?” Rhys called as he clambered up the stairs.

“Oh, go jump in the shower. I could smell you from down the block.”

I stared angrily down my plate as I shovelled the eggs into my mouth. The new round of toast was grilling, the toaster on a much lower setting this time, and it popped up by the time Rhys’s footsteps hit the ground level once again. How he’d managed to pull himself together so quickly—tux, gelled hair and shaven face, I had no clue, but I’d be lying to myself if I said he didn’t look immaculate. Nonetheless, I tried my best to ignore his presence after that spout before.

He grinned as he took me in sitting at the counter.

“Don’t give me that look.”

His brows shot up, but that playful, mischievous glint in his eyes remained. “What look?”

“Like a cat just caught a fucking mouse. I have half a mind to dump your breakfast in the garbage.”

“At least it’ll keep that pitiful toast you chucked away from getting lonely.” Nonetheless, he took the four slices from the toaster, deposited two of them on my plate, and dug into his meal perched on the edge of the counter.

“There’s no need to deny that you find me attractive, Feyre. Just try not to ogle me so openly next time. It was very objectifying, to be quite honest.”

My cheeks heated, and I said around my mouthful of buttery bread, “Just when I thought your level self-esteem couldn’t get any higher. You’ll probably be replaying that moment in your mind all day.”

“Got a busy day, darling. Meetings in the morning at the office and a very important lunch date that I simply cannot miss. But I will try to squeeze in some daydreaming.” He pointed at me with his fork, his plate already scraped clean despite starting after me.  “Cassian’s coming by to hang out with you after.”

I rolled my eyes. “A babysitter? Seriously?”

Rhys looked over his shoulder from where he stood perching a travel mug beneath this spout of his Nespresso machine. “Not a babysitter, Feyre. A friend. Some company. Someone other than me to talk to.”

“Sending Cassian is like sending a carbon copy of yourself but with more muscle.”

“Firstly, he misses you and wanted to spend some time together. And secondly, ouch. You ogle me, then you insult me?” He twisted the cap onto his mug and fished his keys out of the dish by the edge of the counter, making his way towards the door.

“I’ll make sure to tell the chef to poison you today at lunch!” I called down the townhouse’s main corridor.

“And I’ll tell Cassian you’ve been dying to try his new CrossFit exercises!”

I rolled my eyes, but smiled to myself nonetheless after the door shut quietly behind him.

As I gathered the dishes to be washed in the sink, my mind wandered to last night. The two of us hunched in that tub speaking quietly to each other, me unveiling the darkest thoughts curled into the back of my mind.

I’d never said those words out loud before. With him, we just ignored that it was there in the first place. Lucien and Ianthe only found out because of that one incident at a charity dinner, when Ianthe picked a dress for me without thinking twice about it, and my scars were on display for anyone who got within five feet of me. I outright refused to show up to the stupid thing, but everyone insisted I made an appearance. Once Tamlin saw why, he made an excuse. Those who asked him—because it was impolite to ask me to my face—believed they were scars from the accident.

We all knew it was a lie. Lucien tried talking about it a few times with me, but I pushed him away. How the hell was I supposed to explain that I got so furious with my own mind that I intentionally hurt myself? Every time I tried, there was this burning sensation within my chest. Shame. Shame and crushing embarrassment.

But last night seemed so…easy. I didn’t know what it was about Rhys. I just always felt the need to tell him the truth. Whether it was because he’d seen me at my worst, or because he seemed to understand me like nobody else ever had. It was so…weird. To have somebody to listen to you after so long spent trapped in the silence.

Weird, and absolutely terrifying.

But there was also that festering guilt, and shame—immense shame, for those few moments when I looked at him in the living room. When I… enjoyed looking at him.

When I enjoyed our quiet dinner together last night.

I shook my head as I scrubbed the plate, the memory dissolving in my mind.

***

After Cassian treated me to a gruelling workout at his gym, I found myself back at the house, showered and prepped for Rhys and I’s lunch. Cassian had lingered downstairs to drive me over because Rhys was still caught up in a meeting.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” I wondered as Cassian and I weaved through streets downtown. Today the city was bright, ripe with activity and flurries of people. The air was slowly getting warmer. Soon I wouldn’t have to wear a jacket anymore.

“I’ve worked enough over the past two months to take a day off every now and then. Plus, I don’t think my boss cares too much,” Cassian said with a wink.

True. It was a constant reminder that though these people were his family, he technically pulled rank over them at work, with the investigation. But when they were just together, hanging out, it completely slipped my mind.

“Are the rest of them at the office, then?”

“Azriel’s pretty much stuck to his computer monitoring any possible anomalies in Hybern’s movements. He’s got someone following him just to be safe, but so far nothing much has happened. Amren’s combing through old files and investigations affiliated with him to see if she can catch anything and researching possible loopholes to prevent him from making the sale for that land. ” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Mor’s just trying to keep calm in the building and helping Rhys out as much as she can, but things are starting to get a little chaotic.”

“How do you guys do it all?” I asked, eyes trailing upon the buildings, which seemed to get smaller and smaller as we neared the outskirts of the city.

He shrugged and said, “We’re fighting together for something we all believe in. You don’t really need much else.”

I looked over at Cassian, his hands gripping the wheel, his face passive and calm as he slowed the car to a stop before a red light. I said, “It’s nice that you all found each other. That you all have each other.”

“And now you’ve got us as well, Archeron. And we’ve got you.”

My eyes burned as I looked out the window once more.

***

I looked up to the restaurant’s blue sign. Sevenda’s.

No other buildings stood nearby. We were about fifteen minutes out of town, and Cassian had already turned back to Prythian. I was left standing here in the parking lot, clad in my best black knee length dress, staring at a diner.

Before I could take another step, the front door opened, and there was his smiling face.

“Are you just going to stand there or are you going to come in?”

“We’ll each have your special with some bannock on the side please,” Rhys said without even glancing at the menu. I shifted in the black leather booth, gazing between him and the middle aged, brown skinned woman before us. Her stark black hair was tied back in a braid that fell down past her waist line, nearly catching on the stained apron lining her body.

“It’s been too long, Rhysand. I almost didn’t recognize you when you walked in.” She reached over and ruffled his hair, as though he weren’t the CEO of a major Prythian powerhouse corporation. Her smile was warm and teasing, her dark eyes crinkling at the corners.

Rhys rolled his eyes but smiled anyway. “You’re embarrassing me in front of a business partner, Sevenda.”

“What? She’s not your date?”

My cheeks heated. I took a sip of my water, watching Rhys expectantly, wondering how this entire debacle was going to go.

“A potential employee,” he corrected her smoothly, shooting a glance my way. “Feyre keeps declining my advances, unfortunately.”

“I’ll go on a date with you the day you wear something besides black or navy.” I said, jutting my chin out at the dark suit he wore. He must’ve had hundreds of them in his closet.

“That’s my girl. Don’t be afraid to put this boy in his place, Gods know he needs it.” Sevenda turned towards the kitchen.

“Believe me, she does.” Rhys smirked as our gazes met. His eyes shifted over me appreciatively. “Did I mention you look exquisite today Feyre?”

I replied with an eye roll, “That’s the third time you’ve told me in ten minutes.”

“Just making sure you know how delicious you look in that dress.”

“Do you have any sense of self-control?”

“Of course, but it tends to fade away when a beautiful woman looks at me like that.” He tilted his head towards me and the snarl that lined my lips.

“Be glad I’m not your employee yet, I think I’d have to file a sexual harassment claim.”

“Yet?” Rhys’s eyes glinted.

“Well, if you’d get on with your proposition, I could finally make up my mind.”

He cleared his throat. “Night Industries would like to offer you a temporary full-time position as a secretary for yours truly.” I watched as he carefully took a sip of his water, his eyes trained on me the entire time. “Mor usually does a lot of that work for me, but I need her focus on the Hybern investigation right now, and I’m spread out too thin at the moment to try and look for candidates that I know and trust to do the job well. You have some experience in an office. You’ve worked in a cafe for a year now and you know what working under pressure is like. I need that kind of person right now on my team.”

Just as he opened his mouth again, Sevenda burst from the back of the restaurant with a tray perched on her shoulder holding steaming food. Immediately, a rich, aromatic scent filled the quiet space, and my mouth watered.

Swiftly, as though she’d done this for years, Sevenda slid two plates on the table filled half with rice, half with an orange, creamy stew that made my stomach gargle. She set down two extra plates with what seemed like two round flat buns that were golden and crispy.

“Enjoy!” She chirped after refilling our glasses.

I didn’t hesitate as I took my first mouthful. Creamy, warm, sweet, salty—spicy. Not overly so, but just enough for my mouth to heat. The meat was gamey, and the vegetables tasted glorious in the saturated juices.

“Why is there nobody in this restaurant?” I demanded after swallowing my first bite.

Rhys said, “Well, we’re near the reserve. They mostly only have local regulars and travellers passing through."

I shook my head. “But this is delicious.”

Rhys was beaming. He took one of his flatbreads, bannock I was guessing, and dipped it into the stew. I did so as well, and nearly groaned at the delightful taste.

Rhys said after swallowing, “I’ve been coming here since I was a child. Restaurants like this don’t really exist in Prythian, and I sure as hell don’t know how to cook this well.”

After another bite, I added quietly, “Thank you for bringing me here.”

He only watched me with that intent stare of his, then wondered, “What do you think of my proposal?”

My fork paused halfway down to the plate. “My office experience was limited, and most probably completely different from what working with you will be like.” My lips parted to add something else, And I don’t know if I can handle the humiliation of learning simple tasks. Not quite able to meet his gaze, I said instead, “I need to know that you’ll be patient with my learning process.”

“Your first twenty hours of work will be purely training, and should you ever have questions, you never hesitate to ask. We’re a team. We all help each other out.”

“Okay.” I made a gesture in my hand, and he took it as the cue to carry on.

“Your baseline job is mainly answering phone calls and emails, manning the elevator, scheduling appointments and running other errands for me should I need them. I’ll also probably have other projects on the side concerning the Hybern investigation, like the meeting we’ve got set with the Bone Carver, but those are optional. I understand you may be uncomfortable with those.”

He looked up to me for confirmation, but I said nothing. We were both quiet for a few minutes as we ate our meal, and finally Rhys wiped his mouth with a napkin, took a sip of his water, and laid both of his palms flat on the table.

“It’s a nine to five job. It’s not necessarily difficult work, but it’s still good work. Something to get you back on your feet. I’m offering it as temporary, but say the word, and we’ll sign you on for good.” He reached into his leather messenger bag and pulled out a leather portfolio case, then slid it over to me. I tentatively opened it up, eyes darting across the document before me.

“Take the time to read it if you want. It’s legal jargon, but believe me, you’re the last person I’d screw over with fine print bullshit.”

But I wasn’t hearing him, because my eyes had trailed down to the number listed at the top of the second paragraph. It was difficult to keep my jaw from dropping to the floor.

150 000$ starting salary.

“I can’t accept that.”

He sighed. “I knew you would say that.”

I’d never seen a sum like that in my life, nevertheless in my name.

“Rhys,” I said, “it’s too much.”

“I am paying you in accordance of your work responsibilities, as well as the confidentiality of the information you’re handling. You’ll have control of files and information that could put me under should anything be leaked or spread to the mainstream media. It’s a lot to expect of someone.”

I couldn’t say anything. I could just stare at that contract, unable to meet the eyes of the man who’d veritably given me a new life. No strings attached.

Just out of the pure kindness of his heart. A friend looking out for a friend.

There was that part of the back of my mind that was blaring, this is a red flag. This is him all over again.

But he never offered me the anything. He never gave me time, or space, or options, or a way out. He dictated our lives. He had it all laid out for the two of us, the way he wanted it, whether I liked it or not.

Rhys was giving me a choice. One that I could deny, and continue living under his roof until Gods-know when I got another job, and feel like a pathetic, miserable leech.

Or I could accept his kindness. I could use this as an opportunity. Maybe not permanent—maybe work that would dress up my CV. A stepping stone.

I didn’t know what was next, what else the universe had in store for me. But I knew that this job came with a team, my friends, and as Cassian told me earlier in that car, a purpose. I was lacking that, these days.

So I finally looked Rhys straight in the eyes and said, “Do you have a pen?”

[hexfeathers]

Life update/vent/TMI under the cut

I’ll be honest guys, I’m exhausted, and I’m in a really bad spot with my mental health.

To sort of summarize things, after my grandfather passed away, my grandmother allowed my mother to move into her home. Back in April, my mother and her fiancee broke up because she was being extremely abusive to him, to the point where she was preventing him from seeing his own dying mother who was on hospice; the ex-fiancee’s mom had a very similar health situation as my grandfather. He had every right to leave my mother, and I’m happy he did. However, since my mom doesn’t work (never has), she had nowhere to go. She managed to stay in her ex-fiancee’s place until the eviction pause was ended.

From April up until two days before my grandfather passed away, my mother had been harassing us, threatening us, especially me, talking shit about me, slandering me on social media and to family members, calling police and trying to claim that we were killing my grandfather (despite the fact that he was on around the clock hospice care for a terminal illness).

To top it all off, my mother even managed to steal a huge amount of money from my grandmother, which of course, my grandmother brushed off as “a mistake.” (Get this, she stole all that money on the day my grandfather died, because she knew we’d be distracted. She didn’t even come to say goodbye to her own father.)

My mother has always been highly abusive to me, mentally, physically and sexually. She is the reason that I have all of the problems that I have, and I’ve been working fucking hard to recover from them and have some sort of semblance of happiness. So when my grandmother told me that my mom was moving in, and I just had to “learn to get along with her” despite the fact that my mom was STILL spreading lies about me the night before, I cracked. I moved out within three days.

Financially, it’s going to be tight. I’m living with my cousin and his girlfriend now. They’re wonderful people, but, naturally with all of us being in our mid-twenties, we don’t have fully established careers yet. My cousin works for the state, his girlfriend works for a cleaning service under the table, and I work part time while going to school full time. We’ll manage to get by, but, I’m not getting any of the help that my grandmother was providing me (food and laundry necessities for starters, I’m a massage therapy student so I go through a lotta laundry). It’s been overwhelming. 

I’m content and happy with my living arrangements, I have a lot more freedom now, and I’m going to be able to learn a lot about being on my own, so that when I move to Toronto with my boyfriend, I’ll be on a good footing. But I’m more so burnt and feel betrayed by my family members who are propping up my mother and not standing in my corner. I’ve told myself since I was 14 that I would cut my mother out of my life as soon as I could. She is a vile person who claims that she does no wrong, and that the world is out to get her. She does nothing but lie and manipulate people to get what she wants. She is the reason why I have fears of sexual intimacy, and struggle in social settings, because she instilled so much fear and sense of isolation into me from a young age. In all honestly, I’ll celebrate the day that she dies.

And yet so many of my family members are just telling me to “get over it, she’s not perfect.” I don’t care if she’s perfect. Nobody is perfect. But I can’t just sit in her presence and not retrograde mentally. Yet none of them seem to grasp that. Sure, they’ll support me in private, but won’t say or do anything when she’s around.

I’d rather deteriorate mentally out of exhaustion than deteriorate living with the woman who demands respect despite doing nothing to earn it.

I feel used by my family. I changed my entire lifestyle for two years to take care of my grandparents, and I would never change that; barely anybody else helped out, save for my aunt and my sister when she could. I loved my grandfather so much, he was my number one, the man that raised me, watching him die a slow death from dementia and cancer was traumatic. But because of all of this, I haven’t even been able to mourn him, because my mind is so fixated on being thrown aside now that the “hard part” is over. My grandfather was the only person in my family who would outright defend me from my mother, he was the only one who would call her out in front of her and others, and hold her accountable for her actions. And now, I feel so alone without him. Everybody else just wants to “keep the peace.”

Well, if “keeping the peace” is what my family wants, then I need to just distance myself from them, because abuse towards me is not going to be an accessory to their peace.

To top it all off, I’ve lost my health insurance coverage, and don’t have a replacement put in place yet, so I can’t even go to my therapist to get help on this. That was something I really wanted to utilize, because I’m afraid of how all of this will impact my schooling and my relationships.

I’m tired. I feel used. And I feel like a failure.

But I’m gonna keep trying.

I’m so tired of having to get up and leave.

[thechangeling]

For better or worse, I am alive.

So basically my brain is being a jerk again and making me suicidal. So I decided to repost this.

Set after QOAAD.

Sometimes mornings just hurt.

Kit had no explanation as to why.

There were just days when he opened his eyes and the burden of the day ahead was simply too much to bare.

Today was one of those days.

I'll just sleep for a few more minutes. I just need a little more time. Just a little longer.

Then five minutes would become ten and ten became twenty and suddenly a whole hour had gone by. The heaviness in his heart growing by the second.

Expectations hurt.

Like the way Tessa looked at him sometimes with a glowing smile. Like she was seeing someone else through him. Caught up in her own fond memories. Wanting him to be like the Herondales she lost.

Be brave and strong. Be the perfect warrior like Jace or a hero like Will. Everyone's counting on you. Don't be weak.

Don't be weak.

Herondales weren't weak.

Kit wished he didn't view his feelings as a weakness. He wished he could give himself the same love and empathy he felt for Ty.

But he just couldn't.

Logically he knew that just like Ty's autism, his feelings which seemed to be symptoms of depression, were beyond his control. And yet still he could hear those harsh, jagged words forming in the back of his mind.

Weak. Pathetic. He doesnt love you. He never will.

No one loves you.

It was moments like this when Kit remembered what Julian had said to him about Ty's differences.

There are shadowhunters who can barely get out of bed and there are shadowhunters who find that the words float off the page when they try to read. The clave is aware of these things, but they push these people into the background. They're considered the dregs of the nephilum community. I never wanted that for Ty. They can never know.

The dregs of nephilum community.

No one would have dared to imagine that a Herondale could be one of those people. Different. Not at all falling into their little cooker cutter idea of a perfect angelic warrior.

It was the same kind of thinking that led most people to assume Kit was straight. No he couldn't possibly be "like that".

Fucking small minded babies. All of them.

Memories hurt.

Memories of Ty's smile, his laughter and all his quirks.

Then the memories of Ty raising Livvy from the dead. Pleading with him. Telling Ty that he loved him. He knew it was a bad idea and he knew Ty wouldn't say it back and he knew he was being pathetic and selfish and now he was sinking again.

Kit never really knew what it was like to be loved. He never had a mother growing up and looking back on his relationship with his father, he was almost positive that he had never really loved Kit. At least not the way the Blackthorns loved each other. He shouldn't have let himself crave Ty's love. It would never happen

However, he still let himself hope. Maybe this time things could be different. Maybe this time the pain wouldn't win. But it did. It won in the form of anger. Kit allowed the darkest parts of his mind to transform the heartbreak into anger.

Anger was easier. Anger hurt less then the truth.

I wish I never met you.

A fucking lie.

I love you. I need you. I feel like I'm drowning, I've been drowning my whole life and you're the only thing that makes it better. Things don't hurt as much when you look at me. I'm sorry I know you're dealing with a lot but I need to talk to you. I need to talk to someone.

No. He could never say any of that. He couldn't tell anyone.

Kit rolled over in bed and checked the clock on his nightstand.

3pm. Jesus christ.

Pathetic. Worthless.

Kit squeezed his eyes shut and put a pillow over his head.

I can't do it. I can't do anything.

A knock on his bedroom door jolted him out of his thoughts. "Kit?" Tessa called apprehensively, "Are you alright?"

She didn't sound angry or even exasperated.

She sounds worried.

Worry. Pitty.

These were things worse then hostility. It made everything harder.

"Kit? I'm coming in." The door swung open to reveal a frazzled looking Tessa. Her brown hair had been tossed up in a messy bun and she wore baggy excersise clothes to accommodate her rather large baby bump. Any day now Tessa and Jem would have a child of their own. They probably wouldn't want him around any more.

"Sorry, you didn't answer me" Tessa spoke tentatively, almost as if she was afraid to break him. "Its been one hell of a day. Jem and I are trying to finish the nursery."

Kit looked down avoiding her eyes. "I'm sorry" he breathed out, unable to speak any louder then just above a whisper. It would require too much effort. " I just dont feel well".

I just dont feel well.

I think I'm sick.

These are the phrases Kit kept repeating over and over again. Different ways to tell Tessa how he was feeling without actually telling her.

Tessa sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed beside him. "Ok, but it seems like you haven't been feeling well for awhile now" Tessa explained worridly. "If you need to talk about anything, I'm here." Tessa gave him a comforting smile. Kit was still trying to avoid looking her in the eye.

Why is this so hard? She might understand.

No, She won't. No one will.

Kit could feel his eyes beginning to water. Tessa gently rested a hand on his shoulder. She was biting her lip in contemplation as if deciding what to say.

"Kit listen" she began. " let's say supposedly you had something wrong with your physical health. Maybe a heart defect or a brain tumor or something".

Kit looked up slightly alarmed, "but I dont have a brain tumor?" He cocked his head slightly in confusion.

Tessa looked like she was fighting a smile. "No, but just bear with me here ok?" She pulled her legs up onto the bed so she was sitting crosslegged and then took a deep breath Kit felt the urge to apologize, but instead shook it off. Maybe she wasn't annoyed. Perhaps this was something completely different then Tessa telling him off.

"So, as I was saying" she continued, " if you had something wrong with your physical health you would do your best to seek treatment or talk to a doctor. Right? Or at the very least, you would tell someone".

Kit wasn't sure if he was supposed to answer

"I guess yeah. But I dont get what this has to do with anything" Kit replied hesitantly.

Tessa gently took his hand. " My point is, if you would seek help for a physical problem then why wouldn't you do the same for your mental health?"

Kit inhaled sharply. She wasn't supposed to know. Perhaps he wasn't being as discreet as he thought. His instincts were telling him to deflect or deny it. Do something to make her stop looking at him like that.

But the minute he opened his mouth, he was hit by a wave of lethargy and all that came out was a slow and quiet exhale. Barely noticable to the human ear.

That was all he was capable of managing to defend himself. He was just too tired.

Tessa began to rub slow circles against his back as a comforting gesture. "Hey" she whispered soothingly. "Its gonna be ok. You'll be fine, we can get you help." Kit lifted his lead back up and turned towards Tessa to meet her eyes. " I thought shadowhunters weren't supposed to go to therapy?" Kit asked with a slight hint of hostility. Which he instantly regretted. Tessa remained unfazed and continued to smile at him sympathetically. "Yes well we aren't exactly a part of shadowhunter culture right now, and even if we were, nephilum attitudes towards therapy are something that needs to change as soon as possible." Kit nodded along, behaving almost as if he was in some sort of trance. Not fully processing what Tessa was saying. He could hear her continuing on with her reassurances, making plans and promises. He wanted to be happy someone cared enough to try and help him.

But he just couldn't feel it.

"I dont know" Kit deflected, turning his head away. " I just don't know if it'll help, I feel like nothing I do makes anything better".

Tessa was silent.

Sensing a pause in the conversation, Kit layed back down horizontally on top of the bed. Just talking alone seemed to take a lot out of him. He waited for Tessa to say something but there was only silence.

Silence, and then "you should talk to Will".

Now that defenetly got Kit's attention. He shot back up like a rocket and turned to face Tessa again. At first he thought maybe it was some attempt at humor but she looked deadly serious.

"Talk to Will? How?" Kit asked, furrowing his brow in confusion.

Tessa rolled her eyes fondly while still maintaining a small smile. "Kit, I know you can see ghosts. Every Herondale can. So that means you should also be able to see Will and I think he could help you. He has dealt with feelings like yours before. You could almost say that mental illness might be a bit of a Herondale family trait."

Before Kit could respond. Tessa was standing up. " I need to start thinking about what we're having for dinner later and I need to call Magnus. If you want to talk to either me or Jem, we will be in the living room. But I would reccomend taking my advice." Tessa finished, rolling back her shoulders and shaking out the kinks in her upper back and arms. She started towards the door.

"Wait." Kit called after her. Tessa paused to listen. Kit drew all the strength he had to conjure up a smile. "Thank you."

Tessa returned his smile, "Your welcome sweetheart." Then she turned and disappeared down the hallway.

Kit lay back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He had a feelings things still wouldn't be easy, but for the first time in awhile he was experiencing something besides the empty blackness. Something completely different.

Hope.

[thevoidwell]

100 Reasons to Love Vivia Nihar

Inspired by @wrongshatteredrealms and their post about 100 reasons why Destin Karn is their favorite character from Shattered Realms.  This post took a while to make, but Vivia really deserves it.  It’s quite long, I warn you.

1. She loves her country even after everything the people in it put her through

2. She is a feminist icon

3. Her nickname is “Little Fox” and that’s just adorable

4. She’s so strong in spite of her mental health issues

5. Her mother committed suicide and she still manages to go past the place where it happened all the time without breaking down each time

6. She just cares about Stix so much and would die for her

7. When she realized just how much Serafin has been manipulating her, she tried her best to do something about it

8. She is a pirate princess who also happens to be a lesbian, and honestly you can’t get any cooler than that

9. “Do I look like I care about plums?”

10. “Now would be the right time for the gardener to complain about his plum trees”

11. She has that habit of patting the sides of her face like she’s checking to make sure her mask is in place

12. She calls Merik “Merry” and it makes me laugh every time

13. She’s the Chosen Daughter of the VOID WELL, which nobody thought existed

14. The lack of patience she has with the vizers is amusing, but she takes it to an art form with Serrit Linday and it’s priceless

15. Her annoyed internal monologue about how it seems like five thousand servants have stopped to talk to her, interrupted only by another servant coming to talk to her before she mentally changes the count to five thousand and one

16. All the pining for Stix in her POV chapters with the constant repetition of “Too good for me”

17. When she saves Merik’s life by showing up out of nowhere and cutting off Garren’s head

18. When, upon cutting off Garren’s head, she gloats by saying “Come back from that”

19. Even when Merik constantly misgenders Cam in Windwitch, Vivia still has a hard time believing he’s a girl

20. Later in Bloodwitch when Cam is introduced as a boy, Vivia immediately believes it (Merik, take lessons from your sister)

21. Her own brother thinks she’s intimidating and trying to have him killed, but she really just needs a hug

22. “I could have just as many titles if I wanted”

23. The way that as soon as she realizes Stix is missing, she goes into an absolute panic because what if something happened to her???

24. How she gets chills when Vizer Sotar calls her “My Queen” because no one’s ever called her that before

25. She put in so much work for the under-city but got recognized for none of it

26. She came up with a really awesome speech but didn’t get to say it

27. When Cam is talking about Paladins and magical doorways in Bloodwitch and externally Vivia is like, “Yeah, okay” when internally she’s basically saying, “What in the world is he talking about - ”

28. She completely tricked Merik into believing that the boat miniature was actually representing a Dalmotti trade ship

29. She also tricked Merik into believing that she believed him when he lied about where the miniature was

30. When she’s just so done with Linday in the council meeting and she keeps mentally making her ideal punishment for him even worse

31. Until she’s thinking about how he should be drawn, quartered, eviscerated, and burned to ashes and she gets distracted from the actual meeting

32. How flustered she gets when Stix kisses her on the cheek

33. How she constantly refers to that moment as “the kiss” even though it wasn’t a real kiss because it was so emotional for her

34. She quite literally jumps into a valley filled with seafire to save the people of Lovats

35. When Merik saves her from dying as she plummets through the valley of seafire, she acts like it’s an everyday occurrence and proceeds to just go about her business

36. She has a hard time trusting Cam at first, which makes sense, but as soon as he mentions the message that Stix sent her, Vivia immediately trusts him because it’s better than risking the chance that Stix might not need help

37. “You may lower your water” “Oh may I?  I’m so glad to have your permission”

38. She has plans to put more women on the High Council once she’s officially queen

39. When Vivia, a person who has never had a real conversation with Safi, knows within about five seconds that the reason Safi wants Marstok to trade with Nubrevna is because of Merik

40. Over the course of Bloodwitch, she goes from barely interacting with Vizer Sotar to going to talk to him for literally everything and asking for advice and help

41. Anybody could say any random thing and she’d find a way to connect it to the fact that Stix is perfect and amazing

42. When she gets the message from Vaness suggesting a meeting over trade, she just starts laughing because she thinks it’s a trick, then when Stix says she should go she’s like “okay”

43. That kind of infuriating thing where she writes a message to Vaness via the Wordwitched paper after telling the empress she got home safely and we don’t get to know what she said

44. “You can keep [the pencil].  I have others” “As do I.  We’re not that poor”

45. How she bickers with Vaness for well over two pages about whose fault it was that the Truce got broken and who needed help more

46. When she thinks Merik is dead, the extent of her reaction is pretty much “Aw, that’s too bad” but when Stix goes missing for a day, she’s in an utter panic and asking Vizer Sotar where she could possibly be

47. How she learns to stop apologizing to Serafin and stop feeling guilty over the things he does to her

48. When she’s anxious over something, she stops and remembers [insert advice from her mother].  It doesn’t sound like a lot but when you remember that the whole country thinks her mother was insane and you remember their mother-daughter relationship, it’s sweet

49. That moment in Bloodwitch where her thought process is basically “I like how Stix always calls me ‘sir,’ it shows we respect each other but not in terms of royalty...wait why is she calling me ‘Your Highness’ now, does she not think we’re friends anymore?...oh thank God she called me ‘Viv,’ we’re friends for sure”

50. Nubrevna needed food, and it wasn’t getting food, so she just decided to steal it

51. She’s unbelievably calm when Merik holds a pistol to her head

52. She tries so hard to stop the Fury but doesn’t realize that the Fury is a reincarnated Paladin who happens to be pretty much immortal

53. For all those times Merik thought about how she treated her crew like servants, you don’t see her chaining people to the deck for 10 hours at a time

54. She is shameless about her piracy because she knows it’s for the greater good of Nubrevna

55. When she orders the generals to do something and they refuse, and she realizes that her crown was taken away and she hadn’t even been there for the vote like...poor Little Fox

56. When she has that realization that Jana had managed to bear with the shadows instead of nurturing them as Serafin had, and that made her even stronger than him

57. “Vivia was ready to be Queen” yes!!!

58. No matter what Merik does, chances are her response would be “ugh” or rolling her eyes because they are Siblings™

59. She doesn’t have as many of the action or fight scenes as the other characters, but I’m still always so excited for her next chapter because she’s just so amazing

60. When she decides it’s time to stop trying to be a good daughter and start trying to be a good ruler

61. When she mentally agrees with Vizer Sotar that Cam’s “door” is, in fact, a wall

62. When she’s simultaneously annoyed and impressed by how much clay and water Vaness put out before their meeting to make her feel safe against the empress’s Ironwitchery

63. That trick she does with the water at the meeting with the vizers

64. She reminds the High Council that it was Jana and not Serafin who signed the Truce, so he should not get the credit

65. When she stands up to her father and says that there is no way he’s fit to lead an army after having almost died

66. “I decide who holds the title of Admiral and I haven’t appointed you”

67. When she basically tells Serafin that he’s a pathetic soldier and he exaggerated all of his accomplishments, like Vivia, you tell him

68. The internal jealousy when she thinks Stix is seeing someone else

69. When she canonically thinks that Vizer Sotar is the only one on the council who has a fully operational brain

70. She does such a good job of pretending that Merik is dead at his funeral

71. For all she was talking about how the meeting with Vaness would be pointless, she actually stayed in touch with the empress and it’s a good thing she did

72. For that matter, she didn’t give up on Vaness’s negotiations when the empress had to end their meeting abruptly to talk to Habim

73. She isn’t physically described too much in the books, so the reader gets to have their own image in their head of what she looks like, more or less

74. Even though she’s proven to be good with a blade, most of the time she honestly doesn’t need one because of her Tidewitchery

75. When she sends Linday off to do something menial just so she can have a moment alone, but (unfortunately) he barks at some servant to do it instead, and she has to put up with Serrit Linday for even longer

76. When she internally calls Linday “slimy”

77. She stays so remarkably composed while the vizers tell her that her throne has been reclaimed by Serafin, even though her life is falling apart

78. She still goes to Jana’s garden sometimes

79. Most of the country thinks she is weak because she’s a woman and because her mother committed suicide, but omg Vivia can GET THINGS DONE

80. When Vaness dropping the pencil is actually reassuring to her because it means that she’s a human and not 100% perfect, 100% of the time

81. Her friendship with Stix is just amazing - so much mutual respect and support

82. Her self-esteem is nonexistent, but Stix trying to boost it always seems to make her day

83. She worked so hard to get the food for Nubrevna that it was so heartbreaking when she realized it was all for nothing

84. For that matter, the same goes for her efforts for the under-city

85. In Windwitch she mentions how she hates spiders, but later she gets a spider off Merik when he doesn’t notice it’s there #SisterlyLove

86. After Stix kisses her on the cheek, she literally just stands there because she’s just so 😍 overwhelmed 😍

87. When Serafin jokes about Vivia possibly having arranged for Vaness’s death and she’s horrified at the idea but externally is like “yeah...ha ha ha”

88. When she was a kid, she found an abandoned room in one of the palace wings and she decorated it herself and called it her fox’s den, which is the cutest thing ever

89. When she realizes that the Void Well is the Void Well and she knows she should bring her father down to heal him but some part of her doesn’t know if she should...she’s just so confused and, I repeat, really needs a hug

90. That moment where she’s so busy that she doesn’t try to put on a façade and Stix actually notices and she’s just so touched

91. When Vivia decides that even though she doesn’t know Cam, there is no way she’s going to stand there and do nothing while Garren cuts off his finger

92. When she has no idea what just happened but she’s glad she saved Merik’s life, so this one time she has no regrets

93. When she is so overwhelmed by all the negative things happening that she thinks to herself that this must be what drowning feels like, and it’s just so painful to read

94. That moment in Windwitch where she’s so scared that something might happen to Merik or her crew and she feels like she’s somewhere between Serafin and Jana and she doesn’t know which side is the better one, so she makes that decision to save the city even though she thinks it’ll kill her

95. When she manages to start over with Merik and put everything in the past

96. How all of her irritation towards the vizers goes out the window whenever she talks to or thinks about Stix

97. How she’s so frustrated by Vaness at first but by the end has a lot of respect for her

98. The way she acts in front of the council in comparison to the way she acts when she’s alone

99. She’s part of Vix, an amazing ship!!!!

100. In conclusion, Vivia is such an incredible character and deserves all the love in the world.  Thank you for reading 🙂

[insanityclause]

Towards the end of 2017, Zawe Ashton quit acting. She was 33 years old, with a CV that included roles in the cult TV comedy Fresh Meat, films such as Dreams of a Life and Nocturnal Animals and a solid 12 years on the stage, with appearances at the Royal Court and the Old Vic. But something no longer felt right. “There was an artistic chasm opening up between the work I felt I was meant for,” she says, “and the work that was coming my way.”

Less than two years later, Ashton is on Broadway, receiving rave reviews for her performance as Emma in Harold Pinter’s Betrayal. Tom Hiddleston plays her husband, Robert, and Charlie Cox her lover. “At the moment,” she acknowledges with a wry smile, “quitting acting is going very badly for me.”

It’s Friday morning in Manhattan and Ashton and I are talking over almond croissants in a French café around the corner from her digs. Being superstitious, she claims not to have read Betrayal’s reviews. But when I tell her that The New York Times called her the show’s “breakout star”, she grins. “Oh, that bit I have seen. It’s written above my massive head on a poster outside the theatre.”

Jamie Lloyd’s pared-back production had already been a hit in London before transferring to New York last month, and the three primary cast members are making their Broadway debuts together. “Thank God,” she says. “It’s like losing your virginity with another virgin.”

The last time Betrayal was staged on Broadway, in 2013, it starred Rachel Weisz, Daniel Craig and Rafe Spall, and broke box office records in its opening week. “I’m obsessed with Rachel Weisz and Daniel Craig,” says Ashton. The couple live nearby: I ask if she has she hung out with them while in town. “Absolutely not!” she cries, pulling a face as if I’ve just suggested we sprint naked up Ninth Avenue.

Despite barely being out of work since signing up, aged six, for weekend acting classes at the Anna Scher school in north London – and landing her first paid job, on Jackanory, that same year – Ashton says: “I don’t consider myself in the public eye at all. I still sit in the window of the threading place I’ve been going to since I was 15, and have a woman thread my moustache.”

How much longer that anonymity will last is open to question; news stories linking her romantically with Hiddleston – The Night Manager star catapulted to Hollywood heart-throb status by his role in the Avengers films – are already flooding the internet.

“We’re in a play called Betrayal – of course people are going to speculate,” she laughs, when I broach the subject, but refuses to be drawn on it. “Being in dialogue with that is just so weird to me. It’s surreal.

“Is [the speculation] selling tickets?” she asks, rhetorically. “I bloody hope so – it’s got to be good for something, hasn’t it?”

If the castmates are dating, Ashton must be a master of time management. Betrayal may be getting all the attention, but as of Monday, she will have a hand in three theatrical productions running simultaneously. for all the women who thought they were Mad, Ashton’s play about mental health in the black community and the overmedication of black women, is opening on the same night in the Hackney Showroom in London and the SoHo Rep Theatre, off-Broadway in New York.

Ashton wrote the play in 24 hours in a “fever dream,” at the end of a 2008 Young Writers program at the Royal Court Theatre – where her fellow students included playwrights Nick Payne (Constellations) and James Graham (This House, Ink) – and with the help of a group called the Black Women’s Mental Health Project (“Now defunct, of course, because: austerity measures”).

“A woman there gave me facts and figures that seemed to unlock parts of the play that I’d started to write,” says Ashton, “and it confirmed something I knew on a very deep instinctual level, about the cultural biases that happen on a daily basis.” Ashton has first-hand experience of those biases, not least since, as she notes, “this play has taken 11 years to produce. I can’t help think that if I were a 24-year-old white male, it would have been on in every theatre in the land.”

Ashton grew up in north London, the eldest child of an English father and a Ugandan mother, who met while teaching; her father went on to become a commissioning editor at Channel 4. Home was “an environment where I was very much allowed to be the creative soul that I was,” says Ashton – her younger brother is now an artist and musician and her sister, a producer.

At school (state, single sex) things were less rosy. "I was so badly bullied,” she says. “I was this tall, skinny misfit who was unapologetic about the things that I was passionate about. I had a sense of who I was and what I was into, and you’re not supposed to have that. You’re just supposed to blend in.”

Even in the face of “a huge physical threat, a lot of the time,” she refused to conform and instead developed a resilience that would serve her well at drama school in Manchester. “By the end, they couldn’t wait for me to leave,” she says. “I’d turned against the institution in such a major way; you can’t grow creativity in a vacuum like that.”

Creativity is not something Ashton lacks. In the past couple of years alone she has directed a short film for Tate Modern about the artist Lorraine O’Grady, presented the Channel 4 arts programme Random Acts, guest-edited BBC Radio 4’s Woman’s Hour, and in April, had her first book published.

Character Breakdown is a comic novel based “absolutely, one hundred per cent” on Ashton’s own experiences as a woman in the entertainment industry. It features a catalogue of bullying, body image issues, insecurity, objectification and misogyny.

She began writing it, “pre- pre- pre-” the inception of the #MeToo movement two years ago. “When I started writing it, I was nervous that no one would give a s--- – who’s going to want to hear about an actress’s problems? Then, suddenly, all anyone’s talking about are actresses’ problems – I was, like, I’ve got to finish this book!”

Although she describes herself as “not someone who’s always asking: what’s next?” she admits that directing something substantial is high on her to-do list. “I love putting all the components together,” she says. “I want to draw the map rather than follow the map.”

for all the women who thought they were Mad is 
at Hackney Showroom, London N16 (020 3095 9747) from Mon

[the--sad--hatter]

It's ok if you don't want to answer this but I was wondering what you take meds for? I know you have said you have mental health problems and that you take antipsychotics but I wanted to ask why. Im not trying to be rude or nosey, it's just that I look up to you quite a lot and i have problems as well. Finding out you had to take tablets made me feel a bit better about taking my own. I always felt kind of ashamed about having to take antideppresants but not so much now I know you take stuff too.

I don’t mind answering this at all, especially if someone can relate to it. This is probably going to be a hell of a wordy response though, and may be triggering for some people to read, so proceed with caution guys. 

The story of my mental health is a really long one, and goes back quite far. It goes back to when I was a fetus actually. 

My mother was a drug addict, who used while she was pregnant with me (my dad was unaware of this), and as a result I was born with minor ‘defects’. My lungs didn’t form properly, and a part of my stomach tubing is malformed (We’ll come back to that). During labour, I tore the womb on my way out and nearly killed my mother. 

The trauma of that, as well as her own mental health and addiction issues made it hard for her to bond with me. It’s worth noting that my mum was 19 when I was born, but my dad was 32. They were married about a month before my birth and split up three days later. 

They shared custody for the first year of my life until something went down, but I’m not sure what, and my father took full custody. 

He was a good dad in his defence. He loved me, and did anything he could to keep me safe and happy. But when I was 18 months old, he met another woman and eventually married her. 

My stepmother didn’t want me as a part of her family, but put on a good show for my dad and the rest of the world. Behind closed doors though, she physically and mentally tortured me. The stuff she did to me was vile and it left me quite damaged. 

Because of the stomach deformity, I am prone to vomiting. I was also starved on a regular basis by my stepmother, which left me quite malnourished. I was deathly afraid of her, so when I was sick I didn’t tell anyone because I was afraid of being punished for it. Eventually, I was found out, and my stepmother managed to convince people the vomiting was why I was so skinny. I don’t have a fucking clue how it was never mentioned that I have a hiatus hernia and that’s why I was sick, it was in my medical notes, and I found out when I was 13. 

This kind of stuff continued throughout my childhood. My stepsister had a son when I was 9, and she didn’t really want him, so I had to take care of him. My grandfather died and my granny was very ill, so our living room was turned into a bedroom for her. I nursed her, raised a baby (who called me mum the first time he ever spoke) and all the while I was beaten, starved and tortured. I couldn’t handle it and tried to kill myself when I was 11. 

Because of the suicide attempt, I was put into a childrens home. The abuse could never be proved because the only witness was my stepsister, and she had often joined in so she wasn’t inclined to back me up. My dad decided that he wanted to take his wifes side, and not mine. 

Being in care was not an easy thing, and there was other kinds of abuse to be suffered. Eventually, I snapped. I became incredibly violent, to the point where I can’t excuse the things I did. I would snap, and the people I hurt weren’t always the people trying to hurt me. I hurt innocent people. 

As is the norm, at 16 I was tossed out. I lived in hostels for a while until I managed to get an apartment/flat, but it was in a small town quite a way from the city. I was unable to get help for my mental health, and I declined rapidly. 

That was when i started blacking out. Sometimes it would only be for a few minutes, sometimes it would be for longer. The longest was three days, three days I lost. I once came back to myself while holding a knife to my own chest. I often woke up covered in blood, wounded or miles away from my home. 

That was when I got put in a psychiatric ward where I ended up for a year. 

After being released, I moved 600 miles away to be close to my boyfriend, because he loved me. It was an idiotic thing to do of course, and I quickly learned that once I was there. 

Then my dad had a breakdown, and in the process reached out to me. He ended up on the same ward I had been on and it made him realise the depth of his mistakes. He admitted he knew what had happened to me as a child and he felt guilty. I forgave him, because I’ve fucked up enough in my life to not hold it against someone who truly wants forgiveness. 

My dad got better and moved away from my childhood home, and got a divorce. When he found out I was in an abusive relationship, he drove to England and got me and brought me to live with him. 

I live alone now, and it’s been years since all this happened. But the damage is done, and the wounds aren’t bleeding anymore but they are scarred. There’s much more to it, so much more. There’s the years of self-harming, the singular traumatic events, the betrayals, but I’ve told you the bare bones of my story. 

I could tell you all my diagnoses, list all the damn acronyms, but it wouldn’t explain anything. I struggle to say present in the world, and not disassociate. I have severe anxiety, depression, sleeping problems, paranoia... It’s not exactly shocking.  

What I can tell you is this. I saw my first psychiatrist when I was five years old. I have been seeing them since. I have been to every kind of therapy, taken so many different drugs. It doesn’t always help. But I knew a girl, call her Emily. She was a couple of years older than me, and so much worse. The stuff she had been through made my childhood look idyllic. I had to take her to hospital more than once, I had to talk her off the ledge, pin her to the ground to stop her hurting herself when “they” were trying to get her. 

Emily has a husband and a daughter now. She posted photos on Facebook a couple of weeks ago of her trip to London Comic-Con, her little girl dressed up as Belle. Emily got better. Emily fought for it, she made it, she won and she keeps winning. 

This battle I’ve been fighting my whole life, it IS winnable. 

Take your meds anon, and don’t be ashamed of it. We all have our demons, and they aren’t comparable. We all have our struggles, we all have our own battles. Don’t waste time or energy feeling bad for needing to take a pill to help you fight your fight. If you have a vitamin deficiency, you take vitamins, and if your brain doesn’t produce quite enough serotonin, you take an antidepressant. 

Strength, true strength, is in admitting you need help, be if from a therapist, a pill or a friend. There’s not a single person in the history of humanity who didn’t struggle with something at some point. We are not infallible, we are not unbreakable. Our beauty comes from the way we piece ourselves back together. I’m still working on that part, and I can’t wait to see what I’ll be when I’m finished. The excitement for what i can one day be is far more important than any shame I might feel from needing to take some medication to help me get there. 

Like I said, we all have our battles, and in a battle, you need a weapon. Think of the medication like a blade, stabbing at the demons in your head, and by taking the pills, you’re picking up the sword. 

Don’t be ashamed. Be brave, be beautiful and fight. You’ve got this, and I can’t wait to see what you become one day. 

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