#and then i realized i have a problem with using alcohol as a coping mechanism for my depression so i told myself id stop drinking

[strawberrysnoopy]

ACT ONE: The Photoshoot, Part Four of Four.

warnings: tobacco, smoking, alcohol use, briefest mention of using alcohol as a coping mechanism, mentions of infidelity (as always), ada slander at times (sorry), texting for a while, leon's a bit of a perv, sex, pussy, balls, dick, yeah you get the gist.

(a/n): sike bitch you thought.

FINAL PART OF ACT ONE: THE PHOTOSHOOT.

Your husband was on the dining room floor, groaning in pain, with blood spattered across the kitchen tile from spitting the drips of blood that fell down his throat from his nose. Leon had fucked him up, hard and good. His nose was broken, he had a black eye, his lip was busted open like a button on a shirt, and he had some beginnings of a cauliflower ear. Jesus, Leon gets the damn job done. That must be why he's deployed all the time. "We should..." Leon pauses, wiping some blood from his own unbroken nose with a sniffle. "...take him to the emergency room. I fucked him up pretty good." You nod in agreement, placing your hands on your hips as if you're looking at some new problem that you found in your garden. Like some field mice have been getting into the blackberry bush again. Whatever. You've seen him in worse cases. I mean, there is that time where he tried to kick someone's ass for not playing pool the right way off of three obscenely large tall boy beers. You should've left him then, but now he's on your kitchen floor with his ass beat and his hot ass friend looking down on him. "We should. I think that'll be a good idea. Are you okay? Any impairments?" He shakes his head, loosely gesturing to the black eye that had begun forming, his eyelid peppered in tiny red spots and a smear of a maroon red near the tear duct. The kicker? He wore it so strongly too, like it hadn't bothered him at all, and let's be honest, it hadn't.

You near the front door of your house, pulling the noisy keys out of your pocket to unlock the door. Leon was behind you, hands awkwardly stuffed in the pockets of his denim jeans and tapping his feet. He looked out of place to be awkward. Black-eye clad with dried blood in the nooks and crannies of his skin. "Never realized how pretty your house was, sweetheart." There was a sudden flush in your cheeks at the nickname, not used to people calling you such names of endearment besides the photographers or shoot directors in a weak attempt to get you to pose correctly. You thank him quietly, unlocking the door and pushing through. You waltz over to the kitchen in a spent fashion, noticing little droplets of blood on your kitchen tile. You know you should be mad. A satisfied wife would be furious that someone had laid hands on her husband. You? You were giddy. Like someone had finally understood what a cunt your husband could be and did something besides laugh it off. You expected Leon to tell him to fuck off or make some snarky remark in defense of you, but telling you that he'd fuck you? God damn, it made your head spin. Yes, you've been replaying this thought in your head for the past few hours and the little flashes in your mind of Leon defiling your loyalty had your panties all twisted up. And he beat up your husband over some little thing like he had been waiting for his opportunity his entire life.

Capital H Hot.

You go through the rounds of patching him up, making silent conversation to ease that burning in the pit of your stomach. The conversation had been chock full of apologies from Leon, saying how he was sorry on saying he'd fuck you. "I'm sorry." He begins, and you raise your hand up to stop him from saying anything more.

Sorry? Why on god's green earth would Leon be sorry in saying he'd fuck you if your husband wasn't doing the job correctly? If anything, the statement had set your skin ablaze with salacity and your mind buzzing with impure thoughts of him fucking you against their marital beds. "Don't apologize." You spoke, eyes accidentally shown to be half-lidded, hiding it behind the "fact" you're looking down at the splat of blood on his cheek. "If that's what you truly mean, say it. It's not a crime to find someone attractive, the only thing wrong is if you act on it." His mouth is left open for a few beats before making the two parts of his jaw meet again. He couldn't tell if it was an admission that you had been feeling the same turmoil he'd been feeling. Those sleepless nights. Staring at the ceiling next to your spouse while they sleep, desiring what they cannot have in another bed. Your patience was pinching, the thirst through your thighs turning into a ticking time bomb, and to rephrase the previous points, your cunt was in unbearable need to get fucked. "Then I guess I want to fuck you." There was no dancing around it. No I'm attracted to you in a friendly "that's the way it is" type of way. Straight to the point. I want to take off my goddamn clothes and fuck you. I want to be intimate with you in the most perverse ways possible. You should slap him. You shouldn't have tended to his wounds. You shouldn't have let him into the comfort of your home.

But you did. Because you want the same thing as Leon. Sex. Not the cheap sex your spouses have been trying to give you for your entire relationship. Sex.

Your hand strays from his face, sucking in a breath when you wipe up the rest of the dried blood. He hopped off the counter, his finger subtly swiping against you hip to stave off that insatiable beast in him that wants to fuck you.

"Come to my room." You whisper, your chin barely brushing over your shoulder, clad in the bland cardigan you wore to keep yourself warm from the chilling night thus far. And you sound like you're inviting him for sex. And he doesn't want to fucking reject you.

"Is this okay?" You hold up an old college t-shirt to him, bringing the fabric closer to his still clothed chest. The shirt was one of your husband's from long ago. You had honestly thought about tossing out the shirt in a yard sale but never had the time or will to do so. "Should be." He pulls off his shirt in a languid motion, slipping the ratty tee over his head instead. Your eyes catch Leon's trail of hair, well groomed and cut down not too long ago judging based off of the short stubbly hairs on his abdomen. "Rude to stare, silly girl." You mumble out a quiet "sorry" to him while leaving the bedroom, presumably changing into your own pajamas. But before you can get two feet out the door, he's tugging on your wrist. "Stop." His voice is quiet, lustful with that slight demand. Your eyebrows knit together in confusion, wondering where he's suddenly getting the gall to tug on your wrist like this when he was just begging for forgiveness so much earlier. Your confusion unwrites itself on your face when he takes off your husband's shirt. He's shirtless again, the long scars and fading bruises and cuts from missions he's taken a few weeks prior visible on his skin. Your eyes don't fail you when they settle on the happy trail you were drooling over moments ago. "Why are you looking at me like that, hm?" He asks, moving closer by a smidge, you wouldn't have noticed if your senses weren't already heightened by the arousal you've been feeling since he first came over for dinner. Damn him, keeping you wound up like a clockwork toy and expecting you to prance over like some whore. "You're married. I'm married." He's getting closer, lips tracing towards your cheekbone and getting closer to your ear. "Honey, has anyone ever told you how wrong that is?" You swallow down so goddamn hard, your esophagus might as well have been torn to shreds. "Leon—" He interrupts you, pulling away from your cheek and letting his eyes flit over your body, tutting his tongue as if he's disappointed you're not naked already. "I'm not finished, sweetheart." "Do you know how torturous it is? Looking at you while you're married and you don't even have a fucking clue as to how bad I want to fuck you against every surface of the home you share with your husband? Even though I cannot have you? You're such a fucking tease, making me want you like some goddamn degenerated pervert." His lips tease the skin near your jaw, breathing in your essence like he was stealing it for himself. "And Ada. Oh, she's no fucking help. Treating me like I'm some whipped dog for her. Even when she's never there. She doesn't know I dream of you every time she's away."

You can't even speak. This was such a far cry from the Leon you knew. This was the same man who always had snarky comments and sarcastic one-liners that made you laugh, who respected you, who talked to you like you had known each other since birth. Then again, yearning is an insane drug and Leon's a loyal addict. "Say something before I go insane, sweetheart." He whispered, nudging your head to the side, allowing access to your pulse, rapidly beating under sweaty skin. You don't say anything. Your hands just weave themselves into his hair, tugging and pulling him closer when he's brough into a passionate kiss. Your hands are about to reach for his belt when his phone buzzes. The first time, it's ignored in the heat of the moment. Maybe just some old friend asking to meet up later this weekend. You're in the middle of pulling the belt off, his hands greedily grabbing at your tits and ass when the phone buzzes again. "Need you." He whispered, biting your cheek like some wild animal. The buzzing of texts eventually turn into a consistent vibration of a phone call. Pulling out his phone, Leon realizes it's something he can't just ignore for some pussy. "We need to stop." You murmur back to him, trying to wean yourself off of kissing him. Stop, stop, stop. Even though you don't want to and the only thing you'd enjoy is having him bust your head in against the headboard while telling you how much he loves your pussy.

But he pulls away, stopping the kneading on your ass and your tits, much to his displeasure. For a minute, you're left panting and with the ever lingering feeling of his strong calloused hands all over your skin. You stare down at the emboldened caller ID. Ada. You rewet your eyes by blinking, eyes going dry by staring wide-eyed at his phone. Is he gonna answer that? You hope not. You want him to finish what he started and especially after all of those admissions of lust to you as well, there's no going back. He sighed, picking up the phone while you walked out of your own bedroom. You feel sick. You're supposed to love your husband but your pussy is fucking throbbing at the way another man's hands explore your body. His best friend, no less. He's supposed to be the strong and outspoken man yet he's on a leash for his wife who treats him like shit. And for the first time, you finally mutter a fuck you to Leon you mean with your full chest.

taglist: @heylesamis, @sweetserial, @iloveyousomuch1989, @galatict3a, @m1sery-busin3ss, @ssulfurr, @nic-stars, @g0rep1ty,@nomorekerkanymoranymor,

[farfromstrange]

Do No Harm

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: (Not) A Greater Woman

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Your tendency to self-destruct tears down everything in your path, even your best friend. Though it is Claire's secrets, in the end, that have you fearing for your life.

Warnings for this chapter: ANGST, Heavy on the angst (18+), alcohol abuse (and everything that comes with it), mentions of alcoholism, mentions of child and domestic abuse, mentions of suicide, bad coping mechanisms, Reader is being unfair, needles, mentions of drugs, self-destructive behavior, violence, faint allusions to sexual assault

Word Count: 3.4k

A/n: ...and ending on a cliffhanger. Classic. I purposefully wanted a lot of raw dialogue. I wanted Liv to say things she doesn't mean because she has problems and she needs help. I wanted Claire to be on her last straw because mental illness is hard on everyone involved, just to different degrees. Mental illness does funny things to people, after all. Please, heed the warnings.

Read Chapter 15: (Not) A Greater Woman here on AO3!

In your dream, far beyond the never-ending void of darkness, there is a little girl. She’s running around a field of bright white daisies, carefully picking those she deems pretty enough to be made into a flower crown. The sun is shining down from above, and it’s so peaceful there, far away from the bustling of the city. 

A woman calls from somewhere north. The little girl turns toward the distinctive sound, waving her daisy-filled hands. “Daisies, mommy!” she says, unstable on her little toddler legs.

The woman chuckles. “I can see that, darling. You want to come over here for a second? I have to reapply your sunscreen.”

Such a beautiful summer day, you think to yourself as you feel the breeze against your skin. The little girl doesn’t protest. She takes the daisies and runs up the hill to her mother. 

They are the spitting image of each other—matching braids, matching overalls, and matching smiles. At what point in life does the candle blow out, and children who once believed in all the good in the world turn into cynical adults? At what point in life does the magic end?

When the woman calls out this time, the name she utters sends a shiver down your spine. You look around yourself, but there is no one but you, the little girl, and her mother, and neither of them seems aware of your presence in the vast field of daisies. 

The realization slowly dawns on you that the girl with stars in her eyes isn’t just any little girl finding solace in nature, she is you.

Within seconds, the daisies turn to dust. You look down, expecting to see a sliver of green, but you find yourself standing in a pile of ashes instead. First, it is ashes, then it is grass again, and then, you’re standing before a marble gravestone in a crowded cemetery in the suburbs of San Francisco.

That is why you hate summers; one second, you’re happy, and the next, the person you love most is ripped from your bare hands. 

When you think about your mother, you only remember the good days. Though somewhere in the faint distance of your mind, tucked away in a neat box that you once locked and threw away the key, are pictures of her crying. Pictures of her lying in bed for days as your father tried to coax her to at least eat something. 

You remember the times she used to yell at him, completely apathetic, and you had to watch from your doorway down the hall as she bullied him away. You doubt he ever noticed you there. In reality, your mother had more bad days than good. The tumor was growing uncontrollably inside of her, but every time he took her to the doctor, they sent her home with another psychiatric diagnosis. 

You were only a child, a toddler, you didn’t know any better. You only wanted your mother. But you lost her, and shortly after, you lost your father to the impossible power of drugs and alcohol. 

You swore yourself you would never turn into him. After years of taking care of him, you swore to yourself you would never touch a bottle of liquor. You would never make the same mistakes he did. 

Until one day, you did.

No matter what you do, you might never outrun the cycle of self-destruction you were born into. 

Your eyes flutter against the iron curtain keeping them shut. You’re trying to fight your way out of this godforsaken nightmare, but someone seems to be holding a sledgehammer to your head. Thud, thud, thud. It’s hollow, at first, then quickly turns sharper.

“Liv,” a faint voice breaks through the cotton in your ears. “Liv, hey! Can you hear me?” she asks. 

The world is too bright when you finally open your eyes. With the pounding headaches comes a wave of toe-curling nausea, and before you know it, you’re hunched over the edge of Claire’s couch, reality crashing into you like a tidal wave, and you’re motioning for something, anything, to empty your guts into. 

Just in time, she puts a bowl in your hand. A mix of alcohol and pure stomach acid burns its way through your esophagus, traveling from your stomach out through your mouth.

If only the memories were erased, the physical pain would be much easier to bear. You can still see them, clear as day in your mind. Matt, the empty restaurant table, and the bottle of vodka you drowned in—it’s all coming back to you now. One would think that drinking yourself into oblivion would work like a wet towel on a dirty whiteboard, but the brain can be powerful in upholding the clarity of painful memories. Once again, you have fallen victim to your psyche. You destroyed your body again, and again, it was for nothing at all. 

“Easy.” Claire wraps a hand around your hair. “You’re gonna rip out your IV.”

You catch a glimpse of the tube sticking out of your arm, attached to the bag of yellow propped up on the backrest. 

“What?” you pant. 

It doesn’t make sense to you. None of this makes sense. She is coddling you like one of her patients. After what you did, you hardly deserve it. The things you said to her seem so cruel now in retrospect, but you were drunk and angry, and you didn’t know how to listen. You didn’t want to listen. So, you picked a fight because that is what you do best—pushing the people you love away. 

“It’s a banana bag,” Claire states. “Don’t ask.”

“Well, I am asking.”

“Perks of a nurse’s apartment. Free drugs.”

“Criminal,” you mutter.

“Anger issues,” she retorts. “Somebody’s gotta make sure your ass doesn’t die from alcohol poisoning, so…” 

Nerves do funny things to people. Some start pacing, others try to breathe, and Claire hovers. It is her job to do so. To be there. To take care of others. And she is the first to try and save something that seems beyond repair. To her, nothing ever really is.

She reaches for her medical bag. “Here,” she says, handing you a wrapped aspirin. “This should help with the hangover.”

You ignore her. “What time is it?” 

“Little after five.”

“In the morning?”

“In the evening. You were out for over twelve hours.”

“Fuck!” You try to sit up without ripping the needle out of your arm, but even the slightest movement turns your stomach around. 

The next curse comes with a gush of stomach acid. Your muscles contract, and you empty your guts into the bowl.

Claire growls, “Stop moving.”

“No. I need to–” You retch. “Uh, I need to be at work in a few hours. I need to… go home.”

You convince yourself that if you breathe through your nose, you won’t vomit. You won’t pass out. The pain won’t consume you whole. You reach for the aspirin, after all, to at least try to numb what you destroyed.

“You still have alcohol in your blood.” She stops you. “You can’t operate like this.”

You push the bowl aside. “I have patients, Claire,” you say. “I need to check on them. If I don’t, I’ll get fired. People could die.”

“Are you really that irresponsible?”

“I’m not drunk anymore.”

“Oh, yeah?” She reaches for the breathalyzer, wherever she got that from. “Blow into this,” she says, “and we’ll talk.”

You grind your teeth. Your eyes flicker between the device and her face. She looks smug—so fucking smug. You push it away from your mouth; you’re going to fail, anyway. Setting foot in the hospital would be gross medical negligence, and you refuse to be that person. 

Claire nods. “Thank you. You’re gonna call in sick to work, and I will make sure you’re sober enough by tomorrow for your next shift.”

“Is that all you’re gonna do?” you counter.

A pause, and then, “I’ll come back when the time’s right,” she says.

You want to ask, what if the time is never right? But the tension wraps around your neck like a noose, and you find yourself suddenly unable to talk. 

Life as you know it is over, you have to face that. Things will never be the same again. Claire might never be the same again. As much as it hurts, the cycle of life always finds ways to fuck you over, and you just have to accept that.

You watch as Claire busies her hands, as she keeps hovering, and the words she said last night before you passed out come back to mind. Do you want to turn into your father? You could get nauseous again just thinking about it. “What you said last night,” you begin, “about me turning into my father…”

She stops rearranging the furniture, but she doesn’t turn around to you. “You want me to say I didn’t mean it?” she asks.

“I want you to tell me the truth,” you say.

“The truth?”

“Yeah.” You sit up straighter, holding onto the needle in your arm. “Do you really think I’m like him?” A grunt slips past your lips. “I mean, is that how low you think of me?”

Claire scoffs. Her eyes slip from you to her hands in her lap. “I asked if you wanted to turn into him, I didn���t say you already were. ‘Cause even if that’s not the case, you’re on the best path to doing so anyway.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Seriously?” She gets up, towering over you, and you have no choice but to let her; you don’t have the energy to fight back. “All the drinking, picking fights, and feeling sorry for yourself? That’s not an indication?”

“I have bad coping mechanisms, yes, but that doesn’t mean–” but you get interrupted. 

“Bad coping mechanisms,” Claire snickers. “Right.”

“I’m not like him and you know it,” you say. “You know I’d rather die than be like him.” 

“If you keep going like this, you will die.”

Your eyes roll back into your head. “I had a few drinks. I didn’t snort a line of coke and started beating the person I was supposed to protect senseless. You know why?” You raise your voice high enough for it to crack. “‘Cause I’m not like my father!”

The sound travels back to your ears, and you flinch at the shrillness of it all. You swore years ago that, no matter how miserable you get, you would never let the pain get the better of you. You’re still functioning. You are not like your father because you’re still functioning. Or are you, after all, just lying to yourself? 

Your life has been a burning trash pile for so long that you forgot what normal even is, but maybe you are the reason it hasn’t stopped burning yet. Maybe it isn’t the trauma or the fact that Matt stood you up but you are the one pouring gasoline into the fire. 

You’re not functioning, but you can’t possibly admit it.

“You’re using alcohol to escape,” Claire says. “You know who does that? Alcoholics. You’re an alcoholic.”

“I am not an alcoholic!” you snap.

Your mind is a continuous loop of, take it back, take it back, take it back. You just want her to take it back.

Instead, she throws her arms up in the air. “My point is that you can’t keep going like this. You can’t drink yourself into a coma at every minor inconvenience. You’re gonna end up dead in a ditch one day, and I won’t be there to bail you out.”

You manage to pull yourself together enough to rise from the couch. “I don’t need you to bail me out! I don’t need you to do anything,” you tell her, so sure of yourself. 

“You’re my best friend, for fuck’s sake! I’m here. I’ll always be here,” she says, “but I can’t help you if you keep destroying yourself just because you think nothing fucking matters anymore!”

“I’m not some broken thing you need to fix, Claire! It is my life! Mine!”

“You know what? You’re right. Maybe I shouldn’t stop you from killing yourself.”

You shake your head. “I managed to survive before I met you, and I can do it again.”

You try to tell yourself that she isn’t the reason you’re still alive. You try to tell yourself that she is just another person in your life and that you will survive if you lose her. Life would be easier if she wasn’t who she is.

Upon your words, Claire doesn’t move a muscle. “Okay,” she says. “Fine.”

Infuriating.

“God, I wish I’d never met you!” 

In the fallout of your outburst, there is quiet. The words seep into her skin like radioactive material. You watch as it poisons her, as it poisons every good memory you made together over the past two years as though it never meant a thing.

You can’t believe you said that.

“Well,” Claire finds her voice again after seconds stretched into hours, “that makes two of us. But you know what? I won’t stand in your way. I’m done.”

The words die on your tongue.

“I’m gonna take a walk, and when I come back,” she says, “I want you gone.”

“Claire–” you start.

You have never seen her so distant, so beside herself. She reaches for her coat on the rack. “You know how to remove an IV, don’t you?” 

“You think that’s gonna hurt me?” you try to engage her one last time, waiting for a reaction, anything to tell you that she isn’t going to walk out on you.

That she isn’t about to abandon you.

That you didn’t just ruin the one good thing in your life by not knowing how to keep your mouth shut. 

Because you were so angry at yourself you took it out on her like a fucking sociopath.

“No,” Claire chuckles, breathless to no end, “you don’t need me for that. You never did.”

The door falls shut behind her.

For a moment, you think it’s a bad joke and that she will turn around and come back, but one minute turns to two, and the door remains closed. You are left alone in a strange apartment with a strange cat, trapped in a grave you dug for yourself.

A greater woman would run after her. A greater woman would apologize and beg her to come back. A greater woman would not be a coward when faced with the reality of having pushed her best friend away—because she has no one else. You have no one else. But you’re not a greater woman. You claim to be; you want to be, but you are far too screwed up for that.

You press a finger just above the needle, slowly pulling it out of your arm. The sting is unlike the thousand cuts every one of your breaths is marinating with salt. An inferno has taken over your body, but you have no more fight left in you. 

You are done.

You ignore the blood spurting from the superficial wound, reaching for your coat instead. Your steps are far from straight, your vision is blurry and you don’t have any money, but you would be damned if you stayed.

Just as you’re about to drag your sorry ass to the exit, the door rattles. It’s subtle, but it’s there, followed by the relentless drag of steel boots along the hallway outside. 

The uncoordinated turning of the knob stops you in your tracks. 

Claire has a key. 

The woman who lives here has a key, and she is still with her ill brother.

You are either having hallucinations, finally losing your mind or someone is trying to get into the apartment—and it isn’t Claire.

You back away, step after step toward the window. As if you could survive a jump from this height. As if you have the guts to jump.

That rattling is so familiar—too familiar. 

Someone kicks at the fragile wood, and your heart drops to your stomach, dissolving in the acid. Voices start to overlap in a language you don’t understand. You have nowhere to run.

The irony of it all almost makes you laugh. You pushed Claire out of the apartment she’s staying in; you pushed her out of your life, and now someone is trying to break in with you inside. It seems like karma of the highest order.

Your mouth opens in a gasp as the door flies off its hinges, and you come face to face with two men. Strangers covered in scars.

You don’t scream.

You don’t run. 

They certainly expect a reaction out of you, shouting orders in Russian to each other to surround you, but you are tethered to the ground by the roots of an invisible tree. Your blood runs cold, clogging the arteries leading to your heart, but you still can’t run. 

Pointless is the only word that comes to mind. Fighting back is pointless. You want to curl up and die. To let natural selection take its pick. You can’t say you don’t deserve it because that would be the biggest lie of all.

Their grabby hands reach for you. “Take it,” John’s voice pipes up in the back of your head. “Take. It!” And if it were him, you would run. 

God knows what they want to do to you. They have the same evil in their eyes as he had. A million worst-case scenarios cross your mind, all worse than the mercy of death, and your muscles thaw. A switch is flicked. You break out of the ice, sprinting around the coffee table to get toward the door just when they think they can get to you. Russian obscenities fall from their lips, and you swear you can make out the name, “Claire,” along the lines. 

They will not get her, and if they get you, at least they won’t have her.

You should have listened when she said there are some things she just can’t tell you. You had no right to be mad. What has she gotten herself into? What has she been suffering through without you?

She always had to bail you out. Even when you thought she chose herself, she was still choosing to protect you. What a fucking fool you are.

You catch the eyes of a boy, a teenager, on your way to freedom, the two men shouting behind you, and his broken brown eyes break your heart like a porcelain vase. He looks so guilty, so shocked to see you there, and it only takes you a moment to recognize him.

He’s bleeding.  

“Not Claire,” he chokes out in his broken Spanish accent, even after you shake your head and scream for him to run, but it’s too late. 

They don’t care that you’re not her. They grab you, and you scream again as they tear you to the ground. You barely feel the blood pooling under your nails, dragging along the splintering floorboards. Adrenaline forces your body to fight back, to kick, and to cry out for help, but like all those years ago, no one hears you.

One of the men grabs your hair and forces your head into the wood. Your temple splits open under the sheer force, blood splattering everywhere. For a moment, you only hear your heart racing in your ears. You can taste it on your tongue. The lights blind you, and they are whiter than they used to be. 

You’re painfully aware of the hands dragging your limp body toward the door. T copper and dirt in your nostrils are a toxic combination of scents that remind you of death, and you might just die tonight. Physically and emotionally, you might die.

You’ve been begging for death to come and get you, but now that he is knocking on your door, you don’t want him anymore. Not like this. Not after everything you survived to get here. This is not how you want to go out.

“Help,” your lips form the word as an incoherent whisper. “Help, please…”

It’s too late. Consciousness slips through your fingers, and darkness overcomes you like a total solar eclipse. Though unlike before, you are not floating. You are not at peace. There are no daisy fields or graveyards.

This new darkness is empty, vile, and eerily familiar, too. When you finally succumb to it, thoughtless existence is all that is waiting for you on the other side—or perhaps, purgatory.

Tag List: @shiorimakibawrites @allllium @siampie @auroraslibrary @roseallisonparker @abucketofweird @capylore @kniselle @sumo-b98 @peachstarliight @thatonegamefish @danzer8705 @kakamixo @littlehappyperson @atemydadforbreakfast @stevenknightmarc @zheezs14 @shouldbestudying41 @kiwwia-wiwwia @writtenbyred @echo-ethe @kezibear @peterbarnes @littleagxs @silas-aeiou @scoliobean

[goldengalore]

Perception

Summary: Y/N has social anxiety. When she and Harry go on a double date with Jeff and Glenne, Harry thinks everything is going extremely well. It isn’t until they get home later that he realizes Y/N didn’t feel the same way.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: anxiety, eating problems due to anxiety, use of alcohol as a coping mechanism (which I do not condone), implied smut

A/N: I focus on H’s POV throughout just to show how much his perception of events differs from Y/N’s, which is tainted by her anxiety. Hoping to write more fics with this concept in the future! :)

***

“You know, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” says Harry, entering the master bathroom where Y/N is meticulously applying her makeup.

They have dinner plans tonight with two of Harry’s closest friends—his manager Jeff and Jeff’s wife Glenne. Y/N has met Jeff a few times but only in a professional setting, and she has yet to meet Glenne. Although the four of them have tried making plans to hang out before, they never came to fruition because Y/N’s anxiety would always spiral out of control leading up to the event, causing Harry to make up some excuse for why they have to cancel.

“D—do you not want me to go?” asks Y/N.

He frowns, slipping his hands into the pockets of his brown corduroy pants. “What? Of course I do.”

“It’s just...” She pops open the cap of the lipstick in her hands and stares down at it. “This is the third time you’ve said that to me today.”

His eyes fall shut for a moment, as he realizes how his words must have come across when repeated that many times. “Fuck. Sorry, lovie, I hadn’t meant it that way. I just don’t want you to feel pressured to do something you’re not comfortable with.”

“I can’t bail on them again, H. I’ve done that enough times already.” She sighs. “And besides... Life’s about getting out of your comfort zone, right?” She forces a smile and returns to applying her makeup, leaning forward to get a closer look in the mirror.

He notices a slight tremor in her hand as she glides the rounded edge of the scarlet lipstick across her bottom lip, then the top one. Her lips now match the colour of her knee-length, satin dress. She spent longer than usual getting ready for tonight, going the extra mile to ensure that her makeup was flawless and every hair was in its place.

Now, as he watches her eyes scan her reflection in the mirror, it’s almost like he can read her mind, like he can see her mentally scrutinizing every little aspect of her appearance that she perceives as an imperfection but he perceives as one of the many things he loves about her.

“You look stunning,” he tells her.

She smiles at him. “Thank you, baby.”

He walks over to her. She turns to face him, leaning her hip against the counter. The movement causes a perfectly curled strand of hair to fall over her shoulder. He gently brushes it back. She truly does look stunning, and it’s making him imagine all the things he wants to do to her right now but can’t because it will only end up making them late for dinner, which won’t be any good for her anxiety.

“I hope you know you don’t need to impress them or anything like that,” he says. “They already love you.”

She gives him a skeptical look. “How can they already love me? They barely know me.”

“Um, not true. I talk about you a lot. Probably far too much. In fact, Jeff has told me to shut up on a few different occasions because I wouldn’t stop going on about you.”

His admission makes her laugh and paints her cheeks a cute shade of pink.

“So, they already know lots about you,” he continues, “and they think you’re amazing, which means there’s nothing to prove. All right?”

She nods. He analyzes her expression closely but still can’t discern whether she actually believes him or not; he can only hope she does. He starts to lean in for a kiss but stops an inch away from her lips. She gazes up at him in confusion.

“I really want to kiss you,” he says, “but your lipstick’s going to get all over me.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re such a baby. Come here.” With a hand on the back of his neck, she pulls him in to complete the kiss, then effortlessly wipes the residue off his mouth with her thumb. “See? All gone.” She smiles sweetly, making him want to kiss her all over again.

“Okay, now get out,” she says. “I need to pee before we leave.”

“Fiiine. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

***

They arrive at the restaurant at nearly the same time as Jeff and Glenne. The four of them convene in the parking lot before heading inside together. The reservation is under Jeff’s name. He speaks to the hostess, who guides them to a booth in the private dining area. It’s quieter here, the dim lighting and soft jazz making it feel even more intimate.

Each couple takes one side of the booth. Harry lets Y/N slide in before him. As they get settled, Jeff asks Y/N if she has ever eaten at this restaurant before. She shakes her head in response. Jeff lets out a dramatic gasp.

“What?! H never brought you here?” He shoots Harry a judgmental look. “What kind of boyfriend are you, man?”

“An amazing one, thank you very much,” Harry retorts, adding, “We’ve just never had a chance to come here.”

The real reason Harry has never brought Y/N here before is that eating in public triggers her anxiety. She tried apologizing to him once for her anxiety preventing them from being a “normal” couple who goes on “normal” dates at restaurants, but he refused to let her apologize for something that’s out of her control. And anyway, they don’t need to go out to fancy restaurants to have fun. As long as he’s with her, he’ll have fun no matter where they are.

“Well, Y/N,” says Jeff, “I can assure you this place serves the best food in all of Los Angeles. I would even go as far as saying all of America.”

“Okay, don’t oversell it now,” Glenne intervenes. “You’re going to set her expectations way too high and she’ll be disappointed.”

“Impossible,” he states confidently.

Glenne rolls her eyes and turns to Y/N. “He’s obsessed with this place, in case you couldn’t tell. Brought me here for our first three dates. Not one, not two”—she leans forward to emphasize—“but three.”

“Oh, you loved it.” When she doesn’t refute his statement, a victorious grin spreads across his face.

Y/N seems enamoured with their exchange. “How did you guys meet?” she asks.

They launch into a story about their very first interaction and how that cascaded into them falling madly in love. A story that Harry has heard a million times now and never gets tired of.

He is a hopeless romantic through and through. He loves love.

Jeff and Glenne have always seemed like the perfect match. In all his years of knowing them and especially on the day he officiated their wedding, Harry often found himself wishing that he could find a love like theirs someday—so pure and everlasting.

Although he and Y/N are still in the early stages of their relationship, having dated for only a few months, something keeps telling him that this might be the love he’s been yearning for all along. And every time he’s with her, that feeling is reinforced.

The waiter—a man of average height with neatly styled blonde hair who introduces himself as Dylan—comes by to deliver their menus and obtain their drink orders. When he leaves, Harry, Jeff, and Glenne begin discussing the menu items, bouncing ideas off each other about what to get and commenting on dishes they’ve previously tried.

Y/N is silent. When Harry looks over at her, she’s staring down at her menu blankly, brows furrowed, teeth nibbling on her bottom lip. The menu items do have strange names, and the brief descriptions accompanying them are not very informative, so he can understand her confusion as a first-timer.

He leans over to her and points at an item on her menu. “I think you’ll like that one.”

She seems relieved to finally have some input on what to order. “Okay, I’ll get that then. But, um...” She glances at Jeff and Glenne, who are immersed in their own conversation about the menu, and drops her voice as she asks, “Do you mind ordering it for me? I’ll probably butcher the name if I try.”

“Sure, no problem.” He straightens up in his seat, then leans back over to her to add, “But just so you know, I’ve butchered plenty of these names before, so you wouldn’t be the first to do it.”

She gives him an appreciative grin.

After some time, Dylan the waiter returns with their drinks and notes down their orders. From the corner of his eye, Harry notices Y/N down a large portion of her cocktail in one go.

Ever since she opened up to him about her struggles with social anxiety, he has been trying to read up on it to understand and support her better. He recalls reading somewhere that people with social anxiety often use alcohol to soothe their nerves before and during social interactions. He has certainly caught Y/N doing that on several occasions. It may not be the healthiest coping mechanism, but he doesn’t judge her for it. He knows from experience what an effective, though temporary, salve alcohol can be for difficult emotions.

“So, Y/N, how did you and H meet?” Glenne asks. “I’ve heard the story from him, but I want to hear your side of it.”

The three of them stare at Y/N expectantly. Her leg is bouncing up and down under the table. Harry places his hand on her thigh, squeezing it gently, reassuringly.

She clears her throat. “We, um, we met in a Zoom meeting.”

“Isn’t that so romantic?” Harry jokes, eliciting a laugh from them.

Y/N seems to relax a bit.

“Wait, hold on,” says Glenne. “Rewind before the Zoom meeting. Harry told me Jeff reached out to you about getting your help with some merch designs?”

“Right, yeah, I’ll start from there,” says Y/N. “Jeff actually reached out to my friend Rosie. She handles all my social media and helps my art gain exposure—all the things I’m not so good at,” she laughs. “So, Rosie called me and said that Harry’s team had reached out to her about my artwork and asked if I would be willing to help design some new exclusive merch for him. I was about to say no at first because well, the thought of my art being seen on such a massive scale was... terrifying. But Rosie convinced me that it would be a great opportunity, so I said yes.”

“Thank God,” Harry mumbles off to the side.

She smiles, continuing, “So, Jeff and Rosie set up a Zoom meeting for the four of us. I was absolutely terrified. Rosie had to do all the talking. I probably said five words the whole time.”

“I remember exactly what she said.” He counts on his fingers as he lists off the only phrases she uttered that day, “She said ‘hi,’ she said ‘thank you’ twice, and she said ‘bye.’”

Glenne chuckles, looking fondly between the two of them.

“The second meeting was much better,” says Y/N. “I actually had to talk since Rosie couldn’t make it. Harry made me feel really comfortable, and I realized he wasn’t scary at all. He also kept reassuring me that I would get credit for my work, as if he thought I was afraid he’d take my designs and run off with them.”

“Yup, classic Harry,” Jeff remarks, nodding along.

Harry’s cheeks grow warm. “Well, I thought that was why you were being so hesitant!” he explains to Y/N. “It’s happened to other people. Didn’t want you to think I was like that. I’m a man of integrity, you know.”

“Oh, I never doubted that, baby.” She places her hand on top of his on her thigh.

“What a sweet story,” says Glenne.

“Who knew people could find love over Zoom?” Jeff jokes.

“Maybe they should change their branding and become a dating website,” Y/N adds facetiously, earning a laugh from all of them.

It delights Harry to see her opening up to his friends. This is the Y/N that he wanted them to see—the funny, opinionated person beneath the shy, reserved exterior. There are so many layers to her, and he finds himself uncovering more and more each day.

Their orders arrive a few minutes later. Everyone except Y/N digs into their food ravenously. She takes several sips of her drink before even touching anything on her plate. On the way there, Harry told her that she could sneak her food onto his plate if her nerves were making it hard to eat.

“You’re just saying that because you like stealing my food,” she said when he suggested that.

“You got me,” he replied with a smirk.

Dinner goes swimmingly. Y/N loosens up more and more as time goes on. He can’t be sure whether it’s the effects of the alcohol—she’s had a few refills of her drink—or the fact that she’s growing comfortable around Jeff and Glenne, but he would like to think it’s mostly the latter.

After they’ve finished eating and paid the bill, Y/N and Glenne take a trip to the restroom while Harry and Jeff wait for them outside the entrance.

“Y/N seems awesome,” says Jeff. “I can’t believe you’ve been hiding her from us this whole time.”

Harry gives him an amused look. “I haven’t been ‘hiding’ her. She’s just shy. Takes her a bit to get comfortable around new people, you know?”

“I get that. Hopefully, she can start coming out with us more often. Seems like she’s going to be around for a while.” He smirks and playfully nudges Harry, who coughs into his fist to cover up the boyish grin on his face.

The door to the restaurant swings open, and out comes Glenne with her arm wrapped around Y/N’s. They’re both laughing about something.

“Someone’s a little tipsy,” says Glenne, as they approach the men. “She almost walked into a wall coming out of the restroom.”

Y/N hiccups. “It came out of nowhere!”

“Good thing I caught her in time.”

“Thanks, Glenne,” says Harry. “I’ll take it from here.” He puts an arm around his girlfriend’s shoulders, pulling her close to him.

“I’m really not that drunk,” she insists, hiccupping again.

“Whatever you say, lovie,” he teases, planting a kiss on the side of her head.

***

Y/N hardly says a word on the ride home. Harry doesn’t think anything of it. He’s still musing over what a wonderful night it was and how happy he is that his friends got along so well with his girlfriend.

When they get home, it’s still pretty early, so they decide to watch a movie on the couch. Y/N lays with her head on his chest, face directed towards the TV. She hasn’t moved or spoken in a while, so he assumes she must have fallen asleep in the middle of the movie, but then she suddenly sits up.

“I’m pretty tired,” she tells him. “I think I’ll head to bed, but you can finish the movie without me.”

“Are you sure?”

She nods and gives him a kiss goodnight before standing up and leaving the room.

The movie is still playing, but Harry can no longer focus. Something about the way Y/N avoided his eyes when she got up and her brisk steps toward the stairs has left him feeling strange. He tries to tell himself that she probably was just tired and eager to crawl into bed, but that explanation doesn’t quite satisfy him.

His gut is urging him to go upstairs and check on her. He waits a few minutes before doing so, quietly climbing the stairs and approaching the bedroom at the end of the hall. The lights are off, but the door is open. He peeks inside and sees Y/N laying there under the covers, wide awake, staring up at the ceiling.

“Lovie?”

She jumps a little at his voice and turns to look at him. “What are you doing here? I said you could finish the movie without me.”

“It’s no fun without you.” He walks in and sits down on the bed next to her, switching on the lamp on the bedside table. “Wanna tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” He lightly taps her forehead, bringing a small smile to her lips.

“Nothing. It’s stupid.” She closes her eyes and sighs. When she opens them again, there’s a sadness behind them. “I’m sorry, H.”

“For what?”

“For embarrassing you in front of your friends tonight.”

He frowns. “Embarrassing me? Is this about you getting a bit drunk? There’s nothing wrong with that, you know. It’s not like you were climbing on tables and cussing at bystanders. That would have been embarrassing, albeit hilarious.”

“It’s not just that.” She shakes her head. “It was... It was everything. I was trying so hard to act normal, but everything that came out of my mouth just felt awkward, and then there’s the fact that I hardly ate anything and I know Jeff noticed that because he kept glancing over at my plate and I could tell he was wondering why I was acting so strange, and I also feel like I wasn’t contributing to the conversation as much as I should have, but I—I just didn’t know what to say and now I’m worried that they think I’m boring or—or—”

“Y/N, hey.” He places a gentle hand on her chest to halt her rambling. “Take a deep breath for me.”

He feels her chest rise as she inhales deeply, then fall as she exhales slowly.

“Good. Now listen to me. You did not embarrass me, so get that out of your head right now, okay?”

She nods.

“And all those worries floating around in your head? They’re not real, my love. Dinner went really well. You were wonderful. I was having a great time, and I thought you were too, but I might’ve misinterpreted things—”

“You didn’t. I was having a good time. It was only after we left that I started getting in my head about it...” She pouts. “I just really wanted them to like me.”

“They do. I promise they do. You know what Jeff said to me while we were waiting outside for you and Glenne? He said you’re awesome and he hopes you’ll come out with us more often. Now why would he say that if he didn’t like you?”

She shrugs. “Maybe he was just trying to be polite?”

That almost makes him keel over with laughter. “Sweetheart, Jeff and I are way past the point of politeness. If he doesn’t like someone I’m seeing, he does not hesitate to tell me.”

She stares up at the ceiling again, biting on her lip. “Did he really say that?” she asks eventually.

“He did. But in case you don’t believe me, let me show you a text I received from Glenne after we got home.”

He takes his phone out of his pocket and opens up his messages with Glenne. The most recent one says, “Hey, I completely forgot to get Y/N’s number. Would you mind sending it to me? I’d love to plan a shopping trip with her sometime.” He allows Y/N to read it for herself.

She looks at him when she’s done.

“Believe me now?” he asks.

“Yes.” Pulling the covers up over her head, she releases a frustrated groan. “Why am I like this? Why do I get so in my head about these things?”

He lies down next to her and brings the covers back down below her face. “It’s okay. It’s just your mind playing tricks on you, that’s all.”

“How do you even put up with me?”

“The real question is, how do you”—he shifts to get on top of her, his face hovering above hers—“put up with me”—he kisses her lips—“constantly wanting to be around you”—then her neck—“all the bloody time?”

She giggles and squirms at the feeling of his lips leaving sloppy, open-mouthed kisses all along her neck. As he continues showering her with kisses, all the tension seems to evaporate from her body. She melts into the mattress. Determined to help her relax even further, he lifts up the covers from the bottom and ducks under them.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“I’ve heard the best remedy for anxious thoughts is an orgasm.”

He can hear the amusement in her voice as she replies, “Oh, is that right?”

“Mhm.” His hands slide up her thighs, spreading them apart to make room for himself.

“Did you read that on WebMD?”

“Something like that.”

***

Thank you for reading! For more anxious!reader and other fics, check out my MASTERLIST

[redflazok]

what if I told you that "take responsibility" is about all the characters in the game? (in this post, I will not consider only Daisuke, because I have no complaints about him)

Swansea

is an alcoholic and that says it all. yes, he tries to quit and take control of his life (that is, take responsibility for it), but as soon as everything goes wrong, he immediately breaks down. he is the first to notice alcohol in the mouthwash and starts drinking. Swansea doesn’t believe in their salvation and gives up immediately. he returns to alcoholism again. Swansea doesn't want to take responsibility, but he admits it himself

Anya

it's not her fault that she was a victim of rape. we feel sorry for her, and that's okay, but it's this fact that prevents us from evaluating her objectively.

Anya has no medical education, this has been said more than once. the question is, how was she even allowed to work as a nurse back then? A nurse is a person who takes responsibility for someone else's life, and Anya should have understood this. so she is deliberately taking a risk by getting a job as a nurse without an education. she had to take responsibility and she is not succeeding.

she sees that Curly is clearly having some difficulties. her psychological assessment of him is useless, she doesn’t give any recommendations, doesn’t try to convince him to at least rest (which Curly needs, obviously), doesn’t try to get him to talk and understand what is the matter.

she takes responsibility, but is not able to cope with it.

Curly

situation is almost the same as with Anya. we can feel sorry for Curly as much as we want, but the fact that he is not coping with his responsibility is obvious. Curly is the captain, he should be aware of everything that is happening on the ship. including what happens between employees. he's responsible for all of them, which is what jimmy reminds him of. and no, we can't justify his unstable mental state, because if you feel bad, if you stop coping, then you need to talk about it, and Curly doesn't do that.

this crew should not have existed at all (It's amazing they haven't been fired before), but Curly continues to turn a blind eye to the strange behavior of his friend, to a nurse with no education and to an alcoholic mechanic. he puts his pity for them above the responsibility he bears, and this is his mistake.

Jimmy

is the character that almost the entire fandom hates. yes, Jimmy is a vivid example of a man who is not ready to take responsibility (although he tries very hard, imagining himself to be a captain). he is the extreme in the question. Jimmy's problem is not that he is a bad person, but that he is a coward. Jimmy is not responsible for his actions, he is trying to avoid the consequences. and it is precisely because he is constantly trying to avoid them that he is pulling himself down more and more, committing one terrible act after another.

Jimmy thinks that "taking responsibility" means fixing the situation. although in fact, in his case, this means realizing his mistakes and feeling all their consequences for himself.

unfortunately, he only realizes this at the end, when he apologizes to Curly and for the first time admits to himself that he is to blame.

because of the violence Jimmy is committing, it's hard for us to look at the whole picture. But in fact, all members of this crew must take responsibility and feel its burden

[tarysande]

ADHD

I had ADHD for over thirty years before it was diagnosed, and part of the reason why it took so long is because a few specific things absolutely did not resonate with me. At all. And I saw them listed as "symptoms" of ADHD ALL THE TIME.

So, I thought I'd write up a quick list in case it helps someone else out there see past the stereotypes that are too often used as diagnostics.

ADHDers struggle with reading/words/speech etc.

ADHDers have a history of poor grades or attention at school.

ADHDers have a history of drug and/or alcohol abuse.

ADHDers can't sit still.

And how did I differ?

I read constantly. In fact, one might say I HYPERFOCUS on reading. I would rather read information than listen to it. (Reason #1 that I just can't get into podcasts!) The problem has never been reading--it's stopping reading. I'm a professional writer and editor with a background in acting. Words have never been a problem. Do some ADHDers struggle with words? Hell, yeah. Do ALL ADHDers struggle with words? Nope. Not even close. (PS: A lot of ADHDers who struggle with words may actually also have other learning struggles, such as dyslexia. ADHD loooooves a comorbidity!)

This is still SUCH a persistent myth. Even the psychologist who diagnosed me was hesitant because I had stellar grades all through my education. The more research they do, however, the more they realize that other things (autism, giftedness, etc.) can actually mask or mitigate the "typical" symptoms of ADHD that lead to it being diagnosed at school. And if you're an ADHDer who, say, hyperfocuses on learning (because it's cool! and you learn new things all the time!), or who has developed extremely effective coping mechanisms (perfectionism, people-pleasing, etc.), or who deliberately sticks to "safe" subjects to avoid challenge and possible failure, grades are NOT a good measure of ADHD. (Look into what it means to be "twice exceptional"--you may find a list of traits that resonates a lot more!)

ADHDers are out there looking for anything that'll give them a dopamine hit. Boredom is deadly. And the mix of novelty-seeking and low inhibition can often result in risky behavior. However, this can manifest in many, many ways. Drugs, alcohol, sexual partners? None of that was relevant to me. Spending, however? Especially spending money I didn't have on things I didn't need just to feel that itty bitty thrill of OOH SOMETHING NEW! ... yeah, that was a real problem. But not one I usually saw on those symptom lists, even though ADHD+finances can result in HUGE and life-altering problems.

Even bearing in mind that there are different presentations of ADHD--and that inattentive is one of them--ADHD does NOT always present as physical restlessness. Often, mental restlessness--racing thoughts, daydreaming, distractability, inability to "turn off your brain" to get enough sleep--slips through the diagnostic cracks and can be FAR more disruptive to one's health and happiness. And, again, many ADHDers develop coping mechanisms that can end up being very unhealthy or unsustainable in the long term. (I keep my ADHD in my thumb, for example. I can be perfectly still for a long, long time. However, my right thumb fidgets almost constantly. It's weird. Now that I've noticed it, I can't unsee it.)

I guess what I'm saying is ... nothing is set in stone where ADHD is concerned, so don't be afraid to dig deeper, especially if some aspects hit hard. Exploration is a good thing. Questioning is a good thing.

[fonulyn]

*slides in here* I hear you have a problem/dislike when people give Leon alcoholism in their portrayals of him and would like to hear more about your thoughts on this. I usually think of him as someone who struggles with it solely because in the original re2, he misses his first day in Raccoon City because he was too drunk/hungover, or so I've been told. That's the main reason I think he struggles with alcoholism, and seeing him drinking get put on screen in every adaptation just further solidifies the idea to me. Tell me everything you think?

okay so first of all, the thing is, being an alcoholic and sometimes drinking, or even sometimes using alcohol as a bad coping mechanism, are not the same thing. not by a long shot. and there is literally nothing suggesting that Leon can't function without alcohol or that he does that continuously all the time. having a drink after a rough mission or a rough day at work? i think he's deserved one. and I think people jumping from an adult having a drink to alcoholism without a second thought is too damn extreme.

he missed one day of work because he was hungover. it's just not enough data to draw from to say he does so with any sort of regularity. he was also 21, and who hasn't made shitty decisions at 21? dude just went through a bad breakup cut him some slack lol.

secondly! how much does he actually drink?

he doesn't drink in re4. he doesn't drink in re6. he doesn't drink in Degeneration. he doesn't drink in Infinite Darkness. and I only saw Death Island once but I don't think he drank in that one either. (he drinks water in Darkside Chronicles :'D do we count that?) and even in re2 his drinking is only mentioned in the og backstory. so saying his drinking is put on screen in every adaptation is exaggerating it a lot.

he has like one sip from a flask in Damnation and then a shot at the end, so I'm hesitant to even count that. he only gets drunk in Vendetta and the og re2 backstory so... twice. his alcohol usage is probably more sensible than mine :'D in Vendetta he also made sure that he was on vacation, tucked away from everyone else, so he could get drunk in peace, which is like the most responsible way to do it. so his drinking has only ever negatively impacted his life in ...the og re2 backstory when he was 21 and just went through a bad breakup.

also! to be clear! i am not saying people can't make a work of fiction and make him an alcoholic there! I've done it too! if it's the story you want to tell then don't let anything stop you. that's the beauty of fanworks, you get artistic freedom lol.

what I have a problem with is people claiming Leon canonically is an alcoholic and anyone who disagrees is flat out wrong. and people who claim it often don't even seem to realize that sometimes drinking =/= alcoholism.

i'm very tired so idk if this covered everything lol but here's at least a summary of it.

[alyssasmaddworld]

there's this level of dissociation that goes hand in hand with daydreaming and i feel like it's something i wouldn't know how to begin explaining to somebody who's anti-endo.

maladaptive daydreaming is not inherently caused by trauma. it's considered something you use to cope with it. but for a LOT of people, and as confirmed in multiple studies, it is a dissociative disorder. there's even a level of plurality with it.

you have these people in your head, and you cant destroy them. a lot of them can feel like REAL people. you create worlds, plot lines, and you connect with these characters in a way where they slowly become their own being. their own person. how is this ANY different from being plural?

the answer is: it's really not. if you view plural as synonymous with systemhood then maybe i can see why you'd have a problem with the phrasing, but based off of the actual definitions of plural, maladaptive daydreaming fits the criteria.

the next issue that people tend to have with maladaptive daydreaming being considered plural is that maladaptive daydreaming isn't its own disorder. but something doesnt need to be a disorder for it to be significant in the mental health industry.

a common "rebuttle" of endogenic systems is that they "appropriate" other cultures, but what most people making this argument fail to realize is that, this is HOW culture works. western culture is actively affected by the cultures of other areas. do you genuinely believe that theres not a single Buddhist in america practicing tulpulmacy? that this is SOLELY a non-western phenomenon? then why is "traditional traumagenic" mentioned at all, and not JUST traumagenic?

but there are articles that talk about the importance of listening to the internet, and the words they've cultivated. something i've been told is irrelevant because "an endo made that word" IS BEING heard by therapists all across the globe, not just in america.

"the reader is reminded that culture is dynamic rather than static, meaning that just as our understanding of the online community is different today than it was twenty years ago, this will continue to shift and evolve into the future as well"

things CHANGE. research ADVANCES. and with that, we also know that maladaptive daydreaming is BEYOND VALID on the dissociative spectrum. it has ALWAYS been there, it just wasn't considered a disordered behavior before the 2000s.

on top of this, there's a study that further affirms it's place in the endogenic sphere specifically.

despite this, her brain scans showed "great activity in the ventral striatum, the part of the brain that lights up when an alcoholic is shown images of a martini. Frankly it was super strong"

this means she isn't just mind wandering. mind wandering is what people THINK daydreaming is.

"Mind wandering refers to the occurrence of thoughts that are not tied to the immediate environment—thoughts that are not related to a given task at hand"

mind wandering lights up the Default Mode Network side of the brain, the DMN. the DMN controls Autobiographical information, Memories of collection of events and facts about one's self, Self-reference, Referring to traits and descriptions of one's self.

maladaptive daydreaming has its own dissociative absorption, and it affects the brain differently than mind wandering. it's a proper form of dissociation.

and..would you look at that?? spiritual practices are mentioned. i wonder which endogenic system that reminds me of! (much love to sophie!). it's just further credence towards the fact that non-traumatic systems can exist. why else would maladaptive be on the spectrum, honestly?

trauma doesn't CAUSE maladaptive daydreaming. trauma doesnt cause dissociative absorption. they are ALL coping mechanisms as a way to deal with whatever trauma may be going on-- or it can literally be a choice in the sense that you can actively choose to get absorbed into a book, or how you choose to maladaptive daydream. you can let it interfere with your life and become debilitating and disordered (because sometimes people dont WANT to change) but this doesnt mean it's traumatic.

with all this being said, how is this not a valid presentation of plurality?

[icedmatchatae]

Glimpse of Us | KTH Chapter VII: The True Reality

Pairing: Problematic Idol Taehyung x Grad Student Reader

Genre: Idol AU, Ex-Childhood Best Friends into—, Angst (Hello, welcome to my angst central), Fluff (mainly in the flashbacks), Slow Burn, Eventual Smut

Summary: BTS’s V has been living a lavished and successful lifestyle, but underneath all of that, Kim Taehyung is far from the perfect image the media and fans made him out to be. All he wants is to relive the feelings of happiness and purpose in his life, but how can he when he left behind those memories years ago? The same memories, he hopes to see a glimpse of.

Warning: This chapter is HEAVY ANGST (basically trauma dumping), unhealthy coping mechanism (alcohol use), descriptions of financial instability, illness (a loved one has it), lying/deception, verbal fighting (manipulation?gaslighting?), unhealthy relationship (both in and out of the flashbacks), implied smut, semi-sexual themes, I kinda just wanna hug both of them, kenji is the real one rn :D, but damnnn just wait for the ending

Word Count: 13.3k

A/N: tbh writing this chapter was a little hard if I remember lol, only because of how I wanted to structure the timelines and the back and forth. It ended differently and I added to it, but I hope you enjoy it!! Feedback and comments are appreciated ❣️

Chapter VII: The True Reality || Series Masterlist

Sounds of scraping and dragging from your heels crashing alongside the rundown concrete ripped through the cooling midnight. With your phone in one hand and your bag in another, you tried to navigate through the city to make your way back to your apartment.

What was uncalled for was not realizing you were on the other side of the city and away from your destination. Of course, you were. Taehyung took you to an enriched area, safer to say the least. Nevertheless, it took you almost an hour by bus and train to reach where you lived, a more cryptic and hostile part of the city.

Walking up through the entrance, you glanced up at your apartment complex. It stayed on a shallow hill and was constructed with old red and white bricks, probably built over forty years ago. When you first moved in, the majority of your neighbors were the elderly but they yelled behind closed doors and all had petrifying little dogs barking. There were some younger ones, but none below 30. At one point when you left for school, a woman chased her half-naked husband out of their home with a frying pan. Paint peeled off the lobby walls, dirtied floors, and dark markings you didn’t even want to know, rusted mailboxes on one side, some trash left on the other. 

At the very least, this was one of the more secure buildings on this block, having decent front locks, a code entrance, and a visible working elevator. Once you entered inside, you got onto the lift and pressed your floor button twice, because if you didn’t, it wouldn’t have worked properly.

You reached your door and closed it behind you while triple locking it to ensure your own safety. You mundanely scanned the humble abode that was your home. Surprisingly or in this case, an old lady neighbor who snooped at your apartment when you were moving, said you had the better spaces in the building. It used to belong to some guy who had problems, her words not yours. You politely ended that conversation, not wanting to know anything else.

Your apartment was still empty after settling down for months. The only few pieces of furniture besides your bed and dresser were the futon table right in the middle of your living room and the floor lamp. You didn’t even buy it; you found it on the side of the street as it was being thrown away. But it still looked brand new, so you took it in.

You headed towards the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water. Afterward, you sat on the wooden floor, settling down at the table. Exhaling, you slouched onto the cool surface. You stared blankly at the half-filled glass, processing what has happened to you.

Though you calmed yourself down when you rode the bus, you were still upset about what Taehyung almost did. He professed your appearance, didn’t agree to your compliments of his girlfriend, and forgot he even had one for a split second as he tried to kiss you. Just thinking about made you grunt in fury, slamming down a fist onto the table causing the glass and furniture to tremble on the impact.

You thought, you really thought that your friendship was starting to revive and thrive for the better. Now you’re definitely uncertain. It scared you because you don’t think Taehyung was ever like that before. Not once did he try anything. Again, he was a physically affectionate person but you’d think there would be boundaries with it if you had a significant other, right?

You were perplexed, wondering what the fuck is he doing. Maybe this was something new about him, a changed person? But yet, it wasn’t right to do and Taehyung would have known that too. Why was he about to ruin a perfectly stable relationship with Clara? It doesn’t make sense. 

However, as you pondered on it for a while and in the comfort of your home, there were certain speculations that you found that seemed questionable of their relationship. For starters, Taehyung never mentioned anything about a girlfriend until his members brought it up at the restaurant. Even then, he still didn’t talk about her to you, not even her name.

Every time you saw him and Clara together, the proclaimed physically affectionate Taehyung was nowhere to be found. When outside in public was given, but from Jungkook’s party, they linked arms and she’d lean on his shoulder but that was it. Nothing was coming from his end. Before you went out with him earlier today, he didn’t even kiss or hug her goodbye. It confused you because you watched him do that to his members, friends, and even you despite your rough edges of his touching.

Finally, for now, just an hour ago, your eyes focused on his phone when he received messages. It may be due to his idol status and to hide his personal life, but his device held no signs of Clara or being in a relationship with her. No change of her display name, no Lock Screen photo of them together, and certainly constant messaging back and forth on both ends.

Not once did Taehyung take his phone out throughout the day. If he did so, it was to take pictures before putting his device back into his pocket. You wondered what consisted of their relationship, what was really happening between the two, and maybe that was how they worked. He was an idol and she was a socialite after all, both in the world of media, famous for different reasons, yet a closet powerhouse couple. It was practically the perfect relationship everyone wanted.

It was all so unusual because you heard many remarkable things about them together. They were strong, in love as their eyes told it all, they were even living together!

Rumors of them getting married sparked among their close circle.

Your conscious made you feel guilty. Perhaps even thinking about it too much. Why were you putting your nose into something that wasn’t even about you? You were nothing, which should stay that way. You learned that the hard way and it left a pungent taste in your mouth when a gruesome snippet played in your mind. If you were to be something, it would be a nuisance that ruined the perfect relationship of society because of the attempt Taehyung made.

Thinking back, you were mean to him, ending the on/off friendship again of something minuscule from an outsider’s perspective. But you had to give yourself a little bit of credit because what if it happened again? You know, him begging for your forgiveness, you accepting it, and it repeats. Perhaps next time, he would have succeeded. You didn’t want to risk it. It wasn’t right to him, to Clara, and most definitely to you.

The only way to keep it from happening was to remain distant once again. Maybe getting too close was a sign. Rumors would spread and be twisted as the spiderwebs of communication get tangled by misjudgment and severe impressions. You didn’t want anyone else to interpret your relationship with him in such a way.

Then again, no one ever understood your bond with him. Not before, and most likely not now either. 

-

Taehyung slammed his car door shut before hitting the steering wheel out of frustration. Did he really just let you go like that? He didn’t know where you would be, if you got home, if you were okay. All he knew was that he pissed you off and your friendship was probably nonexistent with your words. He was ashamed of himself, why did he do that?

It came out of nowhere, even shocking him at the moment too. He just—when he looked at you, everything felt so right in his shitty life. All his troubles would go away, knowing that you were there. You stared at him like how you did when you were younger, he must have traveled back in time to when his teenage self found out that he was in love with you.

What a simpler yet scary experience that must have been for him. All he worried about was how much he was head over heels for you, but he never confessed. Not even when he left for Seoul and sure as hell, not after all those years. He kept this secret only to himself. No one knew and probably never will.

But he realized he slipped on that one, both parties not expecting that. Where was he going with this? He still wanted your friendship, which mattered to him the most even back then. He never wanted to ruin it, but he probably has now.

Why did he do that? After he ended the friendship on a whim, he constantly thought about you and missed you a lot. Years and years of thinking didn’t vanish even when he started dating Clara. You were literally in his life for more than half of his life.

Maybe it was longing, wanting you back into his life. But he finally got you! Well before he fucked up. So why did he try to kiss you?

Ugh, he wiped the excess distressed tears off his eyes and cheeks. Now he really wished for your forgiveness. He messed up in the past and he managed to have redemption. Perhaps your patience ran thinner, and you “not acknowledging his status of best friend” probably forced him to be kept on his toes. You had to show him that he couldn’t keep fucking up like he used to.

He looked over to the passenger’s seat and spotted your peace lily plant. Oh, how the night changed so fast.

He wanted to make things right, but he couldn’t do it now. He had to keep his distance, so you wouldn’t snap.

Still, he thought about how he let his stupidity get in the way, hating himself. He loathed this feeling, he needed to stop thinking about it because it would only get worse. He needed to get away from everything.

-

“Taehyung?” Seojoon croaked, rubbing his slumbered eyes to take a glimpse of his younger friend. He woke up when the idol called saying he was outside. He was too spaced out to even question, so he padded his way toward the entrance. Taehyung went inside before the actor closed and locked the door. The older man wiped his bare face with his hands, letting out a sigh. “The fuck are you doing here?”

“I need a drink with my Hyung.” Knowing the layout of his friend’s one-story house, he strutted into the kitchen and searched through his cabinets for his alcohol stash. Seojoon was known to have variety in his liquors, which he took pride in, but that also meant free drinks for his friends every time they came over.

He found a half-empty bottle of whiskey in the cupboard. Being the thoughtful friend that he was, he picked it up and twisted the cap off before downing it. The burning sensation dragged inside his throat passed his intestines and reached his stomach acids. He burped heavily after clearing the bottle and settling it on the kitchen island to grab another drink.

“Hey, you know you have your limits here.” Seojoon reminded as he grabbed the unopened whiskey from the idol. Taehyung didn’t even fight back but watched him retrieve two old-fashioned crystal glasses from his cabinets. There he poured the syrup-hued content into the cups, then offered the idol one.

They cheered the drinks together before taking a strong sip. “Why’d you come here? It’s almost two in the morning. You’re lucky I don’t have an early schedule in the morning.”

“Hyung, I fucked up.” Taehyung groaned as he tasted the liquor on his tongue.

Unlike his members and especially Jimin, Taehyung felt very comfortable with his friends to the point where he can really be himself and not have to worry about it and what they say. Think of the members as family. You couldn’t choose your family, but you can choose your friends.

It was easy to tell Seojoon, the eldest and played the role of the father of their group. He was more forgiving than his older Hyungs, still caring, still understanding of Taehyung’s perspective yet stern. But when the idol told him about what recently happened, the actor cocked his eyebrow up with concern.

“Why’d you do that?” Seojoon questioned.

“I don’t know…” Taehyung muttered as he swirled the content of his cup around. “It was all unexpected. But she stopped it.”

“Well, that’s good. Otherwise, you’d be a cheater, Tae, and we wouldn’t want that.” The older man said seriously, yet Taehyung lets out an airy laugh before gulping more alcohol. His reaction made him curious. “Why’d you laugh?”

“Ahhh, nothing. Probably the alcohol getting to me.” Taehyung snickered, brushing it off too quickly for Seojoon’s liking. But the older one decided to let it go for now.

“Would you have wanted her to stop it?”

“Huh, what do you mean?”

“How about this?” Seojoon piped as he squinted his eyes in wonder. “If she didn’t back away, and you two kissed, what do you think it’ll mean? What does this say about your friendship with her now?”

What would have happened if he actually kissed you? “I-I-I don’t know.”

Expecting that answer, the actor sighed. “Then you’re lucky, she slapped the shit out of you.” He grimaced as he stared at the inflamed marking on his swollen cheek.

“Yeah, but Hyung, our friendship is basically destroyed now. Knowing her reaction, don’t you think it’d be a lose-lose situation whether or not it happened?” Taehyung’s thoughts were in shambles with alcohol fluffing up his brain.

“It’s better than not knowing.” Seojoon vaguely explained, but somehow it applied to all contexts. “Look, if anything, it’d be worse on the other end because you’d hurt a lot more people, i.e. you, Clara, and ___. It just sucks for you that ___’s still the one that’ll hurt in either case.”

Taehyung exhaled before chugging down the whiskey. He had a nasty shiver down his spine, while Seojoon observed with a scowl. “Do you think she meant it when our friendship is over? She never smacked me before either.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know her that well.” Seojoon honestly responded, making Taehyung pout. “But judging by the times I met her, I think she was spiteful at the moment. She seems…very forgiving, especially towards you. I mean, technically you are the closest person to her in Seoul besides that coworker. If you say it was an honest mistake, then maybe she’ll understand.”

They were met with silence, basking in the conversation. Taehyung poured himself another drink, as the alcohol rapidly got to him. He hoped Seojoon was right, but he feared otherwise. It was difficult to understand when he doesn’t truly know how you felt about him. You still held this weird distance despite his attempts. He wasn’t able to fully engage himself in the friendship if you didn’t reciprocate back and he wanted you to so badly.

“I don’t suppose you’re leaving anytime soon.” Seojoon huffed. “I refuse for you to drive wasted. God knows what happened the last time, you’re lucky you didn’t get far!”

“Hey, I crashed into your mailbox. It wasn’t that bad!”

“Still! I don’t even know how you stole the keys from me.” Seojoon shook his head in disappointment. “But go to the guest room! Sleep the drunk off and maybe get a cab in the morning.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Taehyung grumbled, finishing up his whiskey. With shaking legs, he stood up and wobbled towards the room. Before he entered, Seojoon called for him.

Grabbing the idol’s attention, Seojoon said, “Just reflect on what you’re doing. I don’t know if you talk about it with your therapist and all, but please do if you aren’t. Maybe he’ll help you with how to approach ___. Also, don’t do anything that would hurt Clara.”

As soon as his back touched the sheets of the full-sized bed, Taehyung sighed. He thought about the last words Seojoon said. Don’t do anything that would hurt Clara. He scoffed at them. 

Yeah, yeah. Everything had to be done to stop her from hurting. Never him.

-

Staring into the bathroom mirror, you stayed restless. You couldn’t sleep at all last night, resulting in the bags and dark circles around your lifeless eyes. The sun wasn’t even out yet and came later in the day due to the changing of the seasons. You wanted to punch yourself for registering for an 8 AM on a Monday, but there was no other choice since it was the only course topic available.

You indeed had a long day ahead of you. Fortunately, you had classes until noon, but that meant you started work afterward. But that was okay, you just hoped Taehyung got the picture of leaving you alone for some time or forever.

You had to at least appear less dead than you actually were. Maybe some nice earrings would help. You usually had on your necklace, but a little more wouldn’t hurt. Walking back to your bedroom, you reached for your jewelry box to grab that was gifted to you from the Kim family for Christmas when you were younger. Though you don’t talk to them anymore, the gift held a special place in your heart and memories.

When you pulled the said jewelry, the velvet cushion tugged out of the box as well. Separating the two with ease, you were about to place it back inside but something caught your eye. You hooked onto it and touched the symbol of your friendship. Worn down and faded tones over time and smaller than it used to look, you found your old friendship bracelet. The charms were still intact, yet you could see the damage made from careless bumps and scraps against surfaces and edges. Your initial charm had a small piece missing from a very heavy and infuriating throw to the wall.

You still remembered that day clearly, weeks after the last call.

You made your attempts to contact Taehyung and also waited for him to call back. But he never did. He blocked your phone and messenger, so during these times, you’ve been taking advantage of his siblings’ cell phones. You didn’t fully explain to the two what happened between you and their brother, only the fact that he wasn’t answering you anymore.

Sungyeon and Eunjeong didn’t know either, but they were willing to help you. They’d take turns giving you the phone. It hurt knowing that it rang while you got the automatic voice, but you felt that there was still hope in your friendship left. Oftentimes, it did go straight to voicemail during the day and he would call back at night when you weren’t with the siblings. You asked them to never mention your name and how you’ve tried reaching out. So all those feeble attempts were assumptions of his siblings missing him.

It was until one day after school that he finally answered your call on Eunjeong’s phone. The simple greeting of his “hello” wanted to make you cry into tears of relief, but you feared everything in between the call. You didn’t know if he needed more time away, but you missed everything about him. It has been a struggle with the distance, as well as the planning for your grandmother’s funeral. You wanted his comfort by any means. If it was through the phone of his sister, then so be it.

There was so much to be said yet no words came out of your mouth. “Hello? Hello, Jeongie? What’s up? I have a break. You good?”

Eunjeong stared widely, waiting for you to respond. She nudged your shoulder and nodded. You parted your mouth shakily before clearing your throat. “H-Hyungie. It’s me, Blue.” Then silence came after, being so loud that a dull white noise interfered. It was quite nerve-racking. You don’t know if he heard you, so you repeated. “Hyungie. It’s me—”

The dial tone met your ear. You looked back at the phone, seeing Eunjeong’s Home Screen. He ended the call before you could finish the sentence.

Your shoulders deflated into your body and you curled forward. Your body trembled as the tears began to fall off your face. Seeing you like this, Eunjeong shook her head in rage at her brother’s behavior. Regardless, she knew you needed some comfort and she was the only one to give it to you.

She looped her arms around you, rubbing your back to soothe your cries. So much has happened in your life, and Taehyung had the audacity to hurt you too? He was never harsh to you so what happened?

Suddenly her phone rang, catching the two of your attention. It was Taehyung again. Eunjeong glanced at you, shaking your head in refusal. You were scared of being rejected again.

She sighed but thought might as well answer his call. She pulled her phone to her ear and said, “What?” You couldn’t hear him very well, but you heard his shouts. “I don’t care about damn honorifics right now. Why are you being rude to ___?” Yelling again. “What? Why should I? I’m not helping you with your mess—” A sigh, then a milder response. “You can’t ju—I don’t wanna say th—” His voice was softer. “This is all on you. I don’t want her to be shunning our family from your shit.”

A quieter conversation happened between the siblings while you watched it unravel before you. You wiped your tears when you heard, “Whatever, fine. Fuck you!” Eunjeong ended the call before she threw her device onto her mattress. “Annoying asshole.” She muttered, not caring if you heard.

You tilted your head questionably as you asked, “What’d he say?”

Her pupils felt twisted as she struggled to approach what her brother wanted her to convey. It was so wrong and wanted to fight him because not once did you do anything wrong. She bit her lips as a debate broke out in her mind. She knew you weren’t going to take it well, but whoever does when your best friend wanted you out of his life.

Yet your eyes encouraged her to speak up. You were afraid, but at least you knew. You would know if he needed more time or tell you to give him more space from your smothering. It would be okay because your friendship remained intact.

But once she revealed his response, every hope, every will, your bond was shattered.

You said nothing while you nodded, feigning that you understood and agreed with the situation. Eunjeong knew that was a lie, especially with the blooming of tears spilling through your eyes. But before she could even let out a sound, you stood up and ran out of their house and to yours, the cold and empty one.

You rammed your bedroom door shut and let every emotion you suppressed consume you. Screaming, weeping, punching pillows, throwing books across the room, anything to let out the hurt within you. As you were jabbing a plush toy, your friendship bracelet grabbed your distraught attention.

It was a simple symbol of your friendship. The love, care, trust, and worth between you and him. The everlasting memories held together through the strings were crumbling down at your fingertips. Conjoined, my ass. Saying that you were stuck with him and never leaving your side. Complete bullshit. He never cared for you, you were worthless to him, with no trust in sight, and most importantly—

He didn’t love you.

You pulled the bracelet off of you and threw it as hard as you could to your white walls. A cracking noise pierced through the air, the bracelet dropped on your wooden floors holding no sentimental value.

You sunk onto your bed and just let the tears fall so painfully.

You didn’t know how it got in here. Maybe your cousin who helped you pack found it and put it in by mistake. Nevertheless, you still had the bracelet with you and in your hands.

You were honest with yourself when you say that it was difficult to throw it away. It felt like a bad omen. You kept it on for so long, it almost seemed like you were going to be buried in it. The bracelet went through so much, that it, unfortunately, held sentimental value because it was with the Taehyung you once knew.

This one you met had a few quirks here and there, but wasn’t your Taehyung, your Hyungie. He may look like him, have the same birthday, parents, siblings, all of the above, but it was still not him.

It didn’t mean you refused to understand and get to know this Taehyung, but your heart was more reluctant, afraid to open up and accept his comfort and warmth. His words weren’t as trusting, but they felt familiar. You saw him through his eyes, but they were buried underneath unspoken territories. Yes, you saw how much he has been hiding things from you and you knew that they weren’t coming out any time soon. 

But you wished for them to. You missed him so much, you wanted to grab that layer of him and run away. But you couldn’t.

If you wanted that layer, you needed to accept all layers, and you weren’t ready for that.

-

Taehyung arrived back home at five in the morning. He sobered up after taking a three-hour nap. He could still feel the alcohol in him but it wasn’t too intense, so he was functional enough to drive. He didn’t say goodbye to Seojoon and left the premises, as the actor was asleep. It happened in the past, and Seojoon knew that Taehyung got home safely with the tightening trust he unfathomably held for the younger.

The idol sneakingly stepped into his living space, hoping Clara wouldn’t notice. He attempted to be quiet as a mouse and he succeeded with the front door and locks. But once he tiptoed through the living room, he was met by surprise with his enraged girlfriend sitting on the sofa holding daggers in her eyes. She had her pink robe on and bathing house slippers on with her arms crossed.

“What the fuck, Taehyung?” She yelled through her lungs. The high-pitch sound irritated his alcohol-infused body. “I’ve been texting and calling you and not once did you fucking answer.”

“I did answer you.” He rolled his eyes, not bothering to be quiet any longer. “You knew I was out.”

“Yeah, you texted once close to fucking midnight saying you were still out!” The socialite scoffed at his weak reply. “Now it’s five in the morning and you just came home!”

“Okay, what’s the big deal? I’m fucking tired!”

“Where the fuck were you? The last time I heard from you, you were still with ___. I swear to God if you tell me—”

“Well, I’m not! I wasn’t with her. She went home on her own after that text if it makes you feel any better.” He snapped back as he threw his keys on the kitchen island. “I was with Seojoon afterward. We drank and knocked out at his place.”

“Taehyung, you drank?” Clara gasped incredulously as she stood up from her seat. God, he rolled his eyes at how dramatic she was being. “Didn’t I say not to drink too much?”

“You say it, but I don’t listen.” He responded truthfully. “What’s the big deal anyway?”

“To prevent any more scandals from happening. You know what happened the last time you got too drunk?” She recapped, the memory back in her mind. “You almost got arrested for beating someone up. You’re lucky my father kept that under the rug or else it would have exposed you.”

His face scrunched up at the horrific experience. He remembered the severe panic attack he got right after, but he didn’t even remember what the guy said, but it was along the lines of bad-mouthing him and the group. But mainly, insulting him like he knew everything about Taehyung, or in that case, V of BTS.

“Well, I was with Seojoon, happy? I was fucking safe, so stop your yelling.” He sighed, feeling the weight of exhaustion on him.

“No, I’m not happy because you were gone the entire day and I was waiting for you, so we could have dinner together.” She pouted as she stepped towards him. He stepped back when she came closer. “Here I was with my cold side order of extra japchae while you’re out and about with some other fucking chick.”

If steam came out of his nostrils, it would have shown. There she went again with her damn accusations. “My God! You even knew and saw us going out! Stop insinuating shit when nothing happens.”

“I’ll fucking stop when you finally fucking have time for me!” Clara shouted back, eyes bloodshot with stress and despair. “You’re not doing anything right for me, and it hurts when I do so much for you.” He heard sniffing coming from her nose once he spotted a stream going down her cheek. “I’ve been patient and respectful with all these interests and bullshit you’re doing, but you never do it back. Don’t you love me, Taehyung?”

His mouth opened but closed back up as he gulped. “I-I-I do.”

She snorted before rolling her eyes, “Oh, yeah? Then why did you spend the whole day with some girl?”

“She’s not some girl. She’s my best friend!”

“And I’m not your fucking girlfriend?!” She protested, grabbing him by the collar and shaking his stature. With shocked eyes, he tried to calm her down, holding her arms away from him. “Why are you doing this to me? Why are you doing other things with her? I know she’s your best friend, but she’s too pretty! I don’t like how much you’re so invested in her. I’m pretty too yet you don’t hang out with me!”

The crocodile tears started forming in her tear ducts, yet her voice was thick with madness. Now she was talking any shit that deemed her as the victim. ”And you have scandals with other idols and actresses. Why does that happen, but we can’t? Fuck, you’re so unfair, Tae! Where’s my loving and sweet boyfriend, huh? One who brings me flowers, takes me out on dates, goes above and be—”

“Stop fucking expecting so much from me!” He interjected, pushing her touch away. He leaned into the counter, creating distance. Raking through his hair, he grunted with annoyance. “You see how much of a fucking train wreck I am! My life is already hard as it is.”

“Yeah, I know how you’re a fucking train wreck and I hate how you’re so adamant about sticking by it!” The socialite sneered, disgusted at how he was acting. “But my life is also hard too! You know how difficult it is to keep this image of us. We,” She pointed at him, then herself. “Are supposed to be perfect, Taehyung.”

“Why do you care so much about how “perfect” we supposedly are?” He hated that that was a concern of hers. He gave no shits about how people thought about their relationship, but he couldn’t speak openly about it because people would get mad at him for disagreeing.

“Because we are their expectation.” She explained like it was obvious. “We’ve been together for five years, Tae! But this is more than just that! We aren’t doing anything like we used to because you’re not making any time. This is your fault! You never make me happy!”

Taehyung squirmed when the blame pointed at him. There it was again too. The guilt ate him for not doing anything right, getting sucked into the realm of ridicule. You can’t do this right, you can’t do that right. This was all his fault.

“I’m sorry.” The only thing he could say in defeat.

“You better be.” Clara wiped her face with the back of her hand. “Maybe I’m overreacting…I don’t want you to stop your friendship, but I’m getting tired of you not having time for me.”

The idol looked down at the floor, refusing to look at her sorrowful state. But he knew she tried making him look at her by grabbing a hold of his hands and gently squeezing them. “I’m s-sorry. T-There’s just been a lot right now with everything.” Her touch burned his skin, the discomfort growing with every second.

“I know, but can you at least try?” She begged, ducking down to see his eyes. “I’m fucking trying!”

Taehyung nodded silently as his teeth sunk into his lower lips. He held back so much and offered so little. Clara was always known to never back down. Her expectations of herself and their relationship were higher than they could be even reached. But knowing if he gave in, then the fighting would stop and maybe she would be satisfied.

He felt her dainty arms encircling his torso as a sign of peace, a thing that couples did after fighting and now making up. Something that worked in the past but now…not so much. With tensed arms, he carefully wrapped around her as well, tightening the hug and hoping it would all go away. 

“I love you, Taehyung.” She spoke softly, pushing her face into his shirt.

Her words contorted his face as he sucked in a sharp breath, but she never noticed. Lifting his hand, he laid it flat at the back of her head, caressing her hair. It took him a second before saying it back, “I-I love you too.” His focus was on her now, lips thinned but curved enough to resemble a shy smile.

Raising her head, Clara gazed into the syrup color that was his eyes. Her teary irises twinkled in awe at the beauty of her boyfriend who she loved with all her heart. Shutting her eyelids, she tiptoed higher to attach to his soft addicting lips. Once they meshed, the electricity of passion coursed through her body. He tasted like alcohol, whiskey to be exact, yet it tasted like his musk and tinge of cinnamon spreading in her mouth. It has been so long since they’d kissed like this and she only wanted more.

She pressed herself onto him, holding onto the collar of his shirt. Caught by surprise, Taehyung took a step back, hitting the edge of the counter and then narrowing his hands onto her hips. Her tongue swiped through his lips, begging him to let her in. Though reluctant, the idol accepted the action and the muscles swirled against one another.

The socialite parted away to whisper, “More, Tae. More.”

He knew this was going to happen at some point, despite his constant avoidance. But after what happened, he couldn’t dodge it any longer. His heart palpitated in agitation as he nodded once again, “I’ll give you what you want.” Then their lips touched before they ran and tangled up in their bed in their apartment.

-

“Taehyung, you’re late again,” Namjoon informed as he checked his watch, then at his heaving younger member before him.

“Sorry, I-I forgot how much time passed.” Taehyung apologized as he stabilized his breathing with his hands on his hips. But the leader held a stern stare with a clenched jaw.

“Let’s not worry about that right now. Bang PD-nim is waiting for us.” Seokjin interjected to ease some tension. “We’re all here, and all good so let’s go.”

After partnering with the Na Group conglomerate, Big Hit hosted their first stakeholder’s event near the company building with the rise of BTS’s popularity nationwide and gaining more international exposure. There have been rumors of them potentially getting invited to the Billboard Music Awards Show next year as well as a nomination, but it was too early to tell.

Being the only active group of the company, BTS was invited—but more like involuntarily told—to come to show their appreciation to the now sponsors of Big Hit. It wasn’t something they preferred since it was meeting new people but had to go to show face at the very least.

An hour into the event, while the older members were socializing with the esteemed guests, the younger ones were a bit bored and sat down at a table in the corner of the banquet. Taehyung, especially, was not only tired but not feeling it. He was the last one to get ready as he was the last one to get up out of bed despite the event being at night. He came home last night close to noon after an NDA encounter, which wasn’t all that new to the idol and the other members. But if anything, he had the most but almost never remembered their faces.

The members haven’t explicitly spoken about it to him but ever since Taehyung became an adult, he hasn’t been…doing so well. The older ones specifically Namjoon and Yoongi assumed that it was just a blue transitional period of his life, but got too excessive with the drinking, one-night stands, and fights. But not with the members, fights with random people, yet still it was difficult to keep that away from the media. If he turned to fighting with members, then that would cause problems, right?

Anyways, he hasn’t been himself and it has been a growing concern. Jimin always worried for his best friend, as Taehyung was the least expectant to take on this spiral. He would usually talk enthusiastically and do things playfully and passionately, especially when they were trainees. Although for a good year after BTS debuted, Taehyung also had a rough time and felt down. None of them knew what happened, apart from the falling out of his childhood friend back home but didn’t think much of it…well, except for Jimin.

Your friendship with Taehyung was always questionable to him. Not in a bad way, it was different, to say the least. He never met you, only heard your voice. But the mannerisms Taehyung gave out were not what a best friend would do. Because what kind of best friend whines about missing your cuddles?

Either way, Taehyung always denied that you were nothing more than a best friend and eventually Jimin gave up. But when his friend continues acting out after being a dumbass and never contacting you again even after almost four years later, the question comes out every so often.

Jimin and Jungkook tried their best into helping their member out, but nothing seemed to work. Seokjin and Hoseok suggested new hobbies…but that, unfortunately, took the wrong track with the NDA collections and drinking. The members faced a wall, unable to come up with a better way to help him.

But then in the corner of his eyes, Jungkook spotted something particular. Or rather felt eyes watching their table. Subtly sensing the direction, the youngest spotted a young lady staring. She was by all means one of the prettiest visuals to see, absolutely breathtaking. Not really the youngest’s type, but nice to look at nonetheless.

However, though he felt her gaze all over, it wasn’t necessarily directed toward him. She was completely oblivious to Jungkook. He followed her eyes, which then landed on the second youngest, Kim Taehyung, himself. But he ignored his setting completely, reading a manga chapter on his phone.

Jungkook’s pupils went back to the girl and she was still keeping them on Taehyung. Jimin kept himself occupied with a flute glass of champagne while people watching at its finest. And at that moment, the youngest had a splendid idea that changed Taehyung’s life completely.

“Taehyungie Hyung,” Jungkook called over while he kept his eyes on her.

“What?” Taehyung muttered as he scrolled through his device.

“Th-There’s a girl staring at you.”

“I’m not in the mood to fuck someone right now. I have a really bad hangover.” The idol bluntly said.

“Tae, you know someone could stare without the idea of sleeping with them.” Jimin joined in the conversation.

“And how was the success rate of that?” Taehyung retorted, ultimately putting his phone down to look at the two. “Probably zero.”

Jimin pursed his lips, accepting the correct answer but he decided to not let it get to him. Instead, he ignored his friend’s reply and turned to Jungkook. “Who’s this chick?”

He tried his best to be undetected, but Jungkook was never good at that. The youngest pointed directly at her, which ultimately caught her attention. All three of them followed his finger, finding the young girl. Within seconds, her eyes bulged out and her lips parted before her back towards them.

“You know you’re a dumbass sometimes, right?” Jimin sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. “And don’t fucking point! It’s rude!” He slapped Jungkook’s shoulder, but it made no effect on him. “Do you also not know who she is?”

“Are we?”

“That’s literally Na Clara! She’s a socialite and the daughter of the Na family!” Jimin answered as if they were supposed to know. “Her dad is part of the reason why we’re here! So she could meet us because she’s a fan.”

“A fan she may be, but her eyes were googly eyes for Hyung over there.” Jungkook nodded over to the mundane Taehyung.

Taehyung rolled his eyes and said, “Whatever, not like it matters.”

Jimin squinted at his best friend, then scanned the room for the lady. Once he found her, her eyes were back on Taehyung. Lifting a brow, an interested smirk crept up onto his lips. “Tae, why don’t you talk to her?”

“No, thanks. Don’t want to get into trouble with daddy’s little girl and her money.” Taehyung barely looked her way, but he knew that he didn’t feel good about her.

“Come on, Hyung! It’s a perfect opportunity.” Jungkook suggested, leaning closer to Jimin who was in the middle of the trio.

“Perfect opportunity for what?” Another voice appeared, it was Yoongi’s. The rest of the members came back and sat, completing the group table.

“Na Clara is looking at Taehyung,” Jimin responded, earning a glare at his same-aged member. “She probably likes him. She’s still staring, you know.”

“Wow, Clara?” Namjoon gasped. “PD-nim said she’s a big fan of ours too!”

“She’s pretty too.” Seokjin acknowledged.

“Taehyung, why don’t you talk to her?” Hoseok too recommended.

“Why are you all so adamant on me talking to her?” Taehyung sighed, feeling somewhat pressured. “I’m not interested in her anyway…”

“Come on, you don’t know that.” Jimin countered, nudging him on his side. ”Maybe it’ll be nice, you know? A good change from your hookups.”

“Excuse me? I ha—”

“Tae,” Jimin lowered his voice. He looked around, observing the rest of the group staring back in a suggestive way. He peered back at his stubborn friend.

Taehyung sighed, trying his best not to blow up at his friend. “Chim, hook up or not. I don’t think it’s a good idea—”

“I just want you to find change. We want you to find good change.” Jimin disclosed, being honest with how the group was respectively feeling for him. “You’re spiraling and it’s not good.” With that, Taehyung stayed quiet and bit his lips nervously. Yes, he was absolutely aware of what he was doing but he never bothered to change. “You’re not doing anything bad! We just…don’t know what would happen in the long run.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Taehyung sighed and blinked. “And you think me talking to the socialite would help? Her staring’s not gonna change my life.”

“Okay, I didn’t want to do this,” Jimin muttered before leaning into Taehyung. His lips were near his ear as he whispered, “You haven’t been yourself since you and ___ stopped talking.”

Taehyung swore his heart dropped, skipped a beat, and ached at the mention of your name. It has been so long since your fight and not once did he ever apologize or call back. He didn’t know how you were doing, what has life been like for you, or even if you missed him because he did. He missed you so so so so much.

But wondering if you missed him might be pushing it after what he did, calling you needy and never wanting to talk to you. He still regretted saying that to this day. He knew those words were hurtful and sensitive towards you. Nevertheless, he thought about you almost every day. After almost four years, you graduated high school and probably went to college like you’ve always wanted to. But all he could do is assume and wonder.

He still loves you very much, and hopelessly too. Despite all these one-night stands, he never cuddled, never hugged, never looked their way, nothing but sexual pleasure really and to get his mind off the gutter temporarily. If he did do those things, he dreamt it with only you, his Blue. Recapping all the times he had you in his arms tightly while you slept soundly on his chest, it pained him every day to know you weren’t there anymore. And without you, he vowed never to do it with anyone else.

“What about her?” Taehyung questioned, suppressing the sadness of the loss of you.

“It’s been years, Tae. If you’re not talking to her, then you should move on.” Jimin explained, but Taehyung shook his head. “Maybe this isn’t about her, but still. You should do something.”

He’ll never admit it, but Jimin was right about you and what he was going through. He felt a bit stuck in his past, but it was only because of how happy he was when he was with you. Everything after you seemed boring, stagnant, and numb to his fast-paced lifestyle and career. He didn’t feel like he was growing as a person, just being a human who was being told what to do and say. Kinda like right now.

But Jimin had a point. He has been not feeling much with his life. The NDAs and constant drinking weren’t doing much for him besides a temporary fix. Change may be what he needed.

He glanced to the side and saw Clara, who was surprisingly talking to someone else. She was pretty and fairly approachable. Could this be the change he needed? Someone that wasn’t you? Of course, no one could replace you but still. He hasn’t even thought of talking to anyone else as he did with you. He doesn’t think he could do it. But with this sudden urge from his members to go for it, he seemed to be outnumbered with his choices. His members meant well, so maybe. But none of them ever knew how he truly felt when you were out of his life.

Yet he second-guessed himself. Being encouraged or rather forced by his group members, it seemed that it was inevitable for him to avoid meeting and talking to Clara. Seokjin jokingly suggested settling down with her, which Taehyung found repulsive but laughed it off fake-happily.

Once Taehyung stood up from his seat and walked towards Clara, her sparkling eyes found his nervous yet sad ones. He greeted and introduced himself to her and she did the same back. To his dismay, they had a filling and fruitful conversation for so long that they didn’t realize that the event was about to end. But he couldn’t help but compare her to you. You were different, in appearance and aura. Clara seemed confident in herself but had a people please vibe. She didn’t look all that genuine in his eyes but still seemed nice in a passive-aggressive way. 

She was nice to talk to, but that seemed it for Taehyung. Clara, however, wanted to see him again and asked for his number. Reluctantly, the idol accepted, reminding himself of what the members said. It happened all too fast that he couldn’t remember what they even talked about. But little did he know how important it was for them to be together and the relationship that would flourish for years, to the point where there were talks of marriage. 

Yet the thought of you floated in the back of his mind.

-

A loud bang on the table you sat at interrupted the peaceful break that you used up to take a quick nap. “Howdy, partner!”

Raising your head from your arms used as a cushion, eyes readjusted to the lighting and blinked until the sight was visible to you. It was a weak sight since you only saw Kenji bugging you once again. “Why are you in a bright-ass mood all the time?”

Kenji joined in and sat across. “Well, one of us has to when the bright bubbly worker is a cold stoic fiend right now.” You scowled at your coworker before getting back to sleep in your final minutes. The younger observed you, looking more tired and weak today than before. You’ve gotten better with your habits lately, so it was worrisome to see you like this. He hoped it was only an off day today and that you weren’t back on a self-destructive cycle again. “You good, ___? Never had enough sleep?”

Sighing, you knew you weren’t going back to napping. You pulled your chin up from your sleeping position and rested on the tops of your forearm to look at him. “Yeah, had a little trouble last night so it resulted in this.”

“Family doing okay?” He referred to your circumstances back home.

You sighed, yet felt surprised that was the least of your problems…well, today that is. It was only because you somehow managed to pay the medical bills on time this past Saturday. “Grandpa is…getting by.” You scrunched your nose at the thought of him. He nodded, understanding his condition but couldn’t fathom what you were going through. 

Ever since your grandmother passed away unexpectedly, he has been working harder to provide for both of you. He worked restlessly in the fields from sunrise until sunset while you picked up everything in the household. You’d help him on the weekends but worked at the shop and other menial jobs around the town for some extra earnings after school. Since you were a minor, you weren’t allowed to have a steady job so everything was under the table.

Your family wasn’t as financially stable but kept a roof and food on the table for you. Your grandparents were somewhat retired, yet kept to themselves in their farming. After the passing of your parents, their life insurance money was used to support you and your needs. Of course, the numbers decreased as you got older, and by the time you graduated high school, there was little left to support you through college in Geochang.

You even contemplated not pursuing college and continuing with family farming, but your grandfather convinced you not to as it wasn’t something you loved. He knew you and he would regret it years later, so without talking to you first, he took out loans for you to pay for the rest of your college. But he lied in the beginning and said it was money saved on the side by him and your grandmother for you for emergencies.

You believed him, so you agreed and went to college all without knowing. You even graduated and had a steady job before going back to school, and he still didn’t tell you. However, it was only when you were about to leave for Seoul, he collapsed on the ground during lunch and went unconscious.

You rushed him to the hospital where you found out that not only has he been keeping the loan payments from you but also his health was declining and been growing weaker by the second. That morning was a trigger that caused him to be bedridden in the hospital even after you left.

You were livid with emotions and couldn’t comprehend what was happening as it came all at once. So you straight up broke down and cried in the middle of the hospital room while your grandfather’s nurse, Moobin, tried his best to calm you down. You were upset about everything, even refusing to move now that you found out about the truth. But the main thing that you had to do was help and care for your grandfather regardless of how you felt about your hometown.

You took on so many roles on the farm, at home, and when you visit the hospital. You were on the brink of exhaustion, but all of that was taken away from you by your other family relatives willing to help you both out.

Even without the labor, you had to think about the loans you now had to pay off. Half of your savings wasn’t even enough to cover at least 15% of how much you owed. Don’t forget about the lovely interest! Fortunately, it was on pause when the loaners found out that you were going back to school.

But then there were your grandfather’s medical bills. You had the responsibility of paying them off and helping him as he stayed at the hospital, too weak to be self-sufficient. Though your grandfather always told you not to worry about the money, you still did, even to this day. Both of your grandparents never wanted you to worry about their grown-up problems, to the point where they were always discreet and kept things from you. But you had the habit of overhearing, wanting to take ease and weight off their shoulders for how much they’ve done for you. Again, they reminded you that you were their child and needed to be raised, not raise them, but your need to assist remained. They worked hard for you, so the least you could do the same back.

You had a few family members from another farming providence move to Geochang and were willing to help with the farm, house, and grandfather, which you were grateful for. But you’d never ask for any financial means despite all of them knowing what happened.

Money has always been tight for you, especially living in this city. That’s why you never bought things for yourself unless it’s necessary. Your clothes were either thrifted or gifted to you, school books were rented through the public library, you didn’t have a car—not even having a license, and your laptop which cost a fortune was a present from the elders of your hometown knowing that you’d need it. 

You missed home sometimes, for your grandfather of course. Buildings and skyscrapers were a bit much for you, people were somewhat cold-hearted, and it was harder to haggle here. You wished to visit soon, but with money right now, all you had to focus on was school and work.

“You know we’re here for you, right?” Kenji reminded, leaning into the surface of the table. You smiled at his endearment worrying and constant reassurance that you always liked.

Living here has gotten better though. You weren’t as alone as you were back in Geochang. After your only friend ever dropped you, you didn’t turn to others especially when you had no time to socialize since you were helping your grandfather. When you did accept them, then it only left you disappointed and even more distant. Your social meter was practically non-existent over there.

Though you were usually closed off and wary, you’ve met very nice people here and worked with a good family who truly cared for you. Despite your guilt for leaving behind your ill grandfather who begged to differ, it made your depressing boring life a little happier than previous years as well as warmed you back up.

“Yes, I know. Thank you, child.” You nodded, reaching your hand out to mess his hair up. He grimaced and cursed at you when you treated him like a little kid. “Even Halmeoni and Harabeoji too.”

“You don’t need to do everything on your own, you know. Especially when you always do things for others and yourself. Jesus, when was the last time you even did something for yourself?” He questioned.

You stayed quiet as you scrunched your nose in wonder. But when you don’t answer, Kenji complained, “The fact that you have to think says something.” He earned a glare from you. “You like to give and help, but never want anyone to do the same back.” He mentioned as he scoped the quiet restaurant. There were some tables filled, but every one of them has been served. “Just like serving, it’s nice to have a helping hand.”

“I know…” You rolled your eyes. “It’s just hard to trust people sometimes. I need to be careful.”

“How long does it take for you to trust someone?”

You kept quiet, pondering the question. It took you a while to trust Kenji after months of knowing him, you knew to trust his grandparents as soon as possible, and some college peers never got too close to you since you refused, maybe it just depended on the person.

Then your mind went to Taehyung. You always had one foot in and another out the door, in case he fucked up. You were being more strict with him. But the thing was that Taehyung had his own category for you. He was different because he wasn’t a complete stranger, he was your best friend who you used to trust after breaking it. And yet again, he broke it. Well, not really. You don’t know yet, it has been barely a day yet.

“Depending on the person, I guess.” You shrugged.

“What about Taehyung Hyung?”

“Why must you resort to him?” 

“Because you have history with him.” He smirked, pushing his fists up into his cheeks to squish them. Unfortunately for you, he acted as someone you confided in since he was always nosy yet understanding. It has gotten more and more like that when you first told him about Taehyung, but not all. “Seeing you’ve gotten closer to him after all, do you trust him now?”

You exhaled, leaning back into your chair. “Trick question.”

“It’s not a trick question.” He scoffed. “Or you just don’t want to answer it because you already know and you don’t like the answer?”

“What are you trying to be, my therapist?”

“I can.”

“Look Taehyung and I are not as close as you think. He’s different now, an-and changed, practically a stranger.” You semi-lied, trying not to make it a bigger deal than it actually was. “And we’re also fighting now. He disappointed me.”

“Not as close but fighting, wow. Didn’t know strangers do that.” Kenji replied sarcastically. You eyed him out, wishing to punch his cheeky smile off of him. “If he upsets you that much, then first, he’s not a stranger, second, he’s worthy enough for you to care for him. And third, probably enough to have your forgiveness. Maybe even trust, like do you really wanna give up on him? I feel like you’re the type to not give up easily.”

“You’re such a little shit.” You couldn’t say anything to defend yourself with his statement because deep down you knew it was true. So you resorted to bad-mouthing him, and blushing like an idiot.

“I’m a little shit who’s right.” He hummed lightly, not caring for your anger. “From the past weeks, he’s been here and with you, you’ve gotten better. Happier and healthier in your frozen exterior. You like it but you don’t wanna admit it with the past, and your damn pride.” He explained unapologetically. “New flash, my dear. It’s the past, so move on.” He said it so plainly that it insulted you. But it was the cold hard truth.

A customer called for him to which he stood up and you checked your phone, seeing that your break was over so you stood from your seat. “I know you’re scared, ___. You don’t wanna get hurt, can’t blame you but deep down you still want him there. So be a little bit more forgiving of him. Be okay with trusting him. Hell, maybe lean on his shoulder for support. You’ve seen that guy all without that fame and fortune that probably no one else knows about. Even without that, I’m sure he’s still the same Taehyung.” He grabbed a chair and was about to head to the table, but wanted to say one last thing. “Knowing you, you do things passionately and wholeheartedly. Why not do the same in your friendship with Taehyung instead of being on edge?”

You paused yourself as your heart thumped questionable. Why not do the same in your friendship with Taehyung instead of being on edge? The very question stayed in your mind for the weeks to come.

-

Laying down on his bare back on top of the disorderly dirtied sheets while his legs tousled with his naked partner resting calmly curled up by his side, Taehyung looked up at the ceiling. He didn’t know how long it has been with the blackout curtains covering any light from the outside.

Yet another day restless and upset with himself of two things—you and Clara. But right now, it was all because of her.

The earlier moments recaptured in his brain. The sudden rush of energy, electrifying touch on one’s skin, and immense release was brought upon them for hours as two lovers shared the love they had for one another. Bodies stick and tangled together to further the lasting bond.

If only that were true.

Energy was always being drained out of the life force. When she touched his skin, it felt dreadful and scorching. The connectedness into one was nowhere to be found. In fact, what was left of him in the aftermath was the uncomfortable numbness that he stilled upon himself for years. The use of his body for her own needs while he suffered the consequences of his.

With teary eyes, Taehyung glanced at Clara’s sleeping form. Even in no light, she glowed bright, bright enough to not notice his struggles, his true self. She slept so peacefully, never bothering to care if he was. He went back to the ceiling watching, as his pupils burned with hopelessness.

At the start of their relationship, it seemed so good. He gave her a chance with his heart, eventually making him fall in love and give his all to her. Spending hours together bonding, receiving blessings from family, and the gilded romance of their love was so jubilant that it was all fake.

Because underneath that so-called love was nothing but fights, accusations, gaslighting, and insecurities. It was like water and fire, and one of them would always be extinguished at the end.

Clara was expectantly nice on the outside. Her sweet and kind behavior felt like a ruse the second she stepped into the closed doors and four walls because there, she tricked his whole entity. Discouraging, insulting, playing cheese in the trap, lying, all she did to him. Yet Taehyung was the bad guy making her cry, being unfair, and spending less time with her?

Of course, she covered them all up by helping him on the outside such as begging him for therapy, helping him to reconcile with his members, and especially showing off how fabulous and perfect their relationship was to their circles. Though kept from the general public, as long as she knew she had Taehyung, that was all that mattered.

Nothing Taehyung wanted mattered to her. If it did, it was to help her image. It has gotten worse as time went on, exponentially within months. But sadly, he knew she was his endgame, and that very thought injected poison into his mind. There was nothing that can be done, nothing he could do without consequences.

Disgusted. He felt disgusted with himself. He wanted to shower and wash all the scum off his ruined body and damaged mind. The tears welled up and ran down his face and temples while snot formed up his nostrils with no one else to hear except for himself. He felt like he had no one, no one truly caring for him. No signs of help.

It wasn’t what he wanted. Because if he said what he wanted, everything that was built up to this point would be destroyed. And what he wanted was a dream, a hopeless dream that he so determinably wanted.

It was so close yet far to even reach. 

-

The serene of the nightfall sat the motionless park. The glistening of the moonlight reflected off the clearing river, glowing the scene around. The sounds of gentle winds could only be heard as Taehyung and Clara laughed together, enjoying their time and meal together. 

It has been six months since they first met, and six months since a somewhat blossoming relationship began. The two have gone on countless dates, exchanged gifts, stayed up long nights for video calls, messaging each other, and have already seen each other’s families by now.

Yet, they weren’t entirely “official.”

Of course, BTS was on its way to success as its popularity grew exponentially overseas. Obtaining new and diverse fans, selling sold-out shows, crafting rich and authentic music, and the list goes on. But that also included restrictions for the seven members. 

The life of an idol came with a price, and that included having their private life be limited from hanging out with friends and family, having eyes on you at any time of the day, pretending to not know what sex is, and everyone’s favorite—dating. 

Dating continued to be a controversial topic as it even removed members from the group, led fans into foes of their once favorite artists, and somehow technically ruined their lives. It could be an exaggeration, or not.

But that was more of a reason for idols to not date, or at least be careful about what they were doing and who they were with.

However, it wasn’t as much in Taehyung’s case.

In the eyes of the public, Na Clara was the ultimate dream girl, a down-to-earth socialite who deserved the whole world for everything she did. She was sweet, smart, charming, gorgeous, and an absolute pleaser. And Taehyung did see that in her…but always questioned what was more to it.

Everyone would think that they were becoming the new “it” couple…well in secret. With their looks, their fame, their interests, their connections, it seemed so fitting, even perfect, one might say with this idol-socialite combo to just be together.

The idol grew quite fond of Clara, hence why, he kept her around. He learned much about her—mind, body, questions, responses, even remembering and picking up certain habits that the socialite had like asking what things were in a pout or making a disgruntled face of disinterest when seeing problematic people.

His members and friends saw how Clara made life so easy for Taehyung. She wanted it easy for him. She wanted to take the heavy weight of life off his shoulders. She took him out of that down-spiraling playboy NDA life, told him to do this instead of that if it’s not good for him, and comforted him when times got rough and times were indeed rough…still rough.

It was best to say that Clara was the best thing that ever happened to him.

But why wasn’t their relationship being taken to the next level?

“Oh, Tae! It’s so beautiful here.” Clara gazed into the atmosphere like from a scene from a 2000s indie film. “Thank you for bringing me, and the little picnic dinner. So adorable!”

Taehyung’s vacant expression at the park view was ripped away as he glanced down to the blanket where their dinner rested —take-out pasta and fried chicken with two empty wine glasses that were stained red. The idol hummed and nodded, “I’m glad you enjoyed this.” He was careful with his words.

The socialite turned to face him. His eyes weren’t meeting hers as they stared back into the scenery. There was a physical distance between the two, the picnic basket in the middle of them. Although they had slept with each other countless times and it was obvious what their relationship was by now, Taehyung never showed as much affection to her as hoped.

Clara found out through others that Taehyung was a cuddly person, who loved to touch those he loved and cared about, but she never experienced it herself. They kissed and hugged, but it was almost mechanical. Maybe it was just because they weren’t official, and he didn’t want to scare her off. She didn’t know, she even tried talking to him, but Taehyung continued to be an enigma.

“Come closer, Tae.” She motioned him to be near, which was usually typical as the socialite would be the one to initiate things.

Though he cocked an eyebrow at her, he obliged. Pushing the basket away from their space, Taehyung scooted closer to her until their thighs touched. Clara then rested her head on his shoulder before he hesitantly wrapped an arm around her dainty waist. He pressed his cheek on the tops of her head, slowly getting into a comfortable position.

“Are you okay?” She asked.

There was a slight pause, but it went unnoticed by her. “Yeah, it’s been better.”

“I’m glad for you…” She smiled before furrowing her eyebrows as she did her best to gather her words and confidence. “Tae, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Oh no, am I in trouble again?”

The socialite giggled at his assumption, shaking her head. He felt her stare “No, babe. I’ve been thinking…about what we are.”

Taehyung grew confused as he looked down at her supple face. “What do you mean?”

“I really really like how things are with us. I enjoy being with you and learning more every day about what’s going on in your head. Just the thought of you makes me get butterflies.” Clara explained the best way she can. “It makes me want to fall harder and harder for you that I want more.”

“M-more, why?” Okay, he knew he sounded stupid and probably shouldn’t have responded that way but it couldn’t be helped. He was taken aback and wasn’t expecting such a serious conversation to a causal date. It wasn’t even as fancy as past dates and dinners.

Clara pouted at his response but tried her best to remain lax. “Well, what do you think about me? Us? Is this us just being like…this enough for you?”

“You know my life is difficu—”

“Yes, I completely understand!” She interrupted before sighing. “I’m also in a similar boat too.”

You will never understand, Taehyung thought but didn’t speak out loud. He always thought a lot of thoughts but never said them.

But the longer Taehyung said nothing, the more anxious Clara was becoming. Maybe she just needed to get the point across, also known as her feelings. As a measure, the socialite then took Taehyung’s unoccupied hand and intertwined it with hers. Her brown almond eyes gleamed at his under the silvery moonlight as she said her four words, “I love you, Taehyung.” So soft and delicate yet enough for the idol to gasp slightly. “I’m in love with you, I’ve been loving you for a while.”

Clara’s heart skipped a beat.

But Taehyung’s didn’t. It was more panicking about how she was acting so forward with this and why she wanted more. He was fine with what they were doing now, and now alone.

“Look, you don’t need to say anything. I know you’re not ready to say it yet and that’s fine, but don’t you want to take our relationship to the next level? Being official. I’m willing to do all it takes to be with you. Please, Tae?” Clara wondered as she tried to find his eyes. They wandered elsewhere, not wanting to face her. The socialite felt herself sinking at his reactions. “Unless…”

That was when Taehyung finally reached her. Her glowing irises layered with a slight gloss while she bit her painted lips. Was she about to cry? Taehyung started to feel guilty. “Unless what?”

Clara composed herself before asking, “Unless there was someone else.”

Unless there was someone else. The words now consumed his brain. There was no one else near him after meeting Nara. The members saw no one too. His playboy days were practically non-existent. There was no one to go to, no one to comfort him, no one to make his day, no one to make him smile, no one to make him happy.

Except.

Then suddenly something—someone appeared before him. Someone who had longed for.

Whatever how Clara looked, her features formed into another. Rosy plump cheeks filled with joy and life, cheekbones shaped into glory, hair shorter but braided down to the chest, perfect cute rounded nose, and those familiar doe eyes.

The ones that would suck him into a trance every single moment and be immersed in the ever-glowing beauty of the kind and altruistic aura he knew. The aura that made him feel like a magnet and gravitate towards. The gravitation that made him realize that no other love would ever compare to this love he had.

The love he had for you.

Taehyung loves you so deeply that it continued to this day. The undying love he never confessed to you, not even when he was with you, not even when he was about to leave, not even through your night calls. Even after the falling, he continued to wish to see you again and tell you his confession that was hidden and buried deep in his heart that he told no one else, not even his members or family. Why? Because it was a confession for you and only you.

He saw you in front of him, smiling your patient smile and laughing with tears in your eyes. He now noticed the flush of your face, the puffiness around your eyes, and the inaudible sniffling you were doing. He realized it was a memory of you, the day he found out that he wanted to love you more than you or he could possibly imagine. The love his father once told him and be forever ingrained into it.

“Hyungie…” Your loving tone was voiced out as the vision of you looked back at him. Even when appearing sad and heartbroken by a dumbass individual, you looked like an angel. You were so beautiful. “I will always love you.”

Immediately, he spoke, “I will always love you too.”

“You do?” Another voice shattered through his consciousness, causing him to snap back into reality.

It wasn’t you. It definitely wasn’t you. You were gone, and you were never coming back even if both parties tried. There was no ___ and Taehyung. No Blue and Hyungie. All trash, absolutely nothing. No future together, whether near or far. The relationship you once had with him has been crumpled up and cast away, burning into the pits of broken memories that hurt him by the slight thought.

You weren’t here anymore. He couldn’t save it. He loves someone who wasn’t here with him anymore. The falling tears he didn’t realize he shed ran down his face. Oh, how he missed you so much. He wanted to do anything and everything in the whole world to get you back and into his arms again.

“Taehyung,” Clara called for him again, but he was unresponsive. He was too busy crying out the overwhelming love he had for you. He chanted faint “I love you” with his eyes closed, thinking of you. 

It was only when Clara cupped his face with her pale hands and moved his head to meet her eyes. Taehyung’s eyes opened up, expecting you but he knew it was too good to be true. It was her, the only person he had.

But not the one he wanted.

“What happened? You started crying.” Her tone was so much different from yours. Yes, sweet, but sickly sweet.

“I-I-I think…I just—got overwhelmed with emotions.” He didn’t want to say what was on his mind. It was an asshole thought for her anyway. Better to keep it hidden.

The socialite nodded, simply taking that because she was more concerned and very much intrigued with what he said back. “You said…” His bloodshot eyes tiredly stared back blankly. “You said you will always love me. Is…that true?”

He blinked. Her hopeful demeanor was seen kilometers away, evident that she needed the reassurance. But Taehyung held back as the voice in his head debated on what to say.

He cried for you. Yet you were gone, and you took his heart with you. He didn’t know what you were doing, probably college, having a fun normal life, getting a boyfri—no. You were doing your own thing for years without trace or contact. The second he fucked up, everything about you was gone in his life. Little by little until his life practically forced you out. But the memories remained.

But was this it for him? To go on with life without you or his heart? To have all of you before but have none of you now? He didn’t know how to go on with life without you. What was he going to do?

Look at him right now.

But Clara was here, she’ll only be here from now on, and that pained Taehyung. No one would ever replace you. He refused to replace you, you were his one and only Blue.

Still, you were out of his life and left him empty but with a purpose. He was an idiot and he should be punished for what he did. 

All he needed to do was survive without you. He had to at least try. He needed to do this. He needed to fall in love with Clara. Do it for him and his state.

“Yeah…I love you…with all my heart.” He was supposed to say this to you, not her.

Clara’s hope glowed bright like the heavens as she threw herself on him, making him stumble back and fall onto the blanket. She straddled his hips, embracing him with all her might. Taehyung didn’t know what to do and laid there before hugging her back to avoid awkwardness.

She lifted her head that rested on his shoulder before giving him a deep kiss which he did back willingly. What felt like passion and an exchange of love from Clara was only messy, wet, and forced to Taehyung. She parted from him with a string of cold saliva stretched, their foreheads resting on one another.

She focused all her attention on the man she loves. The burning devotion flamed her whole body, wanting all of him, wanting all the love he had for her. At last, Na Clara, the socialite, the visual of South Korea, was with the rising idol, Kim Taehyung, V of BTS.

“I love you.” She cooed, pecking his nose.

Yet Taehyung’s eyes grew blurry as he lets go of more tears and pain within him. Through the fuzzy vision, he only thought of you. There wasn’t anyone in the world for him, but you. But he had to remind himself that you weren’t here.

This had to do. This had to work.

“I love you too.” I love you, ___, my Blue. He cried out. Clara giggled, thinking how incredibly sensitive he was being for her. She whispered reassurances and comforted him, saying that it’ll be okay and not to cry. She was here for him, always by his side, wanting to turn his dark days into sunshine and rainbows. It was all perfect. The couple, the love, the bond, all perfect, perfect, perfect.

Yet perfect never meant that this would work.

Tagged: @manuosorioh @kaal-ee @stfxthv @dahliasbouqet @bertqut1 @fuckthinking @taebangtanbabe

[identitty-dickruption]

here for questions as it was invited by your post, and thank you because this topic is important to me i want to focus this on addiction but i want to admit that as a full grown adult who went to collage for psychology, worked in special needs and nursing homes so has seen a wide array of neurodivergencies in very intimate and real ways, AND as someone who has adhd and is partners with someone who was a higher needs autistic in their school days- i feel like i dont fully understand the strict differences between terms like i want to and the grey area really dose make my head spin often but in regards to addiction and how i experience it differently because in a way i feel an almost "immunity" with how my executive dysfunction can translate to "not able to maintain a pattern regardless if it is a constructive habit or addiction" watching my father struggle with alcoholism and it really takeing its always sunny to wake up to the fact that he even was one, i really want to understand what it means to be addicted better is it defined by its sunk cost? emotional emptiness? the damage done outward to others? or is it just the pattern. the way that i experience a hyper fixation with my adhd feels distinctive enough to prove that i can differentiate the two concepts per the entire point of your post, and then there are just paradigm shifts like how the only thing ive been accused of being addicted to has been "the computer" 20 years ago when we still had dial up. but ive been a strong advocate to how web designs especially for cell phones play into addictive tendencies with the biggest being short form content with the slot machine endless scroll feature. so the dangers TRUE addiction poses a unique threat in the attention economy functions today with tec and also how easy it is to get trapped in a social bubble making traditionally understood as addictive substances form even more tight knit communities to enable people and never realize they could be helped. its a problem i want to be vigilant of in myself and always help those i love through where it comes so i hope this message wasnt too long or overbearing i just am glad to see someone who knows firsthand about it who might be willing to talk more about it for education.

okay I finished answering this only for tumblr to reload and lose my progress so sorry if this comes across as overly abrupt. I’m not upset at you but I sure am upset at tumblr!

addiction is a complicated and multi-faceted issue. it’s not just the frequency of substance use and it’s not just the impact to life, it’s a lot of different things all at once. addiction tends to be broken into three parts: physical dependency, emotional dependency, and impact on life

physical dependency is your body becoming reliant on the substance. this looks like physical withdrawal symptoms (e.g. the shakes, dizziness, fatigue, nausea, etc)

emotional dependency is the result of extended use of a substance as a coping mechanism. this means that anything the substance was helping to cope with is going to come up in full force (along with added anxiety and anger from not having access to the substance)

impact to life really depends on the person, but this is all the external influences of addiction. struggling with employment, struggling with relationships, struggling to look after yourself and others, etc

all of these things will look different for different people and different substances. I am always wary of people trying to apply an addiction framework to non-substance use addictions. evidence around behavioural addictions is sketchy at best, and just do not have many of the features of addiction that I’ve struggled with the most

out of everything, the mechanisms of addiction are most similar to OCD, but with the additional challenges of physical dependency. for those who don’t know, the obsessive compulsive cycle is:

trigger

intrusive thought

obsessive thinking

compulsive behaviour

it’s a cycle because the more you do the compulsive behaviour, the harder it becomes to cope with that initial trigger in a healthy way. and that’s kinda how addiction functions, too. it just so happens that the compulsive behaviour is substance use. and that’s just not how other behavioural addictions tend to play out

beyond that, we have to consider the ways the word “addiction” is used politically. addiction is heavily stigmatised. addict is seen as a pejorative term, rather than a descriptive one. so even if you could say that phone use is similar in some way to substance abuse….. calling someone an addict for using their phone a lot comes with a lot of baggage and a lot of implications I am deeply uncomfortable with

the terms “phone addict” or “addictive technology” are not literal phrases, they’re metaphors. technology is being compared to substances, and use of that technology is being compared to addiction. and I think everyone needs to have a deep think about why it is that those comparisons are used. until addiction stops being demonised, it is not useful or helpful to be applying an addiction framework to situations where it doesn’t 100% make sense

I hope that helps and makes sense!

[diamondpython00]

I was watching videos on Psychonauts 2, specifically on the imagery and meaning behind Hollis’ mind, when I had an interesting realization: a lot of the characters in both Psychonauts games have family-related problems.

Oleander’s initial levels (the brain tumbler experiment and basic braining) don’t have much beyond initial foreshadowing for plot reasons, but meat circus is such a colossal mess of daddy issues that i think it makes up for it

Sasha’s main problems are the death of his mother and the memories of her he collected from his dad’s mind that freaked him out (nooo little german boy don’t use your psychic abilities to read your father’s mind)

Milla’s trauma has to do with her relationship to the children at her orphanage and her failure to protect them, something that while she has moved past, definitely still hurts her. She’s still working as a caretaker of some kind though, and it’s clear that she’s not eager to repeat that mistake.

Gloria was pretty seriously messed up by her mother’s emotional neglect and high expectations, her treatment at the boarding school, and her deadbeat dad. This trauma is only compounded with her mother’s suicide, which starts her downward spiral.

Fred’s problems have to do with his family legacy, literally being constantly berated in his mind by the image of his ancestor. To Fred, he’s failed at being a Bonaparte, and his ancestor has come back from the dead to express his displeasure.

Lili and Raz both have fairly complicated relationships with their fathers - Raz views Augustus as constantly pushing him in acrobatics and outright denying him his interests, while Lili has had to grow up a little too fast thanks to how busy her father is, and expresses some of that frustration with a tough front.

Loboto. (i don’t think i really need to say more. yikes doesn’t even begin to cover it)

Although Hollis’ family is notably absent from her mind, some dialogue from her and her mind’s NPCs implies a very fraught relationship with her parents. She acknowledges to Raz that “family is horrible”, and the maternity ward patients in her mind all express very bad reasons to have kids, ranging from using children as a proxy to having kids because your partner wants them. Couple that with the absence of her parents from her entire mind, and... well, it doesn’t paint a pretty picture.

Compton’s issues aren’t exactly related to his family, but they ARE hereditary. All three Booles in both games have both a connection with animals and some blastokinesis, although most of the issues seem to have skipped Sam. Dogen especially is very similar to Compton - both are socially anxious, get overwhelmed by their telepathy, and accidentally blow up heads when they get overwhelmed. It’s not hard to imagine that Compton’s parenting or influence may have had something to do with Dogen’s issues.

Ford doesn’t exactly have family issues, but boy howdy did he sure cause some.

The seed (heh) of Bob’s alcoholism seems to be related to his aunt’s alcoholism and death. His aunt dealt with her problems by drinking them away in her greenhouse, and now that Bob has gone through very similar loss, he uses the same coping mechanism - drown your issues under a lot of alcohol.

Gristol’s main problem is his overwhelming sense of entitlement, but his father plays a very significant role in his worldview. From Gristol’s perspective, his father ruined the inheritance Gristol was owed, and failed both Maligula and the country with his rule. Gristol believes he is entitled to rule of Grulovia thanks to his father, but also deeply resents him for his failures and is driven by the need to set right what he thought his father did wrong.

Nona, or Lucrecia Mux, had most of her issues brought on by the accidental killing of her sister and the false familial relationship she was deluded into believing was real her whole life. Although Maligula is the manifestation of her problems, Maligula very clearly would not exist if it weren’t for Marona’s death.

And these are just the people who’s minds we explore in some sense or another. There is the exception of Boyd, Edgar, and Helmut, but I’ll address that a bit later. None of the campers or the interns mention much about their family, but we can also infer from the way Loboto was treated that psychics are not exactly looked upon favorably. While certainly not all of the campers or interns have bad relationships with their parents, it is interesting that there is no mention that I can remember of a good parental relationship anywhere in either game. It’s either a bad relationship or it goes unmentioned (like Edgar, Boyd, and Helmut). While I can’t say definitively what this theme of complicated or bad familial relationships is intended to mean, there are a couple theories I have. It could be that Psychonauts is trying to tell us that mental illness is often a result of environment - children raised in non-loving environments rarely escape unscathed, and dealing with those issues often involves confronting that familial relationship. It could be that leaving your family trauma unresolved is very unhealthy: the only families we see recover from these issues, the Aquatos and the Zanottos, do so through honest communication. It could be that blood family does not obligate love, and that chosen families (like the psychic six or nona and augustus) are better because they actively choose to love each other. It could even be something completely unrelated that I haven’t thought of. But what I am pretty sure of is that Psychonauts 1 and 2 are definitely trying to tell us something with the family theme. What do you guys think? Is there something to this?

[petty-pumpkin]

Ik most of us came to the conclusion that Dazai is an alcoholic (bc he is) but chuuya isn't and that his hobby is just drinking alcohol. Personally, I think that both of them are, here's why:

I dont really have to explain dazai cause we all know why we perceive him as an alcoholic (hence all of those bottles in his room and him going to the bar repeatedly when he was young), but I'll explain chuuya.

First of all, Chuuya's likes in the character's chart is "dogs" and "booze". Of course you can like alcohol and not be an alcoholic, that is obvious, but it's the way that drinking alcohol (specifically wine) is one of his main likes. Now, you can obviously love alcohol and not be an addict, most people who are addicted don't like alcohol because of its taste, but because it's a way to forget all of your problems, at least for a moment. It is a way to relieve the pain. And this doesn't just apply to alcohol, it as well apply to technology, food, self harm (wich may not be an addiction but it is a coping mechanism, that's why it's so hard to stop), smoking or vaping, drugs, etc.

Also, we see in wan that they use a lot the joke that chuuya is a lightweight and can't control his alcohol, we see him drinking all the time in wan a joke. This might indicate that he does get drunk pretty often. I also wanted to add that, in the extra chapters, chuuya is seen drunk, upset and trying to call Dazai, and I think that explains a lot too.

If you'd read stormbringer and fifteen, you'd know that this man has suffered quite a lot, so it's very possible that one of his ways of coping is by drinking.

Another reason I think he might be an addict could be that he has been drinking since he was in the sheep, and that is quite a lot ago. This is canon, since shirase in stormbringer has mentioned that the sheep (and that includes chuuya) has been stealing alcohol before and they used to drink it, despite being underage.

We also saw that with the flags he drank, too. Since he has probably started drinking when he was an early teen, this must mean that his relationship with alcohol is not healthy at all.

I also want to add that this man has a lot of trauma and is in the mafia. It's very likely if not canon that he has addictions with substances. We've seen him smoke a couple of times. In fact, we saw that in the extra chapters he was drinking AND smoking at the same time. The times we saw him consume this stuff was when he was distressed, except when he, kouyou and mori celebrated.

I think that sums it all up. I wanted to make this analysis since when we all started realizing that dazai was an ACTUAL alcoholic, we've started to minimize chuuyas relationship with alcohol and reduce it as a hobby, including myself. I realized that both of them use alcohol as a coping mechanism and not just chuuya or just dazai.

(Actually, the only thing that contradicts my take is the fact that chuuya has a poor alcohol tolerance, and If you are addicted to alcohol your body would get used to it and it would be harder for you to get drunk as easily as chuuya gets. Either way, my point still stands)

[girl4music]

“No one is birthed into the world complete and we don’t cross a line somewhere in our 20’s to find that we’ve arrived at adult. We shape ourselves into the people we are by making choices or circumstances will do the shaping for us. Which brings us to Willow…

This episode is a significant one for the Rosenberg and I realized watching it that I’ve suffered something of a Mandela Effect when it comes to her. Specifically I’ve been misremembering the very first episode where Willow’s eyes turn black upon casting a spell. In ‘Becoming Part I’ after Giles tells Willow that casting a soul restoration spell might open a door she’d be unable to close. She insisted. But his warning implies that casting magic potentially leaves an indelible mark on the caster and while being watched by Cordy and Oz something channelled through her and I was sure that she looked up, looked forward and had black eyes during the remainder of the spell - but no. Still, the door was open, and in Willow’s case what that has meant so far is magic becoming her number one coping mechanism. Magic has been a metaphor for a few things, but one of it’s analogues set up early on by Giles’ abuse of it to get high in ‘The Dark Age’, was drugs. A metaphorical connection between magic and alcohol was made in ‘Something Blue’ when Willow first tried to deal with her grief over Oz by way of a sick bud-light dance party. She has resorted to magic to cope with her lust, to cope with her anger, to cope with her grief,… and in ‘Tough Love’, her rage.

Historically there has usually been a scene afterwards where she suffers guilt for the spell’s misfire and bakes a round of apology cookies, but the episode always stops just short of her learning the actual lesson. Her regret is never specifically for the use of magic to solve her problem, but for the fact that she wasn’t capable enough to pull the spell off the way she wanted to and everyone tends to let it slide. On to the next episode. Heck, Buffy said more to Jonathan in ‘Superstar’ than she has ever said to Willow… because Willow is just… in pain, angry, lonely, lost. That’s all. It’s a familiar pattern with abuse-based coping mechanisms given there always tends to be a lot going on for that person. Big things that their friends and family members see as what actually drove their loved ones to this and that big thing feels more important right now than confronting their loved one about their little problem. Now is not the time, now is never the time and then time slips past.

But Willow has continued to become more powerful with every passing season and in ‘Tough Love’ her breaking into the Magic Box and channelling actual black magic I think represents a turning point. This is the first time her eyes actually turn black and if every spell leaves an indelible mark upon the caster, there is something in her now that she will always have to carry. But in keeping with Willow learning the wrong lesson or none whatsoever, the final scene in the episode follows the pattern we’ve seen to this point. Scoobies feeling bad for what Willow must be going through, conversations about consequences not being had and Willow feeling defeated and depressed. If the pattern fits not just because of Tara’s state, but because Willow wasn’t strong enough to wield the necessary power to properly take her revenge. Wasn’t strong enough,.. yet.”

Once again, nice job, Ian. Hit some points that I’ve never really thought about myself as you often do.

About your comment on the final scene of the episode being confusing because of the location they’re in.

Tara has not officially moved in with Willow. Yes, she stays in Willow’s room more often than not (hence the double bed replacing the two singles since ‘The Replacement’) and because of the traumatic events of ‘Family’ where her abusive dad just let himself in when it was unlocked, making it unsafe for Tara to be there alone, but they don’t officially live together. Willow still has her dorm room and Tara still has hers. So the room you see them in at the end of the episode is Tara’s dorm room, not Willow’s or Buffy’s.

[farfromstrange]

Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter 18: Maybe I Don’t Quite Know What To Say

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (she/her)

Summary: Michael and you finally talk.

Warnings: ANGST, mentions of child death, description of child abuse, mentions of murder, cursing, PTSD, panic attack, crying

Word Count: 7.5k

A/n: I apologize for how long this is. I go a little too into detail about the child abuse, so proceed with caution! It's angst, but at least they're together now. And of course, they can’t talk about everything in one night so I made a little cut at the end. Also, I gave you some protective Mikey again. You’re welcome.

As a child, there came a time when you realized that if you did everything right, followed rules and instructions, and took care of the people around you, you would receive at least a sliver of love. It made you worthy.

By shouldering everything, you seemed to prove yourself, and by not fighting back and being the obedient good girl, you could forego the punishment and get the attention you craved. You had to be good, so you tried to be good.

There was no space for your own problems. You got into a habit of pretending the bruises were a part of you. You believed that the punishment you received was what you deserved.

You accepted your fate. 

You never cared much about yourself. The first time you had to actively talk about yourself in front of someone else, you panicked and you didn’t know what to say.

There was not much time for you as a child to figure out who you are, so you turned to fiction. You weren’t allowed to keep many books, so you often went to the library to get your fix. You saw yourself in fictional characters, related to them, and tried to be like them so you would feel less alone. 

You picked traits you thought suited you best and ran with them. You picked up behaviorisms from book characters to make friends, but you often failed. 

At home, you pretended to be the girl your father wanted you to be, and you took his punishment wordlessly when you did something wrong; back then, you truly believed that even coming home five minutes late from school was something you should get punished for. It became your normal. 

It’s needless to say that boys never looked at you. You were considered a freak. You didn’t have friends or hobbies, you just existed to function and take care of your mother, please your father, and occasionally do the homework for others because kids at school soon realized you could easily be toyed with. They walked all over you, but you ran with it because no one taught you that you deserve better. So you did what you had to do to survive in the hopes you could get out someday. 

And then Maya was born. 

As a teenager, you made a lot of mistakes, and the punishment got worse, but you couldn’t help it. You ran with the wrong crowds because you wanted to belong, and your father wasn’t happy about that. You used sex, drugs, and alcohol as a coping mechanism. For a short while, it worked.

When your sister was born though and she became the star of the family, the child everyone loved, even your father, you found yourself in an odd position. 

Part of you resented her for getting the love you never got, but the other part, the bigger part of you felt responsible. You started feeling like she was a part of you. You couldn’t shake that. 

You soon had no other choice but to take over parental duties because your parents sucked at it. You were expected to play the part of a mother even though yours was right there, and you put your life on hold for this child that you never wanted to join the family in the first place. 

Your childhood wasn’t happy, but you did what you had to survive. You took care of everyone but yourself, and you accepted that your feelings just didn’t matter as much as those of the people around you. 

You figure that’s why you try to do right by everyone now; you grew up thinking you had to please everyone to be worth something, and even then you were never worth enough. Your broken heart ruined relationships and made you choose men that didn’t deserve your kindness, but they reminded you of your father, of the treatment he told you that you deserved, and you fell down the rabbit hole. 

Even in therapy, you never talked about how you truly felt or what happened in the past. To be fair, a lot of memories were blacked out by you a long time ago, but some things will never fade, and those are the ones that left the biggest scars. You never talked about them, not even in therapy, and that’s where you suspect the problem lies. 

You never got the help you needed because you always believed you didn’t deserve to be taken care of, and it made you even more miserable. It made you delusional. 

You feared the day someone would come around and wake you up. 

Then, Michael stepped into your life. The one thing you didn’t want to happen happened. He didn’t know what he was getting himself into. But to be fair, when it comes to him, neither did you. 

He woke you up from your daydream, forced you to face reality and so much more. Meeting him led to a chain reaction of events. The wounds you tried to hide from the world never had a chance to heal, and he tore the bandaid off.  

It’s the butterfly effect all over again. Chaos theory. As a child, you were obsessed with it–everything that somehow managed to explain natural phenomenon fascinated you–but you never thought it would personally affect you one day.

To be fair, you never thought much about a lot of things before that happened to you lately, and it drove you straight into a wall. You crashed and burned. Your life is in shambles, and that is precisely why you didn’t want to confide in Michael before. 

You were scared because you were never taught how to be yourself with someone who cares as much as he does. You never learned how to be yourself, period. You thought he would get hurt or you would get hurt, or maybe you were simply scared of falling in love because you never considered yourself worthy of a happy ending, it doesn’t really matter in the end.

You hurt him because you were insecure. That’s not something a good person does. A damaged person, maybe, but even then it’s no excuse for being ignorant and hurtful for no other reason than because you felt backed into a corner. It wasn’t fair on him. Part of it was trauma, the other part cowardice.

As you’re sitting on the couch with Michael now, a steaming mug of tea between your legs, you find yourself cornered again. You want nothing more than to run, but you’re an adult now and things are getting serious. That’s what happens when you’re an adult and push all your problems away until they have no choice but to come back twice as hard to haunt you.

Truth is, you’re just a barista. You’re nothing special or no one exceptionally physically strong. You didn’t grow up in a crime family or grew up boxing. And you hate confrontation. Your father could wipe you out in one hit if he wanted, and he asserted his strength many times before.

Out of all people in this world, he is probably the best equipped when it comes to helping you. And if you end up getting yourself in danger, he’s the only one you trust with saving your life in time.

You were too stubborn to see it before, but Michael cares about you deeply and he would do anything to assure your safety. You needed someone like him when you were a child, and you need him now. 

You may not be able to make the scars of your childhood go away, but you can fight for justice and seek revenge, and that’s where you should have asked for help a long time ago. 

You brush a strand of hair behind your ear. Your fingers linger over the small scar on your temple; it’s not very obvious, but you know it’s there. Where do you even begin to explain?

Michael sits across from you, his legs crossed, and his brown eyes focused on your quivering frame. He reaches out, his hand hovering over your thigh. “May I?” he asks. 

You nod, allowing him to touch you. His palm lands on the soft skin of your thigh, and he instantly squeezes the flesh. He rests his hand there, making sure you know he’s not going anywhere. 

You watch the steam rise from your mug. The silence threatens to suffocate you. 

“Ask,” he breaks the silence. 

With a frown, you meet his eyes. “What?” you ask. 

“If there’s anythin’ you wanna know about me, I’ll tell ya. I wanna let you in,” he adds your name in the gentlest tone, and you realize he is taking a step toward you. 

At the beginning of your relationship, you were the one who put in most of the effort. You took the lead. You shouldered every last responsibility. You wanted his attention, and you worked hard for it.

You wouldn’t call it love at first sight or obsession–it was something else that drew you to him. Maybe this is it. His unwavering support attracted you because deep down, you were craving someone like him to finally pick up the pieces your family broke, and now you’re here.

Perhaps there is a God after all, and he sent Michael your way to save you from drowning–because even when you aren’t with your head underwater, dry drowning is a phenomenon that exists, and there has been enough water in your lungs over the years to slowly kill you from the inside. 

Michael takes a deep breath to steady himself. “I called ya ‘cause I knew you’d understand and you’re one of the few people who would never judge or expect anythin’ more than I can give,” he says. “It’s why…why I started fallin’ for ya in the first place.”

This is the first time he has phrased his feelings that way, and it makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, but not in the way the heat of your pain is burning you alive. It’s a gentle heat, almost. It gives you hope.

He’s falling for you. That’s something good to hold on to.

“I know it’s hard, but I need ya to trust me. So ask whatever you wanna know, and I’ll answer. My heart is yours,” he says.

You feel small and vulnerable under his gaze, but his hand on your thigh remains steady. He reminds you that you’re no longer alone.

It’s hard to be vulnerable when you’re not used to it. You don’t like wearing your heart on your sleeve, but he trusts you and you should give him the same level of trust back. You have to get over yourself and face the truth. Better now than when it’s too late. 

It’s not just about you, it’s about your sister and anyone else that might suffer if you don’t get your shit together.

Speak now or forever hold your peace, isn’t that what they say? But holding your peace might as well cause a lot of casualties along the way when it comes to your father’s wrath. He’s a ticking time bomb and you’ve been living on the edge for far too long; the consequences are going to chase you down some day, and it seems like the day may come sooner than you originally thought.

Now that you’ve got your nose buried in the same kind of business he threatened to kill you over, there’s not many ways this could go. You have to realize that.

Michael takes a deep breath. “Hey–” Lifting your chin, he urges you to meet his eyes. “I know ya probably have so many questions. Not tha I can blame you for bein’ curious,” he says. “You researched me and my family, but I’m sure there’s more ya don’t understand. We’ve spent a lot of time together, but not enough t’ know all the truths ‘cause…I kept a lot hidden. Not because I don’t trust ya. I think I was protectin’ myself and you, in a way. I don’t know. It’s confusin’. I haven’t felt this way in a very long time, but I wanna try. I wanna try with you.”

You shudder. He wants to try with you.

“I know ya have questions. I can see it. Just tell me if I’m wrong.”

You blush slightly. His eye contact is intense. It doesn’t waiver once, but his thumb brushes your chin in a way to reassure you that he’s not trying to hurt you, and you manage a small nod as an answer.

He wasn’t wrong; you have questions. A lot of them, but not many make sense right now.

“I never meant for ya to get involved. It’s dangerous. People die, but–” He shudders, Jamie’s face flashing before his eyes. “But you’ve been there for me more than anyone ever has. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for ya, and you deserve t’know the truth. So whatever it is that’s on yer mind ‘bout me, I’ll tell ya.”

You bite your lip. The breath in your lungs rattles and your shoulders quiver when you exhale. Hesitantly, you reach out to take his hand, the one that is holding your chin. You don’t look away this time.

“The holes in the wall,” you prompt, your voice barely above a whisper. 

You glance at the fireplace. Michael follows. His hand tightens around yours. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “What about ‘em?”

You hesitate, but you decide to ask anyway. “What exactly happened to your wife?” you ask. “You told me you didn’t shoot her, but…there’s more to it, isn’t there?”

He looks away.

Your grip tightens. “There has to be more, Michael,” you say. “I understand why you didn’t tell me your entire life story back then, but I guess I’ve always been curious about what happened to her. And being here now, seeing that it’s real, it’s…it’s unsettling. But not in a way that makes me scared of you,” – you have to make sure he understands – “It’s more like human curiosity and a need to understand what you went through. You lost so much, I…I just can’t imagine what it feels like to stay here.”

His body stiffens, but he doesn’t pull away from you. His eyes remain glued on the bulletholes, and you can see the unshed tears welling up again. You feel bad for asking, but he told you to and you want to know. 

You have been more than curious from the beginning, and no Google search in the world could have satisfied you. It’s a painful topic and you didn’t want to push him for it. Some people don’t like to talk, including yourself, and you could have lived with it. But now you know about Jamie and you met Amanda and you have started piecing the timeline together. What’s missing is his wife’s death, and the picture you painted before doesn’t make much sense to you. Not that it would change anything, but knowing would still feel better than not-knowing. 

Michael takes another deep breath, taking a sip from his tea before he turns back to you. “I was high,” he admits.

You scoot a little closer, your hand finding his shoulder. “High?” you question. 

“That night. I’ve had some…some cocaine–” He chuckles sourly. “I was high, and when I got home I…I was confused. I would’ve never purposely hurt her. I loved her. But that night…I don’t remember everythin’. Some shrink in prison said tha it’s ‘cause I’m traumatized or some shit, but I was so high…I blacked out. But I confessed. I confessed ‘cause I could feel her blood on my hands. It was the only right thing to do. I fucked up. I thought no one else should go down for tha but me, so I plead guilty in hopes it’d make me a better man, but I realized it doesn’t. Nothin’ can make me a better man ‘cause I’m not. I killed her. It was my fault.”

You should run. Your common sense screams for you to leave, but we all make mistakes, and you’re no saint either. You know him. He isn’t cruel. And you physically can’t be mad at him.

You seem unable to wish him anything bad. You love him so much, it transcends what’s right and wrong in your mind. You’re conscious. He isn’t manipulating you. You simply don’t see it as something you would want to lose him over.

“My prints were on the gun,” he states before you can ask. His teary eyes meet yours. “I tried ta remember, but nothin’ worked. I was out of it. My prints were on the gun, I was confused and…and it was an accident. I don’t…I thought I was doin’ the right thing and Allison suffered the ultimate price, and that’s wha makes me hate myself every second of every day ‘cause I know I could’ve prevented it if I had been just a little more lucid. I don’t have all the answers and I hate it. The official story is tha I shot her while I was under the influence ‘cause I thought she was an intruder, but…but I can’t tell ya more than I know–”

“You don’t have to,” you cut him off. 

He meets your eyes. “I never wanted her t’get hurt,” he whispers, his lip trembling as he speaks, and you cradle his cheek softly. 

“I know,” you say. “And I’m a strong believer in the good, so I don’t think you did. Maybe someone else did and you just don’t remember. Or you did, but as you said, you had no idea what you were doing. Either way, speculating is of no use. It doesn’t make me hate you.”

“But I killed a lot of people. It wasn’t just Allison…there’s more.”

Before, you would have thought he might be trying to make you hate him, but looking into his eyes, you can tell he’s tired and he just wants to tell you. 

You swallow, but you knew what you were signing yourself up for when you found out what it means to be a Kinsella–what it means to be a part of this family. 

A heavy silence settles between you, the weight of his words hanging in the air. It takes all your strength to maintain eye contact, to let him know that you're still there, still listening and that you won't turn away. You've seen the darkness that has consumed him, but you've also witnessed the flicker of light that resides within. And you really don't care. You should, but you don't.

With a shrug, you answer, “We’re all a little damaged.”

“It’s more than just a little. My family…We deal drugs for a livin’. There are guns. People get killed. On purpose and on accident. I’ve torn families apart. You need ta understand tha.”

“I don’t care,” you blurt out. “I only care about you.”

Michael huffs. “That’s so foolish,” he says. He meant to sound stern, but his voice is rather breathless. 

You were the innocent barista that liked to wear butterfly clips and fantasize about a better life from fiction, and that version of you would have minded and tried to change him, but you don’t seem to have a care in the world left for the injustice his family is caught up in. 

Your past must have hurt you badly, and the memories tore you out of whatever world you were living in. Now all that counts is him and whatever your agenda is. But with what happened tonight–the shooting, and Jamie’s death–there seems to be an even bigger storm coming, and Michael doesn’t want to be alone. You have been in danger from the second you chose to pursue your relationship, and it seems as if you have come to terms with that now. 

You really don’t care, he can even see it in your eyes. 

“You should be repulsed,” he tries again. 

You wave him off. “I love you,” you say. “I love you, Michael. That won’t change. You did what you had to do. There’s a reason, and when there’s a reason, I believe it. All I care about is that you’re safe. That you come back home to me. I don’t need anything or anyone but you.”

He meets your eyes, and the words die on his tongue. You brush your thumb over his cheekbone. He sighs. Your touch is tender, more than he believes he deserves, but you soon enough lean your head against his and your heartbeats align without a question. 

You’re so attuned to each other, nothing could break you apart. It’s something that doesn’t come around often, and not everyone gets to enjoy love like that. It’s deep and vulnerable and it makes you question everything in life, but it’s real, and that’s what matters most because if it’s real, you can overcome just about anything. 

You found each other when you needed it most and now you can use that to heal each other. 

“You know, I’ve been with bad men before,” you confess. “And they treated me in a way I know I shouldn’t have let them. That’s how I knew they were awful–by the way they treated me. But you…you don’t treat me like that. You treat me like I’m deserving of love, like I’m the most important thing in the world to you, and that’s how I know you’re not a bad person.”

“Why?” he asks into the silence.

You look at him. “Why what?”

“Why’d you choose men that didn’t treat ya right?” he asks. “You deserve so much better. The men you’ve been with should’ve made ya feel like you were the most important person in this world to them. It’s the bare minimum. You shouldn’t have settled for less.”

“I know,” you say.

“Then why did ya?”

You knew the conversation would switch and the focus would return to what you bared to him before. The truth. He gave you what you wanted and now it’s your turn. But how do you talk about something so painful without breaking apart? 

The lid on the glass was closed for a reason. You’re not sure you can survive, but you have to try. For him. For yourself. And if you want this relationship to survive, you need to fight for it, too. You have to be honest so he can catch you the same way you caught him when he needed it. It’s about time someone did the same for you. 

You sit up, placing your mug on the coffee table. Michael follows you with his eyes. Your head and gaze are turned away from him as you glare holes into the air. Tears well up in your eyes. You close them, not wanting to cry, but of course, your body betrays you. 

You wipe your cheeks. “Um, it’s…My father. Or I guess it’s his fault. He’s a bad man,” you begin to explain. Your voice is fragile. “And he made me believe that this is how men are allowed to treat me. I always had to please everyone around me, be good, follow the rules, and be obedient. It’s how I grew up. Can’t shake that so easily.”

He reaches out slowly, brushing the hair from your face and revealing the scar you thought he never caught. He traces it with his thumb. “What happened?” he asks. 

“Glass,” you answer. 

“Glass?”

“He threw it at me one night after he caught a stain on the dishes I was supposed to wash. I got lucky it crashed against the wall and missed my eye instead of breaking directly against my face. That…that would have sucked.”

“Fuck. Jesus–”

“And then he made me clean the entire cupboard with a tiny toothbrush.” Your eyes are vacant as they continue to stare at the wall next to the tv. “All night. I wasn’t allowed to sleep,” you say.

His cheeks have paled completely. There are a lot of parallels Michael could draw between your pathetic excuse of a father and his own, except that his father couldn’t keep his wandering hands to himself when it came to little girls either, and Michael had someone to fall back on as a kid when his father went away; you were all alone in an abusive household and no one cared. 

You continue, “After I failed the exam I had the next day, he…he, um, made sure that this scratch–” You point to the scar, “Would turn into an actual problem. And then it scarred. I was bleeding a lot, but I hid it because I never cut my hair when I was a child–he didn’t allow that either,” you say. “When people asked, I just told them I took a tumble down the stairs. But after failing that exam, he left me with a concussion and locked me in my room to study for a few days, so it was already healed enough for the lie to work when I got back out. You know, apparently, it was the best thing for me and I owe everything to him, even my education.”

His thumb continues to trace the scar on your temple, his touch a gentle reminder of his presence. It's as if he's silently promising to be there for you, to help heal the wounds of your past in any way he can.

“He abused me. He abused my mother. He still does. That’s why she developed this condition that comes with her PTSD, the one that gives her seizures. He sometimes takes her meds away, so they get worse, and she has to get new ones. It was the same back then, only that now I’m not there to fix it anymore. I don’t know what her condition is called, but I wasn’t lying when I said I know what it’s like to take care of someone who gets seizures–” You take another sip of your tea to stop your tears.

“And that’s why medication is so important,” you add. “You could get seriously hurt. I saw the damage an uncontrolled seizure can do and it’s no fun. Then again, it was always my fault, so what the hell do I know, right?”

He curses under his breath, his fingers beginnings to paint patterns on your lower back. He might be in shock for all you know, but if that’s all it takes to shock him, he has a big storm coming. 

You shake your head. You can’t deflect, no matter how badly you want to. “I always had to take care of her. I had to be good, and when I failed, I would get punished. Sometimes, he’d just hit me, but he also liked to use his belt or find other ways to make me suffer like locking me inside for days, or locking me outside, starving me, degrading me, I…there’s too much,” you whisper and your voice breaks when you finally look at him again. “It hurts.”

Michael pulls you closer wordlessly, still facing you, but his hands are cradling your face now. “I’m so sorry,” he says, his voice equally as quiet and broken as yours. “He had no right to touch ya…”

“I don’t remember a lot,” you tell him, “but I remember the days that left scars, and I remember the days I had nothing to eat. He made sure not to leave obvious scars, but I still know where they are even when others don’t, especially the ones inside, and I’ve felt guilty for so long, I started believing it was my fault.”

The tears are spewing freely now. You gave up on stopping them. You’re tired, you’re weak and the glass is more than full. Your body ejects what isn’t supposed to be there, including all the pain and the unshed tears, and you crumble in the arms of the man you love.

He tries to catch your tears, but there are too many of them. All Michael can do is offer an open ear and prove himself worthy of your trust. He doesn’t push you, he lets you go at your own pace. 

But he doesn’t even need to ask before the next wave crashes in and you sob as the words tumble from your lips. “It’s why I always put others first. It’s why I’m a people pleaser,” you say. It’s a self-analysis, but it’s not wrong. “And when I fail, I hate myself so badly and try to fix it until the bitter end, but it never feels like it’s enough, so I find ways to punish myself the way my father taught me I deserve. I know it’s fucked up and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner so you could have picked someone who isn’t as disturbed as me, but I never had anyone to talk to, and there is so much more that I don’t even know how to put into words. I–”

You’re cut off by your own sobs, and you lean forward to press your forehead against his. You need to feel his breath to calm down. While he doesn’t guide you through it this time, he’s right there if you need him. His heartbeat is a steady rhythm against where you curl your fingers around his shirt, and you focus on that. He knows you can do it; all you need is a presence you know you can trust, and it seems like you do.

You take deep breaths until you’re not on the edge of insanity anymore. Michael offers you a smile in return. “I’m so sorry,” you whisper. 

“Don’t apologize,” he says.

“I didn’t mean to get so emotional.”

“You were abused by yer own father. You have every right to feel like this. If ya haven’t noticed, I want ya to let it out. Don’t hold back. I can take it.”

“I just wish I wasn’t so fucked up. It would be so much easier if I weren’t such a mess. I ruin everything–”

He stops you. “You’re not fucked up. And you’re not a burden t’me,” he says. “You were hurt by the one man every child should be able ta count on to protect ‘em. You had no one to save ya, and tha’s not somethin’ you have t’apologize for.”

“He hurt me,” you whisper. It sounds like a realization. “And I just pretended it was okay. I believed that I deserved it. I…I let it happen because I was so scared. I’m still so scared and I don’t know why. But I can’t keep thinking–a part of me, at least–that I deserved it.”

“But you didn’t,” he finishes.

You exhale. “I didn’t?” 

“No,” Michael wipes your tears once more with a gentle smile that is only meant for you because it is full of a love you’ve never experienced before, “You didn’t.”

“Then why does it always feel that way?” Your eyes are begging for an answer only a psychiatrist could give to you, but Michael is trying his best at calming you down enough to pull you away from the edge.

“You didn’t deserve what this man did to ya,” he says. “It’s not yer fault. You had no control over it. He abused you. It’s never the victim’s fault, I’ll tell ya that. You are not to blame for the actions of your father. He made tha choice and it’s his fault, not yours.”

His words seep into the cracks of your wounded soul. You listen intently, yearning to believe in the truth he presents to you.

“You were just a child,” he continues. “You had no control over the situation, and ya did what ya needed to survive. The fact tha ya carried the weight of his abuse for so long shows how strong you are. You were there for everyone but yerself, and that’s remarkable, but it wasn’t your job. You didn’t deserve any o’ it. And if I ever get my hands on him, so help me God, I’ll–” 

He stops himself. He stops the anger coursing through his veins. Not because it’s misplaced; your father deserves all his wrath and more, but his anger is not what you need. 

His thumb caresses your cheek, wiping away the remnants of your tears. “I want ya to know tha you don’t have t’pretend anymore. You’re not fucked up. You’re a survivor. Yer so much stronger than ya give yerself credit for, my love. Believe me.”

You take in his words. Michael’s unwavering support and love are starting to chip away at the walls of self-blame and guilt you’ve built around yourself.

You sniffle, nodding along. Your defenses are down. He can see all of you now. You’re naked and vulnerable and the need to hide grows stronger with each passing second, but Michael holds you right where you are so you can both face the reality of the situation. You’re forced to stare the truth into the eyes after ignoring it for so long, and while it hurts, you also feel less alone now that you have him, which is the whole point. He told you that you’re not alone anymore, so you really aren’t. 

You lean into his touch. He sees you for who you truly are and he loves you unconditionally. The burden of your past feels a little lighter in his arms. It counts for something, at least, and it gives you a little bit of hope. 

“The file you found,” you begin, “It’s what little information I have on…on my sister’s death. Not…not Maya. She’s the one I was talking to on the phone. She’s sixteen, that wasn’t a lie, and she’s in London. But–“ You swallow.

“Livin’ with your father?” Michael questions.

You nod. “Yeah. She’s…she’s stuck there.”

“So, ya had another one?”

“Yeah.”

“Eleanor?”

“Eleanor,” you repeat her name back to him almost bitterly. It hurts even more, the truth. “She would have turned nine this year. She died when she was three. Car accident,” you say. “And…and I kept the file because…my father was the one driving that night. They got into a collision with a truck. She was brain dead.”

His eyes soften. He wants to touch you, but he’s not sure if he should go further than he already is. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

You shake your head. It doesn’t make sense, you tell yourself. It’s not him, it’s the recollection of what happened, and even now it doesn’t make sense.

“The M25 wasn’t on the way to her dance studio,” you tell him. You’re sure of that. “He never took that route before, even though he claimed he did. He was lying. I drove her to rehearsals so many times and no one would take the M25 there because it makes no sense,” you say, “and that’s why I could never believe his story of not seeing the truck coming because the timeline doesn’t add up. It doesn’t…something isn’t right. I know it isn’t.”

He tilts his head, trying to come to a conclusion on his own, but he’s confused. “Take a deep breath,” he instructs.

You do so, but you’re still shaking. “He killed her,” your voice is barely above a whisper. “My father killed my little sister by waiting in the middle of that godforsaken road where the truck wouldn’t have seen them.”

You’d vouch for that any day.

“Oh,” he realizes. He connects your previous words with what you told him, and it makes sense. “He caused the accident on purpose?” Michael asks. “Tha’s what ya think?”

You nod weakly. “He was overwhelmed with having another child running around, I think, and my mom…she was of no use. I basically raised Ellie. I did the same with Maya when I was younger. I mean, my father liked her, so he didn’t touch her. He likes to control her, but he never…he did with me, but never with her, and never with Ellie. Until that day–” You sob.

His hand cradles your cheek a little tighter and he runs the other through your hair, pulling you close enough to hear his heartbeat once again.

“I was already in college when Ellie was born, but I raised that kid. I came home and I made sure the kids were taken care of and that my mom wasn’t so alone, and I avoided my father for as long as I could, but…Three years later, I get the call that they got into an accident and that…they declared her brain dead. And he was such a coward,” you say, your voice dropping an octave as the bitter poison of your pain takes over, “because he couldn’t even finish it himself.”

“Breathe,” he has to tell you once again. “Deep breaths, love. There you go.”

You inhale through your nose and exhale through your mouth, the dizziness dissipating for a second, but as soon as you talk again, the oxygen fails and you get dizzy again.

“He made me sign the papers and make the decision to turn the machines off,” you say. “It was me all over again. It’s always been me. I had to do everything. And then they forced me to move back home because everyone was grieving and he just needed a punching bag to get rid of all his guilt, and that’s when…when it got really bad. Oh, God!”

He catches you when you crumble, wrapping his arms around your body and pulling you into his chest. Your sobs echo in the room. You feel pathetic, you want to pull away, but he won’t let you.

“Shh,” he shushes you as he starts swaying you like a baby in his arms, a treacherously soothing motion. “It’s okay,” he coos. “I’ve got ya.”

You whimper, gasping for oxygen once more. “I just wanted to be there for my sister and my mother,” your voice breaks, “to protect them from suffering even more, from Maya turning into me, and he used me so he could have someone to blame. I didn’t do anything and yet he made sure I suffered. I never got a chance to grieve–” And that’s probably the part that hurts the most. 

You got used to the abuse, but not being able to grieve is a feeling you won’t ever forget because it haunts you, still, up until this day. 

He holds you close. His fingers paint soothing patterns over your skin, and you lean further into him. You sob until your voice is sore, your body overcome by shivers and hiccups, but you’re starting to calm down a bit. Your mind is a confusing mess. Your body reacts on its own, and the tears are out of your control.

You wipe your cheeks, Michael’s arms still keeping you caged, but once you’ve calmed down a little, he allows you to pull away enough to look at him again. 

“I wasn’t lying when I told you about me hearing that book reading in the library,” you say, your voice steadier now. “I did hear the author read from her book and it was her that made me realize that I couldn’t stay trapped any longer. I love Maya, I do, but I was suffering and I just had to save myself.”

“So you left?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “I packed my things. I fought with my father, but I stood my ground. I even threatened to call the police. I don’t know where that confidence came from, but it was about time.”

It was a rare moment of confidence, but you couldn’t fight back when he raised his hand again. He left his mark before you left, but you fought back. It was the middle of the day, everyone was crying and if it hadn’t been for Maya’s screams to leave you alone, he would have chained you down. But you knew you would have witnesses next door if she kept her screaming up, and that was your way out. 

You tell him the whole story about that day and a little more. He listens without trying to fix anything. You tell him about Maya, and you go into detail about the kind of person she is and how well she’s holding up even though her childhood has never really been great, even without physical abuse. He nods, but he doesn’t interrupt you; this is your time to talk and his time to listen. 

You tell him about the calls and the texts, and how her field trip was the reason you needed money. It dawns on him. He makes sense of it with the newfound information, and he seems almost glad that he can sort your behavior now. 

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself. “When I packed my things that day though, my father... he threatened me,” you tell him. Your voice is only loud enough for him to hear. “He told me that if I ever came near Maya again, he would find me and kill me.”

Michael's eyes widen, his grip on you tightening instinctively. “He said wha?” he asks.

A switch flicks inside of him. His demeanor changes completely, and it shows in the tone of his voice.

“He meant it,” you whisper.

He calls your name, but he’s so far away. The spiral has dragged you too far down already.

“He's capable of anything,” you say. “Anything, I…That’s why I tried to get custody of Maya. I tried to get custody of them both when Ellie was still alive, but there was no chance for me to get custody of any child in the financial situation I was in. I was too young and…and I gave up. And Ellie died. She was just a baby. I was a coward and she died.”

What kind of sister does that? You think. The guilt is a strong enough current to drag you under.

“Just…Okay–” Michael takes a deep breath. If he freaks out, you will freak out. “Let’s not go there,” he tells you. “It’s not your fault. You were tryin’ to survive. You couldn’t have known yer father would do somethin’ like tha. But…why do ya even have the file on her death?” he asks, trying to keep his anger contained for your sake, but inside, he’s boiling. “Why torture yourself with the details?”

His fists are already clenched, but he can’t change anything from here anyway. He would have to take a plane.

But he would do it in a heartbeat for you, he has no doubt in his mind about that. You didn’t deserve any of the things that happened to you.

“Research,” you admit.

“Research?” he frowns.

“Yeah. I–I kept it with me in case I ever found the needle in the haystack so I could end him for good. I investigated, that’s why I have the file, not just to hurt myself or–or find answer for myself. That’s not the only reason. I've been trying to gather evidence against my father for six years, to prove that he's responsible for Ellie’s death, and the evidence just kept piling up,” you say. “But I've struggled to find solid proof anyway. Maya told me not to, but I didn't listen, and now...now I'm afraid that it might all blow up in my face. And hers, too.”

His sigh sounds almost exasperated. “Jesus–” He curses your name, or maybe it’s meant condescendingly, you’re not so sure. After dropping his face in his hands momentarily, he lifts his head to look into your eyes. “Yer not safe, are ya?” he asks. But the question is self-explanatory.

You shake your head. “I never was,” you answer. 

“And Maya?”

“Right now, she’s physically fine, but my father…he’s a ticking time bomb, and I need to put him behind bars so I can get her out of there. She’s…she feels like my child, and I know that’s not how this works, but I raised her. And yet I still gave up on her for months. I was so stupid–”

Michael’s eyes soften. “I get it. Don’t even…I get it. But you can’t do this alone,” he interrupts you.

“What d’you mean?”

Michael's eyes meet yours. “I mean I won't let you face this alone. We'll do it together,” he says. “I'll help ya gather the evidence you need, and we'll make sure your father pays for wha he's done. I...I get how yer feelin’ and I want ya to have a chance at gettin' closure. After tonight…There’s a lot that’s gonna crash into us, but that’s why I can’t let ya endanger yerself without havin’ someone to fall back on. So, you’re not doin' this alone.”

You never expected to find someone who would be willing to go to such lengths for you and your sister. 

“But we have to be careful,” his voice is tinged with caution. “We need a strategy, plan our steps carefully, everythin’ to assure yer safety. I have resources and connections that can help us. My family is not perfect, but we take family matters seriously, and wha we do best is gettin’ rid of what’s in the way. So I’ll find a way. I promise.”

“Michael–”

“No. I don't want anythin’ ta happen to ya. I love you more than anythin’, and I can't stand the thought of you suffering. If keepin' ya safe means helping you gather evidence and bring your father to justice, then I'm in. I don’t have ta like it, but yer gonna do it anyway, so I’d rather have you safe while doin’ it rather than let ya destroy yourself. You’re not alone.”

“What about Jamie though?” you ask softly. “Your son just died...Shouldn’t you focus on that instead of me? It matters too, you know. Maybe more than my father.”

He grabs your wrist when you cradle his cheek. His forehead drops to yours. “I’ll grieve,” he tells you. “In time. And I’ll be there when they bury him. But…but I can’t do more than tha. I won’t go back.”

“You don’t want to seek revenge?”

“I dunno what I wanna do. It’s a lot right now. I can’t think straight.”

“Okay, that’s fair.”

“I have Anna. I have the meetin’ with my solicitor to think about, and I have my job…” Michael nuzzles closer to you. “And I have you. Without ya, I would’ve gone crazy by now. Yer keepin’ me alive and sane. That’s all I need. It’s enough. It has t’be.”

You nod, wiping the stray tear from the corner of his eye. “But you have to let it hurt,” you remind him. “You can let it hurt tonight and tomorrow and for as long as you want, as long as you don’t bottle it up. I’m here for you as long as you need me to.”

Another tear joins the one he already shed, and he sniffles. “It hurts, but I don't understand it. I don’t understand why it hurts so much,” he whispers. “I’m so confused. That’s why I can’t let it get to me.”

It’s a kind of pain he can't describe. It runs deeper than a broken bone or losing someone close to you; it runs deeper because Jamie wasn’t just anyone, he was his son, and that’s a different kind of pain. 

You tangle your fingers in his hair. “You don’t have to get it,” you assure him. “You just have to let it happen.”

“Says the one who kept her feelings bottled up for decades,” he tries to joke, but his voice doesn’t really come across as if he means it. 

You give a weak chuckle. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips and you pull him a little closer to feel his pulse beneath your fingers.

As the tears continue to flow, resting in each other’s arms, you find strength in the fact that you're not alone.

“We'll be there for each other,” you say. “No matter what happens, we'll lean on each other and find the strength to keep going. Okay?”

He sniffles, and his answer is clear, “Okay.”

You help each other to bed when it’s already the early hours of the morning. Your limbs tangle beneath the sheets, your bodies pressed closely together. There is not a piece of paper in the world that could fit between you. 

The room grows quiet, and the rhythmic sound of your breathing lulls you both toward much-needed sleep. 

Michael doesn’t waste time sleepily whispering, “I love ya.”

You snuggle closer to him, your head resting just underneath his chin on his chest and you tell him back, “I love you too.”

“We’ll talk more in the mornin’, alright?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“G’night,” says Michael.

“Good night,” you say.

In each other’s arms, you finally find a moment of peace, and you allow yourselves to rest as you succumb to the claws of restless sleep. 

Tagging: (let me know if you want to be tagged, too!) @bellaxgiornata @mattmurdocksscars @ms-murdockswift @your-not-invisible-to-me @shouldbestudying41 @acharliecoxedfan @glowstick-lesbian @roseallisonparker @norestfortheshelbywicked @1988-fiend @loveroftoomanyfandoms @mattkinsella @schneeflocky @harperdoodle

[sunset-peril]

Guilty as Ganon

She couldn't figure it out fast enough to save her own face, or Link's for that matter.

Rhoam wanted her to confess, in front of all these people, what she had done. He wanted her to submit herself for a public condemnation provided by her own father.

And what a father he had been to her. 

Had Rhoam actually been what he needed to be, Zelda determined after her witch trial was all over, none of this wouldn't have happened. 

She was upset. Okay, upset was an understatement. 

She was downright, undeniably, worthy of all the Gerudo profanity she knew, furious. And in her mind, she had every right to be. She knew what she had done, and the Goddess whom she had gotten ill for time and time again (yet still had somehow ignored her dedication) egged her on to do such a thing as if it was the last piece to finally unlocking the power that she'd lost everything for. And if it were that last step, then condemn the Golden Goddesses above she was going to do it! 

Did Father seek to gain anything by making me look more unworthy for the throne that no one else is able to inherit? By Naryu's name, what could it ever be? By defacing her, a descendant of Hylia and Link, Hylia's hero chosen over and over again, Rhoam was only asking for his kingdom to burn. 

The armor grabbed tight at her waist, worse than that cursed formal dress, but she feared about as much as she fumed.

"And why is that?" Zelda's fists grew tense as the sound of his voice in her mind. "What is more important than training to awaken the power to save all of Hyrule? Do you, Zelda, want Hyrule to burn to ashes along with all its people?"

She wanted to bash that head in over and over again, screaming profanities that matched or exceeded the ones he and the court used to describe her. 

These feelings weren't hers, she tried to convince herself at the beginning. But they were, oh so real, as real as the persistent enduring ache deep in her stomach, belonging solely to her scarred and tattered soul.

It had been so long, if ever, since she had smoldered with such fury. She wanted to let it all out on the person who had deserved it most over these past ten years.

Urbosa had taught her ways to cope with such turbulent emotions, but the one that worked the best was unusable. Whenever she got debilitated by the feelings harbored in her soul, she would always head down to the Noble Canteen for a drink known as a Valiant Cause, which was the exact same thing as the famous Noble Pursuit but minus the alcohol. It didn't exist on the menu, but the bartender began to serve it when Urbosa took Zelda in following her mother's untimely death. Now, with the small but undeniable round in her stomach, she was instantly denied access from the bar without a second glance or eloquent argument. 

"Gerudo law prohibits pregnant vai from any form of access to adult beverages or establishments." That same bartender nearly snapped at her, not even rising from the main desk. "I think of all vai, you should know that, hmm? Come back after you've finished nursing."

The words didn't frustrate her as much as the fact that Zelda's coping mechanisms were vanishing into thin air. She needed something material to work through, whether that was an ancient robot or a nearly frozen fruit punch. She used these material things because she felt like it was unfair that Link was always having to fix her problems, and without them it seemed like he was having to stop more meltdowns than ever before. Most were from her raging hormones, which caused mood swings so bizarre that the emotions came and went before she could even realize their presence. 

She missed Link… 

The poor boy was in the Lockup until Hylia-knows-when. 

Rhoam had sentenced him there until proof of his legal marriage to Zelda was provided. If it became clear that Zelda was pregnant outside of a marriage bond, he'd be sent to the Castle Town Prison for the rest of his days. If the records showed that he was married to her, then no punishment could be done. A member of the Royal Family is above the law after all. 

Sweet Hylia, Zelda wanted a hug. She was balancing on a fence of unbridled violence, but she wanted a hug so badly. 

She couldn't take it any longer. She nearly flew into a standing position, checking to make sure the armor still adequately protected her growing baby from any conflict she might encounter, and headed towards the Lockup.

"Link!" She softly called into the cell, three heads turned. 

"Zelda?!" Link cried, stumbling to his knees. "You're not supposed to be here!"

"Hey, it's the Princess!" Another voice called. 

"How are you?"

Link reached through the bars to stroke her face. "I'm fine. You've gotta get out of here. You're not supposed to be down here."

"I'm not leaving. Not yet. I miss you." 

"I miss you too. But it will be okay, Urbosa will provide everything His Majesty wants." 

Zelda aggressively kissed his lips, the others in the cell jumped back in surprise. 

They had known Link was in the Lockup for an improper relationship with the Princess, but seeing her return such ways sent them reeling. Did she initiate the relationship? Was it all her idea? Why was she so upset that he was down there? 

Link tore back for air, Zelda's face seemed like her heart was about to break. "Zelda… please, it's alright. I'll be out soon… But this, this isn't healthy for you."

"Neither of us are alright! We need you!" 

"I can't stop anyone if they react to you being down here. Please… go back to where you're supposed to be… it's safer that way… just for a little while…" He held onto her hand, brushing over her knuckles. 

"I-I can't…" Zelda's voice swung in and out of her controllable range. Her body flopped down onto its side. 

Link's breath caught in his throat as his eyes failed to find the bulge in her stomach. Where was his child? 

She wasn't breathing deep, all her breaths were quick and shallow. He snuck a hand down onto the metal covering her stomach, only then did he find her trapped bump. 

"It hurts… but it's the only thing that feels safe… with this… they can't hurt me as much."

This was enough to put him over. He wanted to rip the bars of the Lockup open and pull her close. He wanted to rip that tight armor off her and replace it with a loose, comforting dress. "Urbosa said she'd be back within forty-eight hours." His voice had become stale. "This will all be over soon…" 

“But…”

“Go. Now.” He rubbed her stomach for a few seconds before pulling away. “Stay with Impa, or Urbosa once she gets back. You don’t have to be alone, you just can't be here.” 

She nearly threw herself against the bars. "Link!" Tears began to pour down her face. "Don't leave me alone… please." 

Link ripped off his white undershirt, lovingly crafted by his late mother, and slipped it to Zelda. "Here… Tide yourself over with this…"

She brought it up to her nose and verified that it smelled like him. "But, Link…"

"You're my wife… what's mine is yours. And besides, you need it more than I do right now. You can give it back when this is all over. Now please go. I trust Impa to take care of you."

"Okay… just promise me you'll come back."

"I have, several times… but I promise again. I'm coming back." 

Zelda clutched his shirt to her chest and jogged back out of the Lockup. 

His cellmates crept up to where he was. "What was all that about?" 

Link slipped the Champion's Tunic back on. "Just doing what I need to do."

"Why would you promise her that you're getting out of here? How could you?" 

"Because we're married." He waited for the gasps to die down. "Once Gerudo Chief Urbosa brings all the proof of our legal marriage before the King, he'll have no choice but to set me free." He looked down at his anklet. 

"So… we're locked up in here with… our prince?"

"Pretty much."

"B-But how did you legally marry Princess Zelda? If King Rhoam had already banned such a relationship, how could you be so confident that it will stand binding in front of him?"

Link chuckled. "Oh, that's a long, convoluted story. But we have time, so let me tell you."

~~~~

"Princess! There you are!" Impa ran up to Zelda in the hallways of the castle. Where on Hylia's blessed land have you been?" 

Zelda began to cry again, snuggling her face into Link's shirt. 

"Princess, it's okay… it's okay…" She smelled Link on the fabric. "Wait. Where did you get this?" She tried to touch it, but Zelda stubbornly protected it. Impa's voice firmed accusingly. "You went and saw him!"

Her sobs became louder, she held one hand on her stomach and the other held the fabric to her chest. "I had to! I need him!"

Impa's anger dropped away. "Princess Zelda…" She stroked her shoulder gently. "It will be okay… Here, let's get you to your room; it's nice and quiet there, and I'll stay with you until Urbosa returns." She led her back to the room, then convinced her to change out of the armor into a loose silk dress. "If anyone tries to hurt you or the little descendant of Hylia, I will defend you. Please make yourself comfortable, you probably haven't been since the last time you trained at the Spring of Courage." 

"Okay… thank you, Impa."

"Of course, Your Highness. I'm always here for you." 

Zelda chose a long blue nightgown, completely lacking of a corset or any tight shapers, and slipped in. As she did so, her hands brushed the new curves of her stomach. The feeling made her weak in the knees, she grabbed onto the nearby dresser. "Impa! My knees have given out." 

"Oh!" She rushed over, helping Zelda over to her bed and laying her down. "Rest, Princess. You've had a stressful few days." 

"...Impa? Would you… mind?" She rolled over towards Impa and carefully showed off her tender bump. 

"You want a massage?"

"Yes… please."

Impa stepped closer to the bed and put her hands on Zelda's stomach, massaging carefully. "Oh… I can definitely feel the baby… They're a lot bigger than when we first scanned you…" She felt Zelda stiffen up. "Hey, Princess Zelda, relax."

"Father won't overturn Mother's pact to keep Link and I apart, will he?"

Massages changed to long strokes down Zelda's stomach. "In all honesty, I cannot see how he could. Your mother was a descendant of Hylia, a mere Hylian like your father cannot overturn her words. Besides, even if he could, we could definitely prove that his actions are intentionally causing harm to you, the last descendant. But I believe he will accept all of this after Urbosa returns. He does not need three more wars to fight.

"Will my baby get to meet their father?" 

"I believe he will be with you for the rest of this journey."

Zelda nuzzled into the mattress next to her head, ready for her husband to be with her again. "I long for him."

"Already? You couldn't have been apart for more than ten minutes."

"I need him to be here, Impa. You don't understand…" 

She felt something twist in Zelda's stomach. "I think I do. I'm going to call a doctor, just to make sure you're doing alright. Please try and sleep." Impa stepped outside, closing the door to keep threats out, spoke quickly with a nearby guard to request medical attention for the pregnant princess, and then returned.

Zelda was blinking slowly, beginning to drift to sleep. Impa repositioned Link's shirt in front of her nose; she snuggled up, sighed, and closed her eyes almost instantly. 

"Sleep well, Princess." Impa wished softly, laying a blanket over her. She sat down on the stool near Zelda's bed until the doctor arrived. 

She was an older, sweet-looking Sheikah woman, a healer badge on her arm and a few instruments in her possession. "Lady Impa, I'm here."

"Wonderful. Would you please check the princess over? She's not looking entirely well." 

"Of course." She walked over to the bed, looking at Zelda with her nose snuggled in Link's shirt. "I must have you know, I am not allowed to refer to Champion Link as her husband until the King has been given satisfactory evidence." 

"Of course. She was asking me earlier, and I would like another perspective, do you think His Majesty will find the evidence satisfactory? I attended their wedding, so I fear a little bias on my part."

"I believe that His Majesty will have no choice but to accept it if even a simple marriage license shows up. The pact between the queens was quite clear that Her Highness could receive any Gerudo ceremony Urbosa or her wished. Although a bit of a loophole, the Gerudo marriage ceremony is permitted under that pact. Because the ceremony was part of Gerudo law and not Hyrulean law, Urbosa had the authority to marry Zelda to whatever man she wished, no matter the tribe or occupation. If a Gerudo marriage document appears before him, that is proof enough." 

"I am glad to hear that. She will be too." 

"I must move his shirt to examine her. Do you think she'll react badly?" 

"Yes. She's incredibly stressed. Her Highness wouldn't settle until she had the Champion's undershirt. I fear removing it will cause her to lash out."

"I'm going to wake her then, so she won't panic as much." She shook Zelda softly, a pair of emerald eyes fluttered open. 

"I am truly sorry to wake you, Princess. I've been summoned to examine you, and I must move this shirt to do so." 

A heartbreaking whimper sounded before Zelda picked up the fabric, smelled it once more and slipped it under her pillow for later retrieval.

"Thank you… You can have it back in a little." She pulled out a stethoscope and slipped it under Zelda's dress. "Little heartbeat…" She stopped to feel Zelda's stomach. "Oh, I feel the womb. You are one hundred percent, without a doubt, pregnant, Your Highness. Do you have any idea how far along you are?" 

Zelda took a few gasping breaths. "Three months… I am three months."

"Well then, you feel normal; carrying pretty large though." 

"In your professional opinion, how big does she look?"

"About two months ahead. She really looks about five right now." She took the stethoscope off her stomach and moved to her back. "Your heart sounds good, is that baby putting pressure on your chest? Your breathing sounds a little strained." 

"It does?" Zelda took a few more deep breaths. "I would guess so then. I noticed I was always feeling out of breath, but I thought it was just because of the baby."

"It is, your body's so tiny, your growing baby's body is pressing against the rest of your organs. If you rest on your side, you'll be able to breathe easier." 

Zelda rolled over carefully. "Oh! Yes, this is much better!" She stretched herself out. 

"You already sound better." She turned to Impa. "Make sure she's eating well, and she doesn't need to be up and working unless she has to. I will tell His Majesty what we've found here. Congratulations, Princess Zelda. I would suggest meeting with a midwife now to discuss a special care plan." 

"Thank you so much." 

The doctor waved goodbye. 

"Well, now the little one is official." Impa looked at Zelda's bump. "I'm quite impressed with your ability to hide this. For you to look five months… and just now getting discovered, that's quite a feat."

"It was tiring…" Zelda pulled Link's shirt out from under the pillow and went back to sleep. 

~~~~

"Champion Link?" The doctor walked into the Lockup.

He had pressed himself up against the door of the cell, laying down but wide awake. "Yes? Who are you?"

"I'm a healer. I just came from examining Princess Zelda."

Link perked up, so did the other prisoners. "You did? How is she? Is she alright?" He grabbed her sleeve and yanked her towards him, concern and fear sparkling in his eyes. "How's our baby? Are they okay?"

She blinked in confusion. "You already know she's pregnant?"

"Yes! I've known for about two months now. Are they both okay?"

"I've asked Her Highness to meet with a midwife for a more reliable evaluation of her pregnancy, but she is doing alright. She's very stressed, however, and her body is already feeling pressure from the child. Her womb seems to be pushing up against her lungs."

His tears started falling down. "Will she be alright?" 

"All of Hyrule knows how much we need this child. We will take care of the Princess and ensure she delivers a healthy infant safely." She dried his tears. "You're sweet and tender-hearted… I can see why she fell in love with you." She unlatched the lock. "Now will you come here? His Majesty has demanded a health check on you." 

He approached slowly, looking around for anyone who would attack him. 

"You're both nervous wrecks aren't you?" She slid the door closed behind him before any of the other prisoners could get out. "Come up here, I won't bite." She chuckled a little at his uncharacteristic nervousness. 

They arrived at a private room where she examined him, finding him to be in perfect health aside from his nervousness and his few scratches. She took him back, then returned to King Rhoam. 

"You say both of them are in perfect health?"

"Perfect physical health, yes, Your Majesty. Her Highness needs a midwife to examine her overall health, as her pregnancy is confirmed. Champion Link is still shaken from his imprisonment." 

Rhoam sighed in displeasure. "This is a mess… and why is he so shaken? He knew of the consequences for pursuing an inappropriate relationship with my daughter!"

"He truly believed himself married to her, and he might be able to sense her unease." 

"But in even pursuing that marriage, he violated the highest laws of Hyrule!" 

"If Her Highness spoke the truth, then she believed she legally could marry any man she desired. By association, she believed she could pursue any of the steps needed to make that decision. Regardless of reason, all we can do is wait for Chief Urbosa's return." 

~~~~

Upon Urbosa’s return, she delivered all records to His Majesty, then made a beeline to the Lockup and Zelda’s bedroom. 

“I’m here, little bird…” She ran her hand up and down Zelda’s side, feeling her bump. “I’m here… It will be okay…” 

She cooed sleepily, responding more as Urbosa leaned towards her ear. 

“He wants you to know how much he loves you.” 

"Tell him I love him too… so much… and that I miss him…" 

"Of course, vehvi." She played with Zelda's long hair. "How are you feeling?"

"Stressed… kind of sick."

She pulled another blanket over. "Rest."

A maid knocked.  

"Enter!" Zelda called out, she stepped in. 

"Your Highness, His Majesty has announced that yours and Champion Link's trial will occur in two days. You have been asked to complete an evaluation with a midwife prior to then." 

Her voice shook under her breath. "Without him?" She glanced towards Urbosa.

"Thank you." Urbosa replied, watching the maid walk out. 

"I have to do that… without him?"

"Little bird… We'll do what we must in order to make your father happy… he is the one on the throne." 

She sighed, rubbing her stomach. "Okay…"

"We'll get it done tomorrow. For the rest of today, Impa and I will make sure you are not bothered. Please rest, and we are here to talk if you need us." Urbosa put a few pillows underneath Zelda to prop her up comfortably.

~~~~

Hyrule's Final Stand

[seriouslysam8]

You portray Sirius’s struggles so well, and I think they’re so in line with his canon character. I feel like most authors either ignore and hand wave away his struggles, or they lean so far in the other direction that he’s completely incompetent and nothing like his canon character. It is so refreshing to be able to read about a Sirius who is clever and intelligent and protective and trying so hard while also struggling with his demons and spiraling downwards. Brumous is everything I’ve ever wanted in a Harry & Sirius fic.

🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

I cannot tell you how much that means to me that you love the Harry and Sirius relationship in this story - especially the characterization of Sirius.

I feel like Sirius’ character is often butchered in fanfiction. His childhood trauma is often ignored, even his trauma from Halloween/Azkaban is ignored. I find that a lot of people portray him as this… goofball dramatic person who makes serious/Sirius puns nonstop. Or he’s a thirty-five year old man having prank wars with the twins at Grimmauld Place. His drinking problem in OOTP is always overlooked. Sirius giving Harry pet names like pup or Prongslet or Bambi or whatever is just… not very Sirius. Or the overuse of Moony and Padfoot in post-Azkaban stories. Like… did they ever call each other their childhood nicknames in canon?? I don’t think they did, but I could be wrong so correct me if I’m wrong. I feel like those names wouldn’t be uttered ever again because of the pain that James’ death and Peter’s betrayal brings them. In GOF, Sirius is displayed as a very intelligent man who understands the complexities of wizarding politics and has extensive knowledge of wizarding families - no doubt a byproduct of his childhood being in that pureblood culture growing up.

Even when I write him as a teenager in Bête Noire, he’s a troubled teen who has been severely scarred by his upbringing. He worries incessantly about a threat from Walburga, closing himself off and isolating from his friends. At this point, he’s already drinking and smoking cigarettes as a coping mechanism at 15/16 years old.

Sirius is a very complicated character who has such an interesting backstory. To me, he’s the most interesting character in the entire series. Sorry, Harry. I know it’s your birthday today and I’m not shitting on you, but even you can’t stop thinking about how hot and tall your godfather is. You’re as obsessed as the rest of us.

That’s another thing, speaking of tall Sirius, that shits me about fanon Sirius. He’s tall, okay?!? Harry states it like every single time he sees his godfather. Sirius is tall!! He’s the tallest of all the Marauders. It’s Sirius, then James, then Remus, and then Peter is small. It’s facts, okay? It’s written in black and white. I nope right out of a story as soon as I read Remus or James is taller. The entire Black family is described as tall.

I digress.

I normally write heavy Hinny stories. I love them. They’re my favorite couple. But Brumous isn’t about Hinny. They are the main couple, but this isn’t a story about them. This is a story about Sirius and Harry becoming family and overcoming their childhood traumas. They are the main POVs. They are the main characters. Some of you may hate chapter 35 because it legit only has their POVs. Nobody elses. (Though @prewettpotter asked about a Ginny POV dealing with finding Sirius nearly dead in a pool of vomit and alcohol with Harry so I may have to add that to my list of missing moments.) Sirius finally getting help for all his deep-rooted issues is a major part of this story too. Because you all know it’s Harry, Sirius, Remus, and Tonks who go on the Horcrux hunt next story, you also know Sirius really needs to work on himself in order to really help Harry succeed. He needs to be in a better place mentally. Finally, after 34 chapters, Sirius is getting the help he desperately needs. He officially hit rock bottom and it took nearly dying and having Harry find him to make him realize just how damaged he truly was.

If you’ve read my stories before, you know I love to really dive in deep into very real and painful everyday problems people have.

[black-klok-youth-pastor]

[OC Profile] Cordelia Lillian Offdensen

Because I am now contractually obligated to infodump about her now. Some parts might have been influenced by other fan fics ,but I either have permission and/or at least gave them enough of my own twist that I'm copying other people's homework too much Spoiler warning for all of Metalolcaypse so far (this is all pre-movie so if my predictions are wrong, oh well). Also content warnings for: pregnancy-related death, child neglect, sexual harassment, alcoholism, and parental death, as well as bits of canon typical dark humor.

Born May 13th, 1945

Died October 3rd, 1993 (...probably, I'll explain in a bit)

Voice Claim: Rachel Bloom/Laraine Newman (if we have to follow the pattern of the other Dethklok moms)

Face Claim: This lady from Writersklok

Personality: A well-intended and kind, but very troubled woman that has trouble being taken seriously despite being rather intelligent and ambitious leading her to unhealthy coping mechanisms such as drinking and casual sex.

Character Inspirations: Cutie Cutie Cupcake (BoJack Horseman), Meredith Quill (Guardians of the Galaxy), Paula Small (Home Movies), Paula Proctor (Crazy Ex-Girlfriend), Misato Katsuragi (Evangelion), Annie Hughes (The Iron Giant), Peggy Olson (Mad Men), Halley (The Florida Project), Mina Harker (Bram Stroker's Dracula)

Music Tastes: The Amazelingtons, Blue Oyster Cult, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Electric Light Orchestra, Led Zeppelin, The Beatles, Elton John, Nina Simone, Fleetwood Mac

Bonus playlist

Backstory

She was Salacia’s consort in a past life, unfortunately, she was slain in a siege alongside their unborn child. He tried to resurrect her using a certain kind of purple magic...it did not end well. Cordelia would sometimes have past life nightmares about this with zero context as to what was happening.

She and Salacia met by chance in 1965, back then being a mere law school student; while Salacia was happy to see his beloved wife again...this time he had more ulterior motives convinced that it was part of the Prophecy (if still having to create the Sal persona for obvious reasons). Which he was right, but for the wrong reasons since Charles was an accidental pregnancy so she had to drop out of school and the two had to elope. Her parents were pissed of course and they did not see Cordelia or Charles until he abandoned the family some five or six years later.

Even though Salacia can technically be in two places at once it's pretty taxing (as well as worries that his other self was starting to develop a personality and will of his own) and eventually just to started to realize the more practical problems of his facade such as...oh yeah and his presence having bits of the plague that cause sickness if not death in some people to the point where people assumed for years that Charles was chronically ill. He might've been an asshole for abandoning them, but financially supported them in secret and had them under surveillance by marking them as "people of interest". Although even if he didn't have high hope for him, he had quite a few other children on standby.

Mysterious checks from the government she didn't question aside it was a bit difficult being a single mother in the 1970s albeit was able to get work as a paralegal at the slightly dubious Ensiferum & Associates. So because of this, she was pretty much what you think of when "Gen X mom" comes to mind, with Charles being very much a latchkey kid who more or less raised himself at points. Not for lack of trying since she was capable of being a very loving mother, but was severely overworked and self-medicated with alcohol to cope with the stress of working as an unmarried woman during Mad Men times and general untreated mental health issues. In fact, it was to the point where Charles feeling the need to take care of other people's needs above his own partially explains why he's slightly messed up as an adult. And yet she's among one of the more competent employees at the firm when sober (gee why does that sound familiar?).

Was generally supportive of Charles's goals, but was terrified of him abandoning her much like his father so she definitely didn't take Charles heading off to boarding school well (although she at least had the decency to not say it out loud) and was enough of a mess to require intervention so she at least mellowed out in her final years before peacefully passing in 1993, her lifespan cut tragically short due to a combination of the Salacia plague still affecting her body years later and alcohol abuse.

...which is the version I usually go with in my fics, but personally, I think it's funnier and opens more story potential if she survives to the series' present day, but is just locked out of the loop of the whole "son being the manager of the world's largest band/economic force and later a cult leader" thing. Like I'd probably figured she get along with most of the Dethklok moms (except for maybe Molly but even then because the latter is a massive hypocrite), and Dethklok for themselves for that matter, especially Toki, which Charles would be a bit conflicted about the latter even if she is trying to make up for her previous faults as a mother. I guess for now it's sort of diverging paths, but at least until the movie comes out "dead mom" is the main timeline for my fics.

Overall Charles has a...complicated view of his mother, on one hand, her neglectful parenting did cause a fair amount of emotional scarring that hasn't healed even decades later and severely affected his interpersonal relationships even as an adult, but on the other hand, was at least aware of her struggles with the benefit of hindsight and wouldn't be half the man he was today without her influence.