#and fear-based yearning. which is important too

[presiding]

dishonored 2 rewrite: the monster in the hull updated this week 🍷

[cyberclouddream]

Mercury Signs in the 12th House

Part Two

Based on signs for Mercury in the twelfth house. Mostly represents behaviors that are unrealized by the native because they’re subconscious or unaware they’re used to mask insecurities.

Click here for Aries through Virgo

Libras get isolated by trying to blend in with everything around them rather than owning their true feelings.

- on the surface they come off approachable, easy to talk to, and genuinely interested in others but they’re just masters at saying just enough to make others think they know them while keeping their real thoughts buried

- bend over backwards to avoid confrontation, but secretly resent that they constantly suppress their own needs

- overanalyze what they say or what other people say to point of jumping to conclusions

- absorb everyone else’s emotionq and dramas but never let anyone else know what they truly feel, since expressing their thoughts scare them

- strong fear of being disliked [ disapproved, disappointing, rejected, abandoned ] leads them to stay quiet in important or opportunistic situations

- act harmonious and diplomatic all the time but deep down they throw mental tantrums because no one truly “gets” what they’re really trying to say

- know how to subtly control conversations and twist situations to maintain the upper hand without getting their hands dirty

- fantasize about perfect relationships and scenarios but are too scared about speaking up on what’s wrong in the real ones

- have a bad habit of saying “i’m fine” no matter how much mental turmoil they’re facing, because they think vulnerability is a weakness

- big or small decisions can leave them trapped in an endless loop of “what if” thinking

- in their head every word has to be carefully chosen to avoid sounding stupid or offending someone, questioning every sentence before it leaves them to their mouth which can result in silence instead of speaking

- they often feel mentally exhausted because their thoughts are never just for them, but filtered through how they think others will react

- often come up with perfect ways to say things but keep it quiet or water it down to the point of it losing its impact

- feel like people would reject them if they knew how they really were so they hide behind pleasant words and shallow conversations

- often feel like its hard to trust their own mind because it constantly plays devil’s advocate with their ideas and thoughts

- rely on others to voice what they’re thinking instead of owning their opinions; may manipulate conversations or guide others to say what they’re too afraid to say themselves

- dodge clear and direct communication because clarity feels risky; often keep things vague or open-ended in case they change their minds later, but can lead them to feel misunderstood and isolation from deep connection

- may struggle with not knowing what they truly believe or think

- often find it hard to start projects or learn subjects because their mind pulls them into multiple directions, away from what’s practical or immediate; their concentration is fragmented

- mentally project their own unspoken real feelings to the point of making others feel responsible for them

- constantly apologizing, often not because they’re truly sorry but because it’s the easiest way to avoid conflict

- have the ability of saying a lot while revealing absolutely nothing about themselves, kinda like speaking like a politician

- prefer literature based on interpersonal dynamics, especially romance and psychology; prefer to read alone

Scorpios feel debilitated by their yearning for vulnerability, yet they fear losing power.

- people may find their way of speaking captivating, or mentally draining, because it feels like it has layers of meaning

- others may feel like they’re untrustworthy because it always seems like they’re holding something back

- can’t stand the thought of being caught of guard so they secretly manipulate situations from behind the scenes, mentally plotting 10 moves ahead

- often feel exhausted because their brain never shuts off from detective mode; they’re always analyzing, digging beneath the surface, and trying to uncover hidden motives; burnt out trying to figure everything out before anyone else does

- often don’t even trust their own mind, analyzing their own thoughts for hidden meanings or motives; often hiding things more than anyone else, especially subconsciously where they can’t decipher easily

- if someone crosses them, on purpose or unintentionally, they won’t know until it’s too late; they mentally keep score and deliver payback when people least expect it

- tend to keep their thoughts and feelings tightly controlled, even for years, where they can suffer in silence alone because many just won’t know the depth of their inner turmoil [ can eventually blow up in very destructive ways ]

- often want others to open up to them about their vulnerabilities, but shut down and retreat when it comes to their own

- they don’t have to say much to control a situation, their presence always feels like it’s watching, calculating, and influencing others to bend to their will, without they themselves even realizing their manipulation

- lock away their most intense thoughts to point of being unable to share them with the ones closest to them

- master of subtext, meaning that they often communicate in riddles, metaphors, and hints because they expect others to read between the lines but when this fails they can end up feeling misunderstood, frustrated, refusing to clarify

- seem detached but internally they’re intensely focused on the emotions and motives of those around them

Sagittarius gets isolated by being like the absent-minded professor with grand ideas yet little follow-through or tact.

- tend to turn conversations into lengthy monologues about abstract concepts that often lead others confused

- often jump from ideas, like going from traveling ideas to the meaning of life

- have a knack for seeing the silver lining in everything, even when it’s completely inappropriate, which can feel like they’re not taking things seriously because they’re too dismissive or naive

- often speak their mind without a filter, and while honesty is admirable it can come off tactless and leave others feeling uncomfortable or exposed

- they often use foreign phrases [ things they picked up from different cultures ] or use esoteric references in their speech, which showcases their love for travel and learning but can alienate others or themselves

- often retreat into their own thoughts to avoid reality, which can lead them to zone out in conversations

- procrastinators with a plan; they come up with great ideas and plans but can drag their feet when it comes to following through with them

- they typically share their experiences in a way that jumps from points without connecting them in easy ways to follow, like missing the punchline or key takeaways

- often focus on what could be rather than what is

- seem curious, like asking probing questions, but act dismissive when it comes to anything deep or emotional

- have inconsistent opinions because their thoughts change frequently, leading others to question their commitment or conviction in ideas, people, or situations

- tend to turn every conversation into a philosophical debate; love to challenge other people’s beliefs for the fun of it, pushing buttons to provoke thought

- their sense of humor is usually unconventional or borderline inappropriate, since they can find humor in the absurd

- often fail to acknowledge practical limitations

- their attention can wander mid-conversation

- can be charming yet inconsistent; people may enjoy their company but feel like they’re unreliable

- often regurgitate information without context

- tend to be interested in the darker side of philosophy, exploring taboo topics that others shy away from; seek truth in uncomfortable places that can either enlighten or alienate others around them

- enjoy playing Devil’s Advocate, especially when it comes to widely accepted beliefs

- often shift between being incredibly optimistic and cynically realistic

- often convey deep truths in a prophetic manner

- use humor as a coping mechanism to navigate the absurdities of life

Capricorns feel isolated by their need to avoid whats emotional or abstract in function.

- tend to approach everything so seriously, in a way that can seem cold or detached

- like mental archivist; really good at retaining details but tend to reference obscure facts or rules

- their internal dialogue is harsh and judgmental, so they can be hesitancy in conversation since they critique their own thoughts before voicing them

- converse with a shield up, wary of criticism so they can sound overly defensive or make others feel like they’re walking on eggshells around them

- often alienate others who seek empathy or connection because they tend to dismiss emotional expressions as too impractical

- prefer to watch and analyze than actively participate in discussions

- hard to see visionary or dreamy side of them because they heavily weight their big ambitions with practicality

- their sense of humor is often sarcastic and dry; it can sound harsh or uninviting

- often feel like they’re not qualified enough to voice their thoughts, like imposter syndrome

- analyze everything to the last detail before engaging in discussions, which can lead to them being paralyzed by overthinking

- chronic pessimist, focusing on pitfalls and obstacles in every situation

- rarely let their complex thoughts or emotions show

- often have long pauses or overly rehearsed speech

- can come off condescending because they overly critical at times, or at least sound that way when they’re giving practical insights

- often turn conversations towards what could go wrong rather than what can go well

- prefer to process their thoughts internally than aloud, so they can come off withdrawn or uninterested in social interactions; others can see them as unfriendly or detached when they’re simply deep in thought or think better in solitude

- have no problem delivering the hard truths, which can make them seem brutally honest and blunt

- speak softly but when they speak it has a certain weight to it that it compelling, even if the delivery is understated

- often use dark humor as a coping mechanism

- when they share their experiences or engage in storytelling they often focus on the facts than the feelings involved

- good at adapting their communication style to their audience, but this can make it seem like they have a facade

- often question established norms or beliefs

- tend to feel like they carry the weight of the world on their shoulders, so often steer conversations towards topics related to duty and obligation

- often reflect on the past and draw lessons from them in conversation, which can make discussions feel nostalgic or stuck in time rather than moving forward

Aquarius get debilitated by their unconventional, and sometimes bizarre, way of approaching conversations and problems.

- often have unconventional ideas that others find bizarre since it veers off the beaten path

- often voice radical opinions because of their strong desire to challenge the status quo

- their way of speaking is often filled with abstract concepts and metaphors

- often shift between being optimistic about the future and cynical about humanity

- their sense of humor is probably quirky and offbeat, coming off as the “wild card” in conversations; some may find it hilarious while others find it strange or inappropriate

- often retreat into their own thoughts because they’re more comfortable analyzing conversations or their own thoughts in solitude

- question everything, even ideas others accept without hesitation

- often have great ideas about how to improve the world but struggle to put them into action

- approach conversations with a logical and almost clinical way, which can lead to emotions feeling dismissed, as they prioritize rationality over empathy

- probably excel in digital communication, finding it easier to express their thoughts through technology than face-to-face, which can create gaps in personal interactions

- often express conflicting thoughts in the same breath

- their storytelling may jump from one topic to the other without warning

- may find it hard to articulate their bold dreams clearly

- they ask a lot of questions but their curiosity seems impersonal, like they’re more interested in collecting information than genuine engagement

- tend to feel overwhelmed by all the knowledge they collect without sorting or using well

- often drift into musing about abstract and philosophical topics

- often speak passionately about social issues but have an unconventional approach to them

- tends to provoke thought and debate by challenging societal norms and intellectual conventions, which can create friction with those who value stability and tradition in conversations

- the depth of their brilliance often lies beneath the surface, where most may never see

- they can come off socially awkward because the bring deep philosophical discussions into casual conversations

- may create their own slang or unique way of expressing that few understand

- may have underlying anxieties about how their thoughts are perceived by others, under their confident detachment

- often present solutions that others find impractical to implement or even discuss

Pisces feel isolated because of their perspectives that transcend reality and logic.

- their mind often drifts into fantasy, making it hard to stay grounded in reality

- express their thoughts from an intuitive place which can make it hard for others who prefer straightforward dialogue or logic

- their speech can shift rapidly depending on their feelings, which can lead to moments of clarity followed but confusion

- tend to speak with abstract metaphors and poetic language

- when faced with uncomfortable truths they may retreat daydreams or fantasies

- often pick up on subtle emotions and underlying currents in conversation, which can help others feel seen but may overwhelm them if the feelings are too intense

- their thoughts can be easily swayed by others due to their empathetic nature

- often drawn to discussions about spirituality, mysticism, and the metaphysical

- adapt their speech to mirror those around them, which can make it hard to pin down their true beliefs or personality

- their humor tends to be whimsical and unpredictable, rooted in surreal observations that others may struggle to find to understand their comedic perspective

- may find mental clarity when there’s confusion or chaos; good at articulating thoughts amid chaotic situations

- often hesitate to express their thoughts out of fear of invalidation or not being accepted

- often tell stories in ways that seem to blur the lines between reality and imagination

- tend to be interested in obscure subjects like astronomy, mythology, and the paranormal

- often approach issues in a non-linear way, providing innovative ideas that others may not consider

- often struggle with sensory overload, especially in conversations

- tend to dwell on abstract concepts and existential questions

- express their thoughts more through feelings than words, like a lyrical communicator

- often have flashes of insight that seems lime divine inspiration

- their advice may lean more towards emotional support rather than practical solutions

- often prefer to remain quiet in groups and absorb the the energy and dynamics rather than participate

- their mind is like a battleground of conflicting thoughts that may spill into their speech

[antifranchaela]

Why I hate Male!Michael & why that's got NOTHING to do with Heterophobia.

I feel like it's important for me to make this post, so y'all understand WHY I've made this blog.

So, first off - the central theme of Francesca’s book is moving on from the love of her life.

You do need to actually wait for Francesca, Michaela, and John to have more than 1 minute of screen time together to know more about Francesca's feelings for John in contrast with the instant sexual attraction (or as some may say "letting her pussy drop") for Michaela

That's super interesting. & 2nd CHOOSING a partner she knows she can't have a kid with is entirely different from not being able to have a kid because 1) Queer people are also infertile and also choose to give up being able to have bio kids to be with their partners and 2) Francesca is literally able to have children in the end because of Julia Quinn Magic Dick???

Most of you are the making the case "oh, they can still do all that" which is TRUE

I'm a proud lesbian woman.

Using Francesca’s story for our issues is AWESOME

Also Eloise should be queer too.

She could have easily chosen not to have the kids she ends up having & be content raising Marina's children with Philip. She's a nonconformist already! It wouldn't have been a stretch for her to fall in love with Philip's sister, who's raising the kids after both Philip and Marina died. It wouldn't have been a stretch for her to move in with the lady who doesn't care about society, only for her studies and children.

It IS NOT a stretch for Francesca to marry a man after being raised her entire life with everyone telling her that marriage is her entire purpose, attempt to have a child with him, lose that pregnancy after the tragedy of losing said husband, while struggling to understand her confusing feelings for his cousin since she literally has no idea what they mean and has no idea queer women are even a thing. she may think she can never really be with michaela in the way she wants to when she decides to remarry in the books. she may think she can never have a family with michaela - the way she yearns to in the books. she may fear she won't ever be accepted as her partner in the society she grew up in ON THE SHOW! but since this is Bridgerton there will be a Happily Ever After ending based on REAL LIFE LESBIANS who were able to live together, raise families together, and even get approval DIRECTLY FROM THE REAL LIFE QUEEN

Doing this to Fran is AWESOME! because of the genderswap and the talented actresses Masali and Hannah and Victor!

[Excluding this section from my satirical repost because this is a serious part and I genuinely resonate with the OP here and wouldn't belittle their experience here]

Francesca's story always spoke to me on a personal level. & I love Michael's gender change and am excited to see how the relationship between John and Francesca is also handled

This was the way to do it!

Also - I feel like it's important to say this : Don't go harassing the actors over this. Don't start blogs where you say the actress isn't suited for the role and where your icon is literally her face with an X over it. If you have to - get a life and some hobbies instead of going after Jess, Shonda, Netflix & Julia.

[estrophore]

Signalis Post (barely coherent thought vomit)

So I finished signalis on Monday and i think ive just about recovered enough for me to make a gush post about it on tumblr dot com, which i think i have to do cause i dont think any other game has really hit me as hard as this one. Spoilers obvs.

Being pre-transion, with that associated depression and closing off from oneself, ive always found it difficult to get out my feelings, even in private with just myself, and yet signalis has filled me throughout with its beautiful romantic melancholy and left me genuinely sobbing for the gay robot and her space girlfriend (almost worried that if id played this game on estrogen it might actually have just killed me on the spot). the only other times i can think of where i really cried were playing We Know The Devil near the beginning of the year, which really fkin hit the part of me that struggles to accept myself, and that time i rewatched the last episode of she-ra after reading the ‘Word War Etheria’ fanfic, which brings the characters so much more to life i fell for them all over again.

Signalis is a game that calls back to a lot of classic horror like resident evil and silent hill, which i havent got round to playing any of yet, but i think nostalgia works both ways sometimes and i’ll be playing them sooner now. sometimes horror gets stereotyped as all death and violence, some games fill themselves with skulls and corpses, and big ugly monsters and basically shout ‘DEATH!’ in your face repeatedly and it all just comes off as a bit garish and ridiculous and not actually very scary really. Signalis sits at the other end of that scale (with some of my other fav horror games like soma, cry of fear) where its environs are most usually just… quiet. Still. Muffled. Sad. just as often as theres tension or creeping fear because of this i find theres a strange kind of comfort too. Maybe its just that in most other genres of games theres so much of music, UI elements, pickups and interactibles with vibrant design. Here, theres room for your mind to just occupy the space. A soft fog. A dimly lit room. An empty train. Snow out a window. Liminal spaces that dont expect anything from you.

Signalis is a game thats just simply, unapologetically gay, and i dont think i would have been quite so invested in Elster and Ariane’s relationship if they were a straight couple. Its why representation is important, if art’s way for us to explore our emotions then its important to have media that we can relate to. Even Adler’s role isnt typically masculine. Our replika characters are manufactured, designed for certain roles in the base. Notes from the tough Stars and Storchs in the shooting range, the dollish Eules with the fairy lights and music player in the dorm. I couldnt help but think of groups of Eules sat around chatting, together, and im yearning for that feeling of togetherness, of understanding a friend that closely. I somehow missed the couple in the mineshaft (next playthough, ill find you v_v ). Despite the harshness of life in the Eusan nation (especially for the gestalts) the characters in it are defined by their feelings of belonging and hope. With the obvious parallels to east germany, i think of posters of cosmonauts and space travel from the time. Propaganda, sure but also made with the genuine belief in something greater. When the events of the game take this away, well, we find the last Kolibri, whod rather lose herself than lose her [ah. Im not sure theres a word here to properly describe the relationship they embody]. Its a game defined by loneliness.

We dont lie up at night scared by some corrupted android. We arent stuck with horror at the flesh everywhere, not on its own. We lie awake thinking about Elster and Ariane’s love for each other, the horror of their decline, the futility of trying to hold on forever. Its existential horror done perfectly. It shows an ending postponed and stretched far beyond its limits, and so squarely reminds you that you do, in fact, have to die one day. You’ll break down. One day you’ll say your last words to the people you love and you wont even know you have. Ariane’s final few diaries arrive with the full force of the narrative behind it, like a spear through my heart. For the record, I got the promise ending. Im still sad. It's a game about raging desperately against an unfair ending. I might think about this game for the rest of my life. I would sincerely say its an artistic masterpiece, by the sure definition of video games as art.

I like that the story leaves a lot open and abstract. I think it makes the emotional themes takes centre stage more. And i havent had nearly enough time to sift through it and come up with my own takes, we’ll need a few more playthroughs for that. And theres so much more to say that cant go in just these few paragraphs! Signalis is a game about two girls who had to run away from everything to find someone they belonged with. The universe may be cold and bleak, but you have to try, you might just find something beautiful, even if it doesnt last forever. I think if anything, we should all have the chance to find love and happiness like that, and we shouldnt have abandon a world that doesnt work for us to do it.

[affectiondeficitdisorder]

Attachment vs Addiction: Where does style end, and diagnosis begin?

by Ethlie Ann Vare

I was recently asked what my attachment style is. I didn’t know what to say. Is “un” a style? I’m also not clear on my love language. Something with a hard-to-decipher accent, I suspect. 

Love languages, attachment styles… I don’t think love addicts fit well into these relationship categories. We are not the average Dear Prudence reader. We are the few, the proud, the neurochemically distinct. At least, I think we are. But I could be wrong. Maybe love addiction is just a dysregulated attachment style? 

I got curious so I did some research, because that’s what the internet is for. Unless you’re a sex addict, in which case it’s for pornography.

In a nutshell: Attachment theory was first proposed by British psychoanalyst John Bowlby back in the 1950s, and refined by his work with developmental psychologist Mary Ainsworth in the 1970s. The idea is that a person’s comfort and confidence in close relationships – mainly but not exclusively romantic – is set up in early childhood, essentially based on how safe an infant feels with its caregiver/s. Safe = Secure Attachment. Unsafe = three flavors of Insecure Attachment.

Inconsistent or unreliable parenting leaves the child with unmet needs (“affection deficit disorder,” one might say) and sets them up for insecure attachment. That push-pull between a yearning for intimacy and a fear or rejection is factory installed. So the good news is, this isn’t a series of stupid choices you made. You didn’t just fuck up. The bad news: You can’t go back and unfuck it.

 The basic Attachment Styles are: 

Secure Attachment: The good one. Fewer than half the population (as few as 15%, according to some researchers) can boast of this. You need to have had consistent and reliable parents, preferably in a strong partnership. I haven’t met many of those parents, personally, but then you have to consider the circles I move in. Individuals with secure attachment feel comfortable with intimacy and trust their partners. They can express emotions openly, manage conflict healthily, and value both independence and connection.

If your parents were absent, or drunk, or mentally ill, or untrustworthy in other colorful ways, you end up with insecure attachment. There are three basic insecure attachment styles:

Anxious Attachment: Sometimes called “fearful” or “ambivalent” attachment. These are people who crave closeness but fear rejection. They might be clingy and seek constant reassurance, constantly on the lookout for signs of a partner’s disapproval. This is the “never leave me” partner, even in abusive situations.

Avoidant Attachment: Those with avoidant attachment prioritize independence and downplay the importance of intimacy. They fear commitment, may be uncomfortable expressing strong emotions, and can push partners away to avoid feeling vulnerable. This is your basic player.

Disorganized Attachment (Fearful-Avoidant): This attachment style usually stems from childhood trauma. Individuals with disorganized attachment desperately desire connection yet desperately fear it. They struggle with trust and can behave erratically in relationship. “Come here go away” is their motto. 

So which one am I, you ask? Nosy parker. But I was curious, too, so I took a test. (I liked this one, but there are tons online.) Turns out, I am�� sort of all of them. Light on the Secure, naturally, mostly Avoidant, but with a healthy dollop of batshit Disorganized. 

Here, look:

Disorganized attachment folks say stuff like “Relationships are confusing.” “People let you down.” “My partner is unpredictable.” “My partner says I’m unpredictable.” “Sometimes, I mentally check out because it’s all too much.” “I want to be close, but I’m afraid of getting hurt.” “Getting hurt is inevitable.” We don’t make a lot of eye contact. I can relate.

Avoidant attachment people might say, “I don’t see the point of talking about my feelings. Feelings are overrated.” “I don’t like to depend on people or ask for help. I’d rather do things myself.” “I can seem standoffish or like I don’t really care.””I need time to myself.” “I’m fine on my own.” I can relate to this, too.

Anxious attachers would say (albeit probably not out loud) “I want to be with you or in contact with you all the time.” “I’m terrified that you’ll leave me.” “I need constant reassurance of your love and commitment.” “My insecurity makes me jealous.” “Is there something wrong with me that makes you pull away?” This I don’t relate to as much, although I have stayed with a few men it would have been healthier to leave. 

Which of these, then, is the love addict? In my experience, it can be any of them, except maybe for secure. We are anxious attachment squared. Avoidant attachment on steroids. Disorganized attachment on crack. Sometimes literally with the crack…. We love addicts can get addicted to whatever kind of attachment we are in at the moment, because first and foremost we are addicts. And addiction is the result of a more complex soup of causes than just your parental units. 

As you know, I subscribe to the three-alarm fire theory of addiction: To make a decent fire, you need to have something to burn, a match to light the flame, and oxygen to keep it going. Adverse childhood experience (ACE) — like inconsistent and unreliable parenting — might be the match that lights the firewood. But you have to have dry kindling to start with, and that’s the brain chemistry you were born with: Inefficient reward transmitters, lousy dopamine receptors, all the stuff I’ve been writing about lo, these many years. 

And of course you have to have an environment that keeps the fire raging. Nightclubs and dating apps are great for that. Harems and convents, not so much. Absent any of these elements and your attachment style is just… your style, like Business Casual or Vintage Bohemian.

Me, I like cargo pants and combat boots and lean Fearful/Avoidant. Neither makes me an addict. Attachment styles I can learn to change. Addiction I get to recover from. Cargo pants and combat boots… those are just fatal.

[the-starry-seas]

it's Star Wars Day and I probably can't actually keep fiddling with this so hey, why not post it? :) anyway it's been a year and I still think that Paz dying was bullshit so here we are, I'm unburying my gays so they can kill people on their date

The thing is, Fury’s used to loss. 

It’s all a clone is expected to know. Losing brothers to injury, disease, enemy soldiers, sometimes even their Jedi commanders – they were made to be killed. They were meant to be disposed. 

Mandalorians aren’t like that. They’re built on community. On hope. He’s seen it, over and over again. Even in Boba and Jango, who were isolated from their culture for so long. The strongest of lone wolves yearn for a pack. 

Which is why it makes sense that Paz would risk his life for his tribe. They all do, in every battle. There’s never any guarantee that any one of them will come home, no matter how much they want to, or how well they fight. It’s the risk of being a solider. They all know that. 

But that doesn’t mean he’s ready to let Paz go. 

So when the blast door starts to come down, Fury does the only thing he can: he drops and rolls, the bottom of the door scraping the paint from his pauldron as he narrowly avoids getting pinned to the floor. 

���What are you doing?” Paz demands. 

Fury doesn’t answer, just headbutts him, hard. Not the tap-together of foreheads that symbolises affection, but anger, more real than he’d like it to be, because if it’s real, it can hurt him. 

Paz can hurt him, too, more than he knows. 

“This is not the time!” Paz adds, as if Fury could just go back to safety with the others. 

“It is now,” Fury snarls at him, and turns to shoot at the kriffing Imperials. 

He can hear the beat of Paz’s cannon to his left, steadier than his heartbeat, and focuses on shooting to the right. The most important thing he can do is watch Paz’s back. That cannon will handle most of the rest. 

When he hears blaster bolts pinging off Paz’s beskar, he flinches, but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t fear death the same way as natborns, not when it’s been staring over his shoulder every time he’s looked in the mirror since he was a cadet, but Paz’s death? 

That terrifies him. 

That’s why he’s here. 

And fortunately for him, no matter how stars-damned stupid Paz may be about himself, he protects his family. It’s half of what Fury loves about him, even if right now, it’s also incredibly infuriating. 

There’s no time to talk or think when you’re shooting your way out of an ambush, and it’s probably for the best, considering what Fury wanted to say when he rolled under that door a minute ago. Part of him still wishes he was yelling right now, but the more talking he does, the less shooting will happen. 

Of course, the shooting ends eventually. There’s only so many soldiers that a hidden base can throw at them, but more than that, there’s only so long that Paz can run that cannon before it overheats. The place falls strangely silent, then there’s the sound of a few blaster bolts, a grunt, and the impact of armour against armour. 

He turns. Paz is knocked down to one knee, holding the Imperial back but not able to get to his feet again when they have leverage. His boot slips on the rock.

With no time to reload, Fury tosses aside his blaster and tackles the Imperial over the edge. His jetpack gives him the advantage, aiding in a flip that slams them against the wall of the cliff, loosening their grasp just enough for Fury to kick them loose. 

He doesn’t stop to watch them fall, just scrambles back up, narrowly ducking under a soldier thrown doll-like over his head. There’s only three left. Two halfway across the platform, and the third with Paz’s hand around their throat, blood spilling over the edges of their cracked visor as their feet twitch feebly in midair. 

A handful of drops sizzle against the barrels of Paz’s cannon, laying at his feet, and then the soldier is flung aside, unmoving. 

The other two try to run. Paz’s jetpack sparks as he looks up, half-crouching like he always does before taking flight, but Fury’s is in good shape. He snatches Paz’s vibroblade from his belt and launches upward, slitting one Imperial throat before crushing the next against the wall in a full-body blow. Whether they’re stunned or dead doesn’t matter; they hit the floor near Paz, and he kicks them over the edge to drop with the others. 

When Fury lands, he flings the blade down between them, and the hilt cracks down the middle. Neither of them give it more than a passing glance. 

“What were you thinking?” Paz demands, flinging his left arm to the side in a gesture that encompasses half the area. He hunches over slightly when his arm extends all the way, and Fury knows the signs of him being hurt. 

Doesn’t matter right now. He’s too pissed off. 

“I was thinking that you were trying to be an absolute kriffing moron,” he snarls, “by staying here alone! What was supposed to be the point of that?” 

“To give you the chance to escape. To get out of here.” 

“How dare you?” Fury takes his helmet off. A stupid decision so soon after a battle, but one he makes so Paz can see the full extent of the hurt on his face, so that the tremble in his voice doesn’t get smoothed out by his vocoder. “How dare you think I would leave you?” 

His fingers curl around the edge of his bucket as he steps forward, just enough to reach out and set his fingertips over the iron heart on Paz’s chest. 

“You’re my heart. Don’t you remember me promising? Because I could never decide to walk away from you.” 

“There are no easy choices in war.” 

“This one was. And you tried to take it away from me.” 

He can only share secrets when they’re wrapped in layers of late nights and early mornings, and he doesn’t have to look at anyone. But they’re still told, one little detail at a time, like tiles of a mosaic being pressed into place. Paz has heard, over and over, that the clones weren’t allowed to choose anything that mattered, anything that could change their lives for the better. 

It was the hardest learning curve in their relationship. The clone who resented anyone that made a choice for him after years of slavery, and the Mandalorian who made things happen his way so he could more easily protect people. 

Sometimes they’re a shitty pair, even after they learned how to compromise. Paz still overrides other people, when there’s no time for discussion. Usually it doesn’t matter, but sometimes it just sparks the wrong way, and the fact that Paz has never hurt him intentionally just makes it harder to deal with. It would be so much easier if he could say you hurt me without Paz being hurt in return. 

“E'tad'nare,” Paz says quietly, holding his hand out palm-up. 

He can’t say he’s sorry. Probably never will. 

But that’s okay. 

Fury sets his hand in his riduur’s, fingers flexing for a moment over Paz’s palm before they lace with his. 

“E'tad'nare,” he whispers back. Seven Actions. The six that govern all Mandalorian lives, and the seventh – to love his husband, unflinching, to forgive mistakes and be forgiven in return. 

They’re not good at I’m sorry, but they’re good at I love you eternally. He kind of likes that about them. 

The moment evaporates when they hear a scrape of metal against metal. Fury’s helmet is on in a moment, but even before the HUD flickers back to life, Paz has rushed one of the red-armoured guards. Protecting his riduur, as he’s meant to. 

Fury draws his own knife, and follows him. 

The electro-weapons make things difficult, but there’s no backing down. The other blast door won’t open, and the hole that kriffing Kryze put in it with the darksaber isn’t big enough to fit either one of them. 

Whether she knew Fury would stay with Paz, or just can’t plan for shit, he doesn’t know. Doesn’t matter. He’s punching her either way. 

At least if these red troops don’t kill him first. 

They converge on Paz, and they’re doing a pretty good job of beating him to a pulp before Fury catches up to them. 

He carries a long blade, Whisper’s influence, and its sharpness means it gets through the fabric underarmour with almost no resistance. It pierces lung and heart before they realise they should be afraid of him. 

When the body drops, the other two draw back. This is where it will get hard, but he’s never been afraid of hard. If he was, he would have gotten wiped out on his first deployment. Honestly, the only thing he’s really afraid of is Whisper before xe's had xeim caf. 

Paz snatches up the soldier’s dropped weapon before one of the others has time to reach it. He won’t know how to use it, but he’ll learn from watching the others. When they strike, he’ll know how to strike back. 

“Back up,” Fury says in Mando’a. 

He and Paz move in sync, Fury matching his movements, the soldiers advancing at an equal rate until Fury says to stop. His blaster might not be much help against that armour, but he can only imagine what he’d hear when they got back home, if he left it aside while a fight happened. 

In the time it takes him to reload, both guards lunge, trapping Paz between them. One has their whip wrapped around his throat, pulling him off-balance, and the other is raising theirs sword-like, ready to run him through. 

Fury does the first thing that comes to mind, and shoots them. Several bolts hit them in the side and under their arm, injuring them enough to knock them back, but not enough to take them out of the fight. 

It’s enough time for Paz to surge upwards like a wave, roaring indistinctly as he falls to crush the soldier strangling him against the concrete floor. Their grip loosens just enough for him to get free, his jetpack sparking atop his shoulders.  

He wrenches it loose and flings it away behind him, hand outstretched toward Fury. There’s only one thing he could need, and Fury tosses him the blaster without hesitation. Paz nearly fumbles the catch, but salvages it just in time, twisting the moment his finger touches the trigger. 

The jetpack explodes, taking the guard with it. Fury spares no glance for the crater left, beskar gouged into shrapnel, intestines roped across the floor. Not when there’s still one left. 

Now that they’re alone, they look nervous, fingers clenching and loosening around the hilt of their whip as their weight shifts side to side. 

Good. 

Fury’s not usually the kind to take pleasure in a death, but this time, it’s personal. 

He and Paz move together, tossing out the occasional coordinating word in Mando’a, but mostly working quietly. They learned the steps of this dance a long time ago. And even though it doesn’t carry over into the bedroom, it’s still the fun kind of dancing. 

All they need to do is get Paz back to where he’d dropped his cannon earlier, the barrels cooled enough to fire again without warping or exploding. The moment his gloves touch the metal, it’s over. The soldier in the red armour, whoever they are, doesn’t have time to scream before whatever was under their helmet is turned to paste. 

“Well, I didn’t approve of that shit at all,” Fury says conversationally, taking his blaster back to holster it and hooking his thumbs in his belt. He shifts his weight, rolls his shoulders, tilts his head. No injuries. 

Now he just has to figure out how to get them both out of here. The blast doors were never an option, not with it being sealed from the other side and them having nothing to cut with. He could take the same route as the ships from the hangar… but his jetpack won’t carry both of them. 

There’s a clatter, and he stills, looking for what made the noise. Just Paz. Picking up his broken knife and discarding it again. Fixing it would be as expensive as getting a new one, and vibroblades can get… independently minded, once the internals are affected. 

“Are you all right?” Paz asks. 

Fury tilts his head to the side. Hm? A glance downwards tells him what Paz is worried about. 

“Not my blood,” he says. 

Paz steps closer anyway, the fabric of his glove rough but his movement gentle as his fingertip lifts Fury’s chin. Fury can feel his cheeks heat at the quiet, murmured good. 

“This is not the place,” he mutters. 

“It’s a little bit the place.” 

“It’s not the time,” Fury adds, laughing despite himself, even as he doesn’t turn away. Paz knows better than to get distracted at a time like this, but there’s still room for teasing. 

“What’s your plan for getting us out of here?” 

“Oh, it’s my plan, now?” 

“You’re the smart one.” 

“And the hot one, which leaves you to be the funny one, I guess.” 

“I have jokes.” 

“You have the worst ideas imaginable,” Fury corrects him, “that are delivered with the cadence of a joke. Even Jules hates them.” 

“Jules hates everything except your flatbread.” 

Mm, true. Their kid’s at that special age where all he thinks about is fighting people and causing trouble for his parents, preferably both at the same time, when he can manage it. 

“I’m going to call in Racer for a ride out,” he decides. 

“Come on,” Paz protests. 

“Stop whining about her flying.” 

“No.” 

“Racer,” Fury says, talking over Paz’s further complaining, “Paz’s jetpack is gone. We need a flight out, can you ping my helmet?” 

There’s a laugh in his earpiece, then nothing. Well, at least she heard him. 

He and Paz pat down the bodies, while they wait, and find nothing but the weapons. They can be turned off, fortunately, so they each coil one on their belt, for later. Fury knows without asking that the third will go to the tribe’s leader, giving her the chance to reverse engineer it for others in the covert. Speaking of which… 

“Your mom’s going to be furious when she hears about your jetpack.” 

Paz pauses, as if this thought had not yet occurred to him. It might not have. Then he shrugs and gets up from where he’d been crouched over the body of the third soldier. 

They both know he’s right, so there’s no argument. Instead Paz sits with his legs over the edge of the ledge, staring above them as the occasional fighter whizzes by. 

Fury can imagine his face under the helmet, calm – for the moment – and curious. Shame they’re not alone, because the blindfold is tucked into Fury’s utility belt like always, and he always loves the taste of Paz’s mouth. But Paz would never risk breaking the Creed that means so much to him, and Fury would never ask him to think about it. 

“Coming in hot,” he says a minute later, echoing his sister’s words. 

Paz scrambles up and away from the edge, which seems a very reasonable reaction to Fury, considering he’s already tucking himself under an overhang by the blast door. It’s the most sheltered spot on what’s otherwise a flat span of concrete, and he’s going to need it. 

Paz follows him, pressing close, standing between him and the hot gusts that will fly off from the ship’s engines as it lands, a few moments from now. 

“Hi,” Paz murmurs, their chestplates scraping together as he breathes in. 

“Hi,” Fury repeats, and leans a half-step closer. 

A shuttle rockets through the crack in the ceiling, swooping down to spin in place an arm’s length away from them before the hatch slides back to reveal the pilot. The circle and a half was just for show, he’s certain of it, and she’s much too close considering how wide the rest of the ledge is. 

“Kriff me,” Fury mutters, scowling at her even though she won’t see it through his visor. 

“Thought you just said we couldn’t,” Paz replies, and grunts when Fury punches him in the shoulder. 

“Hey,” Racer bellows, smacking her palm against the shuttle’s side, “stop making out and get in the stars-damned back already!” 

“I’ve heard before that in-laws are the worst,” Fury says. 

“You like my mom.” 

“Yeah, but me? I come with a five-ring circus.” 

Paz shrugs. “I like it.” 

“Good, ‘cause I like you too.” 

Paz steps aside, and Fury squeezes his hand in passing. He hops over the shuttle’s low door, landing with his boots on the seat and half-falling down to sit. Paz takes his time a little more, circling around the back of the shuttle to take the seat next to him. 

“Seatbelts!” Racer hollers over her shoulder, and flies off at a much faster speed than would be safe whether they wore them or not. 

Fury rests a hand on Paz’s knee, his other reaching for his blaster in case anything comes up next to them, wanting to shoot them out of the sky. It pays to be prepared, just in case. And it pays to be with his riduur, who always makes sure he comes home. 

[j4y-lvr]

hi can I request a hitman! jungwon x reader where jungwon has a mission to deliver a car to some mafia or high profiled person, which is kinda off to his job of getting rid of people, but while driving he hears a bump sound inside the trunk of the luxurious car, inside the military aircraft he decided to open the cars trunk, and he saw a girl in a senior high school uniform, blindfolded and her mouth is taped, he saw a letter beside the girl

"deliver this car with the girl alive after landing to this location xxxxxx, get rid of anyone following you, only drive the car, dont take any flights to avoid the girl being tracked"

he removes the girls mouth and blindfold , to see ,its the daughter of someone in the politics (vice president) , he realize that the person behind this mission is gonna use her to make her father withdraw his position

y/n tries to escape from jungwon because she thought hes gonna kill her, but she failed to escape him obviously, she cried and want to go back home, she begs jungwon not to kill her

jungwon have to choose if hes going to do his job , to deliver the girl in 30 days from the other side of the country, so they might grow feelings with each others company, the idea is like the movie Hitman if 2007?

NOTE. this is my first request so im not really sure if this is good- i kept most of it in mind while writing but I'm not sure if it turned out okay since I was out of ideas😭

WORDCOUNT. 3.1k

PAIRING. hitman!jungwon x important!personality!female!reader

GENRE. angst, some fluff(?)

WARNINGS. none(?), lmk if I should add any

"deliver this car to the military base by 25th"

read the message as jungwon peered his eyes further to the brooding brightness from his cellphone. Its sole use to keep himself notified and contacted about his little ventures they paid him to act on.

Mainly these messages were sent from anonymous people from various locations demanded that a certain victim be killed, and some specified how they'd want that soul dead. Those very orders were to be carried out by his hands. Often, the details inscribed were a bit too excruciating even for someone who murdered for a living.

Yet he obeyed them, getting it down to the last detail.

Why? He was paid to do so, this was his life day in and out, the familiar scarlet that painted his surrounding, sometimes his own clothes as the person fiddled to get away from him. Though, some, surprisingly, accepted their fate as jungwon drew their blood and causing the vessel their soul occupied to go limp.

With all the lives he'd taken, he was sure he was never destined for happiness, let alone joy. It was the main reason he had maintained such distance from everyone around him, one slip up and he would get attached and then die causing them pain.

He didn't fear death at all, he awaited it.

He found it quite easy to relate to the victims who simply accepted their fate to eternal slumber and letting their soul wander the depths of afterlife. It seemed more appealing than living another second in this black and white world his with the repeated hint of crimson splashing over.

An unbreakable cycle, one might say; he would rise awake, check the cellphone, sigh and head out to complete his orders, receive the money and just let it lie in his account. He didn't even yearn for the monetary benefit; it was merely a bonus for him. Yes, he found himself guilty of taking so many lives, yet he couldn't break free from it.

Why'd he bothers even saving up the money if he had no connections to pass it on too when the day dawned upon him for death. Possibly because he held onto the belief that someone, no, rather, anyone, out there would be there for him.

It was quite foolish of him. He knew his deeds costed him his fulfillment of life and its vast experiences with joy. But he kept treading along the line, longing for someone to help him out of it.

Drawling in his thoughts, he ruffled his slightly wet jet hair, the sheets rustling as he hopped off the mattress with the cell in his pocket. He fitted a black and white checkered cardigan, a duffle bag hung over his shoulder, slamming the front door behind him.

Irritated, jungwon sighed, going from walking to the location to jogging to sprinting. He wasn't to scour the place for a Persian blue BMW in the far distance with such little information to go off.

He brings his palms to his face and muffles a gnarle of anger and turns out hastily, finding the car right before him. He quips his mouth shut and walks over the polished vehicle, the deep blues shining in his eyes as he finds himself mesmerized in its beauty.

He blinks rapidly, recovering from his trance over the metallic vehicle and began to inspect for keys. His hand running over the hold, his cell dings, and a message appears:

"it's near the window wipers"

Jungwon raises a brow, glancing left and right and tugging his cap further before lurching to the access of the car. Stifling, he made progress to the door rather slow and cautious, after all, he had eyes on him.

A previous notice would've been nice, but his job required him to do and be anything but nice. He hadn't been informed anyway and he'd already lent out his hand in a handshake to deliver this across to the military base in tip top condition.

Nothing could be done now.

Unlocking the car, he sat at the wheel, throwing his weightsome bag in the back. His hand taking interest in the leather touched steering wheel. He sank into the comfortable seat and sighed as his stomach grumbled, not that he took notice of it. The interior was a nice metallic grey finish, busy taking in the car he'd be driving around for a while.

Wouldn't it be nice to own a car like this. Maybe later, in the future. And there he was again, in his thoughts, red handed. He spoke about his future like he was expecting one, and he'd rather not have any expectations when it came to his life, karma was soon on it's very way and he would succumb to it without a squeak.

No savior nor angel would show up on the whim and grant him his so-called happiness, not that he thought he should deserve any, not after robbing all those people of their lives. Jungwon shook his head and switched on the car with a press of a button and levered on the pedal, his arm rolling round the wheel to steer. He pulled out the unnamed place and drove off.

A day passed as he sat delusional at the wheel, in the buzz of a stringent straight line of a path directing him. He would've drove the car into a wall several times and the only thing holding him from doing so was the money and that fact that the police would run a background check on him.

He'd rather lay low for his remaining time on earth than run around avoiding press and kin for making headlines.

Jungwon couldn't seem to catch a break, contrary to his recent thoughts as the familiar adrenaline kicked in at the sound of gunshots to the vehicle. An intrusion, calculated amidst plains of road with no onlookers.

He sighs, his foot quick to power further ahead and attempt to derail them, seeing as though he sat alone with no one to peek out the window and fire. And almost quizzical with timing, a diversion in roads appeared, the mapping device dictating a sharp right turn but the person trailing him said otherwise.

Jungwon forcefully took the right turn, watching the rear mirror for guidance whether to proceed with his next move. He maneuvered to the edge, the vehicle behind tailing the opposite edge while watching him.

The time presided, pressing the brakes, the tires screeching due to the friction as the car roared ahead in a fury while jungwon fumbled and managed a rather hasty u-turn. His body leaned to the door and a large thud emitted from the back of the car, raising his suspicion.

He'd successfully thrown off the car behind him a few meters yet what was in the back that caused a ruckus behind? He had to inspect it, and he would at that moment if he weren't caught in this rat race.

He zoomed ahead for longer, the tailing car still unable to gain enough traction to aim for jungwon and shoot him. He continued down a different path than the map, profuse curses leaving his mouth as he it'd take him longer to actually deliver the car with no damage to it.

Luck was on his side as he rampaged into a small metropolitan city, jungwon lit his infamous killer smile while making his way through an amass of turns. They seemed to have lost him in the city as jungwon drove untrailed.

He headed straight towards the shadiest looking establishment in the place. He was in dire need of a change of clothes and a setting to avoid those men again. They didn't look like the type to get fooled more than once.

The tires screech and come to a nasty stop as he pulled in the parking lot of what seemed to be a bar. Hitting the bar in the early hours of the afternoon under the scorching sun didn't seem fitting but it'd suffice as a distraction.

Jungwon grabbed and slung the duffle bag over his shoulder, unlocking the back of the car and to his grave surprise, lay a girl, awake and tear-struck in what he made out to be a school uniform, battered and tied up with a cloth around her mouth to muffle any sounds she made.

And that wasn't the most groundbreaking thing of all, beside her lay a note. He had a choice to make and he untied her urging her to stand up while grabbing the note and heading inside the building in a yank of her hand.

Whatever he was in store for was going to be interesting for sure.

—

He exited the restroom in a fresh pair of clothes, slugging over to the table he'd sat you down at. Part of him hoped you'd made your attempt at escaping so he'd have some weight lifted off his shoulders.

But no, you sat waiting obediently, staring at your hands in the pool of your skirt. He shook his head and walked over, placing the bag down and rummaging through it for a pair of sweats.

"here," he beckoned your attention at the enunciating of his words, his eyes falling flat against your hesitant ones as you seemed to muster up a few words. He shoved the cloth into your hands and directed you towards the restroom.

"i dont have time to waste," he threatened, pushing you in the door and shutting it rather harshly. You laid in the back of the car for over 2 days and you were absolutely scared for you life whether he would take your life at any moment.

You shuffled into the clothes he offered, making up your mind to take everything the boy did with caution. You couldn't help but wonder where the rescue team was.

Jungwon on the other hand busied himself with researching just who you were. A few searches revealed more information adding to his already existing burden. You left, tugging on the drawstrings of the blue hoodie he gave you.

A hand stayed at his temple as he found himself in a misery.

"are you... from the rescue team?"

He panned his head to you in a frenzy, his sharp glare cutting you into pieces, "no."

"who are you, then?" you quizzed, studying his fumed expression. He got to his feet, his quick steps in progress demanded you to follow him. "that doesn't matter at the moment, follow me."

and bang. echoed the sound of the door slammed open where two angered men stood, enraged. Jungwon peered around with wide eyes, clasping you wrist and cramming into the narrow hallway for the exit. The men after jungwon made considerable progress, inspecting those around.

He ordered you to keep calm and to continue moving towards the exit. A small distance way was the door, making both of practically lunge for it before a yelled broke through in the way. You panicked, heaving rather intense as jungwon trapped you to the wall, inching closer to you.

"stay still," he whispered in the cave of your ear, chills running down your spine as the proximity of his face to yours began collapsing and the men ran by, in search of the very boy.

"he was in a black pullover!" shouted the man behind the two, not suspecting either, your head turning in their direction, making it rather obvious that you staring at the situation in front of you.

A finger to your chin met your gaze with jungwon's as he redirected your head from those men to him. The same finger reaching your lips slowly and shushing you. He gawked into the abyss of his brooding eyes, admiring all the hidden warmth behind them.

For those who stood watching the two, it seemed as though the boy and captured your lips in a lock, dancing with his own, expressing his feelings. Quite the opposite ran along the lines of fake and real, jungwon's minty breath fanning your face as he looked down at you, analyzing each feature of youre, down to your fear-ridden orbs.

"he's not here, he must've abandoned the car here to throw us off!" exclaimed another from the other side of the booming club. The men scurried off as jungwon wrapped his arm around your waist to avoid suspicion, "we'll talk later, don't say anything," he mumbled loud enough for you to hear.

—

Halting at a gas station way off course the trail, jungwon massaged his temples as you seemed to wander off in the convenience store. He filled up on gas, and left to check up you, still hoping you ran away.

But no. You were right there, stood in-between an isle full of instant snacks and what not, staring intensely at the row, pondering with your pick already clasped in your hand.

He sighed, trudging over to you while you noticed his presence and uttered, "i didnt know what you'd want—" and he hastily grabbed the first one in sight. Striding to the counter, paying and to the vehicle, seemingly examining if there was any noticeable damage to it.

"get in," he ordered, making you walk to the back of the car and grasp the handle, causing a hiss from jungwon. "i meant in front, yn"

"you know who i am?" you inquired in a panic, retracting your hand from its previous position.

"get in, i'll talk then,"

You obliged with little to no choice, clicking the seatbelt to your side and practically flinging your head to the side, only to find his eyes already locked on you. Clearing your throat, you muster to ask, "are you going to kill me?"

Jungwon chuckles, his lips pulling into a small smirk, "depends," he states, leaving your to your frantic thoughts again, "there are others that want you dead more, though." he completes, your eyes blinking at a turtles pace, attempting to keep you grounded.

"who wants me dead?" you pry, your eyes devoid of fear, catching his notice. He expected a look of fear and you returned nothing than a blank space.

"your father," he replied, nonchalantly, not taking a second to even think about your feelings upon hearing that.

"stop lying" you say, denying his claims. Jungwon throws his head back, "fine, then why don't you try ringing up your dad and asking him about your rescue team?" he said, offering his cell.

You hesitant gaze confirms his suspicion and he closes his palm, tucking the phone in his pocket. No one had come to resuce you in over the days of your kidnapping, and you held onto to the string of hope that they would and had to come save you.

Yet, here you were, in this unknown mans car, having the harsh truth slapped right to your face. You purse your lips, racking you brain from explanations.

"stop trying to find an excuse and eat,"

—

Jungwon was exhausted, he drove throughout the night to make up for the lost time. In the middle of his journey he contacted a friend to figure out who commissioned him to drop this car to the base, and unfaithfully his hunch was more than spot-on.

You dozed off quite a while ago with no words exchanged, occupied in your thoughts, watching as the trees waned and waxed upon entering and exiting small towns in the outskirts.

"we're almost there," he whispers to himself, glancing at your angelic figure and back at the narrow belt of road, taking a small detour, having arranged a place to station you at.

He thought about what to do with you long and hard, replaying the look of your feared eyes in the back of his head. It was different, and it made him feel human emotions, like he hadn't threatened your living before.

He parked a good distance away from the vicinity, knowing well that the car had a tracker. He shook you awake from your peaceful slumber, the back of your hand swiping the drowsiness from your orbs.

You exited, staggering and swaying before gaining stability over your body, following the figure by his broad back, often bumping into him. You stopped walking after seemingly 45 minutes at a rundown building, "stay here till i return,"

He pointed to the door, shuffling around for the eyes beneath the torn mat before the door. You take a good look around you and at the door. "alright."

And like that you accepted your fate.

"you can escape if you like, i'll check if youre still there in a day or so,"

Jungwon gave you look and handed you half of his belongings and left, giving a small head pat and walking away so fast like he was embarrassed.

Frankly, jungwon had no idea what he was going to do. And he wasn't sure if thats a good a or bad thing considering he pulled up to the gates of the military base with you, who came with the car.

It baffled him that he would possibly get hurt because of someone else than himself for the first time in his life, and he didn't know what compelled him to save you either.

He drove into the base, exhaling as he parked the car and unbuckled the seat belt and tensed his muscles before loosening them to assume the worst, a fight of some sort.

He exited the vehicle, taking a few glances around and it was surprisingly empty, unlike his train of thoughts. Was a sniper on standby? Would he be killed the moment they realized you weren't there.

"leave."

Bewildered, jungwon stared at the text, voicing his confusion, "what..."

"leave, your work here is done."

And so jungwon left the base with no mode of transport to get him home, stranded in the middle of ghost town with you a good distance from him. He was forced to the walk the way, with no text from the commissioner, thinking over all the possibilities that could've took place.

Before one theory of his began to make too much sense, sending him in a frenzy. The thought of you being dead at his hands sent a shock down his spine, his feet taking off in a flight.

He traced the familiar tracks around the abandoned house, a sign that he was closer to you. Banging on the front door, he gasped for air, hoping you were still there, alive.

Weight lifted off his shoulders as you peered throught the peep hole, observing the stranger who'd mysteriously helped you at the front door. You unlocked the door and were engulfed in an embrace, leaving you wide eyed.

He peeled himself off you as fast as he did embrace you, "i'm not a hugger," he stated sheepishly, the slight red tint on his cheeks giving it away. You laugh, pulling him into a hug, feeling him tense at the contact.

His cell buzzed, reaching for it. A text from the commisioner.

"the girl's gone, but knowing you, you probably killed her. thanks."

[eurydicees]

hey so I watched ouran back in 2020 during the panoramic and i liked haruhi and tamaki together, but seeing your posts,,,, oh dear,,,, I've changed I fear, I've morphed into a being that longs for a homoerotic childhood friendship where being known is the heart,,,, How do you deal with the heartbreak of knowing how the manga ends and knowing kyoya never gets his happy ending?

this is so good i am SO glad i've helped you see the light. tamakyo truthers of the world unite.

to answer your question, i cope with writing soooooo much fanfiction in which things are just a little different, just slightly different enough that it could work out between them. but also it's kinda fun to stay true to canon sometimes because i love experiencing and inflicting pain.

(cont under the cut bc the Serious Answer got long)

i think that while the ending of the manga is incredibly bittersweet and nostalgic and makes me cry every time, i don't think kyoya necessarily has an unhappy ending, specifically when looking at the little info we have about his character post-canon.

while tamakyo doesn't ever get together and kyoya doesn't get that version of the happy ending, he still ends up happy and satisfied with his life--or at least, i like to think so. he doesn't get married or fall in love canonically, but that doesn't mean he isn't happy!

i like to think that he learns to be satisfied with the friendship he does have with tamaki and haruhi rather than yearning for something more (with either one or both of them). i think very very often about the j michael tatum quote about him:

like, first of all, why would you say this to me. second of all, i think he kinda nails it on the head. he believes that he can't make either one of them as happy as they can make each other, so he lets them both go. he finds his own happiness in the fact that they're happy with each other.

it's also relevant to look at this quote from the extra chapters in ~2011:

i think the idea of tamakyo is a lot more complicated than any of us would really like to admit. i do believe that kyoya loves tamaki (and vice versa), but i think we should also acknowledge that there's a lot of external factors besides haruhi that are keeping them apart.

kyoya would choose a partner based on how they can contribute to the ootori family, and it's very debatable what tamaki can provide to them. yeah, it's a good connection to the suohs; it's also a scandal for both families--or not! maybe it's fine! we don't really know, alas, and we never really will.

so i think that even though kyoya doesn't end up with a partner--specifically doesn't end up with tamaki--he can still be happy like this. i think, though it's unclear in the anime, it's less so in the manga and he does have a chance at being the successor to the ootori legacy etc and i think that he can find happiness in that work. he also does still have all of his friends!

one of the things that's so so so important in ouran that we all often lose track of is that this is a story ultimately about friendship and family. it's a love story, yeah, but it's also a story about platonic and familial love, and that's just as important as romantic. i think kyoya can find happiness in those things, even if he doesn't get the white picket fence and 2.5 kids.

so it's sad, yeah. it's a little heartbreaking. but it's also okay! don't worry too much, i think he's doing alright.

[doctorguilty]

Mental health

I guess it wasn't all for nothing I basically just came face to face with some hard truths about the way I've been minimizing my suffering and life and a bunch of stuff, it's a bit too personal as much as I otherwise like to overshare, but it's just like the other day in therapy my therapist brought to light some very observable patterns in stuff I'd say, and confronting myself afterwards over how unhealthy it is was rough, it hit me really hard, it's not like a personal failing though it really is just.. stuff rooted in my deep sense of worthlessness.. my belief that my suffering is of lesser importance than others, etc

The other hard part to it all was talking to my partner about how it impacts my health and future and just .. spilling it all out, getting their perspective, admitting I need more help than I have ever asked for, fearing rejection as someone like me does.. a big looming thing over me is the likihood my partner may not be able to move in with me as soon as we planned (which was gonna be early next year) and like again it's personal but it's all tied together like my self worth and things blah blah blah, but just being like the way I am living I am so unhappy I have been unhappy for so long, I've never had a happy place to live, it's at the point where my physical health is worsening because of the impact mentally and I can't stay in this dark tunnel like this where I'm losing more and more every day, more energy, more health, I can't make it outdoors as much I can't draw and do art as much it's at the point where even playing video games is getting harder my brain is like, that of an animal in a tiny cage that just lies around waiting to die, I could go on, but it's going to get worse soon with seasonal depression and more chronic pain, etc.

Anyway I digress the hard truth is my situation isn't sustainable no matter how much I myself it's fine because my bar for quality of life is on the floor and I dont have the resources to make it better. I just don't. So I admitted it.. it was hard, but I am relieved because my partner loves me and does not want to see me hurt like this and pretend it's good enough. It's not. They know it's not.

So there's been some new talk of plans, what can be done if a home together is not yet possible, something other than, I just wait and try to like, keep myself alive and just accept that's the bar that's all I get, being not dead. It's perhaps a possibility to help me afford to move out of my poor environment and support me while I get my health in order and not feel incapacitated by hopelessness. I that's what we touched base on! P much! The reality of things and agreeing I need (and deserve, allegedly <- self hate moments) a better quality of life and not allowing my misery to be the best compromise.

I'm grateful to be loved by someone who wouldn't just.. flip the table over in me and tell me I'm nothing but a burden and dead weight.. I'm grateful to be something a person as wonderful as my partner feels I'm worth investing in..

We're gonna talk about it more in person soon.. and probably what I need to do is get my disability application back on the front burner (is that an expression) as much of a pain it will be to dig up 8+ years of documents I need to reference for it.. but I just think.. that is a way more sustainable life, if we can't move in together soon.. if I am not suffering in a toxic environment (for the first time ever 🥲 ) I can last for years if need be, the long distance would feel less oppressive for sure when my life isn't just a depression fog and yearning to be saved. If they can save me NOW, I will be LESS wounded and sick when we ARE living together, that's for sure.

I just like having a plan anyway. I hate stagnation. I hate this dark tunnel. The moment I got some news that made the light shot miles further again, became a pinprick of light, I spiraled downward. I've been miserable. I need to get out. I need it now, not a mystery number of years from now. But just talking about it, putting it all out there and being told, yes I will help you, I don't want to see you suffer anymore just because of circumstances changing, it felt like a weight off me. At least that is something for now..

If you read this far I'm impressed. You must be pretty invested in my life, which is flattering ;×;

[outeremissary]

!! (a surprise for you :))

A surprise indeed, haha. As usual, this was how I discovered I had posted something. This was uhh. Not my most prepared night for it.

Hmm... I guess this will just be random rambling, and I don't have any nice, new art for this, so it's going to all be old art that's mostly not colored (lot of it is years old and I hadn't uhhh figured out the color thing). Anyway, Caina Lilindel, the ghost who haunts this blog and I am geased to have as my pfp forever.

First the meta notes: Caina was a grugach (mechanically wood elf- the UA for grugach hadn't been released yet) rogue inquisitive I played in a Curse of Strahd game that ran from 2017 to 2020. He was loosely based on a side character from an abandoned project I worked on periodically during my first year of university (which was then loosely inspired by something in VtM, but that's not important), and I made him as a quick, edgy character who I wouldn't mind dying because the DM was very adamant that the first area was a meat grinder and we might TPK. He survived though, and I was left to play my joke concept straight. And then I got really into that. Really, really into that.

Caina was a secretive exile who had been wandering the world alone for almost three decades at the start of the game. He was sharp-tongued and abrasive, never willing to help anyone for free. He hated risk but easily plunged into recklessness at the behest of emotions he made only the barest efforts to keep in check. He was always pushing away those who might befriend him, and every time someone responded to his vulnerability with kindness he recoiled as if they could burn him- or as if he would burn them. He hated being touched but yearned for intimacy. He killed without a second thought but argued passionately against dealing out further death. He was an absolutely wretched liar on the occasion he tried, and in moments of peace he was an excellent cook and unfailingly kind to children. His primary hobbies were card games and reading unimaginably trashy novels- he was the only member of the party who recognized van Richten, and that was because he was a longtime fan of a horribly prolific series of pulp thrillers based on van Richten's adventures. He had a way of following those he respected or cared about as if starstruck- he never knew what to do with his feelings. And despite his own tendency to break his word or bail on things he could never recover from anything he felt was betrayal. I always loved the combination of vulnerability and prickliness.

(backstory summary that got ahead of me ahead. and this. isn't even everything.)

Caina was born in a small semi-nomadic community in a hilly land and lived his early life without ever straying from his home. Life moved slowly and quietly there, the circular turning of seasons the only visible mark of the gentle passage of time in a community of near immortals. He was one of very few children and the spacing between the youths of the community was easily such that a child could be the only in their age group all their young life until reaching the more even ground of adulthood. But Caina was fortunate. There was another child his age in his home: a boy born the very same year as him, timing so close that the two were often called twins. That boy was Avél, Caina's best friend, constant companion, and the first person to lose his life at Caina's hands.

Caina was a quiet, diligent child who always went along with everything his more outgoing friend wanted to do. From a young age they shared the same dreams of adventure and tale-worthy glory far from home- although Caina would never be able to say if heroic legends had always set his heart racing or if this dream too was simply following Avél. He was known as a sweet child, one constantly fretted over and sheltered by his mother, who feared for a son who had been born sickly, and his grandmother (the family matriarch), who was intent on raising an eldest son who would be useful to his family. He would have duties when he aged, his grandmother knew: to his parents, to his grandparents, to his cousins, and if the Most Revered was good, to a sister who could pass down the name of the family to another generation. It wasn't for eldest sons or only sons to stuff their heads full of fairy tales and stray.

In contrast to quiet Caina, Avél was a troublemaker and a free spirit. He was never one to be confined by a rule if he could challenge it, and as a second son with no sister who would one day rely on him to keep the house for her, Avél's life had a certain openness to it. His tricks and disappearances were met with gentle scolding but never with restriction. He could imagine any future ahead of him, could dream of danger and distant lands, of anything in the world he desired. Anything he wished for might be his. And what he wished for was to be taken under the wing of the gruff old huntress Siyir. Siyir had been further afield than any of the others who wore the title of ranger. She had gone well beyond simply charting the movements of the community or passing messages between the pockets of the grugach people or brokering trade deals. Siyir had slain a griffin. She had descended into human lands, had seen mountains that spat fire and waters that spanned the horizon. She was Avél's vision: a legend who had stepped through campfire flames to stand in the mundane material world. And of course, this meant that Caina worshiped her too.

So the stage of life was set. Two boys, near opposites in every way, but each the other's closest confidante and the mirror of his own experiences- or perhaps less a mirror than a shadow and the bright thing that cast it. Avél pulled Caina out of his shell and into new experiences. He supplied dreams enough for two and invented adventures to match. There was an awe that Avél inspired in Caina. He wanted to nurture passion that could match his friend's to more truly inhabit their shared dreams. He wanted skills to match Avél's natural athleticism and way with words. It gave him a hunger to keep up, to learn, to know, to show that he too was equal. But nothing he did ever seemed to bring the two of them even. His boldness crumpled under caution, his hesitance and appeals to the wisdom of elders earning him affectionate teasing as a stick in the mud. He could never run as fast or far as Avél or climb as high or win tussles between them without tricks that brought out whines of "no fair! do it right!" The skills Caina learned alone bored Avél. Cooking was dull and far beneath a legend, Avél insisted. Wayfinding was useful but too much work- Caina was the smart one, so he could take care of it, couldn't he? And the runes of a seldom used writing system (taught to Caina by the community's shaman) were entertaining only for an afternoon or two- he laughed when Caina asked later if he'd been practicing them, and Caina's ears burned with shame for finding them so fascinating in the first place.

With age came a sharper sense of the distance between them. Avél was the golden child of the community, Caina his keeper. When Avél broke his arm falling out of a tree on a forbidden excursion it was worth a day's scolding that quickly melted into doting and repetition of the grand tale of his adventure for months, while Caina was reprimanded for allowing Avél to hurt himself and then quickly forgotten as more than a timid accessory to Avél. Siyir took interest in Avél, but Caina quickly realized had little in him: she hardly acknowledged Caina when she spoke to the two of them together, and she had a way of only offering things when Caina wasn't around. And Avél, for his part, hardly seemed to protest surprise hunting trips at dawn or archery advice when Caina was unavailable. He always shared what he learned afterwards, but no matter how many times Caina asked for Avél to bring him along the next time there was always an excuse when that next time came around. Suspicion set in that his friend was hoarding time with the huntress to himself. And when the changes of puberty began Avél grew taller and filled out better. His features emerged from teen acne as defined and handsome, new edges to his face only making the soft twinkle in his eyes seem brighter and the creases of his smile kinder. Caina stayed spindly and awkward. It was painfully clear that strength would never come to him naturally, and without it a slight edge of grace didn't feel like much. He began to distance himself from Avél to have time to hone skills his friend had and he felt he lacked. But it was never enough to do more than keep up. Just to keep up, and hope desperately that Avél's aimless talent would one day lose to training.

And then Caina's mother gave birth to a daughter, and Caina was too old to miss the meaning of the event. The first brother's duty was to his sister- to be a part of her household more constant than a partner, for those were fluid and often changed over the long turning of the decades, and more vigorous than a mother, who would one day be claimed by the years. To share in her generation and her legacy. Caina would go from a childhood sidekick to Avél to a supporting character in the tale of Cailo. There would be no breath for his own story, his own adventures. Like that he added Avél's freedom to the endless list of envies.

Yet Avél, in his careless optimistic way, never acknowledged the change. They still had the same dreams, the same loves, the same life. Even as Avél spent more time with Siyir as Caina helped care for his baby sister Avél danced around it. Any time the future was questioned Avél suddenly had a new story that needed telling immediately or somewhere to go or something that needed doing. And sometimes he simply laughed and pushed it away.

In the midst of this stormy sea of adolescence, Siyir decided to take an apprentice.

The decision wasn't an announcement, but a challenge. The ranger let it be known to all of the youths that she would take on whichever best passed a series of tests she set. Worth, she said, was the only way to decide who was fit to carry a legacy like hers. And that worth superseded all else: she would take her chosen apprentice and no other, and it was known without ever being said that likewise nothing could take her chosen from her.

Worth.

Worth.

Caina knew all her skills secondhand, but had practiced them to the best perfection he could imagine. He knew the one who would ultimately be the only true competitor inside and out. Siyir had never seen him, but he could make her. He would show her that he was worthy.

He matched Avél in every test. He could shoot, he could hunt, he could track, he could pitch a camp of his own. He was still Avél's superior when it came to navigation, even if his friend had improved. The few other challengers quickly proved half-hearted and dropped out. It was only Caina and Avél, just like it had always been.

The night before Siyir's last test, Caina returned home late. He had gone out to gather herbs for the shaman, Galen, and been sidetracked by the urge to practice one last thing. When he passed by Siyir's dwelling, he caught the sound of a familiar voice that gave him pause: his grandmother was in Siyir's home.

He crept closer, and the conversation became clearer. His grandmother was asking what she was meant to do if Caina won the contest. Who would be there for Cailo? Was their family simply to dwindle, plagued by foolish wanderlust and misfortune? Caina could hear in his mind Siyir's counterargument: that many daughters grew up alone, that Cailo didn't want for cousins who could help her, that their father was still with them and far from old. That one son was an acceptable concession for a woman who had once shot a griffin from the sky. That maybe Cailo didn't want her legacy either.

But Siyir said none of those things.

"Avél is my apprentice." It wasn't her usual brusque tone. It was a reassurance, a gentle correction. "I just couldn't let it get to the boy's fool head by letting him have that without a little fight."

Every semblance of hope evaporated. He hardly remembered the rest of the night- only the listless dreams that tore at him whenever he tried to rest. He was trapped in a haze.

He was still in that haze when he rose before dawn and found Avél.

They walked out and away from the early spring camp, Avél chattering all the way and glancing over here and there at Caina with something that sometimes looked like relief and other times looked like guilt. Caina was quiet for the most part. He smiled and nodded and urged Avél on. Once or twice he laughed. It was so easy to slip into familiar patterns while following familiar paths. By the time they reached the cliff over the falls, the light made it clear that despite the lingering morning mist dawn was well behind them.

Many years before, a lone long-branched pine growing at the edge of the falls had fallen. The reason was unknown- no one had been around to see it go- but now it lingered in death as persistently as it had in life, laying its lattice of branches out across the open air to form a precarious bridge from one side of the gorge to the other. Mist from the falls left it permanently slick, and between the spring rains and the snowmelt still trickling down the surging falls had crept in precariously close.

When they were younger, they had often talked about crossing it. Avél had take a few steps out, falls plunging down on one side and open air on the other, and Caina managed a half step before begging Avél to come back. "Next time I'll do it," Avél always laughed.

"What do you say- for old time's sake?"

To hear the proposal come from Caina stopped Avél dead. His laughter wasn't the familiar bell of joy. It cracked at the edges- nerves, perhaps, or surprise.

"As if I could say no."

And Avél stepped forward, hesitating a moment at the edge. His eyes flicked to Caina and his mouth hardened into a thin smile. He took his first step onto the trunk. A few steps later, Caina followed.

Looking back, Caina was never sure what he had wanted from that morning. It was like a dream, the roaring falls eating the sound of the world around them and the mists swallowing everything outside that tiny expanse and the figure of his friend.

Somewhere near the center, Avél stopped. He turned and shouted something. Caina read the words on his lips: Let's go back.

Avél was moving his feet, trying to reposition to walk back, when the dreadful inevitable happened. In the blink of an eye he had gone from upright to clinging to one of the branches jutting out from the edge of the trunk below. There was no thought when Caina rushed forward recklessly, bracing himself against one of the more solid branches as he grabbed a slick hand just in time as his beloved friend's support cracked and fell away, useless. Avel dangled at Caina's mercy, clinging with both hands onto Caina's arm as he struggled to find a foothold to pull himself up.

In this moment of nightmare, lucidity returned.

Caina would never be able to say why he brought his friend to the falls. He didn't know why he challenged him at their stupidest, most dangerous childhood game. He didn't know why he followed so close, never allowing Avél the space to turn around. All coincidence. All error. None of it conscious. None of it him.

But he could never forget the moment he chose to let go.

If Avél screamed, Caina never heard. The falls swallowed the sound greedily. In the constant roar of white noise, it seemed like Avél was as silent as a shadow, and when he disappeared into the mist below he became every bit as transient.

There were searches, of course. There was weeping. And finally there was blame. Caina hadn't planned the crime, and only began to hide it too late. Put before the gods in all of Galen's power, he cracked. He had believed like a fool that he had hated Avél. Now as its target he understood what true hate was. Yet for all that, there wasn't heart in a community that couldn't remember ever having an execution to kill another so soon after their loss. No one could remember the curse ever being used either, but Galen knew it all the same.

It was with nothing but the clothes on his back and a new fear of death that Caina left the home he had been cast out of. The brand of defilement burned on his hand, the angry red scar weeks from true healing. Cast out from his home, from all kin, from the sight of the gods themselves, who had sealed his exile with the cursed brand. The legend he had made for himself was one of misery. And beyond its edge, only wandering without rest- always running from the guilt carved into skin and soul.

[red-riding-wood]

⭐ Directors cut! :]

Thank you for the ask, Emily! I'll go with Time in a Bottle for this one. Ramble below cut.

This is another fic that is based off of a song that is very important to me (Time in a Bottle - Jim Croce). I have a massive fear of time, old age, death, etc. I always feel like I'm on a clock, always feel like time is moving too fast. So a lot of my own fear was projected onto the main character. And a lot of its inspiration came from the song. But it started with watching Faraway, So Close! (1993) and hearing Cassiel deliver the line, "Time is running from me." Emit, AKA Time, is then gone from the screen and Cassiel is left confused. I loved the symbolism of that so much and of Emit's name that I instantly knew I wanted to write something on it.

The character's fear of time is really embodied by the ticking of the clock in the bar. I remember trying to make it so that the tick was written at in the story when mortality, time, or the tension or fear was very acute so it would accentuate that. I also wanted the ticking to really drive home the character's conscious fear of time ticking down.

The first scene I thought of was the moment when Emit snaps his fingers and everything falls still and quiet. I also knew at this point that his "token" to her would be that moment, and probably at this point also knew the ending and the symbolism of the "time" in a bottle. There was something just very beautiful to me about the world falling still and silent around these two people in a sensual moment.

My memory is a bit hazy on the film, but I did kind of nab the whole plot of Cassiel falling to earth and becoming mortal. I remember the seeing in colour thing was a big thing in the film, as was the feeling of joy. So it was a bit of that and my own zest and yearning for life that made me want to describe everything as being very beautiful and vivid, from the colours and sights to the sounds and scents. I do think that there are many things that we as humans take for granted in life that, say, someone who's never experienced such things, (in this case, a fallen angel) would adore. The only thing the MC in this doesn't see the beauty in is death, nor does she understand the natural order. I wanted to make her a little naive, a little arrogant, since her world until this point has been very limited.

Though I haven't seen the film yet, I've seen clips from Knockin' On Heaven's Door (1997), and there's a particular one in which one of the characters says, "You've never been to the ocean. In Heaven, that's all they talk about.” For some reason, when I first heard this line, I thought it said, “And Heaven, that’s all they talk about,” as in, people go on about Heaven but don’t talk about the beautiful things that are here, on Earth, such as the ocean. This inspired the quote from TiaB, “Humans talk about Heaven as if it is an escape from life, some craved destination that they are all too eager to reach. But they don’t know what they have.”

From this I also developed a newfound appreciation for the ocean. I've lived by it for the past seven or so years, because my parents moved me out here when I was thirteen, and I've always hated it, partly because of them and partly because I personally think things would've worked out a lot better if they hadn't chosen to move here. But after hearing that line, I went to the beach one day and I just sat by the water for a long while and I thought to myself, "This is really beautiful." So I decided to include the ocean in the story. I still want to fucking move, though.

I definitely drew quite a bit of inspiration from the show, Supernatural, as well. I mean, there's literally an angel named Castiel who ends up becoming more human after falling and is first perceived as very arrogant and soldier-like. I think the "smite first, ask questions later" line might've actually been pulled from the show or inspired by some line in the show. This film reminded me of it and I decided to mesh the two into a bit of a guideline in my head for how this particular universe worked.

Overall, I think this is my most poetic piece, and I hold it to a similar regard as Heroes (though it's also my most "artsy" and my friend didn't understand it). I believe I wrote this after that, and it was the beginning of my barely-writing-anything-and-hating-myself-for-it period. I only wrote a couple paragraphs or so at a time, so it took me forever to write, until one day I had a surge of motivation and I just wrote the last of it over the next couple days.

[enigmaticexplorer]

I Yearn, and so I Fear - Part II - Chapter IX

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

General Summary. Nearly a year since the Galactic Empire’s rise to power, Kazi Ennari is trying to survive. But her routine is interrupted—and life upended—when she’s forced to cohabitate with former Imperial soldiers. Clone soldiers. 

Pairing. Commander Wolffe x female!OC

General Warnings. Canon-typical violence and assault, familial struggles, terminal disease, bigotry, explicit sexual content, death. This story deals with heavy content. If you’re easily triggered, please do not read. For a more comprehensive list of tags, click here.

Fic Rating. E (explicit)/18+/Minors DNI.

Chapter Word Count. 4K

“To fear love is to fear life, and those who fear life are already three parts dead.” – Bertrand Russel

22 Helona

The lake was nestled in a clearing down the hill from the house.

Kazi discovered it the first week she moved to Eluca. Fehr said the lake was an old fishing hole used for sport; however, over the decades, the fish population deteriorated and died. Today, the sole creatures that visited the lake were various aquatic birds and the occasional frog.  

Roughly a hundred meters in length, the lake’s deepest point was no more than six meters. The water was translucent blue, a unique feature most Elucan lakes claimed. Even the pit of the lake was visible and served as an illusion, making it appear shallower than it truly was. Fehr had warned her about the deception, and Kazi had made sure Neyti knew to never visit the lake alone.

Beneath a gray sky bloated with coming rain, Kazi swam laps. 

The swim was, obviously, different than her morning swims on Ceaia. Fresh water. Visible depths. Water contained. Waves and currents a nonexistent issue. Sometimes a monkey perched on the branches of the trees overlooking the water and appraised her routine. The brown, furry creatures scurried away the moment she noticed them. 

Lazily backstroking, Kazi studied the skies above. Her neck still ached and the skin was raw. Bruises still painted her skin purple and blue. She couldn’t even swim properly—twisting her neck to the side to breathe hurt too much, which was why she had taken to backstrokes. She needed a bacta salve if she wanted the bruises to heal quickly. But bacta was too expensive. 

Carefully regulated by the Empire, bacta could only be found on the black market. It was one of the Empire’s first laws—to prevent “Separatist rebels” from receiving efficient medical care. 

All bacta production sites were managed by the Imps, and a large purchase flagged Imperial security systems. Only med centers and military bases received a substantial amount of bacta supply, and even those were carefully documented. Planetary systems could request large quantities separate from med centers, but it was unlikely the Empire would supply them. 

One of the benefits of Ceaian culture was the emphasized importance of apothecaries and herbal medicine. Hence Daria’s bruise salve Kazi used last night and this morning. Herbal medicine wasn’t effective like bacta. But it was more useful than nothing. 

Another lap completed, body fatigued and stomach cramping from renewed menstrual pain, Kazi called it. She surveyed the darkening sky once more and then started toward the shore. Until she noticed the person sitting on the log where she kept her shoes and towel. 

Unease pinched her stomach. She inhaled a slow breath to calm the sudden race of her heart. Wolffe was watching her, his expression unreadable. 

The fallen log bordered the edge of the lake, water lapping at its smooth trunk. Kazi stalked through the thigh-high water and stopped a meter before Wolffe.

“What are you doing here?”

Rather than his usual morning attire, he was outfitted in gray sweats and a black long-sleeve. Dark marks smeared his under-eyes and the lines on his face were more pronounced. He looked tired. Like he hadn’t slept. And yet his gaze remained as attentive as ever.

Forearms pressed to his thighs, Wolffe scanned the lake. He seemed to be intentionally avoiding her direction. “Why do you swim?”

His purposeful ignorance irked her and she rolled her eyes, glaring at the trees behind him.

“I like the water.” Sliding into her flipflops, she grabbed her towel and wrapped it around her body. “My father took me sailing almost every day. And since I can’t sail here, I might as well swim.”

Finally, Wolffe looked at her. “Is your father on Ceaia?”

“He’s dead.” Kazi considered him. “He died when I was ten. It’s been a long time.”

An uncomfortably long moment passed. Wolffe searched her face. The assessment in his gaze felt like a knife cutting into her, peeling her open. 

A breeze, chillier than usual, whispered along her skin and she fought a shiver. 

“Your mother—”

“Is dead. Everyone is dead.” She didn’t like this line of questioning, and she didn’t like the calculation in his expression. “Loss is a normal part of life and some have experienced it more than others. As you’re familiar with.”

His lips pressed in a disapproving line. “I don’t want your pity—”

“Likewise.”

“I was asking to figure you out—”

“It’s really none of your business.”

Wolffe pushed himself to his feet. “You say that a lot.” 

They were standing far too close and Kazi wanted to step back. To create distance. Wolffe was taller than her. Broad shoulders and healthy fat sculpted the body of a battle-hardened soldier. This close proximity was intimidating, but her pride kept her glued to her spot.

“You tell me it’s not my business,” Wolffe said, voice low and edged with restraint. “But you come back here with a fucking handprint on your neck, Ennari. Tell me how that’s not my business.”

Kazi stilled. Her teeth gritted.

“I have assumptions.” Wolffe ran his tongue along his teeth. “None of them are good.”

“If it’s your brothers’ safety you’re worried about,” she said, “I can assure you I haven’t betrayed you—”

“Don’t. Don’t do that.” The annoyance in his tone was overt and he released a sardonic exhale. “I thought we were past that.”

“I did too,” she said sharply. “But you’re out here, in my space, accusing me—” 

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” he snarled. “You have a handprint on your fucking neck and I need to know what happened.”

“And I told you it doesn’t concern you or your brothers, so you can fuck off—”

“You can trust me.” Wolffe worked his jaw, his voice quieting. “I want you to trust me.”

Shaking her head, Kazi looked toward the lake, toward the visible depths where sunken trees and aquatic plants mossed the lake floor. 

It wasn’t a question of trust. More a question of her own pride. She didn’t want Wolffe to know what happened yesterday simply because she was too raw from it. Not yet disconnected and numb. 

A look in the mirror this morning was too much. She saw a broken version of herself—eyes sunken, skin dull, mouth flattened. The woman she saw this morning was a version of herself she worked hard to hide from the world. 

A woman who yearned for things she didn’t deserve. A woman who wanted so much and yet refused to accept good things out of fear they would disappear. A woman who was tired and no longer wanted to rely on herself. 

For a majority of her life, Kazi had carefully cultivated and nourished a façade. A façade of disinterest, aloofness, and absolute control over her emotions. She was unflappable and independent. Disciplined and level-headed. She bore responsibility for Neyti and Daria; she couldn’t be weak and broken. 

But it was lonely. To rely on herself, to maintain the pretense she was competent and in control. Perfect.

It was so fucking lonely. 

“I told you,” Kazi murmured, eyes fixed on Wolffe’s shoulder, “it doesn’t concern you.”

“What do you want?” Wolffe lowered his head, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Do you want me to beg?”

She recoiled. “No.” 

“Tell me what I need to do to learn what happened.”

“I don’t understand why you want to know.” She released a shaky breath. “I can handle it on my own.”

“That’s the problem with you.” Wolffe cut a hand through his hair. “I don’t doubt your competence. But if you’re being abused by the network, we’re going to have a problem—”

“It was the magistrate.” She glanced at the surrounding trees again. “Not the network. They wouldn’t do that—”

Wolffe scoffed. “Those people have a goal in mind. And they’ll use whoever they can to achieve it. Even at the expense of your life.”

The truth in his words was brutal, but Kazi had always assumed it of the network. It was easier to pretend the rebels were moralistic. That they were the opposite of the Empire and would never use people to their advantage. Refusing to acknowledge the truth allowed her to pretend she wasn’t digging her own grave. 

“It wasn’t them,” she said.

Tentative fingers lifted her chin. Wolffe eyed her neck, his focus intense. “Was he trying to kill you?”

“I don’t know.” Softly, a finger traced her bruises and she swallowed. “He’s paranoid. He doesn’t know who he can trust. I think he was trying to threaten me to convince me of my loyalty to him.”

“I have bacta—”

Pulling away, she frowned. “How?”

“Our missions aren’t solely rescue-based.” He shrugged. “We do have a need for certain resources.”

It made sense. He and his brothers needed the efficacy bacta provided. 

“Save it,” she said. “For something more important.”

Wolffe cocked a brow. “Do you really want Neyti to see that?”

“Of course not,” she said. “But I have clothes that can hide it.”

Seemingly unconvinced, Wolffe looked away, rolling his shoulders back. The silence between them was awkward and strained. 

“Quit your job.”

The statement caught her off guard and she blinked dubiously at Wolffe. The seriousness in his features, the insistence in his tone, made her retreat a step. 

“I can’t.” She gestured to the house behind him. “I have to work to provide for my family. And I’m spying for the network.”

“The network is dangerous. You know that. You don’t owe them anything.”

“Do you really believe they’ll let me go?” She smiled ruefully at his stony scowl. “Unless I left Eluca, they won’t let me quit.”

Moving wasn’t an option either. Both she and Wolffe knew it. The information she had on the network, even if it were minimal and her interactions confined to few members, was a problem. The network wouldn’t risk their existence for a single person.

Kazi shrugged. “Like I said, it’s—”

“Don’t tell me it’s not my concern.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “The magistrate is looking into deserted clones. He suspects a spy in the Institute. Lack of information about possible rebel spies and deserted clones will further increase his paranoia. All of this concerns me.”

“I’m doing what I can,” she said defensively. “I think this was a fluke. He believes I’m loyal and it won’t happen again.”

“And what if he doubts you again? What happens then?” His gaze returned to her neck and his nostrils flared. “You could have died—”

“I know.” Her voice was trembling but she couldn’t stop it. A phantom touch—like the magistrate’s hand was once more squeezing her neck—brushed her skin. “I was the one there. I know what could have happened.”

“We can get you out—” 

“And take me where?” Throwing up her hands, she laughed. “There’s nowhere else to go.”

“There are remote places—”

“Yes, there are. Planets without the education Neyti needs. Planets without the medical care my sister needs.”

A muscle flexed in his jaw. “This is dangerous.”

“Your missions are dangerous. I don’t understand how this is any different.”

“Because it’s my life on the line,” he snapped. “And my life doesn’t mat—”

An uncomfortable grimace contorted his features and Wolffe scowled at a point behind her. Kazi could only stare at him, too tired to respond, too numb to comfort. Anyway, she doubted Wolffe would care for her response. He despised pity.  

A handful of raindrops pricked her arms. Small and cold. Just like how she felt on the inside.

“If something happens to me,” she started, voice brittle. Empty. “Will you make sure Neyti and Daria are okay?”

Wolffe exhaled a strained breath, rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes returned to hers. His gaze was unwavering. He studied her for a long time; she was surprised there was anything left to see.

“Nothing’s going to happen to you, Ennari.” He squared his shoulders. “Nothing.”

The static of galactic news hummed in the sunroom. Clouds a dark gray, like the charcoal used to start a fire, layered the sky. Hours ago, solid sheets of rain watered the jungle’s rolling hills. Now, the skies were somber. The quiet and emptiness after a good cry. 

Kazi stood at the windows overlooking the dreary afternoon. Tucked among the knee-high ferns sat Neyti and, to her bemusement, Nova. The man held a neatly tied collection of bird feathers. A myriad of colors, from moonless black to opaque white to a rainbow of blues and indigos, the feathers ranged in length and thickness. 

Nova said something to Neyti. The youngling scrutinized the feathers, eyebrows knitted and mouth wrinkled. She reached for the largest feather, cerulean blue with sketched lines of black. 

Nodding, Nova set the feathers on the ground, all except for the cerulean one. He stroked a finger down the rachis, and then offered the feather to Neyti who mimicked. A small, toothless smile lit her face.

Kazi felt herself smile similarly.

From the kitchen, a timer beeped. Muffled voices spoke and a quiet laugh drifted to the sunroom. Daria was teaching Cody one of the sisters’ favorite recipes—Ceaian sea-cakes, a traditional breakfast more common during the winter holidays. 

Why Daria wanted to teach Cody the recipe was beyond Kazi. The dish was nothing more than tradition—even if it was a staple of their childhood—and tradition only those from Ceaia could appreciate. She doubted Cody had any interest in Ceaian culture. Why would he care?

A twist of the radio and the staticky voices loudened. 

“…in an astonishing turn of events, Emperor Palpatine made an unannounced appearance at the Galactic Senate…

“…after the shocking news that an Imperial admiral ordered the destruction of Kaminoan cities…  

“Emperor Palpatine was quoted: ‘With this momentous act, we shall usher in a new era. Heralded by the Imperial stormtrooper.’...” 

Searching the backyard, Kazi redirected her attention to Wolffe. Beneath a canopy of thick trees, he and Fox had outlined a perimeter of short stakes. The area was around fifteen meters in length and five meters wide. 

The two men were out there for hours. Ever since the rain released its hold. Currently, Wolffe knelt on the ground, hammering two pieces of wood together. 

Kazi had half a mind to ask him what he and Fox were building. But, after this morning, she was avoiding him. She regretted their conversation, and she regretted revealing certain fears and uncertainties. She didn’t want him to think she wasn’t good enough to— 

“I was wondering where those two had gone.”

Kazi jerked away from the window and spun around. Standing at her side, close enough she could elbow him, was a freshly-showered Fox.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your blatant staring.”

“I wasn’t staring,” she muttered. Smoothing an unwrinkled spot on her shirt, she ignored his amused look. “I was wondering where Neyti had gotten to.”

“She’s a remarkable kid.”

Outside, Neyti held the stack of feathers, mystified by whatever Nova was showing her on his datapad. The man had a particular interest in medicine and trauma therapy, according to Daria who had gifted Nova one of her old medical books to study. Based on Neyti’s blatant confusion, Kazi assumed Nova was showing her something related to the biological breakdown of bird feathers.

“I’m sorry,” Kazi said quietly. In the corner of her eye, Fox stiffened, carefully scanning the green mass beyond the windows. “For snapping at you when you were obviously joking.”

“We’re all protective of family,” Fox said. His words were contemplative, but a hint of warning underscored his tone. 

Seemingly satisfied with his assessment of the backyard, Fox took a seat in a chair across the room. A position where he could see the partition, backdoor, and anything outside the windows. It was then that Kazi noticed the objects in his hands. An old, rusted knife and a chunk of wood. 

Intricate lines carved the wood into a simple shape. Kazi appraised the figurine, her lips parting in surprise.

The carving was a familiar black bird. The same bird Neyti had insisted on burying two days ago.

“Do you think she’ll like it?” The intense concentration on Fox’s face belied his casual demeanor. 

“I think she will.” Kazi took the seat beside him. “You know, she would probably like you more if you didn’t tease her so much.”

He breathed a quiet chuckle. “I know.”

The solemnity in his answer was begrudging, and it revealed something she hadn’t yet known: Fox didn’t want to get close to Neyti. The teasing remarks—the soft glares and adorable scowls he received in return—were his way to maintain a distinctive line. A barrier not to be crossed. 

Kazi recognized it. Because she did it too. 

Over the years she had distanced herself from everyone. Family. Friends. Coworkers. Similar to Fox, she had distanced herself on purpose. Because closeness, companionship, created a vulnerability, a happiness that could easily be stolen the moment the companion left. 

“The Senate is still debating the decommissioning of clones,” she said, changing conversation. “It seems they’ll vote in favor.”

“They’d be real stupid to do it.” Fox flicked the tip of his knife. “But it makes sense why they’ll go through with it.”

Kazi frowned. “I thought you would support the bill.”

He slid his eyes in her direction. “And why would you think that?”

“The Empire will no longer use clone soldiers. They’ll be free from service.” She paused, hesitating. “That’s the entire purpose of your missions, isn’t it? To free those men?”

“The purpose of our missions is to rescue.” Setting aside his knife and block of wood, Fox lounged back in his chair. “We’re rescuing the ones who want out.”

Static from the radio chirped and Kazi lowered it.

“Decommissioning is the Empire’s way of cleaning up a mess they don’t want to deal with anymore,” Fox said. “Clones don’t have a pension plan. They don’t have retirement savings. They’ll be decommissioned and tossed aside. Forgotten by the galaxy they fought to protect. They’ll be jobless, homeless, and left without a purpose.”

Kazi glanced at the half-finished puzzle littering the table—the puzzle Wolffe had been working on the last two weeks. “I don’t understand why the Empire wants to decommission clones. No natborn can compete with your training and skillset. Clones will always be superior soldiers, and for a government that desires power, the most efficient and effective military is a clone military.”

A wry smile darkened Fox’s face. “You’re forgetting the aging gene.”

“I thought the aging gene was degenerative.” She leaned forward. “The Ceaian government intercepted Kaminoan intel and we were told the aging gene stopped acceleration at twenty-six. Is that not true?” 

“It is.” Fox shrugged at her exasperated scowl. “The aging gene’s degeneration was kept quiet. The Kaminoans were pressed their experimentation was faulty. And one bad gene raised questions of other possible degenerations.”

“Which could lead to an investigation into the chips, and if the general public knew about the chips’ existence, it could lead to questioning of the Empire’s authority. Even questioning Palpatine himself.” Kazi scoffed, tapping the plush armrest of her chair. “So Palpatine is cleaning up his mess.”

Fixing the cuff of his gray button-down, Fox appeared insouciant to the revelation. Then again, he seemed to have already considered and assessed the situation at depth. 

“Clones aren’t droids,” Fox said, rolling the cuff on his right wrist. “We have minds of our own. And Palpatine is starting to wonder if the clone army will remain loyal to him. He thinks it’ll be easier to decommission them. He’ll create a new army from those propagandized to support him.”

They lapsed into brief silence, Kazi musing their conversation. Something about his tone struck her.

“You talk about Palpatine like you knew him,” she commented. Years of training kept Fox’s features composed, but Kazi had also spent years studying the subtle changes in posture and expressions. She noted the sudden wariness in his eyes. The slight tightness around his mouth. “Did you know him?”

“Does it matter?”

“I’m only curious.”

Shaking his head, Fox shifted his attention to the windows, tapping a finger against the armrest of his chair. He sighed. 

“I served Palpatine.”

The guarded reticence in his face reminded Kazi of Wolffe’s mistrust, and she realized he expected her to react poorly. Probably accuse him or stalk away.

A month ago she would have. A month ago, she would have considered this proof the men were hiding their true motivations and they weren’t to be trusted. 

“I’m surprised you aren’t yelling at me.” Fox chuckled bitterly.

She shrugged. “I’m not one for yelling.”

“That’s not what Wolffe said.” Kazi rolled her eyes, and Fox relaxed marginally, dark brown eyes searching her face. “I wouldn’t blame you. If you went to Wolffe or Cody and told them I couldn’t stay.” He grinned. “Some of the men we rescue don’t trust me.”

The words were flat, bored and uncaring, and yet Kazi noted a hint of exhaustion. 

“Why not?” she asked.

“I was a good soldier,” Fox said. “I obeyed my orders. I didn’t question them. I took my job seriously, and I made hard decisions not everyone agreed with. I earned a…certain reputation among the ranks.” 

His deceptive casualness was well-practiced, and she couldn’t help but wonder how often he pretended to be in control. How often others overlooked his collected appearance. 

“I was loyal to Palpatine. Until the very end.” His gaze grew unfocused. “I did things I shouldn’t have.”

“We all do bad things,” she said, “and we all make mistakes—”

“These weren’t simple mistakes.” 

For a long moment, Kazi and Fox sat in pensive silence, the shifting of pans from the kitchen and the static from the radio serving as background noise. Kazi watched Neyti play with her bird feather, smiling smally at the little girl’s enthusiasm. Her attention shifted to Wolffe. He was drinking from a bottle, his long-sleeved shirt matted with sweat, the white fabric clinging to his dark skin. 

“What will you do,” she said, “once decommissioning starts?”

“Decommissioning can mean a number of things.” Fox ran a finger down the stem of the spindly plant sitting beside him. One of Daria’s, the dark green plant almost reached Kazi’s shoulders when she stood. “Certain units will be kept in service. There will be clones forced to train new soldiers. We’ve even heard reports of possible clone detainment centers. We’ll keep busy.”

“How long will you do this for?” 

Outside, the breeze stole a feather from Neyti, carrying it to a tree branch. Neyti chased after it. But the branch was too high for her to reach. Before Kazi could help, Wolffe plucked the feather from the branch and returned it to Neyti. 

Hugging the feather to her chest, Neyti patted Wolffe on his arm and raced back to Nova who was absorbed in something on his datapad. Wolffe looked from his arm to Neyti, bemusement wrinkling his forehead. Kazi bit her tongue to stifle her amusement.

Sudden movement from Fox drew her attention back inside. He approached the windows, slipping his hands into his trousers’ pockets. “We’re committed to these missions for one of three reasons: responsibility, guilt, and atonement.”

Still seated, Kazi surveyed his side profile. 

“Cody believes it’s his responsibility to correct his wrongs, and that starts with his men. And Wolffe does it out of a twisted sense of guilt.” Fox rolled his shoulders in a move so similar to Wolffe it was eerie. “The missions give us purpose.”  

Kazi could relate to the sentiment. After University, her career gave her purpose. Meaning. It kept her alive, especially on those lonely nights when she didn’t understand why she existed. Those lonely nights when she questioned if someone would miss her—

Hesitantly, Kazi joined Fox at the windows. “Wolffe goes on every mission while you and Cody switch. Why is that?”

Fox chuffed a strained chuckle. “Wolffe is single-minded when it comes to his goals. He’ll run these missions—and run himself ragged—until he either shifts his focus elsewhere or learns to live with the guilt.”

Kazi frowned. “Guilt for what?”

“Surviving the war.”

Masterlist | Chapter 8 | Chapter 10

A/N: I’m afraid Fox’s words might get misconstrued: Fox is arguing that Wolffe’s guilt is an unhealthy coping mechanism that’s driving his life. He is not arguing that Wolffe needs a romantic partner to 1) fix him and 2) bring meaning to his life. Romantic relationships do not give purpose; they do not give someone a reason to live. And when it comes to the clones, I think any similar rhetoric reduces their personal aspirations, individualism, and humanity. 

[m00n-pr1sm]

Lena sp4 argument :3

I’ve been iffy on Lena’s enneagram for a while and had settled on sp1 (I was sure she was e1, just unsure on the subtype), however after growing my knowledge and reconsidering; I present you with my sp4 argument! I might throw in some points regarding MBTI & Jungian to reinforce my analysis too.

Part 1: Refuting E1

While E1 is a take I understand, after further analysis it doesn’t fit Lena beyond surface level traits such as perfectionism and self-criticism. We should first examine the 3 triads present in enneagram, being gut, heart, and head. The gut triad is the one that deals with Anger, with E1 in particular turning this anger into righteousness, they move against people. The head triad deals with fear, moving away from people; they retreat into their own head living in the world of ideas. Finally the heart triad is the one that deals with shame, with E4 being the one that is focused on their devalued image (unlike the pride of an E2 or vanity of an E3).

SP1 is a type that I think has been misinterpreted, SP1 is often described as a type that turns their anger into oneself, always striving for perfection, thus turning their anger into warmth. While this may be true, it’s still important to realize that SP1 is still an E1 (not even the countertype at that), they are still incredibly focused on outside standards, they merely mask their anger in contrast to the other subtypes. While yes Lena does fall into this, so much of her character is based on internal personal sentiments, rather than the external standards of perfection. While Lena does have strong morals she believes in, E1 should not be correlated simply with that.

Let’s compare the passions of E1 vs E4, which are Anger and Envy, respectively. The passion of anger causes the person to be critical, frustrated at the world and themselves for not living up to their expectations. They look down upon those that don’t fit into their moralistic ideas, seeing themselves as superior in that aspect. I really do think Lena lacks the crucial element of resenting the world, not just herself. Her arc in season 5, is really the only big indicator to me and even then, it came primarily from the hurt of Kara not revealing her secret, with her moralistic ideals of “fixing the world” stemming from that. It was due to her hurt of being confirmed, by the people she trusted the most, as being the bad guy. Envy will be explained shortly.

Part 2. Explaining SP4

Lena is a very interesting and complex character, however I feel like much of the analysis regarding her typology is very denying of her inherent emotionality, of her personal sentiments; in fact many of the arguments regarding INTJ on this page hinge on how “strong” her Fi is. I had also believed this and even wrote an (unpublished) analysis explaining her functions.

The tertiary is one that isn’t even mentioned in the original literature about MBTI and even so, it is a weak function. While this is not an MBTI or Jungian argument I ask for people to explain how Lena would be a thinking>feeling type, just because she is incredibly smart and capable of rational thought doesn’t make her a thinker. So much of her character is built on the sense of feeling, which as outlined in Jungian, isn’t inherently tied to showing emotion.

However let’s get back to the point.

While E4 may have the image of a lamenting character or one that’s all about creativity or identity; that is a massive oversimplification of the type. We should first examine the ego structure of an E4.

E4 has the fixation of melancholy, they feel dissatisfied and yearn for more, eventually they develop the passion of envy, which causes them to desire what others may have, they feel a deep sense of lacking.

>”In type 4 there is a deficient self: the person feels that they are worthless, that they do not have, there is an impoverished image of themselves, and there is also a strong idealization of what they would like to be.”

The self-preservation instinct is one that is focused on their own survival, thus they focus on their own security.

How the instinct manifests in E4 is that it creates a character that takes in their own envy (thus being the countertype), believing that they can take anything that comes their way. They are demanding and expect perfection of themselves. SP4’s aren’t also very expressive with their emotions, which fits Lena’s attitude of repressing her emotions. This line from the E4 book made me think of her little boxes.

>”He locks his emotions in an inner world that has no expression, to the point that it can be difficult to recognize him as an emotional character”

Here are some quotes outlining the character of an sp4.

>”Although it is not difficult to confuse the search for perfection of an conservation E4 with that of an E1, the conservation E4 accompanies this attitude with effort and dissatisfaction: the search to be perfect or to do things perfectly is the consequence of a feeling of inferiority and an attempt to compensate for the experience of being insufficient.”

>“Different from the "sufferer" (social E4) and the "insufferable" (sexual E4) is what is called the "suffered" (or “long-suffering”) in Spanish, an expression that speaks to us of a capacity for self-frustration and endurance.

>”Instead of being a very tearful person, the sufferer is one who does not complain and avoids crying in front of others, and who has learned to swallow a lot and endure pain without blinking.”

>”One of the most obvious differences between the E4 conservation and the other subtypes of envy is the lack of expression of this passion: conservation is the subtype where envy appears most denied, and it is difficult to recognize it because the person does not stay in the lack and in envy towards what it does not have, but through effort it transforms in a compensatory way what it lacks, thus defending itself from the envious feeling.”

Think back to moments in the show, how Lena tries so hard to be different from her family's legacy, she feels this deep shame of being a Luthor, desperately trying to redeem the name, to try and do something good. We see her put on a stoic, hardworking mask, being overly consumed in her work. While in moments of vulnerability (and mild alcohol inhibition) she reveals her true feelings, such as the scene Lena has in S3E05.

>”Because I did it.

Kara, I did it.

You know, all I ever wanted to be was good.”

>“In the real world, my last name is bin Laden and everything I do hurts people.

Hey, you know, it's...

it's in my DNA, okay?

So, please, just...

just...

just stop.

Stop believing me, okay?

I am not worth it.”

These lines are so indicative of Lena’s deep shame in her name, how she truly views herself as below others and less then. Despite her view of herself being very negative, calling herself a bad person on many occasions; she strives for altruism and tries desperately to show that she is different from her family.

What she tries to do with L-Corp, by reforming it, wasn’t to fit her own expectations and to aim for the idea of perfection.

No, it was reformed out of a sense of penance, a fact that Lena literally states in the first episode she’s in.

>”I won't have a life if I can't make this company into something positive.”

More sp4 coded quotes lol

>“You know, I...

I just thought if I could make this work, I would prove to the world and to my mother that I was as good as the golden boy.

I think most of all, I just wanted to prove it to myself.” (S2E20)

>”I knew something was wrong, but I did nothing. I just watched her die.

And afterward, I was brought to this terrible family.

And I have spent my life fighting their legacy, and their crimes and their evil deeds, but I've always known that...

That deep down inside, that I belonged with them.” (S4E07)

Childhood:

The childhood of a sp4 also matches up extremely close to Lena’s own, she lost her mother at a young age, blaming herself for her death, following that she was taken in by the Luthor family. From this Lena grew up with a poor self image, feeling rejected by Lillian, while also undergoing the guilt that still plagues her into adulthood.

>”Physiological and emotional deprivation at an early age, which may be due to the loss of the mother due to death, illness, depression, abandonment or temporary absence-”

>”In the most general case, when the mother remains by the child's side but stops attending to him, taking care of him and giving him a safe environment, the child introjects the hostile figure, giving rise to his bad internal image and the experience of lack and longing for the good mother The mother is left as great and idealized and the child feels very small and helpless. This way of seeing others as superior is going to be repeated in their relationships throughout their lives.”

>”The experience of children is waiting for someone to be there for them, take care of them and protect them. They constantly need to convince themselves that they can be loved and liked as they are.”

>” As one E4 conservation patient puts it: “Whatever I did, nothing was ever right. My mother criticized me a lot, she told me that I was very selfish...>>”

This deprivation of affection and loss results in a character that believes they are at fault, thus leading to their tenacious and masochistic attitude. Lena took all the terrible things in her childhood, introjecting them and thus believing that she is a bad person. We see her channel these beliefs into her efforts of being a better person, to try and always do right.

also so>sx instinct as I see Lena being incredibly aware and attentive of social norms, rather than the focus on one-on-one relations/competition the sx instinct is about. Although I would be willing to change my mind on this.

Conclusion:

Lena is an sp4 as she lacks the world resentment and external standards of perfection that an E1 would have. However she does fit the feelings of deficiency, she has a strong ideal of who she wants to be, striving for that image with tenacity and effort; this matches up with how the passion of envy is twisted in combination with the self-preservation instinct. Her themes of trying to be perfect and swallowing pain, are a near textbook reflection of an sp4.

This page is very much dead and I really need to stop caring so much about the typology of Katie McGrath’s characters but I cannot stop (Saskia PY argument soon???)

3. Sources

ENVIDIA ABNEGADOS, ODIADORES Y MELANCÓLICOS translation

27 Personalities in Search of Being

[lostusagis]

Kamui wondered what kind of response she'd have to his confession. Yatos were usually feared by humans, most of them anyway. It was why they were near extinction after all. They were a blood thirsty race, and him being the strongest of them may even be the most blood thirsty. He usually didn't care about being feared, it was nothing to him. It was amusing even, seeing their horrified faces when he'd kill them all. When it came to killing, Kamui was really sadistic.

Yet, he was really anxious over how Namida would feel about him. Originally, when Kamui decided to tell her, his mindset was 'If she hates me, I won't care'

But that was a lie. A lie to himself to cope. He couldn't handle being hated by her. His attachment to her made him too far gone at this point. How she'd feel meant everything, yet it was realistic to think she wouldn't react well. She was still human. It was easy to forget she could be the type that would hate him. All those smiles she'd show him, that he's come to yearn for everyday wouldn't appear anymore.

In the end though, he did feel hiding that side of himself from her wasn't right. It was lying to her, something he hated doing. Namida deserved to know who was she spending time with. She didn't deserve to go on without knowing who he was. That's how Kamui saw it, given how important she's become to him.

If she hated him after, then their friendship wasn't something that should exist. It was just based off lying to her.

The silence that would persist between them after his confession was dreadful. Kamui felt like he might go insane until she said anything. He felt so anxious, it was killing him.

Kamui was reminded how weak minded he was given the things going through his mind:

Please don't hate me because of this, it'll be so difficult living without you

Which was why he was startled when she went ahead and placed a hand over the one he had been gripping her wrist with. His gaze would look down as he felt her thumb stroking along his bandages, then looked back up at her dumbfounded. He'd swallow thickly when Namida started to speak, but he'd only listen.

Hearing her point of view and how she felt the night he had lost control, there was a pain in his chest. Kamui honestly didn't like thinking about that day due to the fact that he came close to killing her. But also the fact that she was able to easily tell it wasn't him......

He couldn't help but feel happy over that.

But he never wanted to lose control again, he hated every time it happened. He especially didn't want it to happen when Namida was around. He'd really hate to put her through that again. If one good thing came out of that day though, it led to him and Namida becoming closer. Kamui was grateful for that.

''I'm... not.....'' He'd try to deny it when she went ahead and started saying how he was a good person, but her words were beginning to evoke feelings of embarrassment. Especially when she'd smile at him the way he did. Even though he wouldn't often get embarrassed, currently his face felt hot, and they were as red as before if not more. It was the overwhelming feelings of happiness most likely.

Because the person he cared for and liked so much didn't hate him.

Although, his eyes widen slightly when seeing her cry. Kamui was confused, given that she hadn't seemed upset. But he also didn't have the best grasp when it came to feelings. His mind completely malfunctioned when she intertwined their fingers and started kissing his face.

The blushing was so bad. Heat, so much heat. Brain wasn't working. He was a mess. Because of her. Kamui was pouting afterwards like a flustered little kid, glancing down at the ground. He hadn't particularly disliked what she did though, the opposite in fact. He did, however, hide his face a bit afterwards.

The embarrassment eventually fades after what she'd say after that, unveiling his face to look at her. That wasn't a surprise, Kamui never expected her to be accepting of murder. Which was why he was surprised she wasn't angry with him. She was weirdly really understanding.

''....Yeah, that's.... what we do.'' He'd look away frowning when saying that. Killing and fighting was basically instinct. They were really similar to wild animals who had it in their blood to hunt, and be on the top of the food chain. It was unfortunate he couldn't change what he was. His blood would yearn for violence no matter what. Kagura may very well be the only Yato who managed to not give into instinct. He couldn't help but sigh, it was unfortunate he was born a Yato and not a race more normal.

At the very least, Namida seemed to not mind what he was regardless of their differing mindsets and views.

''I'm not going to lie to you to make myself look better by saying no so.... yeah. I do enjoy killing a lot.'' Kamui glances down at her hands while they held his,

''......The only people I won't ever kill are those I care for personally.'' Although, he had at one point tried to kill his family but he felt that was more of a personal issue he didn't need to tell her. Him and Kagura were on good terms now. That's all that mattered

When she mentioned how he saw her as 'home', the embarrassment crept back up. He'd turn away, trying to form words that didn't come out like a mess that would match his mind right now. ''......You do feel like home to me....''

Kamui took his arm back from her grip, looking at her. His features looked fragile, and somewhat anxious. ''So I hope you really mean it when you say you won't leave my side. After what I told you I was afraid of how you'd respond, given that it's hard to imagine you not being in my life anymore. But I would've respected how you'd feel either way.'' His hands reached and cupped her face,

''I'm sorry I'm not normal. But you should know better than to befriend aliens who kept threatening to kill you, huh?'' It was a teasing jab he meant no harm by, then pressing his forehead against hers,

''But I'm glad you did that anyway, since being around you makes me so happy. Whenever I'm upset, it's easy to forget as long as I can see your cute face.'' He finally smiles after the roller coaster of emotions he went through since his confession.

''......Sooo relieved though, since I expected a worst reaction from you. I'm so relieved.''

             Oh! A blushing Kamui appeared! She'd watch his cheeks raise in saturation, his lips flattening in a pout and squinting eyes downcast like he's trying to make every warm surface on his face disappear. In other words, he's... 𝐄𝐦-𝐛𝐚𝐫-𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 ♡ He's super adorable whenever he looks like that. The most cutest and most beautiful man. No other can compare. She's never met someone like him. So so handsome and cute. Such an adorable sight garnered Namida a gentle chuckle as she slowly slides her slender fingers across his cheeks until her hands are cupping his face and caresses his soft complexion with her thumbs. Even though she was grinning and chuckling, it all looked and sounded so gentle; oozing a tenderness. A fondness. She didn't want him to feel afraid, but to reassure him she just thinks he's really precious. A very precious person to her. She hoped he knew that. ❝ 𝑬𝒉𝒆𝒉𝒆𝒉. 𝑨𝒂𝒂𝒂𝒘𝒘 𝑲𝒂𝒎𝒖𝒊𝒊𝒊𝒊𝒊𝒊. 𝑺𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕... 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒔𝒐 𝒄𝒖𝒖𝒖𝒖𝒖𝒖𝒖𝒖𝒕𝒆. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘, 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒔𝒉 ❜𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒅 𝒊𝒔 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑴𝑬 𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒔𝒉. 𝑮𝒆𝒆𝒆𝒆𝒆𝒆𝒆𝒆𝒛~ 𝑬𝒉𝒆𝒉𝒆𝒉. ❞

             When she lowers her hands away from him, Kamui suddenly takes her wrist and pulls her closer. ❝ 𝑬𝒉? ❞ She blinks up at him curiously; wondering what's wrong. There was a sudden shift in the air. His mouth remains an uncharacteristic grim line and his unwavering eyes almost as still as some bill board poster. He looked so serious it was worrying her. What could he possibly want to tell her? She was about to say his name quizzically, but then what comes out of his mouth renders her speechless. Her limbs becoming stiff and her breath caught in her throat. Purple moonstones of her widened eyes quivering and taking in more light. Her brain stutters for a moment and every part of her goes on pause while her thoughts catch up. When she finally responds, her voice trails slowly; like her words are unwilling to take flight. ❝ ...... 𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕? ❞ It would be insane to smile; to appease and pretend that what he said was totally okay. Never before had Namida noticed how time is so much like water; that it can pass slowly, a drop at a time, even freeze, or rush by in a blink. The past two minutes of staring had passed like thousands of camera frames per second shown one at a time. In this slow time-bubble, the beating of her heart was loud in her ears and it matched in sync with the ticking of the clock also echoing loudly. Her eyes still see, yet the world that is so close around her seems far away. The Kamui she knew all along... 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞? THIS is the real Kamui? This is the cold truth? Namida used to suspect Kamui of killing due to the threats he would tell her back then, but he never acted on them so she thought overtime it wasn't something he actually did. However, Kamui wouldn't lie to her. She's pinned by a gaze so direct she feels like there's no way to tear away from it; holding her in place.

             This... takes her back. She had pushed it in the far depths of her mind, leaving those painful memories on a shelf to gather dust, only for her to open it again like an old book that fills you with sad nostalgia. She used to have this gang leader friend who would always easily cheer her up whenever her and her boyfriend were upset about something the other did/said. He always knew how to make her laugh so quickly and give her hope again. He was like the older brother she never had. Even though her boyfriend would always get jealous whenever they talked. Then on one dreary rainy day, her friend admits to Namida how he killed someone during one of his gang fights. She didn't know what to think of him after that. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐨 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲. She didn't recognize him in that moment. She grew afraid of him and ran. When she talked about it with her boyfriend, he said "Don't talk to him ever again. You see? This is why I didn't like you talking to him. He'll kill you next. I'll protect you. I can keep you safe." She remembers the sad look on his mother's face as well as his siblings when they were hit with the news. She felt frustrated and angry. She thought to herself how could he allow for his poor family to suffer seeing their son and brother turn out to be a monster? Not only that, but she stayed away from him partly also to make her boyfriend happy. She... was a horrible friend. After everything he's done for her, she didn't even at least try to hear him out as to the why and how it happened or how he felt. She didn't see him again after that. Did he run away? Did he get arrested? Did he get killed? She wished she could go back to re-see the situation through the lens of his needs and traumas rather than hers. She used to believe in walking away...

             But there's no way to put out this flame in her heart for Kamui.

             Could this world have given her a second chance at life to make things right with herself here? He may have revealed something that normally would've made her push someone away — fear, hate and be disappointed in them — if they admitted they liked killing, but... She knows him better than that. He's... more than just a "someone" who likes killing. He's not human. He's lived a totally different life than her as a Yato and has different mindsets on things. There's also lots of things he doesn't comprehend nor know about. Her suspicions were correct back then when they weren't friends... And yet. This isn't the outcome she thought it'd turn out to be. 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧❜𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐬𝐡𝐞❜𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐮𝐩𝐨𝐧 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. It isn't something she'd feel for just anyone. Maybe she would've ran from him back then, but... then she remembers what he did to those awful samurai. She remembers that memory like it was just yesterday and how she reacted. Therefore, as he waits for her answer, Namida gently places her free palm over his hand that's still gripping her wrist and stares down at it solemnly. Thumb caressing his protective bandages. ❝ 𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒍... 𝑰𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒚. 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒇𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈. 𝑰𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝑰❜𝒗𝒆 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖❜𝒅 𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒔, 𝒔𝒐 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑰 𝒔𝒂𝒘 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒖𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒄𝒕 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔 𝒕𝒐𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒎𝒖𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒔.... ❞ Fear has a biological reason and purpose; it is a mechanism to keep you safe. It is part of your natural intuition. Yet, once those feelings of fear have had a little time to be processed, the higher brain switches back on to make the real choice about what to do. To make a real plan for a viable solution. And that plan was... to not run, for some reason. ❝ 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒆𝒕... 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒔𝒏❜𝒕 𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑺𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒚𝒆𝒔, 𝒃𝒖𝒕... 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑵𝒐𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑲𝒂𝒎𝒖𝒊 𝑰 𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒘. 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑲𝒂𝒎𝒖𝒊 𝑰 𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒘 𝒘𝒂𝒔𝒏❜𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒎𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒊𝒅𝒏❜𝒕 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒆, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑰 𝒔𝒂𝒘 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕... 𝑰𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒓𝒖𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒚, 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑻𝒐 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂 𝒉𝒖𝒈. 𝑻𝒐 𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒐𝒌𝒂𝒚. 𝑰 𝒇𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒏, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑰 𝒅𝒊𝒅𝒏❜𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒑. 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑻𝒐 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖... ❞ The look on her face appeared mournful over what happened; continuing to still stare down at the hand she's caressing. ❝ 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒔... 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒅𝒊𝒅𝒏❜𝒕 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉 𝒖𝒑 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒄𝒓𝒖𝒆𝒍 𝒔𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒆. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒕, 𝒃𝒖𝒕... 𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒔... 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒐 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒓𝒚. 𝑺𝒐 𝒇𝒖𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒆... 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆... 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒏. 𝑺𝒐 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒏. ❞ When she acknowledged the pain he was feeling, her own reduced a little. For in that realization, there was an iron will that told her to get up and move towards him. ❝ 𝑰 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒕𝒐... 𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒗𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑻𝒐 𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒗𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑲𝒂𝒎𝒖𝒊 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒉𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒅𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒏. ❞ She finally picks up her head to look at him. Now it was her turn to pin him an unwavering gaze. ❝ 𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒙𝒕, 𝑰 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒓, 𝒃𝒖𝒕... 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇. 𝑰... 𝑰 𝒅𝒊𝒅𝒏❜𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒘𝒉𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒓𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒙𝒕, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝑰 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒖𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒐 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂 𝒀𝒂𝒕𝒐. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒐 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇... 𝑰𝒕... 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒅𝒂𝒚. 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘? 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑰 𝒇𝒆𝒍𝒕... 𝑰 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖. ❞

             A small smile spreads across her pink glossy lips. She believes in the Kamui that still believes in him. His heart. She's talking about his heart. ❝ 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒏𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒅... 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆 𝒈𝒆𝒕... 𝑰 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝑰❜𝒗𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒃𝒚 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆. 𝑴𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒕❜𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐. 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆❜𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒔𝒐 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒕𝒐 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒍𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝑰 𝒅𝒐𝒏❜𝒕 𝒂𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒊𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒓𝒎𝒂𝒍 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂 𝒀𝒂𝒕𝒐, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝑰❜𝒗𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒛𝒆... 𝒀𝒐𝒖❜𝒓𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒂 𝒃𝒂𝒅 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒐𝒏❜𝒕 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒍𝒆𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒐𝒏❜𝒕 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒓𝒐𝒐𝒎 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒂𝒇𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖. ❞ That day too; when he broke down in front of her and aggressively shoved her away. When he was in a state of trauma and fear. He was just trying to protect himself. To protect his heart from bleeding. He was scared. Is that why... he tries to be a bad person?... Idiot. This damn idiot. He doesn't need to do that anymore. She and Kagura are right here for him... Can't he see that? ❝ 𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝑰? 𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂 𝒃𝒂𝒅 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏? 𝑨𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒆❜𝒗𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒕𝒐𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓. 𝑨𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑰❜𝒗𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒂 𝒏𝒆𝒘 𝒇𝒐��𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑰𝒔 𝒊𝒕... 𝒔𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒂 𝒃𝒂𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒎𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔? 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒚? 𝑰 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒍𝒚 𝒅𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌... 𝒚𝒐𝒖❜𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒐 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅. 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔... 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒔 𝒎𝒆 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒔𝒐 𝒔𝒂𝒇𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚. ❞ Memories of Kamui from the moment they met to now started playing in her mind like a film reel on fast forward. As if she were about to die and her life started flashing before her eyes. Everything. Even the one about that little girl Yumi he helped too. It all... brought tears her eyes. They weren't tears of sadness though. They were reflecting her heart. They were... Ah. Yea. She knows what this feeling is. A feeling so strong. Of course it has to be that feeling. Otherwise, how else can she explain such strong emotions for Kamui right now? This isn't something she could stand by with just anyone. They were... They were... 𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞.

             Ah... She admitted it to herself, huh? It was about time to accept it if things are like this. She's... in love with him. It's his fault. It's all his fault for showing her his kindness. God... God his honesty feels so right. If anyone could try living in Namida's shoes, to see what she's seen about Kamui, they would be able to see it too. 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝. 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭. Ever so gently, Namida pulls his grip off of her and instead holds his hand; slowly sliding her fingers in between his to interlock together. Tears pouring down her soft complexion. The reason she cries is because she loves him. Girls just cry over the person they love... When they're happy and when they're sad. ❝ 𝑰 𝒕𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒃𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆, 𝒅𝒊𝒅𝒏❜𝒕 𝑰? ❞ Namida leans in closer and closer to his face as she's repeating what she said to him the day that she comforted him. Her lips gently landing on different parts of his face. Not in a flirtatious way. It was in the same way she kissed him when he cried in front of her. Reassuring. Soothing. Her hand giving his a squeeze each time. ❝ 𝒀𝒐𝒖❜𝒓𝒆 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝑲𝒂𝒎𝒖𝒊 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒆. ❞ Kiss. ❝ 𝑴𝒚 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝑲𝒂𝒎𝒖𝒊. ❞ Kiss. ❝ 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒔 𝑲𝒂𝒎𝒖𝒊. ❞ Kiss. ❝ 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒎𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔. ❞ Kiss. ❝ 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒎𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔. ❞ Kiss. ❝ 𝑰❜𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎. 𝑰 𝒘𝒐𝒏❜𝒕 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆. 𝑱𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒆𝒇𝒕 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆. ❞ She's just like him. An idiot. They can both be idiots together. She said something like that once to him: "Then... We can be idiots together!" Yea... They've truly become so close. She's so in love with him it's impossible for her to separate from him. She knew love would doom her this way and yet... it feels so right. There is no intensity of love or feeling that does not involve the risk of crippling hurt. It is a duty to take this risk, to love and feel without defense or reserve.

             She then looks away from his face and stares back down at their joined hands with a sad expression. Her unoccupied one moving to cup the back of his hand; sandwiching his in between both of hers. ❝ 𝑲𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈...... 𝑭𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑰 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒄𝒐𝒐𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖❜𝒍𝒍 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒎𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒂𝒍 𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔 𝒕𝒆𝒄𝒉𝒏𝒊𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔, 𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒐 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝒎𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑰 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒖𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒍𝒚 𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚 𝒊𝒕, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈... 𝑰 𝒅𝒐𝒏❜𝒕 𝒂𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉. 𝑰𝒇 𝑰❜𝒎 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒕, 𝒊𝒕... 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒔 𝒎𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚 𝒊𝒕. 𝑰 𝒅𝒐𝒏❜𝒕 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒆❜𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒂𝒕 𝒂𝒍𝒍. ❞ Gravity-drawn shoulders painting a picture of her heart. The switch from reaction to reflection, to process, was signaled by a sigh. ❝ 𝑾𝒆❜𝒓𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒕. 𝑰❜𝒎 𝒂 𝒉𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒅𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒂 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒔 𝒃𝒂𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏❜𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎. 𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒀𝒂𝒕𝒐 𝒊𝒕❜𝒔... 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒚 𝒏𝒐𝒓𝒎𝒂𝒍 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒚 𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉, 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕? 𝑨𝒕 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒕, 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕❜𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰❜𝒎 𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈. ❞ If what she feels really is love, then... Love... Can't fix anything. It doesn't do shit. Love doesn’t conquer everything like idiots say it does. Whoever thinks it does is a fool. She doesn't think her feelings will matter at all. She's learned that the hard way. However... They're close friends, aren't they? Friends for life stick together through thick and thin. No matter what. Plus... This is Kamui. Someone so so soooo important to her. She wondered, knowing that Kagura worries about Kamui and Namida becoming close with him, if his sister is aware of him killing. If she does, it'd make sense why Kagura expressed concern about Namida falling in love with him. He's probably always getting himself into trouble and danger. She guessed it's probably one of the factors about Kamui that gets Kagura worried about him. Namida understands now how that must feel.... Poor Kagura. 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫. Siblings love, siblings play, siblings fight for and with one another. No matter what they do, they share an element of soul that others cannot. They're allied for life. Every blessing is a curse and they come in equal strength. This is the balance of the universe. Despite the many complaints and concerns she expresses when venting about Kamui to Namida, she's admitted at least only a few small times how he's a good brother. Kamui may have been a great blessing to her life when growing up and thus a sister like Kagura feels a responsibility for him was of the same measure... Don't worry. She won't have to carry those worries on small shoulders alone anymore. After all, Kamui is also a blessing in Namida's life too.

             ❝ 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏❜𝒕 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔. 𝑰 𝒅𝒐𝒏❜𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒐 𝒔𝒐, 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒖𝒑𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒔𝒆𝒕 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒔𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒚 𝒅𝒊𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒕. 𝑽𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒅𝒊𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒕... 𝑰𝒇 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒑, 𝒊𝒕❜𝒅 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒓𝒚 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕? 𝑰𝒕 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅, 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅𝒏❜𝒕 𝒊𝒕?... 𝑫𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖... 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉? ❞ She releases his hand only to have both her hands holding his own against her bosom. The way his hand is balled against her chest was like she was holding approximately the size of his heart inside her hands close to hers. Her doleful gaze doesn’t leave his eyes for a moment. She'd been made aware during the course of them knowing each other how he tends to try and appear tough, but does he really mean it this time? Really truly? After all this time? ❝ 𝑻𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒆 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏... 𝑻𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒍𝒚 𝒐𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆. 𝑳𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒂𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒖𝒏𝒘𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒐 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒖𝒍𝒍𝒚-𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆... 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒆, 𝒔𝒐 𝑰 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏 𝒊𝒕. 𝑱𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕... 𝑰 𝒅𝒐𝒏❜𝒕 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒏 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆. ❞ Is killing that enjoyable to him? Much more than their hugs? ❝ 𝑰... 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕? 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒔𝒐��𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒕𝒐. 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆. ❞ There is something about the giving of herself to him that makes her heart burn all the brighter and ignites her soul. What is a house if it cannot stand in a storm? She is the right kind of loyal - a thinker, a protector, a soul resurrector when Kamui's soul needs re-ignition. If this feeling can really be called love, then... She was devoted to love as a way of living; to apply it in practical ways and keep it in her heart that seeing situations from his view points may take work, but it was the work of someone who wants to bring peace to his mind, heart, body and soul. It was a way of seeing her own role in this world. She has a purpose and he does too. 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐪𝐮𝐞.

[writing-in-april]

Dressed in Crimson

Spencer Reid x Female Reader (Royalty AU)

Summary: Spencer is a stable boy with a passion for learning and Reader is the princess of the palace that he serves in. They’ve been in a secret relationship, the two grow restless about not being able to be out in the open.

A/N: Guys I’m so excited for this one I really really loved writing it- it’s my fourth fic for my 30 fics in 30 days for April and it’s also written for @omgbigfluffwriting !!! I kinda immersed myself into this quite a bit- and it’s my longest oneshot I’ve ever written 🤭The specific historical period theyre in is not specified and the world that they’re in is entirely fictional and not based on any specific point in history- if you’ve ever watched Merlin that’s kinda the vibe I was thinking of just without the magic lol (please still ignore that the gif does not have an accurate clothing choice from Spencer I just wanted a good shot of his hair that I thought of while writing this) i feel like it’s becoming so obvious how much I love historical fiction lol 😂 I’d like to hear from you guys also so if you want to drop me an ask here! It can be about anything 🥰 hope y’all enjoy!!!

Warnings: 18+, Reader has a horrible Father, subtle hints about sexism, Classism, Period typical clothing, Reader and Spencer fight for a little bit, Smut, Dom Spencer, Fingering, Handjob, Unprotected Sex, Day dreaming about fucking in public, Spencer’s possessive as hell, Ignoring the potential consequences of a creampie

Main Masterlist Word count: 4.7k

My day started out like any other with my corset made of whalebone being cinched tightly around my figure with my chemise underneath of course. Every time the ends of the laces were pulled taught on my body I thought of the days where I could get away with not having this wretched piece of clothing cutting off my breath. Those days had been so long ago, when I was just a small child, almost so long ago that I had to strain my memory to recall it. It wasn’t even until I was done clutching my mother’s skirts before I started to be forced into the confines of the worst invention in history. I would have rather muck in the mud in pants like the men, unless there was a reason for me to actually want to wear a dress.

Today, I had chosen a crimson colored gown, one of my only favorites. The front of the bodice was adorned with embroidery, one embroidered with a glistening gold thread. The sleeves were long and ever so slightly off my shoulders, ending just at my wrist. It had been perfectly handcrafted just for me, a seamstress being hired to slave away at each detail with precision. If it had been up to my father the seamstress would have been paid little to nothing for this masterpiece, but you had your own coins stashed away from your allowance to give extra to anyone that gave you goods and services.

The dress was my favorite almost solely because of someone else’s appreciation for the lush fabric, no one needed to know about that though. I did like to look nice on certain occasions, but only special ones. There was no special occasion scheduled for me to have a reason for wearing it, well none that the greater majority of the court would know about.

Only my maid Emily knew what my excursion would be today, why I dressed up so nicely. There was no feasible way for me to hide my dalliances from her, especially the one I was about to go to as it required some higher levels of stealth to be able to evade my father’s guards.

His name was Spencer, one of my father’s stable boys. I loved him more than anything, definitely more than any potential match that was arranged for me.

I gifted him whatever I could without raising suspicion, though I often hid my purchases if someone asked by excusing them as more frivolous in nature, such as a new dress. Spencer had no real need for pretty things as he’d said before, except from myself- those were his past words not mine. And, he did express to me how much he loved the dress I was wearing right now, which was tied to how we had first met.

When I first met him I had been looking for a fabric in the market stalls. I hadn’t really wanted to, I was content with all the dresses that I owned right now, they had no ornament on them, just how I preferred. However, my father demanded I get something fancier for some sort of frivolous ball that was coming up that undoubtedly had no reason to take place besides bleeding everyone else dry.

I brushed hands with him for the first time as I was looking for the material I wanted, something just fancy enough to appease my father. The stall filled with fabrics bordered one that had stacks of books, I would have much preferred to be looking at that one. My hand had gotten close to the edge while I was inspecting a fabric and it had bumped into a man who was looking at one of the books.

When I had looked up to see who had brushed my hand I was met with frantic eyes filled with apology. His stuttered apology had covered my attempt to assure him that it was fine, it had taken me grabbing both of his hands to steady him for him to listen to my reassurance.

When he had introduced himself to me after I asked it flowed into a long conversation. I could have talked to him forever, I would be content to never talk to anyone else. For a stable boy he was exceptionally smart, which I learned was from his mother who had made sure he was educated even in poverty, specifically through having him read anything she could get her hands on. From then on our blossoming friendship had flourished, and had eventually developed into more.

I slung a shawl over my shoulders made out of a fabric of similar color to my gown and also grabbed a purse filled with coins with a smile due to my reminiscing . It wasn’t cold enough for one of my velvet cloaks just yet and most of the walk down to where Spencer was housed was indoors.

The walk from my rooms in the main part of the castle to the stables on the lower floor towards the East end was longer than I would have wanted. Truthfully, I wished I would not have to live in a castle at all, I’d rather live in the small house that Spencer lived. It was just past the castle grounds at the edge of the surrounding village adjacent to the stables so he did not have to walk far for work in the mornings.

My feet tiptoed down the corridors carefully, I was lucky that I had figured out to be somewhat light on my feet otherwise I’d be caught swiftly for sure. I passed by the rooms of most of the lords and ladies staying at court, I always wondered why some chose to stay here, it was positively suffocating here. The door I used to go outside was through the kitchen, that had a myriad of breakable things strewn about that I had to stealthily avoid. Luckily, I knocked nothing over that would have woken up the cooks who slept just a room over. Turning the handle of the door had to be a slow process so no one would hear the creak of the knob while it was turned, but I did successfully make it out with no disturbance.

Beginning the stretch of my journey that was outdoors was perhaps the most risky. Guards were stationed around the perimeter of the castle in greater numbers compared to the ones indoors which were only stationed by important rooms. I weaved my way through, in some aspects it was even more confusing than the inside of the castle. Hiding behind each of the pillars was the most effective way to avoid them, the construction of them making a series of small blind spots. I had just snuck behind one of the last ones when one of the guards nearest to me moved forward a little. I stopped breathing immediately, holding it tight in my chest while I plastered myself as close as I could to the back of the pillar. My nails dug into the stone of the pillar in fear, if I was ever to be found sneaking out at night or worse in the presence of Spencer, I would either never leave my rooms again or be whisked away into marriage even earlier than planned.

When the guard did not move to investigate further I let go of the breath I was holding, still making sure to let go of it slowly so he could not hear me. Moving swiftly forward after I had taken a breath was a bit of a challenge, my knees had gone weak with fear. I pushed myself to take each step even with the weakness in my knees, there was no way I could linger any longer.

Finally I was no longer walking on stone, I was walking on the muddy earth now. It was nice to feel the ground under my feet instead of the harsh stone, it told me that I was now only a handful of strides away from Spencer’s home.

The leaves littering the ground mixing with mud crunched under my feet even as I tip toed carefully. The guards may be in the distance now, but I didn’t feel keen on testing how good their hearing may potentially be.

Passing the stables was the last marker for my journey, then I would be able to see his home too. As I passed the sleeping horses by anticipation began to replace the fear inside me. It had been a while since I had been able to come see him, making me yearn for his touch even more.

His home came into view, even in the dead of night I could make it out if I squinted my eyes hard. My pace picked up exponentially when I landed my eyes on his humble abode. It was a quaint home, fallen into disrepair as he could not afford to fix it on the meager salary that my father paid him. The purse of gold that I had brought with me was exactly for that, the repairs. He would most likely protest the gift just like any other thing I had tried to gift him. From my experience the most effective way to get him to accept anything was to leave it there with no conversation about it. I think it made him feel less guilty even though in my opinion he was owed the money in the first place, no one should have to live in squalor when they did their job every day without question or complaint.

When I finally was at the entrance of his home I entered through the door swiftly, too impatient to wait or knock. Stress melted from my shoulders when I caught sight of him, hunched over one of the books I had given him, candles strewn around to give him enough light to read.

The candles he had lit to be able to read in the night illuminated us both with a glow. He would always compliment me whenever we found ourselves in similar lighting such as this, but in my opinion there was no rivalry. Each time the candle flickered it brightened up every highlight of him, letting me see his wild curls, brown eyes deeper than any others I had ever seen, and a body that I had no doubt was crafted to perfection illuminated in a beautiful glow.

I went to compliment him just as he always did with me, but I became mesmerized when he stood up, then moving his way closer to me.

“It is nice to see you, it feels like it’s been an eternity.” It may seem dramatic for him to say that it felt that long, but I echoed his sentiment willingly.

“It is nice to see you too, Spencer. I agree it’s been far too long.” I was sure it had been at least a full moon cycle since we had the pleasure of being alone with one another, our duties to my father keeping us separated.

It had been painful whenever I would go out for a ride on my horse, to see him hand me the reins of my mare and be unable to reach out to touch him. There had been one day, about a week ago, that I had let my hand brush against his own for a moment while he handed the reins to me. It was an innocent brush of a touch, that also had a barrier in the form of my leather gloves. To anyone else it had meant nothing, but to me and him, it meant everything.

His eyes were blown wide with desire, as I suspected mine were as well. We let ourselves take in the sight of each other for a minute longer before Spencer broke the silence with a request,

“Drop your shawl, so I may see you better.” A stable hand commanding someone of such a stature such as I would’ve seen him whipped if it was any other person before him. His boldness was not unexpected, it had taken a while for him to grow so comfortable with my company. In truth, he had been quite scared when I had first met him. It was perfectly understandable considering his employer was my father, who was not known for his kindness. And, even then after his fear had faded he still had a shy exterior for a while, it only had been lifted when we began to become extremely comfortable around each other. We were each other's only form of solace in this world, we could only escape our reality when we were together.

Instead of having malice in my voice like other nobles would I simply pulled the shawl more taught around my shoulders and teased, “Why should I?”

The expression on his face was one of the ones I loved seeing on his face the most, a sly smirk. He came closer to me, with careful steps as if he was waiting for the right moment to pounce. We were so close together when he stopped moving, but still not touching. He was playing a game with me, not touching until I obliged him. As he leaned in to speak into the shell of my ear he was careful with the way he tilted his body forward so I could only feel his breath on the small portion of my skin, “Because you like it when I look at you.”

My arms fell to my sides releasing my shawl to fall from my shoulders onto the floor at his words, as they rang true. I did want him to look at me and also, of course touch me.

“You wore your favorite dress.” He observed, still not quite touching. I didn't need to answer the statement he made with the thought in my mind ‘I wore it for you’ because I knew he had already figured that out. His observational skills were keenly honed in by his constant reading whenever he had the chance, often reading books that I had gifted to him. He even sometimes read well into the night, straining his eyes in the darkness when the candle was almost merely a wick. I had found that out the first- and sadly, only time I had the opportunity to stay overnight. Since then I had pushed him to get more rest as I knew how hard he was worked to the bone during the day, courtesy of my father.

His eyes were staring at my dress, pupils blown wide, his mind seemingly off in another world maybe thinking about all the things he wanted to do to me.

“Please, touch me.” I didn’t need to speak loud, only a soft whisper for him to hear me because of how close he already was to me. So close, yet so far.

He raised his large hands, calloused from working so hard day in and day out. My own hands were soft from the expensive creams I had been pampered with since I was just a small child. I liked his hands better, they showed the hard work he used everyday to cultivate his beautiful mind and body.

I subtly licked my lips in anticipation of his touch, wanting to feel every inch of his hand roaming my body, from the tips of his fingers to where his palm met his wrist.

His fingers then started to trace over the top of my corset, just a hair away from touching the swell of my breasts. My chest was rising and falling with each breath, each inhale pushing it slightly closer to his fingers. With each fall of my chest I felt the need to quickly let go of my breath, so I could once again inhale and be brought closer to his touch.

“Please touch me.” I repeated, breathless from forcing myself to breathe into his touch.

“I am touching you.” His fingers still did not move to touch my skin, only the crimson accented in gold. It was his turn to tease me now, I was at his mercy, ready and waiting for it.

I could beg again, though quite obviously I could not convince him with it. As he was running his fingers over the cloth for what felt like the millionth time, still not touching me, I teased him back instead of begging, “No you are touching my dress.”

A mere ghost of a touch from his fingers then floated across my skin. What should have calmed my heaving chest from my gasping breaths only served to make my breathing even heavier. The slight touch was still not enough, only making my desire for his hands to roam every inch of my body even more severe.

“Perhaps I should take your corset off, to help you breathe better.” He said, as if he read my exact thoughts.

“I like your thinking.”

I was then spun around so my back was pressed into his chest. It soothes my desire for his touch some, but we both had barriers of cloth preventing me from fully feeling him. I could feel some of the warmth that was hidden underneath his shirt, which was made up of a much billowing white linen that compared to his trousers.

If my skirts were not so large I wondered if I were to push back if my behind would come in contact with his cock and whether or not his desire would be as prominent as the slickness dampening the bottom layer I was wearing. I’d have to find a way to find a pair of trousers then, sometime soon, so I could try to grind into him at a later date. There was no doubt that we’d surely find ourselves in a similar position again.

As his hands started to undo the laces of my corset with care, despite both of our desperation, a thought slipped out from his lips that I’m sure he intended to keep to himself, “I wish I could call you mine in public.”

“My father would kill you!” The taste of my voice would have been bitter in anyone’s mouth, quickly spat out in the same way I said those words. Perhaps my quick anger to his innocent thought would be insane to some, most would probably consider it a sweet thought. However, he knew from previous conversations that when those sweet thoughts were expressed that all I could feel was a heavy sadness sitting inside me, instead of desire.

Tears clouded my vision, so much so that I did not see Spencer’s arms come around me to envelop me in an embrace. I flinched a bit at first, but then melted when I realized it was him. We held each other for a while as I sobbed softly into his billowy white shirt.

He stroked my shoulder with his large hands that I loved, but the corset he had not taken off fully yet was blocking me from feeling his touch the way I wanted.

“Take it off please.” I begged softly, I wanted to feel his skin on mine, and not just his lips or his hands. I wanted to feel every inch of him.

The laces of my corset were already half undone because of his previous attempt at getting it off of me. He finished the job, pulling the corset off of my body, tossing it down to the floor. He may have loved the dress, but he was showing me through his actions that he loved what was underneath more.

Turning me around was his next step, so he could properly kiss me. The pressure was soft at first, as if he was testing the waters to see how I would feel. Feeling his soft lips on my own just made me want to pull him in further, and I did so. My fingers tangled into his curls as the kiss devolved into pure passion, we were both throwing ourselves fully into it, trying to express our feelings nonverbally.

His own hands moved to cup my breasts as he backed me into the cot he slept on every night. I did not let him push me down on the bed so he was on top of me like normal, this time I wanted to be on top for a while. When I straddled his hips the first thing I felt was his cock straining in his pants. I unbuckled them so I could wrap my hands around his cock, I wanted to feel his thick and heavy length in my hands. Precum was already dripping down his hard cock as I pumped his length with my hands. My own arousal was dampening the underneath of the skirt I still had on. Spencer confirmed it himself when he snuck his fingers underneath the fabric to play with my pleasure spots. We both groaned as his fingers entered inside me while he rubbed circles into my swollen pearl.

My skirt was bunched up in his hands, pulling up all the way to the tops of my thighs. He soon got fed up with the skirt being in the way though and maneuvered me to shuck it off of me as fast as possible. Being bare before him did not make me wither in self consciousness, it made me lean into his touch even more.

He leaned up to kiss me again while I grabbed his length and restraddled him. I was definitely wet enough to have him enter me, my separation from him making me desperate, it had been so long since we had the chance to be together like this.

I then sunk down on his length slowly, it was for me to adjust to his size and to relish in the feeling of him sliding inside me. I stilled on top of him as the back of my thighs hit the top of his, he filled me with perfection. Spencer only let me be still for a little while before his hands gripped my hips and started to guide me to roll my hips. The pace I set- well Spencer was the one who set it, was slow and deep, I was languidly rolling my hips while he thrusted up into me at a similar pace.

My face twisted in pleasure as his thrusts became more powerful, still at the same pace but with more force behind them.

“Fuck- I want everyone to know that you’re mine!” It was the exact same thing he had spoken to me earlier that had sparked anger and melancholy inside me. This time it caused a spark of pleasure instead, making me think about him fucking me in front of everyone claiming me as his.

“My father would kill you.” This time when I said it it was gasped into his mouth with little to all anger disappeared from it.

My words made Spencer growl which was swallowed by a possessive kiss. He then flipped me over roughly, my back now pressed into the cot. A high pitched squeak had escaped my lips unintentionally in surprise, it was quickly changed into a moan when he entered me again. This time the pace did not start off slow as I did not need to adjust to him inside of me.

“I don’t care.” His speech was agitated as he pounded into me, holding my legs open with both hands spreading me out for him to see everything, “No matter what anyone says or does, you’re mine.”

Pleasure sparked through me at his possessive words, I grabbed desperately at the cotton sheets trying to hold onto something as my finish was fast approaching. When the cotton sheets were not enough of a stabilizer for me I lifted my hands up to wrap around the back of his neck and pull him close.

“Come on I know you’re close, I’m close too baby.” My nails dug into his neck and back during the latter half of his sentence causing him to slightly wince. I knew he enjoyed it though because of the question that he groaned out next, “Can I cum inside you?”

Biting my lip hard was painful as I nodded my head in response to his question that had me falling over the edge. The consequences of him finishing inside me danced in the back of my head, I chose to ignore them as he did. I did not care as he filled me and I rode out my release, even if I was to somehow get pregnant because of our recklessness it did not matter. I’d gladly have his child, even if it meant I’d have to go on the run.

Instead of falling on top of me directly after finishing like I’ve heard most men do with their wives he gently removed himself from my entrance and laid down beside me on the cot. Bliss was mingling in the air between us, both unburdened by any of our problems that would become a reality as soon as I left for the night. For now we would just hold onto the bliss until it was cruelly snatched away from reality.

Spencer had a solution as always to our problems, and seemed to be thinking about the same thing I was with his next suggestion,

“Run away with me.” We were both covered in sweat that had cropped up from our activities, a contrast to the chilly air outside and in the castle. It was nice to feel warm every time I was in his arms, It was hard to resist being greedy and deciding to stay in his arms forever. It had crossed my mind more than once, but there was always something stopping me from going through with it fully. I opened my mouth to point out all the reasons why that would not be possible when he added, “And, before you say no I want to ask- what’s stopping you?”

His reasoning was sound, as it often was. My mouth opened and closed, struggling to find a reasoning before I accepted that he was right. The only potential downfall was my father’s forces searching everywhere to find me, but it would be worth it. We could also easily cross the border into nearby lands ruled by someone else that was not in alliance with him. I already felt lighter thinking about being free from the confines of the castle- and hopefully my corset. Though I would have to keep the crimson dress I wore today, even if I only wore it around him, It was his favorite and it symbolized the day that we met. He glanced over at me just as I did the same, looking right into his eyes as I spoke,“Alright.”

The light that sparked in his eyes made my heart soar, I could feel just from his gaze how ecstatic he was to spend his life with me. I didn’t need any words to know how much he loved me.

We basked for a moment in the presence of our love, Spencer broke the silence again when he started planning,“You need to go pack!”

I moved myself to sit up even though my limbs protested, wanting to sleep after our post coital bliss. A soft smile was exchanged between the two of us, “I’ll pack light, only the stuff I need.”

The purse of gold I had brought for him would no longer be used to fund his repairs, but to fund our life together. I climbed on top of him again leaning forward to capture him in a kiss that was much more chaste than the ones earlier in the night.

“I. love. you.” He whispered in between kisses making my eyes wet with tears. They weren’t born out of sadness, but of happiness that I had someone to love me as much as Spencer did.

“I love you too, I will see you soon.” I pulled myself away from his lips even though I did not want to, I then got up to leave reluctantly. Though it was easier than previous departures as I knew that it would be the last one that I would have to complete. My whole being was lighter and happier than I had ever felt before as I snuck back with a spring in my step. The only hint of what I was about to do, where I was about to go, was the mud stained at the hemline of my crimson dress.

Ask me anything

—-

Tag lists (message me if you want to be added):

All works:

@shotarosleftpinky @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @s1utformgg @takeyourleap-of-faith (why wont tumblr let me tag you😭

All MGG characters: @muffin-cup @willowrose99

Spencer Reid/CM: @calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss @slutforthegubes @onlyhereforthefanfics @jareauswifey

Dom Spencer: @rainsong01 @evlfknb @jakobsdump

[taephilia]

lost (myself) & found (you)

pairing: jeon jungkook x gn!reader

genre: fluff, soulmate au, based off of kimi no na wa

warnings: one (1) swear word

word count: 2,120

a/n: i saw this quote from the movie and inspiration just struck and i haven't been able to get it out of my head since. ofc i wrote this for jungkook since he's a weeb and said he would also want to hear bells ring when he meets his soulmate <3 also this is not edited lol i'll come back to it later, i just wanted to get this out

"Once in a while when I wake up, I find myself crying. The dream I must’ve had I can never recall. But… the sensation that I’ve lost something, lingers for a long time after I wake up." - Tachibana Taki, Kimi No Na Wa (2016)

Jungkook isn’t sure how long he’s felt like this—felt like something is missing, something important, something that his heart just can’t seem to let go of even if his brain has already forgotten. He knows that he dreams of whatever it is. He recalls scenes as he goes about his day; a loud laugh here, a brush of a hand against his there. People that he’s never seen before walking by him in a city he’s never been to, music playing on the radio that he’s never heard, a family that he comes home to that he doesn’t recognize at all. It’s all very strange and Jungkook is starting to wonder if maybe the late night ramen he’s built up a habit of eating has gone bad or maybe the unhealthy amounts of salt in it are the cause behind this. Because it was all fun and games until Jungkook’s heart starts to ache, like it’s calling out to someone that his brain can’t even conjure up an image for. Someone that he would search the ends of the cosmos for, someone that, whenever he feels like he gets close to them, slips right through his fingers like grains of sand. But he shakes it off whenever the feeling comes and ignores the heavy feeling in his chest in favor of paying attention to that day’s classes. If he had somehow found his soulmate, it definitely wouldn’t be someone in his hometown in the countryside.

Soulmate. That’s who his grandfather had told him he’s been dreaming about ever since Jungkook confessed almost two months ago about the reason behind his ever-present furrowed brows and faraway look in his eyes. He says that it had happened to him when he was around Jungkook’s age but, like most dreams, he’s forgotten who it was. He then went on to talk about the red thread of fate and that’s when Jungkook started tuning out. It’s a nice concept to think about when you’re a child—a red string tied around your pinky that connects you to the person that you’re destined to be with—but it’s just a myth and Jungkook doesn’t have time to think about things that aren’t real. Not when he barely has the time to think about the things that are real, like college entrance exams and graduating from high school.

So he buries his head in his books and pours every last drop of blood, sweat, and tears into his studies to get into his dream college in Seoul. The yearning in his heart doesn’t go away but it’s eclipsed by the pure exhaustion that he feels at the end of every day. And, like most dreams, he forgets.

Jungkook is 23 when he seriously begins to wonder whether or not he’s going crazy. He had thought he was going over the deep end while in college but hearing bells go off? Now that takes the cake. It happens at random; he never knows when the bells in his head will ring (and Jungkook knows that only he can hear them because nobody around him ever gives any sort of indication that they’ve heard them) no matter how much he tries to prepare for it. He checks his surroundings every day, eyes scanning over the crowds of people weaving around him in Seoul, but it’s no use. The only consistent location that they seem to chime in is when he’s on the metro and even then, it’s on random days, at random times, and not always at the same stop.

He’s not the type to go chasing after fairy tales, or at least, he isn’t anymore. He doesn’t have time to think hard and long about what these imaginary bells could mean, not when he has a job to do and people to impress and money to be made. And his grandfather died during his second year of college so the only conversation of “soulmates” that occurs now are the ones he has with himself in his head and the memories of their conversations years ago. But as fate would have it, Jungkook took a couple of days off to get an early start to the weekend and he is just itching for an adventure. So when he hears the bells go off while he’s making his way to his connecting train, he closes his eyes for a brief moment and puts himself into the hands of fate.

Jungkook allows his feet to carry him where they want, observing his surroundings and keeping an eye out for any person who gives any sort of indication to hearing something that they shouldn’t be hearing. He climbs up the stairs and out of the station, not giving any attention to the people who side-eye him for standing still on a bustling sidewalk, but looks down at his hand instead. In particular, at his pinky, which feels like there’s something squeezing at it. Like… like a thread that’s been tied snugly around it.

The red thread of fate, a voice in his head whispers to him and Jungkook almost chuckles out loud at the thought. And then almost laughs out loud again because, although he doesn’t believe in soulmates, his actions say otherwise. Because as much as Jungkook doesn’t believe in soulmates… Well, the thought of them and the red thread of fate being real is nice, isn’t it? Someone that you’re destined to be with, connected to by a string that can tangle and stretch but will never fray, keeping you tied to them for all eternity. It’s a comforting thought, especially when he thinks of his extremely lacking love life that comes with his high standards and fear of rejection.

Jungkook passes by a bakery during his fate-led walk and just as he’s considering stopping in to buy something, he hears the bells again. A light sound, one that could be mistaken for a phone notification, but one that he knows very well. But Jungkook’s soulmate must be as used to the sound as he is because no one around him gives any sort of indication that they’re also in search of him. And after an hour and a half of walking around a part of the city that he isn’t too familiar with, he’s ready to call it quits for the night. So Jungkook makes his way to the nearest metro station and gets on a train home.

Of course, that’s when he hears the bells again.

He looks up from his phone and around the crowded train but nobody has been able to move since the doors closed. And if it were someone near him, he would have heard them before. There’s a flash out of the corner of his eye and when Jungkook looks up and out the window of the sliding doors, he sees a pair of eyes staring back. A pair of eyes that are not his but in fact belong to someone in a train traveling right next to his. They stare right at him and mirror his own when they widen at the exact same time as his. But just as soon as Jungkook finds you, he loses you just as quickly when your train goes in a different direction.

Jungkook spends the entire day the next day looking for you. He manages to cross off everything on his “things to do when I’m in Seoul” bucket list that he’s been adding on to for the past 10 years. His feet hurt, his wallet feels significantly lighter than when he first left his apartment, and he’s wondering how much weight he lost from walking what feels like the entire expanse of Seoul three times over. And even after all that, he hasn’t heard the bells. Not once.

And it’s at this point, when Jungkook decides to eat dinner at his favorite ramen shop before calling it a night, that he begins to wonder if he had missed his chance last night. Not like it was much of a chance considering the fact that you were on a different train and he had no way of getting to you. But fate is cruel, isn’t that what some people say? Maybe his thread is just so tangled, so frayed, that it’ll take a lifetime before he’s able to get another glimpse at you. And Jungkook just isn’t that patient.

He can barely even remember what you look like anymore. Maybe it’s the hunger eating away at his stomach and the aching of his feet but as he eats his ramen, he can only recall vague details about you. Like how he wants to drown in your eyes, how soft your skin looks even through two dirty train door windows, and how he thinks your shiny hair probably smells nice - like vanilla or peaches or something. But your face? Absolutely nothing. It’s like he blacked out the second he looked up at you last night.

Jungkook leans back in his seat as he sips at his water, staring out the window of the shop as if you would walk past right that second. But you don’t. So Jungkook throws a couple of bills down onto the table for a tip and heads out, a sigh leaving his lips when he looks around but doesn’t hear any bells. Now that he’s had a chance to sit down and eat, he feels a bit more rational and more determined to find you—but that can wait until tomorrow after he’s had a good night’s sleep. It’s a bit later in the evening so there’s barely anyone around him as he makes his way to the nearest metro station that will take him home. Jungkook is just about to descend the stairs when something makes him stop. He’s not really sure what it is that he stops for; the bus honking on the street beside him or the group of friends laughing as they walk by him? Or perhaps it’s the person at the bottom of the stairs, their eyes looking down as they climb up, but Jungkook just knows that it’s you.

Well, he doesn’t actually know. He’s pretty sure it’s you. It feels like it’s you. But is that fate talking or just his hopeful heart? Jungkook decides not to say anything and slowly walks down the stairs. The bells will tell him if he’s right. Your eyes glance up and meet his and Jungkook sees them widen, but like him, you don’t say anything. Are you waiting to hear your own bells?

He shoves his hands deep into the pocket of his hoodie, eyes quickly darting away from yours to stare holes into the ground as he keeps walking. His heart beats faster with every step and he has to resist the urge to just stare at you point blank because he needs to know and-

He hears the bells. And it’s like a weight is taken off of his shoulders.

But he keeps walking. And you keep walking. And now Jungkook is panicking because why the fuck is he still walking? You’re his soulmate, he found you, so why isn’t he stopping? Jungkook tries to get his feet to stop moving, to just turn around and call out to you but he can’t. What would he even say? ‘Hey, you’? He doesn’t even know your name. ‘I think you’re my soulmate’? How disgustingly cliche. What if you don’t even care that he’s your soulmate? What if you’re already seeing someone? What if he’s the only one that can hear the bells for you and you hear them for someone else? What if-

“Um, excuse me?”

Jungkook almost trips on the last step from how fast he turns around at the sound of your voice. His hands feel clammy but he keeps them in his pocket otherwise you’d be able to see how they’re shaking ever so slightly. He drags his eyes up to yours and suddenly, every bit of anxiety he felt is suddenly gone. Is this what it’s supposed to feel like?

“Have we met before? You seem really familiar.”

You’re at the top of the stairs now but you step down a few steps, as if you want to get closer. Jungkook climbs back up a few steps because he does want to get closer. There’s an easy smile on his face as he says, “Found you.”

He isn’t sure where it came from. He isn’t even exactly sure what he means. But it feels like the right thing to say, like something that he’s vaguely remembering from a dream he had a long time ago. And judging from the matching smile on your own face, you know what Jungkook means.

“Took you long enough.”